As I have mentioned/obsessed over, I will be journeying to Chicago tomorrow to return POD to her roots (and in no coincidence, get my own roots done by the best of the best hair colorist this side of the Mississippi). This of course means a lovely (i.e. looooong) visit with my mother, Capt Nutty. This also means that I will be spending this evening with some sunless tanner products.
As I’m sure many of you southern gals understand, to Capt Nutty pale skin equals unhealthy deathlike pallor. My mother is a devotee of the sun god, Ra. Her altar is a Florida beach where she can set her carcass to baking for a minimum of 6 hours per day. However, in her simultaneous worship of Oprah, Capt Nutty has learned that turning one’s skin to the color of espresso is not good for you. It may even make you wrinkly – the horror! To equal out her worship of her two idols, she compromises and puts sunscreen on her face – to hell with the rest of her body, what has it done for her lately?
Now, since Capt Nutty has been forced into exile in Chicago some 15 years ago (straight from 8 years in Palm Beach, Florida for which she still yearns), her voyages to her beach altar have been limited. All was dark and gloomy for Capt Nutty until the skies broke wide open and her god revealed to her the glories of tanning creams, sprays, gels and other goops. You should have seen the celebration she threw when one of those spray-on tanning booths opened around the corner from her – people still talk about the debauchery and reckless drinking of that little fete.
How does this affect me one might ask? Well, when not worshipping the sun gods, Capt Nutty is holding court as the Queen of Passive Aggressiveness. So if I should offer my sunless skin to her majesty, I will be met with such comments like “oh, white is a very ‘in’ color this year” or “did you know the spray tanning booth is offering a two for one special right now? Isn’t that fun? Want to go right now? Oh, come on! Let’s go! It’ll be fun” (I hear – “please, please ghost child, let them spray your naked fatness with some chemical that will turn your nail beds orange and fill your crevices with god knows what chemical”).
Now, I can handle a couple of these comments but when she starts appearing at my bedroom door with a bottle of Neutrogena Fun in the Sun tanning goop and a pair of rubber of gloves, I draw the line. This inevitably ends up with me snapping at Capt Nutty with a “FOR FUCK’S SAKE, I DON’T WANT ANY DAMN SELF-TANNER!” This of course of makes Capt Nutty break into tears and moan about how she just doesn’t understand why I’m soooooo mean to her. Which is always but always followed by “I would NEVER have said something like that to MY mother…..but then again I loved MY mother.” I obligingly spend the next two hours exclaiming her virtues and my true love of Capt Nutty.
So you see, it’s simply good planning to go ahead and make myself look like an orange piece of beef jerky and forestall any such breakdowns – cause frankly there will be plenty of breakdowns without me having to bring the sun into it. This also explains why I will be bringing my own case of Bud Light in the car for the voyage…damn, I wish I would have gotten POD her learner’s license - what the hell, she's got a good head on her shoulders, I'm letting her drive. I advise all who value their lives to avoid I65 tomorrow.
Well, gentle readers, don’t forget me while I’m gone - I will be returning on Wednesday, if I can last that long. Try to muddle through without me and please keep me in your idol prayers to Ra.
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
Why You Want to Be Me, You Really, Really Do - Part 2
1. What’s worse then stepping out the door on your way to an important business lunch and discovering that your “I’m a successful business attorney with lots o'money” shoes cause immense pain to your feet?
Discovering that once your feet get the teeny, tiniest bit sweaty, said same shoes make little farting noises with every step you take.
Yeeeaaahhhh, I‘m a keeper. A real gem. A prize to the legal community.
2. Get home from important business lunch and get lovely message from Capt Nutty. In preparation for the POD’s return to the great white north, Capt Nutty has scheduled a three way phone call this evening with me, Capt Nutty and the Consort and with the POD’s psychologist. Yippee. I really, really can’t think of a more fun and relaxing way to spend my Tuesday night. FOR FUCK’S SAKE, DO THESE PEOPLE NOT KNOW THAT THE FINALS OF AMERICAN IDOL ARE ON TONIGHT?
3. So last night the POD and I have a lovely little discussion – quite nice chat actually. I proceed to tell POD how I will miss her over the summer. The following is the verbatim conversation:
Me: “I’m really going to miss you over the summer. I’m going to be so lonely.”
POD: “Yeah, right.”
Me: “No, I mean it, I’ll miss you.”
POD: (in mocking tone) “Yeah, right – once I’m gone you can have all those guys over and fuck them at home.”
Me: (with properly indigant tone and facial shock) “POD! That is so not true! I have respect for my body!”
She looked at me. I looked at her........and we both knew I was lying.
I couldn't make this shit up if I tried, people. Couldn't...make...it...up.
Discovering that once your feet get the teeny, tiniest bit sweaty, said same shoes make little farting noises with every step you take.
Yeeeaaahhhh, I‘m a keeper. A real gem. A prize to the legal community.
2. Get home from important business lunch and get lovely message from Capt Nutty. In preparation for the POD’s return to the great white north, Capt Nutty has scheduled a three way phone call this evening with me, Capt Nutty and the Consort and with the POD’s psychologist. Yippee. I really, really can’t think of a more fun and relaxing way to spend my Tuesday night. FOR FUCK’S SAKE, DO THESE PEOPLE NOT KNOW THAT THE FINALS OF AMERICAN IDOL ARE ON TONIGHT?
3. So last night the POD and I have a lovely little discussion – quite nice chat actually. I proceed to tell POD how I will miss her over the summer. The following is the verbatim conversation:
Me: “I’m really going to miss you over the summer. I’m going to be so lonely.”
POD: “Yeah, right.”
Me: “No, I mean it, I’ll miss you.”
POD: (in mocking tone) “Yeah, right – once I’m gone you can have all those guys over and fuck them at home.”
Me: (with properly indigant tone and facial shock) “POD! That is so not true! I have respect for my body!”
She looked at me. I looked at her........and we both knew I was lying.
I couldn't make this shit up if I tried, people. Couldn't...make...it...up.
Monday, May 23, 2005
An Ode to POD
It has been brought to my attention that a portion of my reading public would like some more information on the Princess of Darkness (aka POD). A few readers have expressed an interest on knowing a tad more about the lovely POD – specifically the hows, the whats and the “for the love of all that’s holy, please tell me you’re making that up” information. I tend to forget that you are not all my family and bosom companions so you don’t get the endless amounts of spewing I put forth on the subject of POD (shoutout to Fat Baby’s Mama, Kitty and Cowboy Dan for their endless patience on this topic). That being said, a lot of this will probably be old/boring news to you so please bear with me.
