Thursday, August 25, 2005
For the love of grizzled chili cooks, let me get to it: They are watching me. Oh yes, I know: Grease 'em and say you're parked on the city coucilman's front lawn. They usually look the other way, discussing various talcs and facial toners. Not tonight, caballero. They're here until you empty the mongrammed tea cozy and, for the love of migrant squirrel rustlers, it better be warming the Vic Damone... signed! Well, my Damone is a forgery and they ain't buying the Humperdinck. (Yeah, I cashed a cool sawbuck for dropping his name. I never said I WASN'T on the take.)
So they're watching. And for the love of unrealistic daycare workers, they gush over Judy Davis too much for my taste (look her up on IMDB... I'm terrified, here). So if they find me folded neatly into the depression of '67 Demarque (is that a car? I don't know. I was more of a beanie baby guy, myself), eat the first letter of your last name and mail the stool (in a Tupperware, duh!) to the contestant department of "The Price Is Right" c/o Marvelle Narwahl (it's Frencher than it needs to be). Tell her "Binky sank the molting pin in the corner off the rail." It won't help you recover the melon shavings (WAIT! How tall are you? Under 5', never mind the shavings. Over 8', never mind the melon), but it will make her happy (tax deductable).
My will is tattooed on Debralee Scott's underarm (look her up on IMDB... she was on the show-- OOPS! I said nothing about the game show-- OOPS! It was a serial, NOT the game show. [damn you Gene Rayburn-- OOPS!]) and was filmed before a live studio audience.
Hey, anyone on Craig's List looking for a cheap banana hanger? I got one that drinks like a fish and won't quit yammering about it's PBA record 31 straight turkeys. A feat which is currently under review with the union rep.