I Can Hear You Now

Okay, I've decided on a sense I would give up if I had to lose one of my senses.

The decision was made for me, really.
At first, I figured that I'd go with "taste." If I wanted to drop a sense, it would be Taste. The upside is that I wouldn't be tempted in most ways that I am tempted by certain things. The downside is that, if I lost my sense of taste, I would start enjoying the music of Nickelback, The Music Industry's Answer to Illegal Downloading. Plus, I love foods. And I have a lot to try.

So I went another way. Or, like I said, the way came to me, and I said "mmmmB'okay." I know that I'll live a long, healthy life, vibrant and full of fun clothes and trips. But if I had to be robbed of a sense, of the 5 we have (Smell, Sight, Touch, Taste, Hearing), oh crap, EASY...

HEARING.

• I can read captions to funny movies and humorous passages in books.
• I can remember how many of my old favorite songs sound, but most of today's music is recycled from an era I wasn't that hip to anyway.
• I would never have to listen to somebody tell a totally F'ed-up joke. Not a "wrong" joke, a joke they aren't smart enough to remember the proper delivery to.
• I wouldn't have to listen to people complain about how their $5 coffee doesn't taste enough like coffee after they put enough milk and flavor in it to give a leprechaun insulin shock.
• Crying babies? Never again.
• Children's laughter? Creepier than you think.
• You're gonna have to come into the room to tell me the cat has diarrhea.
• Co-worker's diatribe, punctuated with mistimed giggling, about how "this place used to have creamer but now, I uh, my friend works at a place that has creamer and this place used to have creamer, and uh..." WHAT? WHERE IS THIS GOING? WHAT DO YOU WANT? WHAT?

SORRY, I cannot hear you. The Lord has blessed me. So what, I have to talk with my hands and tell people via written word that I'm unable to hear them? Look at all I have lost! It would be worth it.

Think of all the stuff you are inundated with on a daily basis that just turns to white-noise in your mind.
Never again.
The aliens have it right. TELEPATHY. ABDUCTION. PROBES.

Humor is a sense, much like taste.
Some people can enjoy the foie gras, the slow-braised elk tenderloin, and the cheese pairings. Some, well, they're just pissed you passed ANOTHER Arby's, man.

So yes, Hearing. If I had to lose a sense, it would be hearing. No more Nickelback. Yes, I'd choose to lose my sense of hearing,
Or Decency. I'm tired of gut aches from non-farting in public. Or maybe half-decency, half-smell. I think too few people have the perspective of what I could be doing in grocery aisles and various clothiers. So yeah, Decency would be the other sense I may give up.

I should re-think this.

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Two & A Half Minutes

Can somebody please contact me if you watch the CBS shitcom "Two & A Half Men"? I'm trying to expand my list of places to tactically air-strike suggest for special rewards.

I have yet to watch that show and say "Yes, that was funny." It's been on for like 9 years, I don't know a single person who watches it. At least, I hope I don't.

The other night I watched 30 seconds of it. Then the hot chick on the stairmaster went in the other room and I snapped back to reality, covered in a cold sweat and just leeetle bit o' pee. Hopefully, mine.

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Letters To Losers

Open Letter to Inattentive Lady At QFC:

I don’t care how long you stood behind me, not seeing that I was reading a magazine near, but not IN a check-out line.
I don’t care that you didn’t see that the check-out line I stood near, but not IN, wasn’t even operating, as nobody was in front of me, and the checker wasn’t there, and the light wasn’t on to show that it was in operation.
I don't care that you didn't see any sort of goods near me that would indicate a purchase was nearing in our time-space continuum.

The answer to your question “Well why (was I) standing there for?” is this:
Because you’re a dumb crap-piece who needs her world challenged in more ways than standing behind a man reading Seattle Metropolitan magazine for a minute before your head cork-pops from your butt’s hole to realize, OH HEY, that guy’s not even in line.

I honestly hope that your world is an emotionally teetering card-house on top of a frayed-cord space-heater near a puddle of the tears you cry at night in between couch-smoked cigarettes and tumblers of Chardonnay, weeping “Come back, Doug, come back” into an macramé pillow case. If I wanna read, I’ll read in your F’ing kitchen, Hag-ass. Sorry that you can’t pay Attention with AMEX. Next time, wear more perfume and make my other eye blind, we won’t have this problem. Eat a crap taco.

Open Letter to DoucheBagge Personifcato At The Alderwood Mall FoodCourt on Saturday, 2/16/08, between 2:30 & 4pm:

It’s not gonna happen, man.
I know you think the baggie Dickies jeans, backwards cap, black thermal shirt, flat-link silver-colored chain necklace, and Swisher Sweet tucked under your cap is an ensemble of ass-attraction. But there’s What You Think. And There’s Reality. Nice giant headphones plugged into a CD player, BTW. El nardo.

To watch you walk around with your elbows slightly flared, as though you were puffing up to make yourself appear bigger to other socially retarded monkeys (your friends), I was reminded of why some animals eat their young, or at the very least, stop feeding them. I know judging you without knowing you is wrong, but Bang-bang-bang-GUILTY on all counts of acting like the ring leader of a gang I dubbed “The Alderwood Skids.”

I watched as you all kept your slack-jawed gazes fixed upon the door, perhaps for a group of girls within your perceived ability to score with them. Yet for 90 minutes, it didn’t happen. That bus from the home for girls with sub-70 IQs never showed, did it?

And what was the dance move you were attempting? The left hand, flattened, palm-down at waist-level, while you undulated your hips to music only you could misinterpret and lose the beat to? You certainly had the attention of a number of girls. They all said “aaaaw!’ while hoping your seizure stopped long enough to laugh at you.

I’m going to see you again, I know I will. And when I do, I hope your posse is with you. The guy with the gigantic eyebrows. His brother with the mongobrow. Your friend who had a checkerboard shaved/dyed into his head. Your best buddy who you looked like you were about to kiss a couple of times, were it not for all those prying eyes. The kid with no headphones who kept shaking his head like we was listening to a song that focused on the ratio of “Money:Bitches” or perhaps “Bitches:Problems.” When I see you again, I will videotape you and post it on the internet to show everyone why NOW is the time to genetically modify food so that people under a certain IQ cannot breed. Smell my hate-fart.


Open Letter to the "Aren't I Funny!?!?"but You're Not Funny You Just Can't Shut Up Pipe-Blockage

Shouting your way in to every conversation going on around you is a great way to get your voice heard. And registered on the "Do Not Talk Around This Person" list. You think you're funny, because that one time at your old job your co-worker said they were going to trim their bushes over the weekend and you said "HEEEEEY! Don't GO theerrre!" and you've hung your whimsical hat upon that tag ever since.

My favorite was when somebody mentioned their friend's serious illness, and you imparted how your sister had a similar but not-as-serious illness, and your friend should have gone to the hospital your sister went to.

What.
The.
F*ck.

Next time that happens, I'm going to let it hang for 5 seconds, and interrupt whomever starts talking to put the limelight on YOU, Rubbernecker, because you want the attention and you'll get to pony-up the info you so greatly want to share. And when it's over, waaaaaaaaaay past the time you should have shut up, I'll just say "Oh, is that all? You made it sound so big, it's really not, is it?"

And then I, not YOU, will look awesome! Nice wolf shirt.
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Seriously folks, I'm truly in a GREAT mood!


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