Everything I Like Causes Cancer

On my way to work this morning I was listening to NPR and heard that Egypt was planning to slaughter all of the 300,000 pigs in their country as a preventative measure against swine flu. I honestly didn't believe at the time that their idiotic plan would come to fruition, that someone with a lick of sense would put a swift end to it.

I was wrong.

I just read over my lunch hour that the slaughter has begun. Not surprisingly, Egyptian farmers are pissed and throwing rocks. Those pigs are likely all these men possess, the currency and lifeblood of their existence, and they will do anything to protect them. I predict this situation will get worse before it gets better. Being a humanitarian, I would now like to address the people in charge of Egypt . . .

Um, Egyptian dudes? Listen to me closely . . .

• There have been NO reported cases of swine flu in your country.
• Swine flu is not contracted from pigs; it's called that because it started as a porcine virus but it has mutated into a human one. YOU CAN'T GET SWINE FLU FROM PIGS.
• And, dare I say it, your former King Herod tried this slaughter move a long time ago with baby boys and it didn't work out so well for y'all in the end. Remember Moses? Yeah.

I can't decide if this means the driver is squirrel bait (Get it?  "Nuts?"  Yeah, it's stupid.) or if it means the driver is a huge yokel who just ate a squirrel.  Or is planning to eat a squirrel.  Or maybe the family's pet squirrel is 8 years old.  (BTW, if this is what it means, I am sad for Illinois.)

I don't know, but it's weird and I can't stop thinking about it.

I am getting crushed at work this week and have little to say that isn't complaining.  I did hear a story on the radio this morning about how someone hacked into an Illinois Department of Transportation computer and changed the wording on a road sign near here to:

The show last night was great.  Ms. Jones is an incredible performer and The Dap Kings can't be beat.  (Get it?)

So I'm sitting here tonight and my yahoo messenger beeps and tells me I have a new Snapvine message.  I get all excited and zip over there to listen to it and this is what I hear.

I apologize.  The persistent negativity this week is unintentional.  It would appear that I'm having my period but I assure you I am not, it's just the material that has presented itself.  I'm sure things will brighten up soon.  In the meantime, here's the latest thing I want to ridicule:

Today's Hummer is brought to you by the lift kit.  Uh-huh.  A lift kit.


For those of you who didn't grow up where the truck reigns supreme whenever testosterone is involved, a lift kit "(also referred to as lift kits or leveling kits) enable(s) steeper ascent, descent and breakover angles, higher ground clearance, and helps accommodate larger rims and tires."  Which is great, if you live 2,000 miles from nowhere in Outdoorsville, Rough Terrain, but what the hell does some preppy-assed suburban guy named Stew need with one?  He doesn't.

Look how much taller this thing is than a normal car.  Douchebag.

When I got out of the shower yesterday morning I saw the little envelope thing on my cellphone that means I have a text message. I thought it was weird because I'd had my phone with me all morning but after I opened the message I knew why I hadn't heard anything . . . it came in at 11:37 pm . . . on a Sunday night.

I don't know about you crazy nightbirds but I'm in bed, asleep, at 11:37 on a Sunday night.  I easily deduced this person didn't know me well.  I also knew, by the area code, that the call was coming from central/southern Illinois, but those two facts did little for my memory of this person who had only said, "Hey remember me?"

I hate this kind of coy bullshit game so when I got to the office I replied, "I might if you gave me a name."

The rest of the exchange went like this:

10:14 am, Mysery person:  Lol. herez a hint. we banged each otherz brains out.

Immediately upon receipt, Me:  I find that hard to believe and am not amused.

10:58 am, MP:  OMG. relax. it’s Gerry. should I delete u?

Gerry is a guy I met once . . . in March . . . with a group of people.  Yeah.  I tell ya, I was pissed.  Who talks like that to a woman they met once?

Wait, it gets better.

1:09 PM, Gerry:  Sorry.  was just flirtin. i’ll leave ya alone.

