If You Didn't Get It On Tape, You Can't Prove Nothin' [Where the Hell Was I?]

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September 17, 2003

If You Didn't Get It On Tape, You Can't Prove Nothin'

Okay, I think I've got 'quantity' down pat. What was the other thing again?

All right, I think I should probably set some things straight around here.

I've been blogging for three whole months now, plus one day, and I'm thinking that you folks may be getting the wrong idea about me. Sure, I tell you about the weird and snarky and downright doofalicious situations that I find myself dropped in the middle of.

(Through no fault of my own, thank you very little.)

And I suppose I've -- *cough cough* -- been known to rant and foam every so often about people who share too much or morons too clueless to properly operate a phone. Guilty, as charged.

But I don't want you to get the wrong idea.

I'm not a bad person. Really. Look, I'm not even a mean person, if you ask most of the people who know me. Well, okay, probably not if you ask the ones who sit close enough to hear the shit I mutter under my breath. But you can pick just about anyone outside a three-foot perimeter from my mouth, and they'd probably tell you that I'm just grand.

And, for large portions of the day, I am grand. At least, I play grand on TV. I know when and where to draw the line, how to blend in with the 'normal' humans, and what sorts of things must never, ever be done. And so, lest you form the wrong opinion of me, I want to prove it.

(Really, your opinions mean everything to me. I mean it. Most everyone else I know has, or will, sit within the 'Muttering Zone', and find out just what a heartless, acerbic dickhead I really am. Most of you will never climb that particular mountain, so I have to keep you convinced that I have at least the merest shreds of compassion and sanity left. I am Leia, and you are my internet Kenobi. 'You are my only hope.')

(Well, shit. If that explanation didn't blow my chances with you people, I don't know what will. I've really got to stop typing everything that pops into my head.)

(Froot Loops. Dongleware. Bride of Chucky. Hmmm. Yeah, maybe tomorrow.)

Anyway, I'm out to show you that while I'll go far, there are lines that it cannot be conclusively proven that I've crossed. Some things are just too dumb, disgusting, or depraved even for me. And so, I present to you, in order to earn your undying respect and love (or disgust and pity; I'm really not so picky about such things), my list of:

Things That I Would Never, Never, Ever Do in a Million Years (So Far As You Know)

I would never squeeze my car into a half-open parking spot next to some dickhead who tried to double-park his precious Beemer, but left just enough room for me to snake my car in, leaving my passenger door mere millimeters away from his driver's side window. And even if it happened, I'm sure I wouldn't then wait across the parking lot for the dumbass to come out, just to watch him (or her; anything's possible, right?) have to climb in through the other side, or preferably, the moonroof. Why, I'd never so much as dream of it.
I would never tell our friends' children that our house is full of dragons and vampires and scary radioactive bees to keep them from asking to come bother us. And in any case, there's no way I'd go to the trouble of hooking up a series of motion sensors on the porch and attaching them to a stereo, so that bloodcurdling shrieks and moans are played whenever anyone less than four and a half feet tall walks to the door. What kind of a monster do you take me for?
I would never slather ink from a permanent marker all over the mouth of a coworker's coffee mug, even if she (or, um, he, hypothetically speaking) made bitchy comments about my messy desk. And I definitely wouldn't go the extra mile and coat the mug handle, too, so that when she wiped her mouth, the mess would just be compounded. Not right before a big important staff meeting, anyway. How rude would that be?
I would never pee in the shower, regardless of how badly I needed to go. And if I ever broke that rule, then I certainly wouldn't use the stream to scoot little pieces of soap around the tub, or to knock small insects off the shower walls. That's just wrong.
I would never wait until no one is looking, and then taste a piece of the dog's kibble, just to see what she has to put up with every day for the rest of her life. And I definitely wouldn't get the piece from her filthy, slobber-encrusted bowl, rather than walking the extra two feet to reach the relatively clean bag of dog food. I couldn't even bear to think of it.
I would never visit a barber who speaks broken English and whose native tongue I know only slightly, and then proceed to nod and agree at every suggestion he makes during the haircut, without understanding a word. And I'm confident that I wouldn't compound the problem by then attempting to speak to him in his own language, because that might lead him to believe that all I really want left on my head are triangular tufts of green hair behind each ear and dotted lines where my eyebrows used to be. Do I seem like I'd do something that stupid?
I would never send a 'priority' email to important clients for the sole purpose of asking them to look over an attached file, and then forget to attach it. But if I ever did, then I absolutely wouldn't send another email, apologizing for the error and cc'ing my boss, and neglect to attach the file again. And I would be shocked to meet someone who would.
I would never drag a dirty plate out of the sink and be too lazy to wash it before using it for dinner, nor would I strategically place the fresh food over any existing stains to hide the fact that the plate wasn't clean in the first place. And I emphatically wouldn't then serve dinner to my wife on that plate, and use the only clean one for my own. I'm not sure I could live with myself if I did.
I would never forget which way to turn the shower faucet in the thirty seconds after turning the water off, and then accidentally douse myself and my only dry towel with several gallons of water while trying to stop the nozzle from dripping. What kind of idiot would do that?
I would never turn around to try and identify the components of a big number two before flushing, no matter how 'interesting' or 'frightening' or 'chunkadelic' it may have felt, or how much pain it caused en route. And under no circumstances would I invite my wife, or friends, or dinner party guests to look, and play a round of 'Name That Turd'. Who would do such a thing?

See what I mean? I'm just a regular guy, here, folks. I wouldn't do any of those things, just like you. Or at least, I wouldn't admit to doing any of them.

(Just like you.)

And you can't prove otherwise. I'm just as clean on these things as you are. Now who's the crazy dickhead, eh?

(Just for the record, though, I think the little green things came from a salad I had for lunch yesterday. I've got no idea about the yellow gunk, though. I haven't had corn in weeks. Spooky, huh?)