Shark Bait: July 3, 2009

So yesterday started out with everything going along just fine, though I was still unable to wear a brassiere due to my severe sunburn. I assumed Mr. A. and Molotav wouldn’t mind and that it may even assist me in my negotiation attempts – I figured my yo@ss worked in my favor so why not use the yo-busters in like manner? Anyway, the Limo & Molotav fetched me at precisely 1:00 p.m. and we shortly arrived at dock 114 on the Bay of Havana where Mr. A’s 220 foot posh pleasure yacht was moored.

(photo of Molotav & I arriving on Mr. A’s yacht, ‘Porpoise in Life’)

Social niceties were taken care of straight away. Mr. A appeared to be fully recovered and in a good, if not somewhat gregarious mood. This should have been my first indication that something was amiss, as Mr. A is normally quite reserved and subliminal. Molotav, on the other hand, was being his usual sour-ass self, which motivated me to give him the occasional evil-eye of contempt and loathing. At one point while Mr. A. was intent upon his meal, I caught Molotav's eye and displayed an open mouth full of chewed food which merely caused him to look away without any change in his expression what-so-ever. Jerk!

It was during this delightful luncheon that I got all swimmy headed and fell full-face into my plate of shrimp salad in mid-chew. That is the last thing I remember about lunch. Upon awakening, I found myself in an impressive bedroom suite with the sounds of water gently lapping close by. I assumed I was somewhere in the bowels of the yacht. I made my fuzzy way to the door, set on the task of finding either Molotav or Mr. A. to see what the hell had happened. Much to my consternation, I discovered that the door was locked. My reaction was to immediately start throwing a royal fit of screaming and pounding. Nothing appeared to be getting anyone’s attention, so I started to threaten to clog the toilet and flood the joint. That worked, for Molotav finally spoke to me from outside the closed door and informed me that I was now a piece of Mr. A’s property and I needed to shut up and behave myself or things would only get worse. My response was to scream (note: edited), “Bull-doodoo you mother-effing son-of-a-beached-whale! I am going to rip your effing head off and then cut off your god-doodled wanger with a hatchet and feed it to the effing sharks!”

Not surprisingly, this statement got Molotav to open the door…

…I’m afraid I must take pause at this point, as the recollection of these cursed events tends to exhaust me greatly. I shall write again soon.

Where Dirt comes from: July 2, 2009

Well, we all knew it was possible; we knew it could happen; we just didn’t believe our silly selves.
These swarthy badboys will of course live to greatly regret this foolish and sordid macho-Mafioso-maneuver ‘til hell won’t have it! *Aunt Prinvi didn’t raise no yodummy!

*Note: Prinvi isn’t my real aunt. My parents had abandoned me on the Shady Avenue Bridge that overlooks the beautiful yet treacherous Yogogo River at the tender age of 3 1/2. They saw fit to plop me there with a box of animal crackers, 2 juice boxes, a blanket, a small pink pillow, my favorite stuffed animal, ‘Grrrrrr’ (a cheetah), and a note explaining to whoever found me that they could no longer endure me, e.g. ‘free to good home’.

Prinvi happened upon me while taking her regular morning constitutional. I was covered in dirt and mud (I had presumably been playing down by the water) and galloping merrily along the wide concrete rail of the bridge with Grrrrr in tow, neighing and snorting like a horse at an ear-splitting pitch. Prinvi calmly approached me with a large handful of dewy green grass while telling me what a beautiful horse I was indeed, to which I responded with yet another whinny and resounding snort, afterward allowing her to coax my wild-n-wooly spirit to safer ground. She fed me an animal cracker out of the palm of her hand telling me it was a sugar cube, proceeded to systematically collect my few articles, and then marched me to her house with me moving along at a very handsome horsey trot. And that was that. She never reported finding me to the police, and the papers never mentioned a lost or missing child. So, I was hers for happily-ever-after.

Aunt Prinvi eventually found the ways and means to get the necessary falsified legal documents so that I could flourish like any other well-adjusted abandoned child. Our story has always been that I was the child of her deceased sister. Aunt Prinvi does have a sister, Linda Lou, but she is very much alive and well and in on our little secret.

Anyway, y’all need to know that I’ve been taken hostage by Mr. A and his salty-sea thugs. Please DO NOT inform the WPP authority’s that I am being held captive on Mr. A’s yacht, ‘Porpoise in Life’, against my will! I am totally pissed and these cracker-jacks have no idea how miserable I am going to make their pathetic sweat-stained lives! I was an abandoned child for a damn good reason! Please get word to my Aunt’s Prinvi and Linda Lou – There will be some ass kickin’ happening soon, and it won’t be ‘Yo’!

Shit! Gotta go! Someone’s coming!

Tractor Pull: July 1, 2009

As you can see, I was beach-boiled in suntan oil yesterday. I didn’t think the six rum-n-cokes would knock me out - I thought I would just ‘get happy’, ya know? Anyhoo, Molotov has informed me that Mr. A. will be going home from the hospital tomorrow and we shall wrap up (I hope) this negotiating stuff. In the meantime, I will continue to routinely laminate my screaming skin cells with solarcaine and aloe vera gel.

Additionally, since I have so much time on my hands I’ve taken the liberty of writing a petition @ Pete’s Pets store about the outrageous price on the gold fish! {$2000 Pete?! Your head must be firmly embedded up yer yo@ss! Tell ya what! I’ll get some forceps, and if you’ll push…I’ll pull! Maybe you’ll get a revelation and head towards the bright white light! Hell, if we have to, we can hook you up to a tractor to pull the damn thing out!}

As potential customers, Pete needs to realize that we can get a gold fish, fish food, fish bowl, assorted decorative stones, AND a cheerful plastic water plant from Wally’s-Big-Fart for about $15.00 + tax! It is my hope that you will all support this petition to Pete as well as boycott his store until we make him see the blessed sunlight once again! Hallelujah!