(no subject)
So here I am, sitting here pondering about how I can get more people to go over to the Lap Band contest and vote for me. Voting ends Thursday and I'm getting kind of nervous so I really want to drum up some votes over there.
"I know!" I said to my daughter. "What I need to do is think of something so fabulously funny that it goes viral onto Metaquotes with the link in it!"
She just looked at me funny. She does that a lot lately, you know. I didn't care. I just kept going.
"I could talk about how mom's old guy friend was still pursuing her..."
Do you guys remember the Man Beast? I wish I could find that LJ entry but I've been looking for almost an hour and can't find it.
Anyways, mom had this guy friend who was helping her out by hiring her to do household chores. She was vacuuming one day and found this red nylon strap sticking out from under the bed. Being a housekeeper much like me, she kicked it back under the bed and continued on with life.
Later the guy spoke cryptically about this strap, said that was what he used to keep the "man beast" tamed. She just smiled and nodded. Yeah, right.
She gets a call that night that he needs help desperately so she comes over to find his house dark, and he's managed to tie himself to the bed wearing nothing but the red strap tied around his erect phallus. "The man beast... tame it!" He commanded her.
She just stared. He writhed. "Tame it. Tame the man beast! The man beast needs you!"
"OH MY GOD JIM!" she said. "I don't know what you're talking about. You want me to jump on that thing?"
And then he just froze, looked at her, sighed in disgust, untied himself and went into take a shower after telling her to get out over his shoulder.
WELL, it didn't end after that. I'm talking this guy pursued her for YEARS. He'd call her, text her, write her.
She let me listen to a voicemail he left her in which he sang, "If you're horny and you want a good time, call 555-2309." Another time, my daughter told me they came out to find a note that he'd left on my mother's windshield. Mother wouldn't let her read it but mom squeaked and dropped it like she'd been hit after she opened it. My mother showed it to me. It was a charming and quaint little love note: "I want to eat your pussy."
Yeah. Top shelf, this one. Most of us would consider this stalking. Mom just thought it was cute. And to be honest, compared to some of her ex-boyfriends, it was.
All of the sisters know this guy and the Red Strap story. All the spouses and best friends, and the eldest grandkid (my daughter). All of us.
So imagine if you will what happened when mother announced at a family gathering that she and Jim had finally started dating after three years of pursuit (and the introduction of hormones into her treatment plan.)
The room went dead silent. There were five women who all swiveled to look at her. There was a titter in the back of the room and someone said after a good thirty seconds..."You mean... red strap?????"
"No," someone else said. "He likes to go by 'man-beast', remember?"
"That's MR. Manbeast to you, bitches!"
We all lost it. LOST it. Mother, of course, was not amused. "OH MY GOD YOU ARE ALL SUCH CHILDREN!!! AND YOU'D BETTER NOT BRING ANY OF THAT UP WHEN HE'S AROUND!"
"No, no," assured my rational sister. "We'd never do that."
"Not at all", her husband added. "But next family barbeque, the only beer we're having is Red Stripe. I won't have to say a thing. It'll happen organically."
Sadly, they broke up before the brother in law could do so....
*************
See, that's not nearly funny enough. I really think I've lost the knack of funny. I should be having conversations with my uterus about this kind of thing.
Memo
To: Uterus
From: Irene
Subject: Being funny
Uterus:
It has come to my attention that I've lost the ability to write witty, funny, scathing things about you. Admittedly, it may be that this has resulted as a direct result that my professional life has turned into a stinking cesspool of SUCK, but I also find it quite fitting to blame you for this.
There is only one way to redeem yourself. Be funny. Tell a joke. Now.
Sincerly,
Irene.
****
Memo:
To: Irene
From: Uterus
Subject: THE FUCK YOU SAY?
Irene:
THE FUCK?
No, wait. Let me rephrase that just a little bit more politely. WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU ON, YOU INSANE BITCH????