POD is my 15-year-old sister. And no, we don’t have any other siblings. After many years of exciting and fruitless infertility treatments, Capt Nutty and her Consort (also known as my stepfather) decided to adopt. POD arrived when I was home during my spring break from college at the ripe old age of 20 (you read correctly – she is 20 years younger than me). I spent every college vacation from that point on heading home to spend time with POD (who happened to be the cutest baby ever born). After college and law school, I moved up to Chicago to be closer to the family and specifically POD. I have lived within a few blocks of POD since she was 5 (up until the time I uprooted and moved back to Atlanta last year). POD was always an interesting child – very stubborn and highly imaginative. She also happens to look a lot (and I mean, A LOT) like me (see above the “cutest baby ever” comment).
Anyhoooo, time went by and Capt Nutty came into the period we like to call “The Nuttiness that Shall Never End” and POD entered the “I Am a Crazy Teenager” stage. Throw in a couple of gothic tendencies and general lack of common sense and you’ve got yourself a fine mess. Well, being the only sane member of my family, it was decided that POD would do better living with me for a bit. Sooooooo, much to the POD’s dismay, she was shipped down here last December to go to school. It’s been good for POD and I like having her here (most of the time – I mean, hell, I haven’t killed her so we have to consider this a “win”).
So, I submit the following so that you, gentle reader, can get the full POD experience:
As a teen:
I will be leaving on Thursday to take POD home for the summer. I will be gone about a week and will return POD-less but probably worlds more insane for having spent a week with my mother. May God have mercy on my soul.
POD is my 15-year-old sister. And no, we don’t have any other siblings. After many years of exciting and fruitless infertility treatments, Capt Nutty and her Consort (also known as my stepfather) decided to adopt. POD arrived when I was home during my spring break from college at the ripe old age of 20 (you read correctly – she is 20 years younger than me). I spent every college vacation from that point on heading home to spend time with POD (who happened to be the cutest baby ever born). After college and law school, I moved up to Chicago to be closer to the family and specifically POD. I have lived within a few blocks of POD since she was 5 (up until the time I uprooted and moved back to Atlanta last year). POD was always an interesting child – very stubborn and highly imaginative. She also happens to look a lot (and I mean, A LOT) like me (see above the “cutest baby ever” comment).
Anyhoooo, time went by and Capt Nutty came into the period we like to call “The Nuttiness that Shall Never End” and POD entered the “I Am a Crazy Teenager” stage. Throw in a couple of gothic tendencies and general lack of common sense and you’ve got yourself a fine mess. Well, being the only sane member of my family, it was decided that POD would do better living with me for a bit. Sooooooo, much to the POD’s dismay, she was shipped down here last December to go to school. It’s been good for POD and I like having her here (most of the time – I mean, hell, I haven’t killed her so we have to consider this a “win”).
So, I submit the following so that you, gentle reader, can get the full POD experience:
- When she was about 5, Capt Nutty would drop POD off at the old country club for swim team practice. Capt Nutty shows up at the first meet and everyone is cheering on POD, yelling “Go Gadget! Go Gadget!”. Capt Nutty asks, “Excuse me, who is Gadget?”. Other parent says, “Why, your daughter of course!”. POD had told everyone her name was Gadget (named after a Rescue Ranger) and she would only answer to Gadget. (Don’t even get me started on how stupid these other parents were)
- When she was 3, she insisted on wearing dresses but refused to wear underwear. It was an interesting year on the playground.
- POD went through a period where she thought she was a cat. Now, I’m not saying she occasionally meowed and such, I’m saying she went through a three month period where she did nothing BUT meow and walk around on all fours.
- Every card sent to me from Mandy for about 3 years was signed as “Sabrina, the teenage witch”.
- After seeing the Hunchback from Notre Dame (the Disney version), she stood in the driveway offering to dance for strangers that were passing by (just like the ‘ho in the movie). But by far the best part was the fact that she had drawn a large wheelchair on the driveway with sidewalk chalk and wrote “Handicapped Welcome”. (I’m sorry but this one still cracks me up)
- In second grade, she told her teacher she didn’t need to learn fractions because she wasn’t planning to come back next year. She said she knew how to read and that was all she needed from school.
As a teen:
- She is completely obsessed with the Rocky Horror Picture Show and all things Lord of the Rings.
- She smoked pot in the driveway of our house – never once did it occur to her that our parents might actually look out the window and catch her.
- I won’t even go into her fascination with the Insane Clown Posse.
- She has no idea that I read all of her instant messages - even when I flat out ask her about something I learned from sneaking behind her back.
- She thinks she has been hired by an under 18 club in Chicago to work this summer. Riiiiggghhhttt….cause clubs routinely hire 15 year old girls to work security.
I will be leaving on Thursday to take POD home for the summer. I will be gone about a week and will return POD-less but probably worlds more insane for having spent a week with my mother. May God have mercy on my soul.
Friday, May 20, 2005
Sign of the Apocalypse #1
I’m sitting in my office (i.e. guest bedroom) and I’m listening to the local “pop” station. Local pop station is giving away U2 tickets and I will just about do anything including whoring out my musical tastes to get me some U2 tickets.
However, I’m developing a facial tic from the “music”. If I hear one more Jessica Simpson or Ryan “Freakboy” Cabrera song, I will be forced to kill the cat. I think he’ll understand because he’s looking rather suicidal himself. His look is actually one of “Look, bitch, first you make me live with those overgrown throw rugs you call “dogs”, then you invite some kid who fancies herself to be an evil voodoo priestess to live with us and now, NOW, you invade my sanctuary to play some mind-numbing bubble gum crap songs. This irritates me so much I will now go take a crap during office hours. You can thank me later.”
While adjusting my radio dial to said pop station, I happened to swing by the easy listening station. They were playing the B-52’s. Can someone please, please explain to me how my “I loved you in college” band is now on the easy listening station? They used to be alternative! They used to be whacked out crazies with beehive hairdos! And now they’ve been commandeered by some middle-aged, “listen while in the office” bullshit station.
And notice I cannot even bear to discuss Ashlee "Trying to Revive the Fe-Mullet" Simpson cause some shit just aint' funny.
Holy crap, I’m singing along to Kelly Clarkson…I have to go now… I have an appointment to put my head in the gas oven.
P.S. I'm tired from all the air quotes I put in the post...please forgive me...I am addicted to the use of air quotes. I'm seeking therapy.
However, I’m developing a facial tic from the “music”. If I hear one more Jessica Simpson or Ryan “Freakboy” Cabrera song, I will be forced to kill the cat. I think he’ll understand because he’s looking rather suicidal himself. His look is actually one of “Look, bitch, first you make me live with those overgrown throw rugs you call “dogs”, then you invite some kid who fancies herself to be an evil voodoo priestess to live with us and now, NOW, you invade my sanctuary to play some mind-numbing bubble gum crap songs. This irritates me so much I will now go take a crap during office hours. You can thank me later.”
While adjusting my radio dial to said pop station, I happened to swing by the easy listening station. They were playing the B-52’s. Can someone please, please explain to me how my “I loved you in college” band is now on the easy listening station? They used to be alternative! They used to be whacked out crazies with beehive hairdos! And now they’ve been commandeered by some middle-aged, “listen while in the office” bullshit station.
