A "Little Death" of my Dignity

I just recieved a “e” get well card with an attached message that said this:

Sorry about your hand! Yeah, sure, you wore it out by "falling off your bike." ;-) Seriously, get better soon!

To which I replied thusly:

Aw. That was very sweet of you to send me an ecard. Thank you.

"Yeah, sure, you wore it out by 'falling off your bike.'"

I can't, or don't want to, imagine the furious, violent and pathological self abuse that would cause someone to fracture a hand-bone. Har, I just said "hand-bone."

Although, now that you mention it, once in my high school years I did pull a neck muscle so badly doing "that" that I had to lie on my back and wait 2 hours for my father to get home so he could drive me to the ER. And, NO, I wasn't trying to suck myself off! I just clinched up really badly at the moment of poetic death and pulled a neck muscle. It was awful.

The whole car ride to the hospital my father kept grilling me, "What the hell were you doing that hurt your neck?!"

Der, "Um - I don't know. It just happened - I guess."

Ahhhhh. Memories.

Shut up.

If It Worked For Ted Bundy....

So how was your Thanksgiving? Good? Great. I fell off my bike and broke my hand. Yay. Typing is hard, and since I just finished typing a too long email to a friend (and since I only use this blog to share my own emails that amuse me), instead of spending a half hour doing it again, I’ll copy and paste the pertinent part of the email:

Working with one hand is difficult but doable - sort of like typing this. [redacted] I’m practicing my pained wince.

Luckily:

-it is my right hand and I’m left handed.
-even though my hand is swollen to the size of a bowling ball and makes me think of Hellboy, it actually doesn’t hurt too badly.
-it is a simple, uncomplicated fracture.
-the emergency room I went to coincidentally happened to be attached to the hospital with the world’s #1 hand clinic. [which probably doesn’t really matter as the break should be simple enough that a Caribbean trained monkey doctor would be qualified to fix it]. But, the specialist I’m scheduled to see has degrees from Hopkins and Harvard and shit -so I guess that is good.

Unfortunately:

-the fucking hand clinic is apparently so goddamned special I have to wait until friday to get in, so I have to wear a giant ER splint for a week.
-yesterday, a tiny little bug that looked like an albino baby earwig crawled out of my splint. Probably just a single bug that happened to be roaming around, but in my imagination I’m convinced that something laid eggs in there and soon hundreds will crawl out. HUNDREDS! After they eat all my fingers and I’m left with bloody, boney finger stumps of course. Mr. Special Specialist who won’t see me until friday will be sorry then.
-the ER doc was hot and I wasn’t thinking clearly... so when she asked me if I wanted any pain killers the moron horny part of my brain didn’t want me to seem like a pussy and I said “Nah.” DUMBASS! I could have gotten Percocet! Granted, it really doesn’t hurt that badly, but I looooooooooove Percocet. That would come in especially handy when the bugs started consuming my hand. Oh well.

Hopefully:

-I won’t need any nuts, bolts, screws or surgery. According to Dr. Google-Search, I probably won’t. If I’m reaaally lucky, I *might* not even need a cast and just use a low profile splint. Although I doubt that Dr. Special-Specialist would be thrilled to hear my diagnosis derived from my own internet searches. Still, I’m praying this is the case because for some reason for this particular fracture Doctors like to cast from the elbow to the end of the pinky.
-if I do need a cast, I’m hoping that some chicks dig that sort of thing - and I’ll be able to exploit this for some nurturing pity sex - or something. Here is my plan: when some hot dumb young girl in my building is doing laundry, I’ll put on my sling and pretend to be all clumsy and helpless and incapable of holding the laundry basket. With this ploy I will coarse them into carrying my laundry to my apartment. Hey, if it worked for Ted Bundy...

His reply:

I was thinking of Silence of the Lambs when you mentioned the cast. The part where he's trying to get the sofa into the moving van. I think that movie alone will probably kill the pity that you would have otherwise gotten. Maybe if it had been your foot.