Yes, monkeys, Gerry and I had an entire relationship in one day:  we introduced ourselves . . . someone was inappropriate . . . someone else set a boundary . . . someone got his feelings hurt . . . and quicker than a 24-hour flu, it was over.

You said you wanted to hear all about my love life.  Well, there you have it.  Maybe I'll just get myself one of these:And if you don't know why this picture is funny?  Well, other than the creepy upper right quadrant of what appears to be a stuffed man copping a feel, then shame on you for not reading yesterday.  I suggest you get your asses down there and read it.  Since you're late, be sure to comment.  Thank you.

One evening earlier this week I was driving home, top down on the car, enjoying a smokey treat, radio blaring. It's not a bad way to travel and the ciggie is optional.

Anyway, I'm blissfully tooling along when I see this guy.

littlepenislittlepenislittlepenislittlepenislittlepenislittlepenislittlepenislittlepenis

Really, guy? You're driving an H3 with license plates that read, "BICEPS"? You were conscious when you made this choice? I imagine you'd be upset to know what people think when they see you, but what options do we have, you over-inflated tool?

I knew immediately that I had to share this ridiculous display of misplaced testosterone with you, but he was in the lane next to me and I kinda had my hands full what with the having to shift my car while also retrieving the camera out of my purse. Needless to say the smokey treat was ditched so I could attempt the rest. Sacrifice number one.

The first order of business was somehow getting the tank positioned in front of me so I could get the shot. I considered using the Vulcan mind meld but it requires physical contact and is rarely used for controlling another person. While I was pondering my options, he serendipitously put on his blinker. Traffic was pretty heavy so I let him in. Sacrifice number two.

Now that he was in the proper position for mocking I had to somehow continue driving safely while also taking a picture. It wasn't easy, or safe. Sacrifice number three.

I tried to get a look at him when he turned left but it was hard with him being 1,200 feet off the ground in that gas-sucking monster. All I could see was a ballcap and sunglasses, which really drives my point home. (I kid.)

Have a great Thursday, monkeys. The week is almost over and we're staring down the barrel of a three-day weekend. Woot.

So a couple guys are out there today telling the world they've found Bigfoot. Their website, http://www.searchingforbigfoot.com/, includes a picture of what they claim to be the body of one of these creatures.

Statistics on the Squatch body include:

• The creature is seven feet seven inches tall.
• It weighs over five hundred pounds.
• The creature looks like it is part human and part ape-like.
• It is male. (Can you even imagine the size of that thing? Yowza.)
• It has reddish hair and blackish-grey eyes.
• It has two arms and two legs, and five fingers on each hand and five toes on each foot.
• The feet are flat and similar to human feet.
• Its footprint is sixteen and three-quarters inches long and five and three-quarters inches wide at the heel. (More evidence of it's size, if you know what I mean. Wink, wink. Nudge, nudge.)
• From the palm of the hand to the tip of the middle finger, its hands are eleven and three-quarters inches long and six and one-quarter inches wide.
• The creatures walk upright. Several of them were sighted on the same day that the body was found.
• The teeth are more human-like than ape-like. (All the better to eat you with, my dear.)
• DNA tests are currently being done and the current DNA and photo evidence will be presented at the press conference on Friday, August 15th.

As I pulled up to my garage tonight I noticed a piece of paper stuck in the handle of my garage door. The paper was yellow, folded into eighths, and looked like a note. My mind raced with the possibilities. Was it a hate letter from one of my neighbors for some dumpster or lawn care faux pas? A note from a friend? A bid from a contractor who happened by and saw the opportunity presented by my dilapidated garage roof?

Giddy with anticipation, I jumped out of the car into the pouring rain and snatched it off the door. It was addressed “To the lovely lady with the convertible.” Huh. Interesting.

I got back in the car and opened it carefully as the rain had made the paper delicate. It read, “I hope you don’t mind me saying, you are very beautiful. I do not mean to offend, but I suppose I am a secret admirer. I would love to hear from you, if you use email you can reach me at bndtXX at X dot com.”