And notice I cannot even bear to discuss Ashlee "Trying to Revive the Fe-Mullet" Simpson cause some shit just aint' funny.
Holy crap, I’m singing along to Kelly Clarkson…I have to go now… I have an appointment to put my head in the gas oven.
P.S. I'm tired from all the air quotes I put in the post...please forgive me...I am addicted to the use of air quotes. I'm seeking therapy.
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
Where Were We?
After checking back, I realized that we left off on number 45 of the Top 100 Things You Don't Really Care to Know About Me list. So withouth further ado...
46. You know those cans of Pillsbury crescent rolls that when you open them they decompress with some freaky new age technology and pop open? Yeah, they scare me - the popping scares me. I make POD open them.
47. While I do want a baby some day, not so sure about the husband part. (Am excepting applications for love slave, however)
48. I went to catholic school most of my life. Not only am I not catholic, my great-grandfather had a deep fear of all catholics. What can I say - he was old and baptist - not always a good combination.
49. Current pet peeve - Carnival cruise lines is using Iggy Pop's Lust for Life song in all of their television commercials. I dig that song however I don't think the folks at Carnival have really listened to the lyrics. Let's review some, shall we? "Well, he comes Johnny Yen again, with liquor and drugs, and a flesh machine, I know he's gonna do another strip tease" and of course my favorite line "that's like hypnotizing chickens". Oh yeah - Iggy Pop equals family fun time on Carnival. Someone should be fired - idiots.
50. The nickname "Vladimir Poopshoot" was born out of a New Year's Day pajama-wearing, marathon session of Trivial Pursuit. I share said nickname with Kitty, Fat Baby's Mamma and Fat Baby's Daddy. It was the attempted answer to the question "Who was the first U.S. chess champion?" and frankly, Bobby Fisher was too boring of an answer.
51. Brittney Spears annoys the ever-living crap out of me yet I find Christina Aguillera refreshingly skanky.
52. I don't eat vegetables. I find them to be God's idea of laugh - the "eat this filling farting stuff and stay away from my animals" laugh - but I'm on to Him.
53. When I was a kid, I did a wicked impression of Jimmy Carter....but it just isn't timely anymore. Sigh.
54. I find most people who think they are funny are truly NOT funny and should just sit there quitely - and try not to smell too bad - unfunny people have a certain scent about them.
55. For shits and giggles, I "googled" my name - apparently, besides being my neurotic self, I am also a black, male child molester in Conneticut....and I weigh a lot less in Conneticut.
56. I will totally judge a man by his shoes - in the unacceptable shoe columns are Capezzio jazz shoes, black tennis shoes worn with white socks and any shoe that makes me think "Ahhh! Miami Vice - now THAT was a show!".
57. If he ever decided to stay awake for more than 5 minutes, my cat could probably kick your dog's ass.
58. A large percentage of family friends and acquaintances believe the POD is actually my illegitimate child birthed when I was 20. For the record, she is not my illegitimate love child even though she has my oily hair and basic body shape (god help her)......I'm sure her living with me doesn't really help those rumors.
59. Since Buffy and Angel went off the air, I find myself watching more and more American Idol....someone please stop the madness.
60. I am vertically challenged and horizontally cursed (for the metaphorically impaired, short and wide).
Well, that's all I have for now. Been trying to post this for two days but Blogger kept telling me they "couldn't find my blog"....HEY BLOGGER! IT'S RIGHT HERE, YOU JACKASSES! Blogger sucks donkey balls.
Much love,
Vladimir Poopshoot
46. You know those cans of Pillsbury crescent rolls that when you open them they decompress with some freaky new age technology and pop open? Yeah, they scare me - the popping scares me. I make POD open them.
47. While I do want a baby some day, not so sure about the husband part. (Am excepting applications for love slave, however)
48. I went to catholic school most of my life. Not only am I not catholic, my great-grandfather had a deep fear of all catholics. What can I say - he was old and baptist - not always a good combination.
49. Current pet peeve - Carnival cruise lines is using Iggy Pop's Lust for Life song in all of their television commercials. I dig that song however I don't think the folks at Carnival have really listened to the lyrics. Let's review some, shall we? "Well, he comes Johnny Yen again, with liquor and drugs, and a flesh machine, I know he's gonna do another strip tease" and of course my favorite line "that's like hypnotizing chickens". Oh yeah - Iggy Pop equals family fun time on Carnival. Someone should be fired - idiots.
50. The nickname "Vladimir Poopshoot" was born out of a New Year's Day pajama-wearing, marathon session of Trivial Pursuit. I share said nickname with Kitty, Fat Baby's Mamma and Fat Baby's Daddy. It was the attempted answer to the question "Who was the first U.S. chess champion?" and frankly, Bobby Fisher was too boring of an answer.
51. Brittney Spears annoys the ever-living crap out of me yet I find Christina Aguillera refreshingly skanky.
52. I don't eat vegetables. I find them to be God's idea of laugh - the "eat this filling farting stuff and stay away from my animals" laugh - but I'm on to Him.
53. When I was a kid, I did a wicked impression of Jimmy Carter....but it just isn't timely anymore. Sigh.
54. I find most people who think they are funny are truly NOT funny and should just sit there quitely - and try not to smell too bad - unfunny people have a certain scent about them.
55. For shits and giggles, I "googled" my name - apparently, besides being my neurotic self, I am also a black, male child molester in Conneticut....and I weigh a lot less in Conneticut.
56. I will totally judge a man by his shoes - in the unacceptable shoe columns are Capezzio jazz shoes, black tennis shoes worn with white socks and any shoe that makes me think "Ahhh! Miami Vice - now THAT was a show!".
57. If he ever decided to stay awake for more than 5 minutes, my cat could probably kick your dog's ass.
58. A large percentage of family friends and acquaintances believe the POD is actually my illegitimate child birthed when I was 20. For the record, she is not my illegitimate love child even though she has my oily hair and basic body shape (god help her)......I'm sure her living with me doesn't really help those rumors.
59. Since Buffy and Angel went off the air, I find myself watching more and more American Idol....someone please stop the madness.
60. I am vertically challenged and horizontally cursed (for the metaphorically impaired, short and wide).
Well, that's all I have for now. Been trying to post this for two days but Blogger kept telling me they "couldn't find my blog"....HEY BLOGGER! IT'S RIGHT HERE, YOU JACKASSES! Blogger sucks donkey balls.
Much love,
Vladimir Poopshoot
Monday, May 16, 2005
Things Learned on a Monday
1. Just because the big purple bottle of laundry detergent is for sale does not mean that I should buy it. I smell like a Mexican whorehouse (with all sincere apologies to Mexicans ....and to whores, for that matter).
