Awhile back I chatted with a very funny person online, who got weird at the last minute so we never met.
This, by the way, could be the title of my life story: Things Got Weird at the Last Minute. Careful readers may recall I’ve already named my life story I Turned the Camera on Myself, but I made that title up before front-facing cameras.
Careful readers will also recall that I’ve told you I want to be called Dimebag Wasabi, and since then I’ve told you I want my new name to be about 40 other things.
Yes, we recall all that, Coot.
Oh my god, the point is, this online guy was really funny before he got weird, which could also be my autobiography: Really Funny Before She Got Weird. Except that’s rude to say about myself, the “really funny” part. I recently saw another online profile where the guy described himself as handsome.
Dude, might that be something we get to decide? I so wanted to write him that. It’s the same as describing yourself as an artist. I don’t think you get to make that call.
I did not take Ritalin today.
Oh, really, Dimebag? Who knew?
Please pretend the last seven paragraphs did not happen.
SO WHILE I NEVER MET THIS WEIRD/FUNNY GUY, one thing I liked about him is that he had a special abhorrence for the little conversation Tommy Lee and Vince Neil have in the middle of the fine tune Girls Girls Girls. Those two are artists. And probably would describe themselves as handsome.
The little conversation goes like this:
(Hey Tommy, check that out, man)
(What, Vince, where?)
He, the guy who was funny and then got weird, told me he and his friends would regularly say that to each other. It got to the point where my opening line to him would be, Hey, Tommy, check that out, man.
Then he’d write back What, Vince, where?
The point of all this is to tell you that today’s post title made me think of those lines. And really, it’s not even that close, but this is the shit you have to tolerate from me sometimes.
I took today off, as I have a lot of freelance to do, and also I am planning a small trip that I am leaving for shortly, which I will describe to you upon my return, or possibly on the Facebook while I’m there. Am vv excited about trip, and think it will be fun.
That there’s some quality writing. “I think it will be fun.” What, Vince, where?
I may even say to myself, on my “think it will be fun” trip, Hey, Coot, check that out.
Anyway, I’ve been scooched up in a not-very-ergonomic position, here, on the couch, with a laptop, trying to get stuff done, and I really ought to get back to it, so I will catch you on the flip side, or later in the weekend, or maybe at a strip club.
Friday night and I need a fight
My motorcycle and a switchblade knife
Handful of grease in my hair feels right
But what I need to get me tight are those
Girls, girls, girls
Long legs and burgundy lips
Girls, girls, girls
Dancin’ down on the Sunset Strip
My burgundy lips will talk to you later.
What, June, when?
P.S. Oh my god, I just remembered! Today is my 20-year anniversary of being a proofreader. I mean, that’s what I was at first: a proofreader. Then I became a copy editor, and I hate to toot my horn and all, but now I’m a SENIOR copy editor. I know. I wear a cap and gown to work every day. Anyway, that’s all. Check me out. What, June, where?
I need to get past this. Please send your thoughts and prayers to get me past this Motley Crue obsession. Where, June, where should we send our thoughts and prayers?
Hey, God, check that out, man.
What, Job, where?
Okay, really leaving.