Let's get this straight. Despite many years of what I consider to be flawless functioning, you had some quack doctor with the last name of "Funkhauser" (and I'm not even going into her bad perm, oh, no I'm not!) flood me with boiling water, burn out my guts, and basically disable me for a period of close to three years and you want me to tell a joke?
I have struggled to come back from near death to keep you on your toes and to keep you healthy and this is how you thank me?
Need I remind you that in the corporate manual, Irene's Body Employee Handbook, under chapter seven, subsection C, subparagraph 32, it states, and I quote:
In later years it will be necessary for the Female Reproductive Organs (known henceforth as FROs) to increase breast pain, clot production, hot flashes, bloating, cravings, panic attacks and general depression so that Irene can take comfort in the process of menopause and the cessation of functioning of the FROs. Hopefully this will also take Irene's mind off the fact that this process can take as long as ten years. If not longer if you're nasty.
So you see, I am actually involved in SRS BSNS, am doing it with more internal damage than Gary Busey's skull, and am doing it for your own good.
In short, fuck off.
Sincerely,
Uterus.
*****
Memo:
To: Uterus
From: Irene
Subject: OH NO YOU DID NOT JUST BLOW ME OFF!!!
Uterus:
I mean, no, you did not! In case you've not taken a look around for a while, you happen to reside in my abdominal cavity which means you're under my direct control. AKA you're in my house. My house, my rules. My rules say you need to pull your own weight.
I mean, seriously, did YOU send anyone the link to the lap-band contest to help me out? Even Liv got me a few votes from her friends.
I know you're down there every weekend doing body shots with the spleen and pancreas. Did you think to ask them to go online and vote for me? Nooooo. I bet you were out getting a tattoo of Edward Cullen on your fallopian tube. After all, he's the only thing more useless than you are in this world.
So, you useless bag of meat, tell a joke! Get me votes!
Sincerely,
Irene
****
Memo
To: Irene
From: Uterus
Subject: Fuck you dead.
Irene:
No, really. Fuck you dead. You know I'm Team Jacob, you rancid bitch.
And really, picking on Twilight? That's so over and done with. Why don't you go find something meaningful to do with your time, like writing fanfic for Jersey Shore or Real Housewives one of the other highbrow entertainment options you go for.
The pancreas and spleen called and said that the liver is blocking their wireless by making it password protected. Or maybe they got viruses downloading something about Charlie Sheen. Either way, you're screwed.
And for the last time, I'm not a machine. You can't put a quarter in and get a joke. All you get from me is pain, misery and blood clots. And I like that FINE. EFF. EYE. ENN. EEE.
It gives me joy to make you unhappy. It gives my heart (if I had one, which I don't because I'm basically a bag of muscle that is not a heart) wings to make you suffer. If this was a job that I got paid for, I would be happy not taking a cent for the rest of my life because I give you pain and agony and angst.
And I likes it fine. It gives my life meaning.
Sincerely,
Uterus.
PS: Wolf pack 4Ever.
PPS: Bitch.
******
Memo
To: Uterus
From: Irene
Subject: We may be onto something here.
Uterus:
Okay, so you like me hurting and in pain? You mean like if someone takes a knife and puts it into my body and cuts me? And puts something in me that will basically make me puke? A lot?
And that will probably put my estrogen levels all willy-nilly and give you free rein to make my life a living hell?
Dude, what is your problem with this, then? I mean, seriously. Tell a joke, get people to click, I get not only to go under anesthesia which will make me puke for days, I get cut up, denied my favorite foods and you get a chance to go haywire for a few months.
I sense a win-win proposition here.
Also, for the record, I have NEVER watched an episode of Jersey Shore. And furthermore, I love Nene, so leave her the fuck alone.
With little or no affection,
Irene
PS: Tell a joke and someone makes me bleed....
****
Memo
To: Irene
From: Uterus
Subject: Blood? Why didn't you say so in the beginning?
.... A Rabbi and a priest walk into a bar....