2. Just because POD slept in until 4:00 in the afternoon doesn't mean she is really sick - just that she's a really good faker.
3. Just because it's Monday doesn't mean you will learn more than 2 things in a given day.
2. Just because POD slept in until 4:00 in the afternoon doesn't mean she is really sick - just that she's a really good faker.
3. Just because it's Monday doesn't mean you will learn more than 2 things in a given day.
Sunday, May 15, 2005
Another Weekend Shot to Hell
Well I survived and thus far the Princess of Darkness (lovingly known as "POD") is still breathing and representing for the dark side. Inconsiderate Moron and pal left this morning for their 12 hour treck back to the great white north (though for some reason it apparently takes this woman 15 hours - hello....pedal on the right is the gas I suggest you use it if you plan to make Chicago before the 4th of July).
Inconsiderate Moron was actually quite nice - very laid back and easy to talk to. But no matter how you slice it - it all just ends up being about 36 hours of small talk. I hate small talk. I'm good at it but that doesn't mean I want to do it all the time (kinda like blowjobs but that's probably more of a topic for Lola).
Anyhoooo, POD had a nice time with her pal up until last night when her pal handed over POD's pack of Newports in the interest of perserving POD's health. Last time I caught POD with cigarettes they were unfiltered Camels - she likes her raw smoke that POD of mine. I of course was properly stern and foreboding but all that kept going through my head was "Fucking Newports??? What the hell is she - a Guatemalan hooker? A crack whore from Tijauna? An 84 year-old truck driver named Clyde? NEWPORTS? Christ, can't she smoke Marlboro Lights like normal people?".
This is why I should probably go ahead and have the tubes tied. Should not be trusted with the youth of America. Youth of Guatemala - fine - but NOT youth of America.
Inconsiderate Moron was actually quite nice - very laid back and easy to talk to. But no matter how you slice it - it all just ends up being about 36 hours of small talk. I hate small talk. I'm good at it but that doesn't mean I want to do it all the time (kinda like blowjobs but that's probably more of a topic for Lola).
Anyhoooo, POD had a nice time with her pal up until last night when her pal handed over POD's pack of Newports in the interest of perserving POD's health. Last time I caught POD with cigarettes they were unfiltered Camels - she likes her raw smoke that POD of mine. I of course was properly stern and foreboding but all that kept going through my head was "Fucking Newports??? What the hell is she - a Guatemalan hooker? A crack whore from Tijauna? An 84 year-old truck driver named Clyde? NEWPORTS? Christ, can't she smoke Marlboro Lights like normal people?".
This is why I should probably go ahead and have the tubes tied. Should not be trusted with the youth of America. Youth of Guatemala - fine - but NOT youth of America.
Friday, May 13, 2005
A Planned Death in the Family
I regret to inform you that I will be killing the Princess of Darkness after this weekend. The fair Princess of Darkness (henceforth POD) has committed a grave transgession for which the punishment can only be death.
Some background - POD is in a school play this weekend. She has worked long and hard, blah, blah, blah. POD has a very good friend back home in Chicago whom she wanted to see her in the play. Well, since Capt Nutty was coming down to check out the play I said "sure, your pal can come down" thinking said pal would get a plane ticket and hang for the weekend. No problem. I am a cool sister and can handle these things.
But oh no, the situation has not gone down like that. I was informed earlier this week that said pal's mother will be driving them down this weekend. That's right - this woman who I DO NOT KNOW will be driving 12 hours to stay AT MY HOUSE all freaking weekend. Please keep in mind that Capt Nutty will be returning to Chicago today as she has a pressing antique show that CAN'T be missed so I will be all alone with the company this weekend.
Now, I thought surely this woman (henceforth "Inconsiderate Moron") would give me a jingle to confirm these plans at which time I would politely say that this weekend was not good for me and POD would be back in Chicago in about 3 weeks time so just hold on 'till she got home to visit. However, as par for the course that is my life, Inconsiderate Moron never called me.
In a fit of desperation, I had Capt Nutty call Inconsiderate Moron last week. Inconsiderate Moron said she doubted she would come as she was having "dog care issues" (apparently no issue with staying with someone she doesn't know but dog care issues). Whatever. Felt a nice little relief that this hairbrained 15 year-old brainstorm would not come to fruition.
I reveled in that relief - until last night. Picked POD up after inaugural performance of play (called Assasins - a lovely little musical about presidential assasins with lots of guns and capital punishment - and yes, that's right - I said "musical" - ever seen John Wilkes Booth perform a sassy little song and dance? I thought not.) and POD informs me that pal and Inconsiderate Moron have started the treck downand are currently cruising through Indiana. That's right - never a phone call to me but apparently Inconsiderate Moron will be here for me to entertain this weekend. Oh joy.
Therefore, please send all condolences on the untimely death of my sister to floyd@justifiablehomicide.com.
Some background - POD is in a school play this weekend. She has worked long and hard, blah, blah, blah. POD has a very good friend back home in Chicago whom she wanted to see her in the play. Well, since Capt Nutty was coming down to check out the play I said "sure, your pal can come down" thinking said pal would get a plane ticket and hang for the weekend. No problem. I am a cool sister and can handle these things.
But oh no, the situation has not gone down like that. I was informed earlier this week that said pal's mother will be driving them down this weekend. That's right - this woman who I DO NOT KNOW will be driving 12 hours to stay AT MY HOUSE all freaking weekend. Please keep in mind that Capt Nutty will be returning to Chicago today as she has a pressing antique show that CAN'T be missed so I will be all alone with the company this weekend.
Now, I thought surely this woman (henceforth "Inconsiderate Moron") would give me a jingle to confirm these plans at which time I would politely say that this weekend was not good for me and POD would be back in Chicago in about 3 weeks time so just hold on 'till she got home to visit. However, as par for the course that is my life, Inconsiderate Moron never called me.
In a fit of desperation, I had Capt Nutty call Inconsiderate Moron last week. Inconsiderate Moron said she doubted she would come as she was having "dog care issues" (apparently no issue with staying with someone she doesn't know but dog care issues). Whatever. Felt a nice little relief that this hairbrained 15 year-old brainstorm would not come to fruition.
I reveled in that relief - until last night. Picked POD up after inaugural performance of play (called Assasins - a lovely little musical about presidential assasins with lots of guns and capital punishment - and yes, that's right - I said "musical" - ever seen John Wilkes Booth perform a sassy little song and dance? I thought not.) and POD informs me that pal and Inconsiderate Moron have started the treck downand are currently cruising through Indiana. That's right - never a phone call to me but apparently Inconsiderate Moron will be here for me to entertain this weekend. Oh joy.
Therefore, please send all condolences on the untimely death of my sister to floyd@justifiablehomicide.com.
Thursday, May 12, 2005
I Am Not Dead
I'm still here but Captain Nutty is visiting.....enough said. Will play more come Saturday. Until then, please keep me in mind during your chicken bone throwing voodoo rituals. Thank you.
