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I could fairly be accused of "oversharing" around these parts sometimes. But I assure you -- no matter how it seems -- I don't share absolutely everything.
Not right away, at least. And I can prove it. By sharing.
A few months ago, I wrote a post describing my weekend. A weekend much like this one, filled with mixups and awkward conversations and unwanted deodorant. As usual.
If you skip to the "Saturday" section of that post, you'll see that I described my embarrassment at being the only person in my sketch writing class, seemingly, who knew the 'alternate' definition of the word Santorum.
(This was several months ago, remember. Maybe before all the political jibberjabber leading up to election circus time. So maybe they just hadn't heard yet. Or maybe they don't read the internet. Some of them were old. So it's possible.)
In short, during a writing exercise I had a story topic passed to me -- or thought it was the topic passed to me, when it really wasn't, quite so much -- that read:
"I actually held something back that might have been squirmy and uncomfortable, and you should count yourselves lucky that I do, apparently, have some sort of line I choose not to cross."
"No Comment From Santorum Camp"
Now, I don't give half a bouncing bald eagle's butt about politics -- but I do know about the Santorum website, and why it exists, and that seemed like fun. So in the exercise, I wrote something about that.
And received a circle of open-mouthed blank stares from the apparently do-gooding Amish never-heard-of-it crowd in the room. In my October post about it, all I said about my quick-writ story was:
"I decided to write a news story about a group of sex researchers -- from "the Netherlands, Las Vegas and a Greyhound station in lower Manhattan" -- who'd come up with a completely new sexual byproduct, "never before oozed". And they piggy-backed on the other, original, beknownst-to-all Santorum campaign, also naming their love juice after the plucky lawmaker."
That's all I said. I could have shared the whole thing. Oh, yes. But I didn't. I actually held something back that might have been squirmy and uncomfortable, and you should count yourselves lucky that I do, apparently, have some sort of line I choose not to cross.
Or rather, you should count your past self lucky, if he or she was reading in October, because I just found the piece of paper on which I wrote that monstrosity. I've got nothing else to write today. And that 'line' I had? Miles behind me.
So if you're feeling political -- or just Santorumantic -- please to be enjoying last fall's impromptu scribbled faux news bit entitled:
Lawmaker Rick Santorum, long hounded by a campaign to associate his name in online searches with a particularly "indelicate" sexual references, today has a new challenge to face.
Sex researchers in the Netherlands, Las Vegas and a Greyhound station in lower Manhattan jointly announced today an entirely new, never-before-oozed product of sexual activity. And they've named it up front -- so to speak -- after Santorum.
"We're very excited," said researcher and part-time burlesque fluffer Joey "Double Joints" Van Park. "It took us months to work this out. We flew in Kama Sutra experts, rhythmic gymnasts, a guy with twelve fingers and a case of anchovies, and it finally all came together. We put in a lot of work, and now, there's a new "Santorum".
Efforts are already underway to link the Senator to this new and presumably disgusting substance. A spokesman for the original campaign to associate the senator with bodily fluids said in a press conference that the recent developments represented a "foul and vicious attack" on Santorum, the man. As opposed to Santorum, the excretion.
When asked to explain his puzzling comment, the spokesman clarified, saying he'd meant a foul and viscous attack, which had his group's full support and approval. "There is plenty of room," he added, "for all manner of sexual byproducts in Santorum. The more, the merrier."
When contacted, a member of the Santorum camp replied, "No comment," adding, "Frankly, he doesn't even like anchovies."
Thanks, Christian!
Although I would never piss off the Amish. Or the suspected-Amish.
They know how to build shit. I don't want to wake up one day and find a stockade all mortise and tenoned around me and shit.
Give the story topic I can't imagine a more creative take on it. You should have told the rest of the class to go take their horse drawn buggies and hammers and shove it.