lundi, novembre 12, 2007

Hey, You!

That's right. I'm talking to you. I'm calling you out. All of you.

To the co-worker who drank my Go-Girl Glo: Yeah, sure. You make fun of me for drinking an energy drink with Aloe Vera and Vitamin E, sweetened with pomegranate and star fruit, and then you drink it behind my back. This is worse than the time you laughed at the idea of girl pants, and then I caught you staring at my sweet cheeks. I don't know which one of you drank it. But you didn't deserve the mildly carbonated lift. And by the way, if you're a man, I'm more man than you in girl pants and a go girl in my hand. If you're a woman, then, well, I'm not more woman than you. That would be biologically impossible. But I am more in touch with my feminine side. Deal with it.

To the guy with the giant hairy butt-crack who crossed the street in front of me with his shirt off whilst I was waiting at a red light: My first thoughts were, PUT A SHIRT ON YOU DISGUSTING WHITE TRASH SLOB! What do you have against clothing? When did it become O.K. to parade around half naked? If a hot girl can't do it--if our society has decided that there is something morally askew about perfect breasts being exposed to the public--then your bloated, hairy belly and shaggy/saggy man boobs constitute a capital offense against our democratic republic. Shirtless people are corrosive to society. Shirtless people whose larded front side prevents their pants, (or acid washed jean shorts) from covering their hairy backside are surely a sign of the apocalypse. YOU WILL PERISH IN FLAME! YOU AND ALL YOUR HIRSUTE ILK!
These were my first thoughts. And I would have made them known to you out loud, except that my second thoughts were: I should get a picture of this! Unfortunately, by the time my inner screed ran its course you were too far away to get a good picture with my phone's crappy camera. How bittersweet for you. Your crack can practically be seen from space, and yet my phone can't capture it. And if you're curious as to why I didn't roll down my window and give you what for, well, just consider yourself lucky that red lights turn green.

The guy who was vacuuming at the car wash just before me:
I didn't see you, but the fifty pounds of fetid kitty litter you must have vacuumed into the canister filled my nostrils--and the interior of my car--with an unbearable smell. Thanks for the stink, friend. It makes me wonder. I mean, I don't know what it is about poop, hair, and dander that you "pet" people fancy, but it mystifies me.
P.S. Until you get rid of those cats, we're through. Whoever you are.

I'd go on. But the remainder of my helpful advice is for my family, and can be handled face to face.

mardi, novembre 06, 2007

Last Time (I swear)

I've tried to go clean. I've tried to change the subject. But every time I do, these people keep dragging me back in.

After this, I'll either admit to being a one-note-johnny or move on. I promise.

The Small World ride at Disneyland is closed down. Not to update what is probably the worst attraction at the park. Not to summarily execute all those nightmarish little robots (which were--we can say it now--originally intended to become the first wave of attack in Walt Disney's unholy army of the night. Had he not died tragically early, those adorable little animatronic wonders would at this moment be cracking a whip across your back.)

No, the ride is closed down because the original rinky-dink boats were designed for a different America. Those who imagineered the original lived at a time when the average woman weighed 120 pounds and her male counterpart a trim 175.

Now the boats are bottoming out in the fetid water. And I wish they would have consulted me, because rather than simply post a sign that says "You must weigh less than this to ride this ride," or "this attraction was designed for our less than generously appointed patrons," or "help us avoid malfunction by kindly removing any excess baggage/equipment/body fat," or "if you regularly consume more calories than you burn, you are disgusting and you don't deserve to ride," or even the now classic "NO FAT CHICKS!"--rather than simply asking fatties to ride through It's a Small World alone (as they are destined/doomed to ride through the less popular This is the Real World alone)--rather than post enlarged pictures of the bottomed out boats embarrassingly stopping up progress with the caption "This could happen to you!"--rather than any of these sensible options, Disney has inexplicably chosen to accommodate the obese. They are actually remaking the ride in the image of a gentler, fatter nation.

To which we can only say, in the words of a noted local radio celebrity:

Goodbye, sweet America!