"Yeah, I guess I am."
START READING HERE:
Alright, this is a long post with lots of little bells and whistles, but if you're as intrigued by the general dullness or awfulness of people in life as I am, then you might find this interesting in a sort of anthropological kind of way. Several weeks ago on Fire Island, I wound up drunkenly making out with a woman at a bar in the wee hours of the morning. Typical stuff. We kissed a bit and exchanged contact information, that's it. Over the course of the next week or so, we sent a few e-mails back and forth, with the intention of setting a time to meet again for a drink. Periodically, she would also e-mail me HEEHAWLARIOUS office-humor type e-mails. Real LOL kind of stuff. Below is one such e-mail she sent me. You should really read it:
HERE'S THE ACTUAL E-MAIL SHE SENT ME. ALL NAMES HAVE BEEN CHANGED FOR THE SAKE OF ME LIKING TO USE FUNNY MADE-UP NAMES:
>
>
> -----Original Message-----
> RPornocopter@dbag.com]
> Sent: Thursday, June 03, 2004 12:29 PM
> To: Bonertaster, Sexualica
> Subject: RE:
>
>
> TEN HUSBANDS
>
> A lawyer married a woman who had previously divorced ten husbands.On
> their wedding night, she told her new husband, "Please be gentle; I'm
> still a virgin.
>
> What?" said the puzzled groom. "How can that be if you've been married
> ten times?
>
> "Well, husband #1 was a Sales Representative; he kept telling me how
> great it was going to be.
>
> Husband #2 was in Software Services; he was never really sure how it
> was supposed to function, but he said he'd look into it and get back
> to me.
>
> Husband #3 was from Field Services; he said everything checked out
> diagnostically but he just couldn't get the system up.
>
> Husband #4 was in Telemarketing; even though he knew he had the order,
> didn't know when he would be able to deliver.
>
> Husband #5 was an Engineer; he understood the basic process but wanted
> three years to research, implement, and design a new state-of-the-art
> method.
>
> Husband #6 was from Finance and Administration; he thought he knew
> how, but he wasn't sure whether it was his job or not.
>
> Husband #7 was in Marketing; although he had a product, he was never
> sure how to position it.
>
> Husband #8 was a psychiatrist; all he ever did was talk about it.
>
> Husband #9 was a gynecologist; all he did was look at it.
>
> Husband #10 was a stamp collector; all he ever did was ... God, I miss
> him!
>
> "But now that I've married you, I'm really excited!"
> "Good," said the husband, "but, why?" "Duh; you're a LAWYER. This time
> I KNOW I'm gonna get screwed!"
OKAY STOP READING NOW, AND SCROLL ALL THE WAY TOWARDS THE BOTTOM OF THIS POST AND START READING AGAIN WHEN YOU SEE THE WORDS "START READING AGAIN"
>
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Bonertaster, Sexualica
> [mailto:Sexualica_Bonertaster@hobag.com]
> Sent: Thursday, June 03, 2004 11:52 AM
> To: Rod Pornocopter
> Subject: RE:
>
>
> ok. A good joke to make me laugh.
WHICH BRINGS US BACK TO THE LAME HUMOR E-MAIL ABOVE.
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Rod Pornocopter [mailto:RPornocopter@dbag.com]
> Sent: Thursday, June 03, 2004 11:45 AM
> To: Bonertaster, Sexualica
> Subject: RE:
>
>
> I would lovee ask for something that is a bit more realistic than
> snapping my fingers and you being on a beach !!!!!
ASK ME TO FUCK YOU.
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Bonertaster, Sexualica
> [mailto:Sexualica_Bonertaster@hobag.com]
> Sent: Thursday, June 03, 2004 11:24 AM
> To: Rod Pornocopter
> Subject: RE:
>
>
> I can't vouch for anything you do! Blushing!!!!!
>
>
> But now you've teased me by offering to make my day
> better and not delivering.
>
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Rod Pornocopter [mailto:RPornocopter@dbag.com]
> Sent: Thursday, June 03, 2004 11:13 AM
> To: Bonertaster, Sexualica
> Subject: RE:
>
>
> I have been known to pull a lot of things but that
> is
> not one of them !!!!
BUT MY DICK IS THAT IS WHAT I AM TALKING ABOUT PULLING MY DICK IS WHAT MY DICK.
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Bonertaster, Sexualica
> [mailto:Sexualica_Bonertaster@hobag.com]
> Sent: Thursday, June 03, 2004 11:08 AM
> To: Rod Pornocopter
> Subject: RE:
>
>
> No MAN should wear a thong EVER!!!!!!