Saturday, May 07, 2005
Things Learned on a Saturday
1. Nothing screams "SINGLE, NO MAN IN HER LIFE WOMAN" more than a chick mowing her own lawn in the south.
2. My sweat smells like cat urine. Explains quite a bit but is still extremely disturbing.
3. You're supposed to water your lawn PRIOR to fertilizing....doesn't this seem counter-intuitive?
4. The Princess sees nothing wrong in calling me on the home phone from her cell phone while she reclines in bed to simply check and see if I'll take her to Waffle House.
5. Good god but does every kid in the free universe play soccer on Saturday mornings? Sheesh, there has been a constant flow of mini-vans with screaming youngsters in the back rolling down my street (all pitying the poor, single manless, cat pee smelling woman mowing her yard).
6. If you go too long without dumping the mower bag, the grass will clog the motor and cause it stall. Seriously, isn't the mower's purpose in life to cut grass? And it just decides to stop if it has TOO much grass? Seems counter-intuitive as well.
7. The word for the day is "counter-intuitive".
8. Life is much more busy on a Saturday when not hungover.
9. Telemarketers have no problem calling on a Saturday morning and interupting your dream of having lunch with Tony Stewart.
10. All work on Saturday means a drunken brew ha-ha planned for Saturday night.
2. My sweat smells like cat urine. Explains quite a bit but is still extremely disturbing.
3. You're supposed to water your lawn PRIOR to fertilizing....doesn't this seem counter-intuitive?
4. The Princess sees nothing wrong in calling me on the home phone from her cell phone while she reclines in bed to simply check and see if I'll take her to Waffle House.
5. Good god but does every kid in the free universe play soccer on Saturday mornings? Sheesh, there has been a constant flow of mini-vans with screaming youngsters in the back rolling down my street (all pitying the poor, single manless, cat pee smelling woman mowing her yard).
6. If you go too long without dumping the mower bag, the grass will clog the motor and cause it stall. Seriously, isn't the mower's purpose in life to cut grass? And it just decides to stop if it has TOO much grass? Seems counter-intuitive as well.
7. The word for the day is "counter-intuitive".
8. Life is much more busy on a Saturday when not hungover.
9. Telemarketers have no problem calling on a Saturday morning and interupting your dream of having lunch with Tony Stewart.
10. All work on Saturday means a drunken brew ha-ha planned for Saturday night.
Friday, May 06, 2005
I Am SOOOOO Smart
Yesterday, I was scheduled to attend a seminar in Columbus - about a 2 hour trip away from home base. This of course means I had to leave the house at dark:thirty in the morning to arrive by the 8:30 starting time. All "motivated" and "working responsibly for myself now" I made all sorts of arrangements - like I had my cousin take the Princess of Darkness to school and let some boy (!) bring the Princess home from school.
Got in the car and started off. Very, very proud of myself considering I had partaken of a few cocktails the previous night yet still managed to rouse myself from slumber and proceed to west Georgia, i.e. the armpit of the south. I stopped 3 times to purchase more caffeine as I was having a wee bit of trouble staying awake but still impressed with my moxie, I proceeded along the way without killing myself or any fellow travelers (that bird had it coming - it was clearly committing suicide and I cannot be held responsible).
I arrived in Columbus and made my way to the hotel where the seminar was to occur. Turned off the motor and gave myself a congratulatory pat on the back for arriving on time. I then proceeded to gather my materials and head in.
I looked down at my registration and......waaaiiiit for it.....the seminar is scheduled for May 6 not May 5. Yep, I burned 4 hours on a round trip to shit hole Georgia for absolutely nothing. Nothing at all.
Don't you want to entrust your legal issues with me? *chirp* * chirp* Anyone? Hello?
Got in the car and started off. Very, very proud of myself considering I had partaken of a few cocktails the previous night yet still managed to rouse myself from slumber and proceed to west Georgia, i.e. the armpit of the south. I stopped 3 times to purchase more caffeine as I was having a wee bit of trouble staying awake but still impressed with my moxie, I proceeded along the way without killing myself or any fellow travelers (that bird had it coming - it was clearly committing suicide and I cannot be held responsible).
I arrived in Columbus and made my way to the hotel where the seminar was to occur. Turned off the motor and gave myself a congratulatory pat on the back for arriving on time. I then proceeded to gather my materials and head in.
I looked down at my registration and......waaaiiiit for it.....the seminar is scheduled for May 6 not May 5. Yep, I burned 4 hours on a round trip to shit hole Georgia for absolutely nothing. Nothing at all.
Don't you want to entrust your legal issues with me? *chirp* * chirp* Anyone? Hello?
Wednesday, May 04, 2005
This Thing We Call Work
So I'm all set up and sitting in my new office....previously known as the guest room. The prior owners painted this room a lovely (read: mind-numblingly bright) shade of yellow and painted the ceiling to resemble the sky - clouds and all. So really it's like I'm working outdoors - or in a nursery which is probably a lot more accurate. Oh, how the might have fallen - I've gone from a lovely 14th floor window office to a room where I share with the cat's litter box.
I've been sitting at my desk since 8:30 this morning in my suit, heels and hose....okay, my jeans, boots and shirt I slept in....but the phone hasn't rung once. Instead I've been listening to the sound of my coworkers going busily about their business....okay, listening to the dog fart in her sleep (Stella says: "Up yours, bitch! You try eating kibble all the live long day and not farting in your sleep.").
The good news is that I have managed to avoid purchasing anything over the internet for a whole 16 minutes so far and I've only looked at porn once this morning.....okay, twice. Wasn't really interested in surfing porn at 9 in the morning but did it just so I can say I perused some porn "at work".
Right about now in my old life, I would be walking on down and seeing how Anal Coworker was doing but perhaps I'll go have to see how the ladies on The View are doing instead (totally kidding, those chicks annoy the crap out of me and just barely beat out Regis and Kelly for people I most want to shoot).
I suppose if this thing is going to work out I'm going to have to go get some clients. Which of course means I'm going to have to leave the house and be nice to people.
Anyone know where the closest offshore oil rig is?
I've been sitting at my desk since 8:30 this morning in my suit, heels and hose....okay, my jeans, boots and shirt I slept in....but the phone hasn't rung once. Instead I've been listening to the sound of my coworkers going busily about their business....okay, listening to the dog fart in her sleep (Stella says: "Up yours, bitch! You try eating kibble all the live long day and not farting in your sleep.").
The good news is that I have managed to avoid purchasing anything over the internet for a whole 16 minutes so far and I've only looked at porn once this morning.....okay, twice. Wasn't really interested in surfing porn at 9 in the morning but did it just so I can say I perused some porn "at work".