**********
Still begging here! Pls go vote for me and spread the word. Thursday is the last day! (remember, you can only vote once per IP or however they do it. They'll disqualify votes that are "stuffing the box".)
"I know!" I said to my daughter. "What I need to do is think of something so fabulously funny that it goes viral onto Metaquotes with the link in it!"
She just looked at me funny. She does that a lot lately, you know. I didn't care. I just kept going.
"I could talk about how mom's old guy friend was still pursuing her..."
Do you guys remember the Man Beast? I wish I could find that LJ entry but I've been looking for almost an hour and can't find it.
Anyways, mom had this guy friend who was helping her out by hiring her to do household chores. She was vacuuming one day and found this red nylon strap sticking out from under the bed. Being a housekeeper much like me, she kicked it back under the bed and continued on with life.
Later the guy spoke cryptically about this strap, said that was what he used to keep the "man beast" tamed. She just smiled and nodded. Yeah, right.
She gets a call that night that he needs help desperately so she comes over to find his house dark, and he's managed to tie himself to the bed wearing nothing but the red strap tied around his erect phallus. "The man beast... tame it!" He commanded her.
She just stared. He writhed. "Tame it. Tame the man beast! The man beast needs you!"
"OH MY GOD JIM!" she said. "I don't know what you're talking about. You want me to jump on that thing?"
And then he just froze, looked at her, sighed in disgust, untied himself and went into take a shower after telling her to get out over his shoulder.
WELL, it didn't end after that. I'm talking this guy pursued her for YEARS. He'd call her, text her, write her.
She let me listen to a voicemail he left her in which he sang, "If you're horny and you want a good time, call 555-2309." Another time, my daughter told me they came out to find a note that he'd left on my mother's windshield. Mother wouldn't let her read it but mom squeaked and dropped it like she'd been hit after she opened it. My mother showed it to me. It was a charming and quaint little love note: "I want to eat your pussy."
Yeah. Top shelf, this one. Most of us would consider this stalking. Mom just thought it was cute. And to be honest, compared to some of her ex-boyfriends, it was.
All of the sisters know this guy and the Red Strap story. All the spouses and best friends, and the eldest grandkid (my daughter). All of us.
So imagine if you will what happened when mother announced at a family gathering that she and Jim had finally started dating after three years of pursuit (and the introduction of hormones into her treatment plan.)
The room went dead silent. There were five women who all swiveled to look at her. There was a titter in the back of the room and someone said after a good thirty seconds..."You mean... red strap?????"
"No," someone else said. "He likes to go by 'man-beast', remember?"
"That's MR. Manbeast to you, bitches!"
We all lost it. LOST it. Mother, of course, was not amused. "OH MY GOD YOU ARE ALL SUCH CHILDREN!!! AND YOU'D BETTER NOT BRING ANY OF THAT UP WHEN HE'S AROUND!"
"No, no," assured my rational sister. "We'd never do that."
"Not at all", her husband added. "But next family barbeque, the only beer we're having is Red Stripe. I won't have to say a thing. It'll happen organically."
Sadly, they broke up before the brother in law could do so....
*************
See, that's not nearly funny enough. I really think I've lost the knack of funny. I should be having conversations with my uterus about this kind of thing.
Memo
To: Uterus
From: Irene
Subject: Being funny
Uterus:
It has come to my attention that I've lost the ability to write witty, funny, scathing things about you. Admittedly, it may be that this has resulted as a direct result that my professional life has turned into a stinking cesspool of SUCK, but I also find it quite fitting to blame you for this.
There is only one way to redeem yourself. Be funny. Tell a joke. Now.
Sincerly,
Irene.
****
Memo:
To: Irene
From: Uterus
Subject: THE FUCK YOU SAY?
Irene:
THE FUCK?
No, wait. Let me rephrase that just a little bit more politely. WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU ON, YOU INSANE BITCH????
Let's get this straight. Despite many years of what I consider to be flawless functioning, you had some quack doctor with the last name of "Funkhauser" (and I'm not even going into her bad perm, oh, no I'm not!) flood me with boiling water, burn out my guts, and basically disable me for a period of close to three years and you want me to tell a joke?