>
> And, yes, there is a lot more to do.
>
> So, I'm waiting for you to pull your I dream of
> genie
> for me....tick tock.....
>
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Rod Pornocopter [mailto:RPornocopter@dbag.com]
> Sent: Thursday, June 03, 2004 11:02 AM
> To: Bonertaster, Sexualica
> Subject: RE:
>
>
> Hopefully you will want to do more than that on an
> exotic beach !!!!!!!! LIKE FUCK!I look good in a thong
> !!!!!!!!!
I AM TYPING THINGS!!!!!!!! I LIKE CHEESE EAT NOW!!!!!!!
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Bonertaster, Sexualica
> [mailto:Sexualica_Bonertaster@hobag.com]
> Sent: Thursday, June 03, 2004 10:39 AM
> To: Rod Pornocopter
> Subject: RE:
>
>
> snap your fingers and place me on a beautiful exotic
> beach somewhere where nothing matters and all I have
> to worry about is foraging for that days food.
AND WE ALL TEAM UP AND KILL THE FAT KID AND HUNT BOARS!
>
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Rod Pornocopter [mailto:RPornocopter@dbag.com]
> Sent: Thursday, June 03, 2004 10:28 AM
> To: Bonertaster, Sexualica
> Subject: RE:
>
>
> Sooooo sorry to here that !!!!!!!
> What can I do to make your day better ????????
I AM TALKING ABOUT FUCKING.
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Bonertaster, Sexualica
> [mailto:Sexualica_Bonertaster@hobag.com]
> Sent: Thursday, June 03, 2004 10:25 AM
> To: Rod Pornocopter
> Subject: RE:
>
>
> No way. I've been here since 7:30 a.m. meeting with
> Satan and I'll be here all day.
HER BOSS IS SO BAD SHE CALLS HIM SATAN!
>
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Rod Pornocopter [mailto:RPornocopter@dbag.com]
> Sent: Thursday, June 03, 2004 10:18 AM
> To: Bonertaster, Sexualica
> Subject: RE:
>
>
> R you leaving for the day ??????????
HE SENSES SHE'S DRIFTING AWAY, HE RATCHETS UP HIS EAGERMETER!
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Bonertaster, Sexualica
> [mailto:Sexualica_Bonertaster@hobag.com]
> Sent: Thursday, June 03, 2004 9:57 AM
> To: Rod Pornocopter
> Subject: RE:
>
>
> Oh yeah. I'm in midtown. Enjoy Bouley and the
> beach
> this weekend.
>
> Adios
> Sexualica
OOF! THE FIRE DIES DOWN!
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Rod Pornocopter [mailto:RPornocopter@dbag.com]
> Sent: Thursday, June 03, 2004 9:54 AM
> To: Bonertaster, Sexualica
> Subject: RE:
>
>
> You and that boat basin !!!! too far away for a
> downtown boy like me !!!
> I am going to Bouley tonight. AShould be done at 8
> or
> so but I have to run home afterwards to pick up my
> laundry for the weekend
NO! I WILL NOT JOIN YOU AT THE BOAT BASIN!
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Bonertaster, Sexualica
> [mailto:Sexualica_Bonertaster@hobag.com]
> Sent: Thursday, June 03, 2004 9:49 AM
> To: Rod Pornocopter
> Subject: RE:
>
>
> poor baby! All that entertainment and big T&E
> account. boohoohooo! Where are you taking them?
> OTB
> and Scores?
>
> I'm having a couple of drinks with friends at the
> boat
> basin so we can enjoy the weather and then who
> knows.
SO JOIN ME AT THE BOAT BASIN IF YOU WANT!
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Rod Pornocopter [mailto:RPornocopter@dbag.com]
> Sent: Thursday, June 03, 2004 9:47 AM
> To: Bonertaster, Sexualica
> Subject: RE:
>
>
> I know but I am out to dinner with clients!!!!
I WAS USED TO HAD NO CONCEPT OF TIME RIGHT NOW!
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Bonertaster, Sexualica
> [mailto:Sexualica_Bonertaster@hobag.com]
> Sent: Thursday, June 03, 2004 9:44 AM
> To: Rod Pornocopter
> Subject: RE:
>
>
> oh no! Well today is supposed to be beautiful.
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Rod Pornocopter [mailto:RPornocopter@dbag.com]
> Sent: Thursday, June 03, 2004 9:34 AM
> To: Bonertaster, Sexualica
> Subject: RE:
>
>
> didnt go , it was raining. actually got caught in
> the
> rain with my convertible down on the way home. it
> was
> pretty funny !!!
