Saturday, December 2, 2006
Shark and Ewww
The Boy is currently playing happily in his exersaucer, I am...well, here, and J is presently watching a TiFaux'ed episode of Shark, starring one Mr. James Woods. I think James Woods has one of the creepiest voices ever. Not like, ax murderer creepy, but creepy in the sense that you wouldn't be surprised if you found him in your backyard at 3 am, naked but for a tutu and a hat that says "Bass Master" with a picture of a largemouth bass stitched on it, as well as a pair of blue leather gloves. Oh, and he's singing Careless Whisper, and busting a move every time he gets to the line "guilty feet have got no rhythm." (What? I get very specific in my imaginary assessments.) I don't know; he just has one of those voices that makes me think he is, quite frankly, balls-out crazy in real life.
Secondly:
Dear man in the elevator with me on Friday afternoon,
The elevator ride is a total of 14 seconds long. You took it for two floors, which I'll estimate was approximately 5 seconds. So why, dear sir, did you feel the need to fart during this trip? How urgent was that, really?
However, I could've let this go if you didn't bolt off the elevator the second the doors parted, leaving me, and me alone, to face a group of people coming on who totally thought I did it? One lady even gave me a very mean look, one which was unmistakably "I'm on to you, fart girl!" Much appreciated, sir.
Love,
Metalia
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7 comments:
Dear Metalia,
I know what you mean, the other day my wife and I were lying in bed and she "quietly" and "subtly" farted while we were making love and she tried to make it like nothing happened... Needless to say, that put an end to our night.
Sincerely,
Another fart victim
Dear Anonymous,
Wow; I'm torn between wanting to throw up in my mouth just a wee bit, and wanting you to email me and tell me who you are. It's your call.
~M
Dear Ms. Metalia (if that is indeed your real name, a claim which I find, frankly, quite spurious),
You're NOT going to believe this, but I am Crandall P. Holmes (of the Green Bay Holmes's, you’ve heard of them?) and I am an attorney that has been called upon to represent the gentle-man who expunged bodily gas in the elevator with you on Friday afternoon. Excuse me, ALLEGEDLY, expunged bodily gas in said elevator on Friday afternoon.
My client, and for the sake of his privacy and dignity (that which you have not already stripped from him), let us call him Farty McGasbag, has been greviously harmed by your so-called blog. To quote The Bard: "if you prick us, do we not bleed, if we eat an entire enchilada chalupa from Taco Bell and wash it down with an entire 16 ounce can of Heinz Premium Vegetarian Beans (tm), do we not fart?" Ah, MacBeth...you were so right.
Now that your ethics, or lack thereof, have been put to shame (and using your own blog to do so - how's that for irony), I will now move on to the legal argument here, for which my 8 years of law school and 7 years of private practice (thanks for use of your basement Grandma!) have prepared me. In the seminal (hehe, seminal) Supreme Court case of Smeltit v. Dealtit (120 US 890) the Court upheld (once Clarence Thomas put his pants back on) the doctrine of 'She who smelled it, dealt it' which I believe dates back to the ancient Sumarians. So therefore, Metalia, I believe that since you here, on your blog, freely admit to smelling it - you also dealt it. Res ipsa loquitur, E pluribus unum.
I thank you for your time and I trust you wont be so quick to cast ass-persions upon people in the elevator next time. Remember the words of Spider Man's uncle: "With great [blog] power, comes great [blog] responsiblity." Then he died. Not sure where I was going with that.
Best regards,
Crandall P. Holmes, Esq.
There's this guy who just started working across from me and he sounds exactly, and I mean EX-ACT-LY like James Woods. It's very weird. Sometimes at work when I close my eyes (not including nap time), I swear it's Mr. Woods across from me - which is odd because I don't work in the entertainment industry.
~ D
A couple of weeks ago, one of my clients said to me while he was on the table, "Has anyone ever cut one while you were giving a massage?"
I said, "You mean like you just did?"
As if I would let him off the hook.
(And thank you D, for continuing to rock my world. I've had a crappy weekend, no pun intended.)
Anything I can do to help. And yes, it's my duty (DUTY!) to inform you that your pun was totally intentional.
~D
Was not!
(OK, maybe a little bit intended. If you're actually able to see right through me, make sure your eyes stay above the waist. My collection of underpants is deeply uninspiring.)
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