Right about now in my old life, I would be walking on down and seeing how Anal Coworker was doing but perhaps I'll go have to see how the ladies on The View are doing instead (totally kidding, those chicks annoy the crap out of me and just barely beat out Regis and Kelly for people I most want to shoot).
I suppose if this thing is going to work out I'm going to have to go get some clients. Which of course means I'm going to have to leave the house and be nice to people.
Anyone know where the closest offshore oil rig is?
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
Have No Fear
I'm back! I'm sorry I've been gone quite so long but took a little trip out of town. I have not died from the previously mentioned funk but thank you all for the concern.
Well, I am now unemployed....ummm.....I mean "self employed". I now have much more dependable home internet access so I plan on posting quite regularly. However, not going to post right now as have much business to conduct....okay, well I have to go buy school supplies....ummm...I mean "office supplies".
More later, gentle readers.
Well, I am now unemployed....ummm.....I mean "self employed". I now have much more dependable home internet access so I plan on posting quite regularly. However, not going to post right now as have much business to conduct....okay, well I have to go buy school supplies....ummm...I mean "office supplies".
More later, gentle readers.
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
And For My Next Trick
Well, I apologize for not posting yesterday, gentle reader, but I was recuperating. It seems I had a bit of the funk - i.e. food posioning - over the weekend. I called Kitty and asked her to come and shoot me but she was at home getting drunk all by herself (Please note - she was getting drunk with our racing friends on the phone and she somehow classifies this as NOT drinking alone....I can get behind that).
Anyhooooo, since I'm sure you don't want to hear about how I had both ends active at the same time all weekend (note to Capt. Nutty - remember that antique trashcan you gave me? you probably don't want it back), I will proceed to my next piece of big news. I won't even go into the lessons learned this weekend - like don't eat from the omelet bar at the office cafeteria and go ahead and invest in the more expensive toilet paper cause a little extra softness goes a long way with the old chocolate star (okay, I grossed myself out with that one but it does make me chortle).
So for the big news -
I have quit my job and I'm starting my own firm. Yep. Yep, I've gone mental. What can I say? Workin for da'man was keeping me down. Interfering with my blogging and such. Interfering with my ability to instant message my compatriots all the live long day. Well, and since I really don't want to go do the same shit for another firm, might as well as do it for myself (this approach seems to be working in my sex life so why not my professional life.....hmmm...perhaps a bad comparison).
So as of next Monday, kids, I'm on my own. That means cash donations will be accepted from all. No amount to small but 10's and 20's spend nicely and tend to stay under the IRS' radar(from whom I'm still awaiting my refund, the rat bastards - apparently the public apology was not enough).
So let's see, if I have the necessary signs that it's time to venture out on your own:
Sweaty palms - check
Nausea - check
Flat broke - check
Large mortgage - check
Need to attend more Nascar races - check
Might as well open my own law firm.
So if you've been injured on an offshore oil rig, call Floyd's Tailgate Law Firm - we'll recover for you!
Anyhooooo, since I'm sure you don't want to hear about how I had both ends active at the same time all weekend (note to Capt. Nutty - remember that antique trashcan you gave me? you probably don't want it back), I will proceed to my next piece of big news. I won't even go into the lessons learned this weekend - like don't eat from the omelet bar at the office cafeteria and go ahead and invest in the more expensive toilet paper cause a little extra softness goes a long way with the old chocolate star (okay, I grossed myself out with that one but it does make me chortle).
So for the big news -
I have quit my job and I'm starting my own firm. Yep. Yep, I've gone mental. What can I say? Workin for da'man was keeping me down. Interfering with my blogging and such. Interfering with my ability to instant message my compatriots all the live long day. Well, and since I really don't want to go do the same shit for another firm, might as well as do it for myself (this approach seems to be working in my sex life so why not my professional life.....hmmm...perhaps a bad comparison).
So as of next Monday, kids, I'm on my own. That means cash donations will be accepted from all. No amount to small but 10's and 20's spend nicely and tend to stay under the IRS' radar(from whom I'm still awaiting my refund, the rat bastards - apparently the public apology was not enough).
So let's see, if I have the necessary signs that it's time to venture out on your own:
Sweaty palms - check
Nausea - check
Flat broke - check
Large mortgage - check
Need to attend more Nascar races - check
Might as well open my own law firm.
So if you've been injured on an offshore oil rig, call Floyd's Tailgate Law Firm - we'll recover for you!
Friday, April 22, 2005
I Have Arrived
Good news! I'm now getting random "grow up" comments. Wooohooo!
For reference purposes, my open letter to the bathroom stalker solicited this comment:
At 12:03 PM, Chief Wannahockaloogy said...
Yo, bitches are whacked. We all shit.What, only one female shitter allowed in there at a time? Is it un-ladylike to take a crap? Bah.Any female over the age of five knows to give their perfumed pompus egos a break and drop a load just like the rest of humanity when necessary.Let me guess...you're under (twenty) 5. Grow up.
Cool! I'm a whack shitting bitch! Hot damn! AND he thinks I'm under 25! Could this day get any better? I think not!
At this point I will refrain from pointing out the irony in basically being called immature by a guy who refers to himself by his Indian booger name.
And yes, Chief - we bitches are whack. We don't shit in front of each other too much. We will however fart as loudly as possible at random moments because like you male jackasses, we too find that funny as hell. And yes, we all shit - but that doesn't mean I have to force my noxious fumes on others in a public restroom. So really it's not my pompous perfumed ego that needs tending, it's rather my kind heart towards others that keeps me from randomly crapping in the presence of others.
However you, Chief BallSackNeedsaWashin, feel free to keep spreading your shit wherever you feel necessary.
For reference purposes, my open letter to the bathroom stalker solicited this comment:
At 12:03 PM, Chief Wannahockaloogy said...
Yo, bitches are whacked. We all shit.What, only one female shitter allowed in there at a time? Is it un-ladylike to take a crap? Bah.Any female over the age of five knows to give their perfumed pompus egos a break and drop a load just like the rest of humanity when necessary.Let me guess...you're under (twenty) 5. Grow up.
Cool! I'm a whack shitting bitch! Hot damn! AND he thinks I'm under 25! Could this day get any better? I think not!
At this point I will refrain from pointing out the irony in basically being called immature by a guy who refers to himself by his Indian booger name.
And yes, Chief - we bitches are whack. We don't shit in front of each other too much. We will however fart as loudly as possible at random moments because like you male jackasses, we too find that funny as hell. And yes, we all shit - but that doesn't mean I have to force my noxious fumes on others in a public restroom. So really it's not my pompous perfumed ego that needs tending, it's rather my kind heart towards others that keeps me from randomly crapping in the presence of others.
However you, Chief BallSackNeedsaWashin, feel free to keep spreading your shit wherever you feel necessary.
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
Open Letter to Lady in Office Bathroom
Dear Lady in Office Bathroom,
I am fully aware that every single work day at around 1:00 you like to go through your little personal grooming routine in the office bathroom. However, today, I find your lack of manners disturbing and feel compelled to address the situation.