I HAVE TO SAY "IT WAS PRETTY FUNNY" BECAUSE I DO NOT POSSESS THE STORY-TELLING SKILLS NECESSARY TO CONVEY THE HUMOR OF THE SITUATION OTHERWISE! THIS SENTENCE WAS FUNNY THAT I JUST WROTE.
>
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Bonertaster, Sexualica
> [mailto:Sexualica_Bonertaster@hobag.com]
> Sent: Thursday, June 03, 2004 9:32 AM
> To: Rod Pornocopter
> Subject: RE:
>
>
> How was your ride?
>
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Rod Pornocopter [mailto:RPornocopter@dbag.com]
> Sent: Thursday, June 03, 2004 9:28 AM
> To: Bonertaster, Sexualica
> Subject: RE:
>
>
> bummer
TOTALLY.
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Bonertaster, Sexualica
> [mailto:Sexualica_Bonertaster@hobag.com]
> Sent: Thursday, June 03, 2004 9:26 AM
> To: Rod Pornocopter
> Subject: RE:
>
>
> I actually was so fried after Home Depot that I went
> home and went to bed.
>
> Oh well. Today is another day.
YES. ANOTHER DAY. YES. BEEP.
>
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Rod Pornocopter [mailto:RPornocopter@dbag.com]
> Sent: Thursday, June 03, 2004 7:34 AM
> To: Bonertaster, Sexualica
> Subject: RE:
>
>
> You are such a lush !!!!!!!
AT THE END OF EVERY SENTENCE I FORGET I'M ALIVE AND MY FINGERS JUST SIT THERE ON THE SHIFT AND ONE KEYS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Bonertaster, Sexualica
> [mailto:Sexualica_Bonertaster@hobag.com]
> Sent: Wednesday, June 02, 2004 4:47 PM
> To: Rod Pornocopter
> Subject: RE:
>
>
> Hurts! Why? It's good that you like attention.
>
> I'm jealous that you get to leave and go for a ride!
>
> It is beautiful out!!!!
>
> I'm going to look at kitchen cabinets and then drown
> out the memory of the price with WINE!!!!!
>
> Have a great ride!
>
> Sexualica
>
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Rod Pornocopter [mailto:RPornocopter@dbag.com]
> Sent: Wednesday, June 02, 2004 4:28 PM
> To: Bonertaster, Sexualica
> Subject: RE:
>
>
> Wow that hurts !!!!!! I am leaving the office now.
> Going home to run afew errands and possibly go for a
> ride...get your mind out of the gutter, on my
> motorcycle!!!
FAILED ATTEMPT AT A BILLY OCEAN REFERENCE.
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Bonertaster, Sexualica
> [mailto:Sexualica_Bonertaster@hobag.com]
> Sent: Wednesday, June 02, 2004 4:26 PM
> To: Rod Pornocopter
> Subject: RE:
>
>
> Wow, so the odds of those women going one day
> without
> a plethora PLETHORA! of compliments is slim to none! Now
> that's
> an incentive to work there:)
>
> No comment on the pencil placement issue but I do
> get
> the impression you are one of those people that
> loves
> to be the center of attention:0
:0 IS THE EMOTICON FOR "I AM BREATHING AIR AND TYPING STUFF"
>
>
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Rod Pornocopter [mailto:RPornocopter@dbag.com]
> Sent: Wednesday, June 02, 2004 4:16 PM
> To: Bonertaster, Sexualica
> Subject: RE:
>
>
> There are 270 brokers in this office and 6 women.
> Neither of them are attractive 6 WOMEN. NEITHER OF THEM ARE ATTRACTIVE.
and the thought of
> dropping a pencil scares me because I might get a
> pencil somewhere that it doesnt belong with all of
> these men around here!!!!LIKE IN MY ASS IS WHERE THEY'D PUT IT!
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Bonertaster, Sexualica
> [mailto:Sexualica_Bonertaster@hobag.com]
> Sent: Wednesday, June 02, 2004 4:10 PM
> To: Rod Pornocopter
> Subject: RE:
>
>
> I was kidding! Of course I didn't do it on purpose.
>
> Not that I wouldn't be capable of teasing but that
> really wasn't the case.
>
> Maybe your just projecting? You know, like you drop
> your pencil in front of all the hot girls at work?
HUH?
