I put forty dollars in small bills and coins on this table an hour ago when I went to change my clothes. I ain’t saying somebody stole it. I ain’t accusing nobody of being a no-account thieving scum, but I know this money just didn’t up and walk away.
God created the world in only seven days, and I know he didn’t have no time to be putting legs on no quarters so they could mosey away as pretty as you please.
If you’re going to tape carpet samples to yourself, and suffer the derision and hard looks that such an act must naturally entail, then you must do it for the children.
You must get up at five in the morning with your little roll of strong tape and do what needs to be done while everyone else is still in bed. It’s not easy, but the payoff is the kids. To see their eyes fill with wonder as they cross paths with the man wearing carpet samples. “Is he a superhero?” they will ask. “Is he a man from another dimension?”
Do it for the children, I say.
Let’s get a grip here. I’m the wisecracking sidekick, Jerry. I’m the one who says priceless, off-the-hook things to alleviate tension. You’re the triggerman. You’re the show-no-mercy guy.
I’m transitional… filler. You’re opening Thanksgiving weekend and I’m the animated short.
I’ve been pregnant for a while now. Lost count of the months, but it’s been at least a year and a half. Lower back problems from it. Damn nuisance, really. Need to get on with things. Been puttin’ crap off for too long. Got some scores to settle. A couple of people owe me money.
I only draw anatomically correct animals. These drawings include badgers with D-cups. Maybe even double D-cups. Only without the D-cups. (If you take my meaning.)
No. We’re not talking about Disney animals, here. We’re talking real animals. Well-endowed real animals. Animals with pretty eyes that leave nothing to the imagination. It’s the way they look at you. With there arms down by their sides so you can see everything.
And I do mean everything.
I’m an elephant today. An Indian elephant. They’ve got smaller ears. Can’t go outside and play coz the yard’s got no fence. Tend to run off and get lost on account of there being no fence.
What’s this business with dancing hillbillies everywhere? Dancing hillbillies playing saxophones and hooting like barn owls at all hours on television.
Whole bands of them. No drums. No piano. Just saxophones. Been trying to find The Weather Channel and I only find hillbillies at hootenannies. Try to find Martha Stewart and all I get are these drunken no-accounts with horns playing something I would not call music.
Wake up and smell the bedspread burning, Little Miss Monogrammed Pillowcases. I slept with your boyfriend. What do you need? A singing telegram? A Post-It taped to my hairy butt?
The people who work there are always staring at me, like I’m up to no damn good hanging out around the brochure case all day. Would it ever occur to them that perhaps I believe in what is written on those brochures? That I—not even a salaried employee—should be a true believer in what is written there? I don’t need no special introductory offer. No free installation.
Who’s the team player here and who’s the bench warmer? I’m not pointing any fingers but I’m just saying.
Get your head in the game, man. Sure. I would like to eat grass, too. We’d all like to eat grass. But that’s not why we signed up for this. Eating grass and wearing space helmets don’t exactly go together. Or did you think that part out? Let’s not have this conversation again.
Leave me behind. I run like a girl. I am an object for your pity. I will never be more than an embarrassment to you. Leave the girl-running man behind to be a meal for whatever lurks in the woods. You will no longer have to endure my girl-running ways. The shame I have brought upon you and your non-girl-running traditions will end here.
Your eyelids are upside down. You look like a lizard when you blink. You should comb your hair different. Grow some bangs or something. Maybe more mascara would help. Maybe a lot of mascara.
I’m not mad at you. It’s just that I don’t like you very much, sometimes.
If you are going to wear socks, then put on some shoes. Why are you always walking around the house in socks when my girl pals come over to play bridge? Wear sandals or shoes or go barefoot even. Walking around in socks makes it look like you are only half-dressed. Like you are getting ready to go somewhere and you can’t get pointed out the door. If you can’t put on shoes, then just stay out of sight.
Walk around in socks in the backyard.
Now I can perhaps understand a mother letting rats chew one or two toes off a baby’s feet before noticing, but five or six? That’s just negligence. Outright negligence. That baby should be taken away from that mother and given to someone who’s going to be a little more mindful of a rat-chew-toe-count. I mean is it that much bother to periodically count a baby’s toes and say, “hey, there’s another toe missing, we need to do something about this.”
I’m Abraham Lincoln, and you parked too close to my car. How am I supposed to get in my car when I can’t even get the door open? If I can’t get in my car because some self-centered person parked too close, then how am I going to free the slaves and manage a war between the states? Why is Abraham Lincoln, the Great Emancipator, giving you a lesson on parking etiquette?
Comet’s comin’. The Great Leveler…
Gonna hafta make do with one Equal in your coffee, buttercup. No more wheat-free muffins. No more lactose intolerance or peanut allergies. Everybody’s gonna hafta go back ta drinkin’ whole milk and eatin’ peanuts. Maybe even drinkin’ whole milk with peanuts floatin’ in it. No more baby powder fresh this or kiwi passion fruit that. Goin’ back to when there was only lemon-scented everything.