Thursday, March 09, 2006

An Open Letter To Sally

Dear Sally,

First, let me start off by saying you've been a great noonie. A downright world-class va-jayjay. Hell, I'm some circles, you're downright famous. And well, frankly I haven't been treating you right. And NOW, well, let's just say after yesterday's events, I owe you a big old apology.

Let's be clear - you certainly had your fun times, your popular days. You enjoyed college and you really hit your prime in law school. Nothing wrong with that. But lately, you've had trouble making friends through no fault of your own.

I mean it certainly isn't your fault that the psyche has decided to eat it's way through the last year. I know from your vantage point, all you can see is the stomach overhanging your roof but let me tell you, the rest of the body ain't looking so hot either. But the stomach can certainly be blamed for many of your latest difficulties in "getting out". You used to be a "daylight, strobelight, spotlight" kinda gal but thanks to the ass and thigh department, you may have to spend the rest of your days as a "lights off and blackout shades" kinda player. Still, I'm sure you simply hope to play at all.

There has been neglect, Sally, and I'm the first to admit it. You've been ignored. I suspect it has been you that has been pushing the body into consuming vast amounts of alcohol in order to let you out a little more. I can't blame you for that - that old trick has certainly worked in the past. But for some reason, now when we drink we seem to skip the "let's play" stage and go straight to the "gonna hurl if I'm naked" stage. A sad, sad turn of events....but nothing compared to the greivous insult done onto you yesterday.

Sally, I was in a hurry. I was vacuuming and being a little careless. You see, left foot stepped on the cord but did not communicate his intent to right foot. Right foot continued on his merry way...and well, as you now know, we walked you right into the handle of the vacuum cleaner. The whole body heard your indignant cry of pain. Hell, the little man in the canoe went upstream and we may never hear from him again.

Sally, on behalf of the rest of the body, we are sorry. We promise that as soon as the swelling goes down and you lose that blackeye, we will try to get you out more. We're making no "George Clooney" type promises but there has to be some blind fella out there that the rest of the body will be willing to let you visit.

I promise I'll get to work on it. In the meantime, keep your head down and soldier through the pain.

Your pal,
Floyd

P.S. Please for the love of all that's holy, don't let today be the day that Daddy decides to start reading my blog again.

9 comments:

Anonymous said...

Saddle up, Silly Sally. What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger?

Floyd, were you drunk cleaning, again?

Anonymous said...

Worst thing, that sally never saw it coming

Anonymous said...

Oh, Silly Sally, she probably liked it. Obvious only action she getting these days. So it was a little rough. Beggars can't be chosers....

New motto: "you be nice to Sally, and she'll be nice to you". And on more thing, maybe you should lay off the sauce a bit, there hooker.

Anonymous said...

New meaning to old nickname Hoover?

Sophmom said...

Boy, do I know this feeling! Well not the vacuum cleaner part (well, actually I do, but it was a very tall boy's bicycle), but the lonely Sally part. *sigh* Where there's hope, there's life?

VI said...

Oh MY GOSH!

vajayjay!

G-Anatomy...

Got to love it!
I CRACKED up during that scene!

The Paradise Lesbian said...

Well now that it is a new day and I can see clearly again... Floyd, we certainly must hope that "Daddy" will keep his word and not visit said blog. Of course, should he do so, it is not likely that we will ever know that he did. Take care of Sally, she will be with you until death do ye part!!

kari said...

Nothing like a little poontangy kinda pain to shake things up, no?

Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm said...

Wow, this is eerie. Compare, especailly the closing lines:

Magellan's Pants

Great minds think alike, Floyd!