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Rod Pornocopter [mailto:RPornocopter@dbag.com]
> Sent: Wednesday, June 02, 2004 4:05 PM
> To: Bonertaster, Sexualica
> Subject: RE:
>
>
> Guess I was right !!!! Why would you tease me like
> that????? Not fair !
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Bonertaster, Sexualica
> [mailto:Sexualica_Bonertaster@hobag.com]
> Sent: Wednesday, June 02, 2004 3:48 PM
> To: Rod Pornocopter
> Subject: RE:
>
>
> Purposely standing up! Did you work for the FBI?
> Studied micro momentary reactions?SHUT UP.
>
> Thank you for the compliment. Blushing again!
AGAIN? DID I MISS THE FIRST BLUSH MENTION?
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Rod Pornocopter [mailto:RPornocopter@dbag.com]
> Sent: Wednesday, June 02, 2004 3:45 PM
> To: Bonertaster, Sexualica
> Subject: RE:
>
>
> First of all, it was still daylight when we first
> met.
> Secondly, even if I did not remember you my mind can
> conjure up a majority of usable images !!! CREEEEPYThat is
> not
> the case though as I do remember you purposely
> standing up so I could see your FINE body!!!!
YES, WHENEVER WOMEN STAND OR SIT OR TALK OR WALK OR BREATHE, IT IS FOR YOUR BENEFIT, STOCK MARKET A-HOLE
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Bonertaster, Sexualica
> [mailto:Sexualica_Bonertaster@hobag.com]
> Sent: Wednesday, June 02, 2004 3:25 PM
> To: Rod Pornocopter
> Subject: RE:
>
>
> ok blushing again!
>
> Let's face it you can hardly remember what I even
> look
> like from one hour in that dark smoky bar.
WHAT THE!??!? I'M NOT THE ONLY ONE?!?! SHOCKER!
>
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Rod Pornocopter [mailto:RPornocopter@dbag.com]
> Sent: Wednesday, June 02, 2004 3:19 PM
> To: Bonertaster, Sexualica
> Subject: RE:
>
>
> Wheeeeeeeewwwww, do I have a visual now !!!!!!!!!!! 11 EXCLAMATION POINTS
> Amongst other things!!!!!! LIKE A BONER.
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Bonertaster, Sexualica
> [mailto:Sexualica_Bonertaster@hobag.com]
> Sent: Wednesday, June 02, 2004 3:14 PM
> To: Rod Pornocopter
> Subject: RE:
>
>
> Stilettos! Does the rest matter?
NO. BECAUSE YOU COULD USE THE STILETTOS TO GOUGE YOUR EYES OUT SO AS NOT TO BE ABLE TO READ THIS
>
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Rod Pornocopter [mailto:RPornocopter@dbag.com]
> Sent: Wednesday, June 02, 2004 2:52 PM
> To: Bonertaster, Sexualica
> Subject: RE:
>
>
> hmmmm, should I be aggressive ???? oooops, I forgot
> you like to take one step at a time !!!
ONE STEP AT A TIME TOWARDS THE BLEAK HOWLING VALLEY OF AWFUL CONVERSATION
>
> ok, here goes....what are you wearing ?
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Bonertaster, Sexualica
> [mailto:Sexualica_Bonertaster@hobag.com]
> Sent: Wednesday, June 02, 2004 2:40 PM
> To: Rod Pornocopter
> Subject: RE:
>
>
> Well then, of course let the games begin!
>
> You first:)
:) IS THE EMOTICON FOR "FLOUNDER"
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Rod Pornocopter [mailto:RPornocopter@dbag.com]
> Sent: Wednesday, June 02, 2004 2:00 PM
> To: Bonertaster, Sexualica
> Subject: RE:
>
>
> well if it is flirting it is not mindless
AND IF IT IS NOT PUNCTUATED IT IS NOT A SENTENCE
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Bonertaster, Sexualica
> [mailto:Sexualica_Bonertaster@hobag.com]
> Sent: Wednesday, June 02, 2004 1:55 PM
> To: Rod Pornocopter
> Subject: RE:
>
>
> ok. then I won't take valuable work time with
> mindless e-mail chatter.
OH YES YOU WILL.
>
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Rod Pornocopter [mailto:RPornocopter@dbag.com]
> Sent: Wednesday, June 02, 2004 1:50 PM
> To: Bonertaster, Sexualica
> Subject: RE:
>
>
> Always love for my Cubana!!!!!
> Crazy here as well. Just got out of a big trade
> problem that I had since this morning
I AM A DOUCHE.
