So that must be why the sexy silver-haired septuagenarian at my grandma’s nursing home didn’t appear too excited when I whispered that he could lick chocolate sauce off my naked body. Psh! And I thought it had something to do with my pink eye and contagious facial rash. I feel so much better now! 

Wait, don't leave me alone in this fudge! Ah! The ants!

Mmmm. I could SO get all I Love Lucy with that conveyor belt. Makes my Gadget claw twitch with anticipation. 

I just read that Beethoven poured ice water on his head every time he sat down to write music. 

If I happen to turn up dead, the coroner’s report mentioning electrocution by laptop, you’ll know what happened. Hm, you’ll know I died imitating a sloth. 

So tender! I want a box of sloth!

 

I was scrolling through part time jobs on craigslist today and happened to see a secret shopper reporting job that looked fun. I wrote a cover letter and changed my objective on my attached resume to read, “Seeking a secret shopping position….”

A few minutes later I came across some openings for English tutors. Thinking that would be a perfect fit for me, too, and seeing that they were looking to hire immediately, I quickly whipped up a cover letter about graduating with honors and volunteering as a tutor in the past. I updated the objective section on my resume again and was certain I had it in the bag.

When I went to change my objective back to copywriting for yet another application, I noticed that I had made a terrible mistake before sending out my resume to multiple tutoring companies. In my excited haste to apply, I hadn’t deleted back far enough before filling in my tutoring objective, and had sent out the following: “Seeking a secret tutoring position….”

Sweet Jesus! They’re going to think I’m the Michael Jackson of English tutors. I am dying of embarrassment.

I swear it’s not like that! I’m not a hands-on tutor! It’s not our little secret. Oh, dear God, suddenly the part of my cover letter about my passion for working with children seems very, very wrong. What have I done?!

But I don’t really care about any of that. Why they haven’t investigated if iguanas can commit murder is the more pressing matter. I know of at least one iguana-owner pair I would like to enter in that study. (See Below….That’s what he said.)

(Who’s cool now, Paris Hilton? I bet your Parkinson’s afflicted Chihuahua seems pretty useless all of a sudden. I think we both know whose pet would when in a cage fight. That’s right, my reptilian pocket Doberman with projectile hemoglobin, that’s who.)

For the following idiots who have upset me over the last week or two, consider yourselves warned. My horned toad and I will be watching you.

In case you’re distracted by your goals of adding a new sport to the Special Olympics and getting your picture posted on the Megan’s Law website, let me just take a second to remind the two of you of why you will soon be sopping toad blood off your faces.

Idiot #1: You get on the elliptical next to mine when the whole row of twenty other elliptical machines is empty. You then proceed to crash through our shared mirror by pretending we’re in some retarded elliptical race that you can win only by taking the machine up to 400 m.p.h.

This causes me to laugh and I am in no position to laugh as I haven’t done laundry in a month and have resorted to wearing that which I’ve been avoiding, the dreaded pink Energizer Bunny sweat suit, accessorized with the only clean hand towel I could find, which also happens to be hot pink and therefore matches my Finger Bang Barbie nail polish. Making me laugh at your ridiculousness when I already look so ridiculous puts you one second away from the full force of my fury.

You look like an idiot flailing at top speeds in your near-successful attempt to become airborne. It’s like you really don’t understand why you’re not going anywhere. As you fling sweat into my space bubble, causing me to throw up in my mouth, your furrowed brow and pursed lips reveal how hard you’re concentrating on an inner monologue that screams, “Fly, elliptical machine! Fly!”

And for a second, it topples, and almost does. Yet, still, you are unsatisfied. You continue crashing about so violently that I can’t hear my iPod over your attempts to break the machine in half. What did NordicTrak ever do to you? What did I ever do to you?  Keep it up, my friend, and I swear you’ll be covered in more blood than an extra in Rambo IIIVVV and a hungry Dick Cheney let loose in a slaughter house combined. (That’s a lot of blood.) So just calm down there, Cracky, and consider yourself warned.

Idiot #2: Crash my party on the Fourth of July and eat my guacamole while telling me you only like seventeen-year-old girls. After admitting that you’re thirty-seven. What are you thinking? You look like an Asian Webster.

Either keep your pie hole shut or get a fake ID, moron. Better still would be your TV debut on To Catch a Predator and/or castration. Also, do not drag me out to my back balcony and say the following:

You: See that Range Rover down there? 

Me: Yeah?  

You: It’s pretty sweet, huh? What do you think about the color? 

Me: I don’t know it’s kind of ugly. What color is that? Burnt sienna?  

You [glib-like]: Yeah. It’s rad. I just bought it.  

Me: I guess you’ll give new meaning to the term Amber Alert. Where’s my horned toad?      

P.S. As tempting as it is to watch Walker reruns all day, I’d like to take this opportunity to remind you of yet another fact I’ve uncovered recently: You don’t have to be in bed to get bedsores.  In order to keep your eyes and ass from spurting blood, it’s a good idea to get up and walk around every twenty minutes. To further prevent blood loss from the aforementioned orifices, avoiding incarceration in a maximum security lockdown facility also helps.   

However, if you should find yourself starring in a new season of A&E’s Lockdown: Life on the Inside, please know, dear reader, that because I love you (and it’s the kind of thing I like to write about) I might just stop by for a conjugal visit. Unless, of course, you are my neighbor with the Range Rover or are serving time for any of the same reasons he will be if I can get my video camera to zoom in. Then you can suck it.