You can only go on pretending that it’s other people for so long. Sooner or later, you’re forced to admit that whatever weird-ass shit happens to you, if it happens a lot, if it happens consistently, if it makes, say, a pattern, well then, it’s probably you.
I’m okay with this, mind you. But just so my twelve readers are not deceived as to the type of person I am, I feel that I should tell you that I am the type of person who inspires people to:
1) Ask her for a few dollars, in order to buy a bus ticket to New York/Chicago/Chicopee, Mass./Florida/Maine.
2) Take pictures of their privates, and then send those pictures to her.
3) Make pictures out of snippets of pubic hair (probably, but not necessarily, their own), and then send those pictures to her.
4) Tell her their whole life story, beginning with birth and ending just after the divorce, massive doses of penicillin and bankruptcy proceedings.
5) Pat her on the ass, and then ask, “Can I pat your ass?” I mean really, why ask at all, Mr. McFeeley?
6) Ask her for help with various physical tasks that are clearly beyond her physical abilities, such as lifting ginormous objects many times her body weight, as if she were an ant, or reaching things for things that are located far above her head, which is located, still, a mere five feet above the ground.
7) Talk and talk and talk about religion/politics/current events, when it could not be more clear that all discussion of such leaves her wishing mightily that a piano would fall from the sky, crushing the speaker, and perhaps producing an amusing tune at the same time. Win-win!
8) Think to himself or herself, Am I an enormous large person of wide width? Yes, I am! That means I should sit next to her. She won’t mind.
9) Ditto her newspaper. She longs to share it with me. I’ll just ask.
10) See also: light, cigarette, chewing gum, chapstick, sanitary items, tissue, cough drop, etc. and so on.
And, at last, a resolution: Learn to look cranky, and thus make these people leave me alone.
Happy New Year, everyone!
7 thoughts on “No resolution, but a realization”
Why on earth would anyone want to go to Chicopee?
hey – do you have the time?
IAP: One would go to Chicopee to visit Italian-American Princesses, of course. That’s the only reason to go.
Dan from NJ: The time is free. I’d happily give you the time, but I don’t wear a watch. If you figure out what time it is, be sure to tell me.
I must tell you, i consider myself unrivaled in terms of having seemingly normal adult friends who are in fact complete derelicts (to those who really know them.) but i have never had any of them craft any artwork out of pubic hair, so you will have to pardon me as i am fascinated by this concept. i do have a friend who prides himself on performing public tricks with his genitals (the balloon, lionheart, and my personal favorite, the bird bath), but to this date, he has never worked in the pubic hair medium.
is the hair still attached when the picture is taken, or is it shaved prior to being styled and photographed?
any info would be appreciated on a post holidays monday where i was near slitting my wrists until i read this post.
thanks, and happy new year!
The pubic hair was deteched from the pubic area of the gentleman in question, who, actually, is a friend of mine. But I had to mention the incident. I mean, c’mon. If you can’t use your blog as a forum for discussion of pubic art, why have one at all? A blog, I mean.
LOL! Pubic hair art.. is that gonna be the new pass time when blogging isn’t ‘big’ any more? 😉
“3) Make pictures out of snippets of pubic hair”
Don't make fun! Did you ever think that perhaps they were shaving "down there" and as the hair fell, it formed an unmistakable likeness of the Madonna & child? Don't scoff if someone is sharing their religious moment with you.