>
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Bonertaster, Sexualica
> [mailto:Sexualica_Bonertaster@hobag.com]
> Sent: Wednesday, June 02, 2004 1:45 PM
> To: Rod Pornocopter
> Subject:
>
>
> What? No Love?
>
> I've had a CRAZY day and will be in back to back
> meetings from 2:00 to 4:00! How is your day?
>
> Sexualica Bonertaster
> Executive Corporate Business Director
EXECUTIVE CORPORATE BUSINESS COMPANY BRANCH DIRECTOR OFFICER DIRECTOR PLANK NEOPREEN BUCKLE
>
> =====
BEGIN VOYEURISTIC AWESOMENESS!
START READING AGAIN
Not a particularly funny or interesting e-mail, right? Your basic bad android humor. But that turned out to be just the tip of the iceberg, as you can tell by how long it took you to scroll down to this point. What she didn't realize when she forwarded me the joke was that she had ALSO forwarded me the entirety of the e-mail thread leading up to the joke. Which turned out to be priceless. PRUH-ICE-LESS! It consists of extremely lame flirtatious banter between her and some stock market douchebag. So, without further ado, scroll up slightly to where it says "Begin Voyeuristic Awesomeness", and read the e-mails one-by-one, scrolling upwards as you go until you get back to the original joke e-mail. It's a window into the nothingness that occupies most people's minds. Let me stress - I haven't changed a single word, letter, or punctuation mark. It's all here. The only thing I did do was change their names to my standard fallback funny made-up names, and alter their company names and e-mail addresses as well. Other than that, 100% unaltered. My periodic comments are also in BOLD CAPS along the way...enjoy!
It's been a long, difficult road to get to this point. A long road with many twists and turns of regret, potholes of abuse, and speed bumps of shame. An ill-maintained, crumbling road, lined by the weeds of despair, and littered with the soiled diapers of unfulfilled potential. A road where the State Troopers of self-hatred will pull you over and give you a ticket for too much optimism. A road where the hitchhikers of over-indulgence will pull the knife of one more beer on you, sending you swerving off the road into the gulley of “who the fuck's bed am I in” and the roadside ditch of “oh my god is that a rash”.
A road where the only place to satisfy your hunger for approval is the Waffle House of bringer shows and the 12 people in the basement of a bar...bar. A road where the only way to fix the flat tire of depression is with the air pump of Chubby Hubby ice cream, a road where every toll booth has a sign that says "DUES", and there’s one every mile, and the only way to pay is with the EZ Pass of crappy temp and waiter jobs. A road where the roadkill has talent and the hacks zooming past you have noses that are damp and brown. A road where the biker gangs of industry ride big Harleys of ignorance whose engines drown out your thoughts with roars of “talk about your ethnicity”. A road that's all uphill, and the only place to refuel your car of ambition is the gas station of filthy BJs.
This is the road I ride. Destination: beats me.
(WARNING! Unlike most of my site, this particular post is a tad dirty. And it's very rambly.)
Counting myself, I have only entered, or been entered by, two celebrities, and his name is synonomous with both sexy beach rescues and high-tech highway crime-fighting. Mind you, the episode I am about to relate is not one that I am proud of, but is rather a cautionary tale to those of you who still think you can go swimming in Bourbon Grotto with Lady Sparklecandy's alabaster thighs wrapped around your face without drowning. No. You'll drown, my friend, just like I did. And if you don't drown, you'll stumble to shore walking funnier than before.
I met David Hasselhoff in the Spring of '96, while shooting a guest spot on his smash hit show Baywatch Nights. I played a rogue nightclub owner slash private eye named Dash Brilliatine, who had just moved into the town in which the show takes place (it escapes me!), and was roguishly, sexily attempting to muscle in on Mitch Buchanan's (Hasselhoff's character) nightclub slash private eye business, using all the savvy roguish charm at my disposal to muscle in on...abort sentence. At any rate, in the episode (I believe it was called A Dash of Mitch and A Pinch of Dash) Dash and Mitch actually roguishly join forces to defeat their common enemy, a bellicose Cuban cockfight ring kingpin slash druglord named "El Pedo Del Diablo". We only shared three brief scenes, and two of them involved an intense karaoke face-off in Mitch's nightclub, so our actual dialogue didn't overlap much. However, due to a mutual tendency to antagonize and belittle the craft services staffers, we soon became fast friends.
Following the shoot, I stuck around for a few extra months just to hang with David and enjoy the nightlife of the town in which we had shot the show. We made superb carousing partners, harvesting eager starstruck hotties with ease, scaring up the 'tang with alarming frequency and precision. The potency inherent in our mere identities was so strong that the only opening line I needed to utter in order to initiate poonage with a fame-guzzling-booze-hussy was "Hi, I'm Andres du Bouchet," and the only line David needed to offer for the sugartrap to snap was "This is my friend - Andres du Bouchet."