Let me explain - you saunter in and some innocent person (no names mentioned here - protecting the innocent and so forth) is already hidden away in a stall. This said innocent person is not making one single, solitary noise - no toe tapping, no whistling and no tinkling sounds. Any female over the age of 5 knows that this silence indicates said innocent person is in the stall engaged in some serious business. Business said innocent person would probably like to engage in at home but due to unforeseen circumstances and poor lunch choices, said innocent person is forced to engage in such business in the office bathroom.
Now - when any female over the age of 5 confronts such a situation in a public facility, that female knows to hurriedly conduct her own business and leave the public facilities in a most expeditious manner. This prevents embarassment of all parties and it is the kind, polite thing to do.
This being said, I will need some explanation of your obtuse behavior today. Why did you feel it necessary to use the toilet and instead of simplying washing your hands and calling it done, you felt the need to dive into your purse? While whistling a jaunty little tune, you proceeded to brush your nappy hair (though Lord knows why, honey, ugly is ugly, no brushing could help) and then begin your oral hygeine routine. On most days, your obsessive need to brush your teeth for no less than 5 minutes does not bother said innocent person. After all, tooth decay is the enemy. However, when you damn well know said innocent person is in the last stall with cold beads of sweat running down her face from clenching her butt cheeks together, one would think you could give those plaque collectors a quick runover and call it clean. But no, you insist on doing your full routine in apparent oblivion to the crisis in the last stall.
Shame on you, bathroom stalker, shame indeed.
Next time, there will be no clenching. You reap what you sow.
Sincerely,
A Concerned Office Bathroom Dweller
I am fully aware that every single work day at around 1:00 you like to go through your little personal grooming routine in the office bathroom. However, today, I find your lack of manners disturbing and feel compelled to address the situation.
Let me explain - you saunter in and some innocent person (no names mentioned here - protecting the innocent and so forth) is already hidden away in a stall. This said innocent person is not making one single, solitary noise - no toe tapping, no whistling and no tinkling sounds. Any female over the age of 5 knows that this silence indicates said innocent person is in the stall engaged in some serious business. Business said innocent person would probably like to engage in at home but due to unforeseen circumstances and poor lunch choices, said innocent person is forced to engage in such business in the office bathroom.
Now - when any female over the age of 5 confronts such a situation in a public facility, that female knows to hurriedly conduct her own business and leave the public facilities in a most expeditious manner. This prevents embarassment of all parties and it is the kind, polite thing to do.
This being said, I will need some explanation of your obtuse behavior today. Why did you feel it necessary to use the toilet and instead of simplying washing your hands and calling it done, you felt the need to dive into your purse? While whistling a jaunty little tune, you proceeded to brush your nappy hair (though Lord knows why, honey, ugly is ugly, no brushing could help) and then begin your oral hygeine routine. On most days, your obsessive need to brush your teeth for no less than 5 minutes does not bother said innocent person. After all, tooth decay is the enemy. However, when you damn well know said innocent person is in the last stall with cold beads of sweat running down her face from clenching her butt cheeks together, one would think you could give those plaque collectors a quick runover and call it clean. But no, you insist on doing your full routine in apparent oblivion to the crisis in the last stall.
Shame on you, bathroom stalker, shame indeed.
Next time, there will be no clenching. You reap what you sow.
Sincerely,
A Concerned Office Bathroom Dweller
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
Consider Them Warned
Apparently someone should talk to the Mesa Police Department about getting too close to monkeys. It seems they want to put a monkey on their SWAT team.
Who in their right mind would put a monkey on a SWAT team?
Note to all concerned - if my ass is being held by some psycho, I don't want to depend on some "throws its own feces and eats testicles" animal to pick the lock just so some well trained (and according to the movies, very handsome) SWAT guy won't get his cute butt shot. Not that I want cute SWAT guy shot but my tax dollars go to being rescued by some ruggedly-handsome, gun toting type guy - not for freaking monkey food. In all my "being held by some madman and rescued by hot guy" fantasies, there is NEVER a monkey involved (well, except for that one time but I blame that on the 3 a.m. Indian food snack).
I mean they're not even talking about getting a scary monkey - like a ball ripping chimp or even a chest-smacking gorilla. They want a capuchin monkey. Well, that's scary! I bet terrorists will just throw down their AK-47 when they let that diaper-wearing bad boy out of his cage!
(Mr. Terrorist: "Oh no! Not the monkey! For the love of all that's holy, NOT THE MONKEY!")
A freaking capuchin monkey couldn't rip the gonads of a fly but he could probably put the hurting on a finger or nose. (Please note - bad guys can't shoot him because they will be supplying little monkey with his own tiny little kevlar vest). Course if I'm a bad guy in a big old adrenaline rush like a hostage situation, am I going to notice a missing nose or finger? Hard to say. But bite my nuts off and you have all my attention.
Moral of the story - they're gonna need some chimps and cake in Mesa, Arizona.
Who in their right mind would put a monkey on a SWAT team?
Note to all concerned - if my ass is being held by some psycho, I don't want to depend on some "throws its own feces and eats testicles" animal to pick the lock just so some well trained (and according to the movies, very handsome) SWAT guy won't get his cute butt shot. Not that I want cute SWAT guy shot but my tax dollars go to being rescued by some ruggedly-handsome, gun toting type guy - not for freaking monkey food. In all my "being held by some madman and rescued by hot guy" fantasies, there is NEVER a monkey involved (well, except for that one time but I blame that on the 3 a.m. Indian food snack).
I mean they're not even talking about getting a scary monkey - like a ball ripping chimp or even a chest-smacking gorilla. They want a capuchin monkey. Well, that's scary! I bet terrorists will just throw down their AK-47 when they let that diaper-wearing bad boy out of his cage!
(Mr. Terrorist: "Oh no! Not the monkey! For the love of all that's holy, NOT THE MONKEY!")
A freaking capuchin monkey couldn't rip the gonads of a fly but he could probably put the hurting on a finger or nose. (Please note - bad guys can't shoot him because they will be supplying little monkey with his own tiny little kevlar vest). Course if I'm a bad guy in a big old adrenaline rush like a hostage situation, am I going to notice a missing nose or finger? Hard to say. But bite my nuts off and you have all my attention.
Moral of the story - they're gonna need some chimps and cake in Mesa, Arizona.
Monday, April 18, 2005
Beware of Monkey Lovers Bearing Gifts
I really don’t have much to say today so I thought I would talk about monkeys. Did you hear about the monkey attack? (and yes, I know they’re chimpanzees but monkey is more fun to say)
So this couple went to visit their monkey in an animal sanctuary for its birthday. They brought their monkey a cake. Well, whilst enjoying their monkey’s birthday cake (and no, they didn’t even give any cake to their own monkey, the selfish bastards), some other monkeys got out of their cages (crafty, crafty monkeys). Lo and behold, the escapee monkeys were mightily pissed that no one had brought them birthday cake and frankly, I would get a little cranky at that insult too. I mean this couple is sitting there throwing a birthday party for their monkey right in front of the other monkeys! How much more “in your monkey face” can you get? Everyone knows you invite all monkeys to your party; it's not fair to only party with your own monkey.