My reply reply:

Yeah, Silence of the Lambs got that from Ted Bundy. That was his M.O. But then again, Ted Bundy was a lot better looking than me also, so..... the hot chicks would probably just roll their eyes and ignore me... as per usual.

Panties From Heaven

I just sent this email to a friend of mine:

Hey, I just found something far more entertaining than my last email to you. Apparently, the is a democracy/civil rights group called Lanna Action for Burma that has the most novel little protest called the Panty Power Campaign.

See here for details.

Supposedly, in Burmese culture, men avoid ladies’ undergarments, for fear that they drain men of their power. Lanna Action for Burma are calling on women worldwide to mail their panties to their respective Burmese embassies, or directly to the military regime’s headquarters, etc., etc...

Unfortunately, I don’t really have a panty fetish. But if I did, boy, I would have THE MOST BRILLIANT IDEA IN THE UNIVERSE!

You see, what I would do is this: Start up a web page called something to the effect of “Union of Myanmar State Peace and Development Council American Postal Processing Center.”

Attached would be the instructions:

Please send all mail intended for Senior General Than Shwe or the State Peace and Development Council to this address:

[MY ADDRESS]
Baltimore, MD 21202

Then I could just fill up my bedroom with all the strange panties from floor to ceiling and swim through them whenever I wanted to.

I mean, sure, I guess it would be a strike against freedom, but if I had a “P” fetish and all those panties, what the fuck would I care? I’d be in panty heaven!

California Bans Cell Phone Use for Teen Drivers

Bully for them. A step in the right direction. I might question the scientific foundation of Schwarzenegger's claim that teenagers "have a slower reaction time" thing, but otherwise, kudos. Next, they should ban cell phone use among lady drivers. I’m also all for a law banning women from talking on cell phones in grocery stores... or at least the grocery store should provide me with foam leg guards to protect me from lady cellphone-talking-while-pushing-a-cart-into-my-shins syndrome.*

Or, ya know, they could just ban cell phone use for ALL drivers... or something.

* The first time a dude does this to me, I’ll return to this blog and apologize for being chauvinistic. But until that happens, you ladies are winning the bumper cart competition something like 10 to 0.

9/11

”Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?”

”9/11”

“9/11 who?”

(feign look of incredulous and appalled disapproval)”I thought you said you would never forget?... I can’t even look at you right now.”

Limits

Two emails I received this morning:

1. I just found out that McNulty (or the actor who plays him) is having a garage sale tomorrow. I can find out the address if you're interested. I'll be in C________ for most of the day - so I won't be able to go. But I figured you might like to see if you can buy his underwear or something.

2. Okay, it could be Wire goodies (props and such, since they're done filming) or it could be other crap. Either way, tt all goes down in the garage behind the Assembly building over in Hampden, 12-2. 2031 Clipper Park Rd, 21211. I guess I'd say get there early 7 or 8, if you plan on going. Just a heads up.

And my response:

Thanks for the heads up, but I think I'll be passing on the opportunity to dangle from Dominic West's nuts and fawn over his temporary Ikea furniture. I like to think my fandom of that show has some limits. If I ever attend a celebrity yard sale, kill me.

It is good to know that my friends have such a high opinion to think I would be interested in such bullshit.

But the rest of you should have at it. Dominic West: boxers or briefs? Here is your big chance to find out. You might be able to score his second hand tupperware. Can you imagine? Licking a tupperware container that once belonged to a second/third tier celebrity actor. This could be your bargain basement brush with greatness.

I’m All Atwitter

Starting next week, I’m going to have a new fictional neighbor in my building from the awsomist show in the history of television.

If, during the shooting, I happen to run into her in the elevator, I’m going to beg her to brutalize the ever living shit out of me. I mean to just wail on my face and leave it a black and blue bloody mess. That way, when my friends ask me what the hell happened, I can proudly mumble through missing teeth, swollen lips and a broken jaw, “Kima did it.”

I’ll totally feel like Marsha Brady when Davy Jones kissed her on the cheek:

*

Only Baltimore style.

*Okay, I couldn’t find the exact scene I was looking for; but if Kima says no, I’ll feel exactly like Marsha did when that studio shill wouldn’t let her meet him.