I instinctively assumed that “bndt” stands for “Bandit” and giggled aloud over its potential meanings. It crossed my mind that maybe the note was from a raccoon. Or that the author was an old-timey bank robber. Or Burt Reynolds. Or maybe even Burt Reynolds' moustache!

I went down this path until it was exhausted and then re-read the note. On my second reading I realized that the note was well-written, that he had chosen nice words to convey his feelings and had taken the time to write in a nice, even, readable hand.

I am generally appalled at the spelling, grammar and sentence structures produced by 75% of the so-called literate world, but this? This is decent writing for someone who leaves notes on women’s garages on rainy Wednesdays.

For example, ALL of the words are spelled correctly, even the harder ones like “admirer” and “beautiful” and rather than risk a your/you’re mistake, he wrote out both words. Most importantly, the note doesn’t contain one character of the txtspk that is slowly eroding the English language. I understand that txtspk has its place, BTW, but that place is not in an anonymous love note.

So now I am left with options. I could ignore it altogether telling myself that he’s a creepy stalker. He wouldn’t be my first, or my second, or even my third. I'm a magnet for them, it seems.

I could respond, leaving an anonymous reply note that says I’m flattered but not interested in an anonymous suitor. Or I could embrace the chance that he is my Prince Charming and email him only to find out he’s the meth-head I see every morning buying a six-pack of Busch tall-boys at the 7-11 on the corner.

I could also stand naked in front of my garage until he comes back, but it’s still raining and cold. I’m dying to know what you guys think. Who is he? What would you do? What would Jesus do? What should I do?

On Tuesday a friend emailed me this story about one of her co-workers:

I have to tell you about M: she just found out that she's pregnant - and you know her kind, desperate for a baby, no self-esteem. She's been telling EVERYONE, and seriously, she's only like 4-5 weeks along. Not a smart move to be 41 and announcing your pregnancy before you're through your first trimester. She has already put down a deposit on a day care center and she's been going around on all these crying jags. She had a 4-hour crying jag yesterday because she's freaked out about driving to Columbia for a meeting next week because she's afraid to drive out of town. One of our other co-workers told her she should go home and take a hot bath and calm down and she said she wasn't sure she should because she had to be careful about the temperature of the bath water.

I'm staying as far away from her as possible.

Okay, first our many religious factions all fought about what kinds of end-of-year holiday decorations could and could not be displayed. They've also argued about where said decorations could and could not be displayed and who was allowed to display them and who wasn't.

I get it - no one likes to feel left out. Besides, I like seeing menorahs and dreidels and other such items alongside Christian decorations in homes and stores this time of year. It reminds me that I am not actually the center of the universe, which is an appropriate sentiment no matter what your religion.

But now? Now people are fighting over the size of each said decoration. The administration of a small city in New York actually went to the effort of displaying a menorah and a Christmas tree, only to be berated by the Christian residents because the menorah was bigger than the Christmas tree.

Admittedly any gal who tells you that size doesn't matter is lying, but in this instance I find the energy spent on creating some hollow equity ridiculous. The residents actually went so far as to find and cut down an established 20-foot blue spruce simply to counter-balance some politically correct bullshit. And in the process sacrificed not one, but two trees on the altar of Baby Jesus. Way to go! He'd be so proud of your capacity for tolerance, Long Beach NY.

• Don't messie with Bressie! Girl will whup yo' ass if ya do.


• Wish this guy lived in my neighborhood. We've had a rash of graffiti "art" ourselves. Every time I come home late I expect to surprise them. Not sure what I'll do if that happens. Probably drive around the block until they're gone. Or pee myself.

• I guess I expected her to be a child and the crime to be something youthfully stupid. I feel bad for him. Mostly because he's cute.

Did you see this story? I kind of feel for the guy. I mean, really, when his name is finally released people will then know that he's the guy who pays for sex, he's the guy who's is a welsher, and he's the guy that got beat up by a girl. That's way worse than George knowing the words to a Paula Abdul song.