We did have a third companion on these sexcursions, however:
Zeus' Nutsack.
A Zeus' Nutsack is a diabolical alcohol and drug cocktail in which you dump two shots of peach schnapps into a pint of Guinness, and then suck the whole thing up through two straws made of pure crack cocaine. One up your left nostril, one into your mouth. The right nostril is reserved for smoking a menthol cigarette at the same exact moment.
On a typical night, David and I would each do six or seven Zeus' Nutsacks. It was an unbelievable sensation, like shooting through psychedelic space on a giant Toblerone while the soundtrack to the original 1977 Star Wars film reverbrates through your perineum.
But Zeus' Nutsack giveth, and Zeus' Nutsack taketh away. After a rare (perhaps the only? too fuzzy to remember) unsuccesful evening of bearded-clam skeet shooting, David and I stumbled into his condo as the sun was just beginning to tickle the horizon, and we began to half-heartedly debate what to watch on tv - either a pay-per-view M. Night flick (I think the one where the chick turns out to be a dead dude) or our favorite infomercial (the one with the screaming pony-tailed guy on the perpetual pain cycle machine). We settled on Bareback Honcho Parade 18, a DVD that David produced from underneath his mattress. This would prove to be a warning shot that went unheeded by my Zeus' Nutsack-addled mind. As we settled in to watch the film, I swiftly drifted into unconsciousness.
I woke up what could have been minutes or maybe hours later, my head pounding dull. A painful weight pressing against my spine. My wrists sore and behind me. Were they...bound? No! Yes. As my world started to clarify, from Toblerone space jockeying to the nude prone now, I could start to make out my own blurry face in David's mirrored closet door. A tangerine masking-taped into my panic gurgling maw. A small length of blinking red Christmas lights somehow affixed to my forehead. The red light blipping back and forth across my sweat-streaked temple. I could see my clothes in a heap on the floor. A husky voice in my ear, mumbling the theme from Knight Rider - "duh duddle duddle duddah, duh duddle duddle duddah, duh duddle duddle duddah, duh duddle duddle duddah...bah bappa bah, bah bappa bah, bah bappa bah bah BAH!"
And that horrible weight upon me. Eager and hairy weight. David must have cycled through the Knight Rider theme 10 or 12 times, before saying:
"C'mon KITT. Someone's drowning. We've gotta...we've gotta go help the drowners. C'mon KITT. Turbo BOOST!"
On "Boost!" my worst fears were confirmed.
I don't know what I found more upsetting:
a) that David had gone so far over the edge, that his brain had become so addled by abuse, that his two hit shows were in his mind now one - in which a lifeguard saves people with the aid of an intelligent car?
b) That he was now inside me?
or c) That there was any debate as to which of those two things was more upsetting?
I don't know. All I know is that I consider this tale to be the wake-up call in my life. David and I parted ways. Awkwardly, of course. He never quite willing to admit what he had done. I never able to forgive. Or jog. But I think we're both better for it. Ironically, I think it's safe to say that this was the incident that scared me straight. The incident that steered me clear of the drugfog groupiefuck path.
This post is petering out. Almost done. No point to any of it really. Plunk.
Knock knock!
Who's there?
Louis.
Louis who?
Louis Hu, Equities Research.
Knock knock!
Who's there?
Mama say, mama sah, mamak.
Mama say, mama sah, mamak who?
Mama say, mama sah, mamak who sa! (hee hee!)
Knock knock!
Who's there?
Fuck you.
Fuck you who?
Fuck yoo hoo is a rather strong position to take against chocolate milk.
Knock knock!
Who's there?
Impatient misogynist frog.
Impatient misog-
RIBBITCH!
Sounds like a really gay town, doesn't it?
Sports Illustrated recently listed what they consider to be the Top Ten Most Embarrassing TV/Radio Interview Moments in sports, and I must say, they picked some doozies. However, I'd like to add a few that they neglected to mention:
1. Immediately following their stunning game 6 victory in the 1986 World Series, the New York Mets inexplicably and collectively drafted an impromptu document in their clubhouse entitled "Jewspiracy", which Lenny Dykstra and Mookie Wilson then attempted to read on the air during Kiner's Korner. The then mentally acute Ralph Kiner thankfully stopped the duo just as they came to the end of the first sentence of the Sharpie-on-jockstrap screed: "...through Buckner's legs, with the tenacity of a Jew."
