My wife and I are a perfect match — we understand each other very well, and appreciate the other’s talents, thoughts, and outlook on life. Allow me to illustrate the ‘give and take’ that we share with two small examples from this evening’s festivities.
Example 1: We were sitting on the couch, watching TiVoed standup comedy, when a commercial came on. Normally, I’d fast-forward through them, but I wanted to take the opportunity to ask her a very serious and delicate question:
Me: ‘Hey, hon… I’ve been working on my standup set for Sunday, and I wanted to get your advice.‘
Her: ‘Okay, I’ll try.‘
Me: ‘All right — do you prefer ‘tender pooper’, or ‘boo-boos on your pooper’?‘
Her: ‘Hmmmm. I think I like ‘tender pooper’, but it depends on the context‘
There was more to the conversation, of course — I told her the context, and we discussed the merits of each line, and finally decided that yes, ‘tender pooper‘ is probably the way to go.
(I don’t want to give too much away here, in case some of you are thinking of coming to see the show at the All Asia Cafe this Sunday. Wouldn’t want you to be bored, of course.)
But the important thing is that she actually gave the question some thought, and gave a well-considered, helpful answer. You know, instead of replying with something like:
‘What in the hell did you just say, and why haven’t I divorced your stupid ass yet?‘
Yep. That’s mah girl. *sniff*
Example 2: Just to show you that the ridiculous crap flies both ways in this relationship, here’s something she said, with a perfectly straight face, not ten minutes later, in a completely different conversation:
‘Oh, I’ll get booties. I’m gonna get electric booties!‘
Yep, we’re two perverted peas in a pod, folks. Jealous much?
Permalink | 1 CommentI just saw the most bewildering commercial. I honestly don’t know what the hell to think of it; even as I write this, I have the ‘Did I really just see that?’ look on my face. You know the one — you had it yourself, if you saw the Madonna-Britney ‘tongues a-flapping’ stunt, or peeped Tawny Kitaen’s mug shot from a few months ago (apparently, she’s been dancing underneath fancy cars, rather than on top of them, for the past few years), or sat through ‘Dude, Where’s My Car?‘ It’s the look of shock, and disbelief, and boggly-mindedness. I’ve got that look right now, and here’s why:
The commercial was for a local car dealership, and started out innocently enough. There was the usual ‘Buy! Buy! Buy!‘ nonsense, with plenty of accolades and teasers thrown around — in the aftermath, I don’t really remember the specifics, but you’ve heard these commercials. They’re always saying things like:
‘Best selection on our half of the block! As far as you know, anyway.‘
‘Lowest prices ever — we’re living in these cars, so we can bring ’em to you cheap!‘
‘Act now, and you’ll have no payments for three decades! No interest, either! Hell, just steal a car — it’s the same thing!‘
‘We’re crazy to sell ’em so low — just crazy! Look, I’m biting myself! Mmmpppphh! Ow! Dammit! That’s crazy!‘
Blah, blah, blah. Same old shit, right? But then, right at the end, they deviated from the script, and said the following, to entice customers out to their lot:
‘You’ve got to get here soon. Remember: tomorrow, today will be yesterday’s today.‘
That’s right, folks. ‘Tomorrow… today will be yesterday’s today.‘ Read that a couple of times. Say it to yourself; let it sink in. I’ll wait.
Got it? Good.
So, I’ll admit, that little nugget of wisdom stopped me dead cold for a couple of minutes. I just sat there on the couch, drooling and staring at the wall.
‘Tomorrow… today will be… yesterday’s today.‘
I simply couldn’t process it, or let go of it, or wrap my little mind around it. Or breathe, as far as I can remember. My whole world stopped for a while, as I turned it over and over in my head. I may have peed, just a little.
Until finally… slowly… it clicked. After several repetitions, three swigs of gin, and a sharp blow to the head, it clicked. Tomorrow… today will be yesterday’s today. Ohhhhhhh. Okay, I got it now. It’s today right now, but tomorrow, today will be yesterday’s today. Gotcha. It actually does make some sort of sense.
Now. While we’re here and all, I’ve got just one more question:
‘What in the name of Henry Ford’s dungaree-clad ass cheeks does that fricking mean, and why would anyone believe that it would be a useful way to sell used automobiles?‘
Seriously, I couldn’t tell you a thing about the rest of that commercial, other than that there were cars involved. I don’t know the name of the place, or the location, or what interest rates they’re offering on a barely-used full-sized Volvo sedan. All I know from watching their thirty-second clip is:
‘Tomorrow… today will be yesterday’s today.‘
And that gets me — and by extension, them, the car salesmen — a big fat bunch of approximately nowhere. I and everyone else who saw that ad is just sitting in our living rooms, stunned and covered in our own drool, while the car lot is dead empty because nobody can remember what the hell the commercial is for in the first place.