I have struggled to come back from near death to keep you on your toes and to keep you healthy and this is how you thank me?
Need I remind you that in the corporate manual, Irene's Body Employee Handbook, under chapter seven, subsection C, subparagraph 32, it states, and I quote:
In later years it will be necessary for the Female Reproductive Organs (known henceforth as FROs) to increase breast pain, clot production, hot flashes, bloating, cravings, panic attacks and general depression so that Irene can take comfort in the process of menopause and the cessation of functioning of the FROs. Hopefully this will also take Irene's mind off the fact that this process can take as long as ten years. If not longer if you're nasty.
So you see, I am actually involved in SRS BSNS, am doing it with more internal damage than Gary Busey's skull, and am doing it for your own good.
In short, fuck off.
Sincerely,
Uterus.
*****
Memo:
To: Uterus
From: Irene
Subject: OH NO YOU DID NOT JUST BLOW ME OFF!!!
Uterus:
I mean, no, you did not! In case you've not taken a look around for a while, you happen to reside in my abdominal cavity which means you're under my direct control. AKA you're in my house. My house, my rules. My rules say you need to pull your own weight.
I mean, seriously, did YOU send anyone the link to the lap-band contest to help me out? Even Liv got me a few votes from her friends.
I know you're down there every weekend doing body shots with the spleen and pancreas. Did you think to ask them to go online and vote for me? Nooooo. I bet you were out getting a tattoo of Edward Cullen on your fallopian tube. After all, he's the only thing more useless than you are in this world.
So, you useless bag of meat, tell a joke! Get me votes!
Sincerely,
Irene
****
Memo
To: Irene
From: Uterus
Subject: Fuck you dead.
Irene:
No, really. Fuck you dead. You know I'm Team Jacob, you rancid bitch.
And really, picking on Twilight? That's so over and done with. Why don't you go find something meaningful to do with your time, like writing fanfic for Jersey Shore or Real Housewives one of the other highbrow entertainment options you go for.
The pancreas and spleen called and said that the liver is blocking their wireless by making it password protected. Or maybe they got viruses downloading something about Charlie Sheen. Either way, you're screwed.
And for the last time, I'm not a machine. You can't put a quarter in and get a joke. All you get from me is pain, misery and blood clots. And I like that FINE. EFF. EYE. ENN. EEE.
It gives me joy to make you unhappy. It gives my heart (if I had one, which I don't because I'm basically a bag of muscle that is not a heart) wings to make you suffer. If this was a job that I got paid for, I would be happy not taking a cent for the rest of my life because I give you pain and agony and angst.
And I likes it fine. It gives my life meaning.
Sincerely,
Uterus.
PS: Wolf pack 4Ever.
PPS: Bitch.
******
Memo
To: Uterus
From: Irene
Subject: We may be onto something here.
Uterus:
Okay, so you like me hurting and in pain? You mean like if someone takes a knife and puts it into my body and cuts me? And puts something in me that will basically make me puke? A lot?
And that will probably put my estrogen levels all willy-nilly and give you free rein to make my life a living hell?
Dude, what is your problem with this, then? I mean, seriously. Tell a joke, get people to click, I get not only to go under anesthesia which will make me puke for days, I get cut up, denied my favorite foods and you get a chance to go haywire for a few months.
I sense a win-win proposition here.
Also, for the record, I have NEVER watched an episode of Jersey Shore. And furthermore, I love Nene, so leave her the fuck alone.
With little or no affection,
Irene
PS: Tell a joke and someone makes me bleed....
****
Memo
To: Irene
From: Uterus
Subject: Blood? Why didn't you say so in the beginning?
.... A Rabbi and a priest walk into a bar....
**********
Still begging here! Pls go vote for me and spread the word. Thursday is the last day! (remember, you can only vote once per IP or however they do it. They'll disqualify votes that are "stuffing the box".)