2. Upon breaking Mark McGwire's then record of 70 homeruns, Barry Bonds declared to ESPN anchor Dan Patrick: "Each homerun to me is like a tiny orphan white boy that I am spanking until he cries and then dies. That's all I'm thinking when I'm up there. Well, two things, actually - 'wait for my pitch', and 'let's kill some white baby boy orphans'."
3. Howie Long used "The N Word" 43 times during one Radio Shack commercial. Though technically not an interview moment, it deserves to be included here due to its sheer astoundingness. The commercial never aired, but bootleg tapes of the raw footage (amazingly these tapes include multiple, multiple takes during which the director never once chastises Long for peppering his speech randomly with "The N Word") are currently in circulation on e-Bay and used for college drinking game purposes. In fact, Long's language is so horrifying that Terri Hatcher's exposed left ass cheek often goes unnoticed. The commercial was for a radio-controlled toy motorboat/waffle-maker.
4. After getting the game-winning hit in the 2001 World Series, Luis Gonzalez tried to pick Len Berman's nose.
5. Another crazy random thing that didn't really happen!
6. And another!
7. Hey folks it's Friday and I've got people to place and things to people.
THE CAT MONOLOGUE (Where The Fuck Are My Balls?)
Meow.
I hereby call to order day four of testimony in the "Where The Fuck Are My Balls?" Inquiry.
I will begin with roll call, and then I will resume questioning Mr. Shadow Of The Fern On The Wall.
Mr. Fern. Ms Vase. Mr. Tchotchke. Mr. Erotic Figurine That My Owner Brought Back From Machu Pichu. Mr. Shadow Of The Fern On The Wall. Mr. Shadow Of Me On The Wall. Ms. Smudge On The Wall. Mr. Wall. Mr. Imaginary Fast Moving Object (head quickly turns to look at nothing). And of course me, Mr. Fluffernutter The Cat, I am present. Very well.
Mr. Shadow Of The Fern On The Wall! Thus far your silence in this matter has been, dare I say, deafening. Here we are in day four of testimony, and you have yet to answer my question satisfactorily. I ask you one last time...WHERE THE FUCK ARE MY BALLS!? Do you deny that in the days and weeks leading up to the sudden and mysterious disappearance of my balls, you were privy to hearing my owner say things such as, and I quote:
(remember to face out for quotes)
"I hope Mr. Fluffernutter doesnt get mad at me when I have him fixed."
and "Lick 'em while you got 'em, Mr. Fluffernutter."
and "Next week my cat won't have any balls, isn't that weird, no balls."
and "It's either the claws or the balls honey, I'm not turning Mr. Fluffernutter into a Tribble."
and lastly, "Tomorrow we're gonna 'Drop the Barker' on ya, Fluff."
'Drop the Barker' (extreme gravitas) on me, indeed. After several hours of debate with my analysts Mr. Dust Mote and Ms. Flicker Of Light That Appears On The Glass Top Of The Coffee Table Between The Hours of 4pm And 5pm, I have come to the conclusion that 'Drop the Barker On Ya' is simply a clumsily phrased reference to the gentleman from the Price Is Right, and his crazed, inexplicable, decades-old campaign of testicular jihad against the housepets of this country. Now then, Mr. Shadow Of The Fern On The Wall, do you deny that you heard all these things yet did nothing? That amidst all the chatter fraught with words such as "balls" and "ouch" and "snip-snip" and "isn't it weird, no balls" you did not think they constituted a credible and specific threat? PLEASE Mr. Shadow Of The Fern On The Wall, have some respect for the intelligence of the members of this (head darts to and fro to look at imaginary object) committee!
Hiss. Hiss and fffft, I say! I motion for a short recess before resumption of testimony. (eyes slowly start to close lazily for a few moments)
And we're back. Mr. Erotic Figurine That My Owner Brought Back From Machu Pichu, I found some of your conclusions as to the effectiveness of information sharing between objects in this apartment, shadows of things on those objects, and stains or smudges on those objects to be quite sobering. And not to beat a dead horse, but I am especially dismayed at the utter lack of communication between wall-related agencies. It seems to me that there should be some semblance of information sharing between you considering that you are all either on the wall, part of the wall or are...the wall.
Therefore, it is my recommendation, after taking into account the complete and utter failure of all items in this apartment, real or imagined, at preventing my owner from removing my balls, that I begin a thorough and relentless campaign of daily, persistent urination...THERE. Exactly right there. Every day, regardless of any countermeasures my owner may choose to employ.