I’m at a loss. I don’t know whether to clap, frown, or snort derisively. I’m still unable to move half my body, and my face is frozen in this dazed ‘What the fuck?‘ expression. I’m physically drooling on the keyboard as I write this. I… I just don’t know what else to say. Any thoughts? Help? Please?
Permalink | 6 CommentsAssholes!
| Currently: 2 |
![]() Fair/Windy |
Hi: 15 |
| Lo: 9 |
I pulled this ‘forecast’ from Yahoo earlier this afternoon. Now look, you muddle-headed meteorologist morons:
If it’s TWO fricking degrees now, then the low for the day cannot be NINE!!
Sure, by tonight, they’ll get it right and have a proper high and low… but that’s too damned late! I could figure this stuff out after the fact. What are we paying these people for, anyway?
Damn you bastards and your revisionist histories! I want the truth, dammit! The truth!
Permalink | 2 CommentsWell, if I’m gonna act like a ‘normal’ blogger today, then I might as well post a link to something, no?
I was browsing the ‘News of the Weird’ (or ‘Oddly Enough’, or ‘Hey, Look — Cluetards!’, or whatever the hell it’s called) on Yahoo just now, and found this little ditty of a headline (click for the full story):
Cold Postmen Probed for Not Delivering Mail
Now, maybe I’m reading something into this… but just based on the headline, this seems a little harsh to me. I mean, I like getting mail as much as the next guy, but a probing, just for withholding a few bills and AOL CDs? Damn. These people are already cold; don’t you think they’ve suffered enough? This isn’t Eric Cartman we’re talking about here.
Ooooh, two links in one post! And the post’s already over… I think I’m getting the hang of this ‘normal’ blogging thing. Woot!
Permalink | 1 CommentI like to think I’m a reasonable man.
I mean, sure, I’m not, actually, but I certainly like to think so. And in this case, I think I’m being more than fair.
See, I’m not complaining that when the soda machine here at the office runs out of Pepsi, no one fills it for a week or more.
And I’m not bitching about the fact that when I find out that the machine is empty, and press the ‘Money Return’ lever, my dollar and a quarter turns into five quarters, and I have to spend the rest of the day dealing with ‘jangly britches’, as the change tumbles to and fro in my pockets.
I won’t even get hot and bothered about the fact that the ‘Sold Out’ signs on the machine — assuming the damned things even exist — are burnt out, and that it’s impossible to determine what’s actually inside the machine without plugging it with money.
(Unless perhaps you have a buzz saw handy, which this machine is making me seriously consider as my next Home Depot purchase.)
Nor am I even going to rail about the fact that when the machine runs out of said quarters, because we poor, ignorant saps keep trying to get our daily doses of caffeine, the machine doesn’t return anything — not the single quarter, not the dollar, not one red damned cent whatsoever.
No, friends, I’m going to keep my mouth shut about all of that, which, as I said before, I like to think makes me quite reasonable.
But I’m going to draw the line, and call the machine a big flubber-humping, ass-diddling pork-jobber, because the damned thing is still out of friggin’ Pepsi, now nine days later, and if I want something to drink to keep me awake this afternoon, I’ve got three choices:
1) Freeze my rosy asscheeks off walking to the next building where I can buy a Pepsi from the convenience store guy
B) Break down and use my hard-earned buck and a quarter on a nasty Mountain Dew, and live with the taste of citrus-flavored battery acid in my mouth all day
iii) Go back to my office and guzzle the bottle of shit that’s used to clean whiteboards, hoping that it’ll give me a buzz and keep me awake, rather than dropping me into a foamy-mouthed coma on the spot
Shit. Given the negative-twenty degree wind chill outside, and the fact that I know how bad the Mountain Dew’s gonna be (no offense, DewNut — and hey, if I can’t stand the stuff, that’s just more for you), I’m leaning toward door number three. But maybe I’ll stick a toe outside and see how cold it really is out there. If the piggie doesn’t come back frostbitten and black, maybe I’ll bundle up and make a trek out to the convenience store. It’s either that or the cleaning fluid — neither of these are good options, folks. How the hell am I supposed to pretend to work under these conditions?!?
Permalink | 2 Comments