The slighted monkeys took to attacking the birthday people (now, I don’t condone random monkey violence but they were clearly provoked and when provoked, one can only expect monkey violence). After biting off the woman’s fingers, they decided to get all up on the man birthday person. They ate his foot…his nose and…wait for it…his testicles. That’s right – those pissed off monkeys ate the man’s nads. How mad do you have to be to go through a man’s pants and eat his meat and two vegetables? (well, they didn’t say anything about his meat –so just the vegetables. I suppose monkeys are vegetarian after all.) A fair trade for cake? Hard to say, hard to say.
Moral of the story – if you’re bringing a cake to your monkey, you best bring enough for everyone.
P.S. I realize I’m going to hell for making light of this but COME ON! MONKEYS ATE HIS NUTS!!! THAT IS SOME FUNNY SHIT!
P.S.S The whole reason I bring this up is that they're talking to the monkey lovers on Primetime Live on Thursday. I think we all know what I'll be doing.
So this couple went to visit their monkey in an animal sanctuary for its birthday. They brought their monkey a cake. Well, whilst enjoying their monkey’s birthday cake (and no, they didn’t even give any cake to their own monkey, the selfish bastards), some other monkeys got out of their cages (crafty, crafty monkeys). Lo and behold, the escapee monkeys were mightily pissed that no one had brought them birthday cake and frankly, I would get a little cranky at that insult too. I mean this couple is sitting there throwing a birthday party for their monkey right in front of the other monkeys! How much more “in your monkey face” can you get? Everyone knows you invite all monkeys to your party; it's not fair to only party with your own monkey.
The slighted monkeys took to attacking the birthday people (now, I don’t condone random monkey violence but they were clearly provoked and when provoked, one can only expect monkey violence). After biting off the woman’s fingers, they decided to get all up on the man birthday person. They ate his foot…his nose and…wait for it…his testicles. That’s right – those pissed off monkeys ate the man’s nads. How mad do you have to be to go through a man’s pants and eat his meat and two vegetables? (well, they didn’t say anything about his meat –so just the vegetables. I suppose monkeys are vegetarian after all.) A fair trade for cake? Hard to say, hard to say.
Moral of the story – if you’re bringing a cake to your monkey, you best bring enough for everyone.
P.S. I realize I’m going to hell for making light of this but COME ON! MONKEYS ATE HIS NUTS!!! THAT IS SOME FUNNY SHIT!
P.S.S The whole reason I bring this up is that they're talking to the monkey lovers on Primetime Live on Thursday. I think we all know what I'll be doing.
Friday, April 15, 2005
Public Apology, Number 2
Dear IRS,
Perhaps...I spoke...with a smidge of haste. It seems your lovely efile system (and did I mention how smart you were to come up with this concept? you roguishly handsome IRS, you!) has determined that it is not I who owe you money but YOU who owes ME money.
If you could see it in your gracious heart to overlook my creative deductions and bold-faced lies, I would certainly appreciate you forwarding such funds to me in short order (have I mentioned your handsomeness? I mean, goodness, you're just getting better looking every year!).
In gratitude, I will stop publicly supporting a national sales tax and perhaps even send you over a box of donuts to help you through this busy day.
Hugs and kisses,
Floyd
Perhaps...I spoke...with a smidge of haste. It seems your lovely efile system (and did I mention how smart you were to come up with this concept? you roguishly handsome IRS, you!) has determined that it is not I who owe you money but YOU who owes ME money.
If you could see it in your gracious heart to overlook my creative deductions and bold-faced lies, I would certainly appreciate you forwarding such funds to me in short order (have I mentioned your handsomeness? I mean, goodness, you're just getting better looking every year!).
In gratitude, I will stop publicly supporting a national sales tax and perhaps even send you over a box of donuts to help you through this busy day.
Hugs and kisses,
Floyd
Blow Me, IRS
Hey, IRS, I’m not afraid of you. It’s April 15th and I haven’t done my taxes yet. Further, I’m sitting here at work and don’t have the shit with me to do them right now. So what do you have to say about that, you fear-mongering whore dog? You can bite my ass cause I ain’t paying, you scum sucking troll.
You’ve already got a substantial chunk of change out of me – I know you do – I see it each and every two weeks on my paycheck. So you can take those stolen funds and shove it up your pie hole cause I ain’t paying you no more. That’s right – I declare myself autonomous. I am the country of Floyd where taxes are paid in beer and pizza (and an occasional doughnut wouldn’t hurt). I’m like the Vatican, baby, all solitary and independent sitting smackdab in the middle of another country. Just try to tax my ass and I’ll snatch your diplomatic immunity so fast it’ll make the pencils fall out of your shirt pocket. I got my own Floyd Mobile and some pretty kicking hats to wear so get to stepping – you’re aren’t welcome in the United States of Floyd.
AND, I have my own religion. That’s right – a little something the Princess of Darkness practices back in her bedroom. It involves candle wax and a lot of chickens but it’s religion. So don’t you dare try to tax me – I am expressing my deeply held beliefs and you can’t tax that shit, you blowholes.
Why don’t you just satisfy yourself with all those tax refunds you stole from me over the past few years cause I still owed the student loan people? You greedy fucking bastards. I figure you keep that money and I’ll keep mine and we’ll be loads better for it.
Fuck off, tax man.
You’ve already got a substantial chunk of change out of me – I know you do – I see it each and every two weeks on my paycheck. So you can take those stolen funds and shove it up your pie hole cause I ain’t paying you no more. That’s right – I declare myself autonomous. I am the country of Floyd where taxes are paid in beer and pizza (and an occasional doughnut wouldn’t hurt). I’m like the Vatican, baby, all solitary and independent sitting smackdab in the middle of another country. Just try to tax my ass and I’ll snatch your diplomatic immunity so fast it’ll make the pencils fall out of your shirt pocket. I got my own Floyd Mobile and some pretty kicking hats to wear so get to stepping – you’re aren’t welcome in the United States of Floyd.
AND, I have my own religion. That’s right – a little something the Princess of Darkness practices back in her bedroom. It involves candle wax and a lot of chickens but it’s religion. So don’t you dare try to tax me – I am expressing my deeply held beliefs and you can’t tax that shit, you blowholes.
Why don’t you just satisfy yourself with all those tax refunds you stole from me over the past few years cause I still owed the student loan people? You greedy fucking bastards. I figure you keep that money and I’ll keep mine and we’ll be loads better for it.
Fuck off, tax man.
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