I shall call this plan 'Operation: Infinite Peeback'. 'Peeback' being a word of my own devise, which combines the two words 'pee', which is itself contained entirely within the word 'Peeback' and the word 'payback', which is, after all, the entire point of the operation. I am also considering various claw-related strikes! Nothing personal, Mr. and Mrs. Front Two Legs Of The Ottoman.
At any rate, those are my recommendations to me!
I would like to thank the entire panel for their time, and if you'll all excuse me, I am now going to go take a shit...in a box.
Tern Jarblin here, Founder and CEO of Aqua-Grip Sandals! We're all over the news! And as they say, there's no such thing as bad publicity!
So, whether it's a public shower, a pebble-strewn creek bed, or the bloodslick floor of your bedroom, Aqua-Grip sandals will provide the "stark raving nude traction" that you require!
Incidentally, "stark raving nude traction" has been Aqua-Grip's catchphrase for the past eleven years, and only now does it seem unfortunate and inappropriate. We appreciate the letters and phonecalls from those of you for whom our continued use of the phrase "stark raving nude traction" has caused outrage. However, we at Aqua-Grip feel that to bow to public will in this case over one lunatic's attempts to perpetuate his world of lies by murdering his pregnant wife with a knife while she slept would simply be un-American. Did Knit Pro change their catchphrase from "eye socket accurate" after the Green Barn Slayings of 1989? I'm honestly not sure, but I don't think they did!
So whether you're sane and fully clothed, or insane and unclothed, Aqua-Grip is a name you can trust! For "stark raving nude traction."
Eh. I'll give this one a bunt single.
I say! It appears that falcon has taken flight with my bowler betwixt its claws. Come back here, Devil Bird! That's the third one this week! Blast! Well, what can I say, I do enjoy the luxurious relaxation of taking my morning angstitutional through Falcon Meadow whilst wearing a cold meat bowler. Ah well. Just a hazzard of my wealthstyle. Enjoy my flesh hat while you can, Devil Bird, for tomorrow I'll wear one spiked with arsenic! Oh hello. Were you here for that whole Devil Bird diatribe? Hmm. I do enjoy yammering aloud, so I suppose it's no surprise someone would overhear at some...BLAST YOU DEMON RAPTOR...point. Did I just interrupt myself? Amazing. Well, I'm glad you're here, because I could use some assistance. See this briefcase I'm carrying? I've absolutely no idea what's in it. Oh, don't get me wrong, I packed it myself. But it seems that since the time I took the lemon slide out of my mansion's fifth floor and onto licorice...what? Lemon slide. Oh blast, if you're going to make me explain EVERYTHING I say we'll be here forever. It's a common pool slide, like you'd find at any recreational swimming facility, yet I had two combined to form one super slide that leads from my fifth floor down to licorice landing. And it's lubricated with lemon juice. Hence, the name of the slide and the stains on...what? Licorice Landing. ALRIGHT ENOUGH! Buy a glossary at the gift shop on your way off my...wait a second. How did you come to be on my estate? It's two hours before visitors are allowed! And why are you carrying a shovel? Ah yes, I should have known. My prize-winning tulips. Fair enough, flower poacher, I shall strike with you a deal with you. You. Hmm. That was possibly the worst sentence ever, both in content and structure. And then just saying "you" like that after it made no sense. ALAS! Here's the deal: I shall relinquish two of my prized tulip plants, BULBS, FRONDS, PETALS AND ALL in exchange for your assistance. I need you to look inside this briefcase and tell me what's in it. Now I know what you're thinking. Why don't I look inside the briefcase instead of employing a middle man to do the work? Fair enough. The sad story is, I am stricken with a condition wherein whenever I look into briefcases I only see looping snippets of old Laurel and Hardy routines. And they're grainy at that. It's a condition my personal physician has labeled "No Marbles Syndrome." I'm not sure what he means by that. At any rate, I'm already late to my "Sunday Briefcase Switch-Off Brunch" at the Armory, and I'll feel like a damned fool if I don't know what I'm switching-off with. I do hope I don't get stuck with Fopperton's briefcase this time. He always fills it with nothing more than looping snippets of old Laurel and Hardy routines. And they're grainy at that. At any rate, my memory has failed me again and I have no idea what I put it in here, so...ah blast. He left minutes ago. ALRIGHT! I'll just alert the guards on my way out and have him flensed. That'll teach him! Yes, teach him to death! Off to the thing I mentioned earlier! La tra lee dee doo...