Archive for September, 2005

Memorandum to the masses

Inresponse to the myriad incomprehensibly stupid emails I have received about the preceeding post, I am posting this memorandum. Please take note, all.

No. 1- No, I am not a sweaty-breasted agorophobe. It is called artistic license, and is generally applied when one wants to convey a certain image or emotion of which everyday existance tends to fall short. I would thank you to remember that though while you, and you know whom you are, are a blathering cretin, I am not.

No. 2- If you are planning to contact me through electronic correspondence, and are planning on using any of the following words, please stop now, and go run screaming from the nearest wooden bridge. Don’t have a wooden bridge handy? I’ve found pills and alcohol to be extremely effective. These words include, but are not limited to: yo, what’s up, ya’ll, Bush, conservative (read: narrow-minded), randy, me, I, or any other word which may indicate that I am not going to care about that which you are trying to communicate.

No.3- If you have anything truly unique to impart to me, I am all ears. I love hearing people rant, it tends to make me feel better about letting loose, as I’m doing now *shrugs*

No.4- If you can one-up me, so to speak, please exercise your creative muscles, and engage me in some 1860’s duel of words. Pen and ink, or electronic. There is a good chance that I will lose my shirt to any connoisseur of words, but I welcome the challenge. And I have no problem admitting verbal defeat. I actually look forward to being bested in a battle of wits. It makes me believe in something for a split second. To those of you this does not concern, please disregard said memorandum. But to everyone else, take note. And the next time you read something which I have written, you may want to try to avoid mouthing the words. Closing your mouth tends to help.

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“How have you been?”

Innocuous question, but one I felt I couldn’t answer honestly. So I lied, “I’ve been studying Martian music in Rhodanthe.” And the strange young man with whom I was face to face seemed either to believe my cock-and-bull story, or to neither care nor truly be listening to the answer I gave to his pad and remarkably boring introductory question. Soon this casual chat became a cautionary tale of cretinous misappropriation of the English language. The scrutiny was unbearable. Feeling the overwhelming urge to plunge the nearest wooden object through his trachea, I responded mechanically to every horrid question with a quickly fabricated answer. Fumbling to recreate an old bond, we remained in silence for another 10 seconds before I seized the opportunity and extricated myself with a hasty, “Nice seeing you, I’ll talk to you later…” Having quit the scene of my recent inquisition, I blinked and almost lost myself, but then I found me hiding just around the corner, crouched in a puddle of what looked like melted ice cream, but smelled suspiciously like fear. I ran to my truck and wiped the inopportune sweat from between my breasts. Sorry, but we just no longer have anything in common.

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