No Booze or Porn for the Brownies

So Australia is banning the sale of alcohol and pornography in Aboriginal areas within the Northern Territory.

Wow. That is some pretty outrageous stuff. Now, seeing how the Northern Territory is not an Australian State, I can understand a justification in the banning of alcohol and pornography to the population as a whole. Even if the intent was to target the large Aboriginal minority there, I think the international community would be at a loss to address the obvious racial overtones. But that isn’t going to happen, is it? After all, the northern coast is a popular vacation destination.

What I don’t understand is how a government can target a discriminatory law toward a race of peoples and not be subject to United Nations trade sanctions. But of course, that isn’t going to happen, is it? After all, Australia is targeting Aboriginals for their own benefit, and Australia is considered a civilized nation.

Should we do the same thing to Native Americans and Catholic priests here? Der. Of course not, because even if the intent would potentially be altruistic, you can’t get away with that shit in a democratic society. But I guess all democracies are not created equal.

I wonder if John Howard is going to give up alcohol and internet porn for the duration of this social experiment? Given my experience with Australians, I think this is doubtful. Oops. My bad. Was that discriminatory of me? So what? It isn't like my opinion is a law or something.

Sophie’s Voice

Has anyone seen this story about a managing editor at the Baltimore Examiner pointing a gun at his neighbors over a dispute about him smoking in his own home?

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t condone pointing a gun at your neighbors, *especially* when that neighbor is holding a child in his hands; but man, what a passive aggressive, whiny, bitch of a human this neighbor, David Paul Ayers, is?

Police said in a detailed report that Keegan has been involved in a long-running dispute with David Paul Ayers, 38, who has complained about cigarette smoke coming from Keegan's rowhouse.

The latest argument started after 11 last night. Police said Ayers complained that smoke was seeping into his home and his daughter, Sophie, was having trouble breathing. Ayers called for a paramedic and he, carrying his child, and his wife Christine went next door to confront Keegan.

Ayers told police that he pounded on Keegan's front door and heard someone say, "You [expletive] lunatics, get away from my door." Ayers told police that he shouted back through a first-floor window, "'Look at what you're doing to my daughter.'"

Good Lord, over dramatic much? Yes, I am sure that your child was suffocating to death because you could smell a lit cigarette through an open window. It is a wonder the human race didn’t die out from second hand smoke in the last century. Forget the Holocaust! Forget slavery! Second hand smoke is indeed history’s greatest blemish on humanity.

Had you not been carrying your child at the time, which in itself was grossly negligent, given that the house was a veritable cancer cube and your daughter is obviously more delicate than a tuburcular orchid, I would be nominating Frank J. Keegan as man of the year.

I wish passive aggressive Bitchism was a felony.

Our Boys In Blue

Off-duty officers thwart strip club robbery attempt

That’s our boys. Always on the job.

“Flex squad this, bitches!”

*BLAM!* *BLAM!*

Who needs Tarentino movies when you live in The Greatest City in America?

Get In On It.

Not Hate Mail From the Old Blog

Obviously, I haven’t been too into maintaining this new blog, which is perfectly fine for me. In lieu of actual material, here is another email exchange, only this time with someone who isn’t a complete douche:

(Bold Him, Italics me)

Him: ok, ok, i said i wasnt going to hunt down your new blog, but crumbling. i stumbled onto [old blog] months ago and bookmarked it. keep checking back to see if the shut down was a ruse. the work day is too long and your blog made me laugh. any hint as to the new location?

non-stalkingly,
Mr. Butterworths

Me: I just googled “mr. butterworths” to make sure you weren’t a clever aunt or sister tricking me into giving out my new address. Unless you had the foresight, clever aunt or sister, to create a blog last august and invent an identity as a hopkins researcher to sucker me into giving you my new blog address, then you are a complete stranger, which qualifies you for the new address.

I hope that wasn’t too stalkey of me.

If you are a clever aunt or sister, then you’ve earned the new address with your dastardly subterfuge. Don’t get too offended when I make fun of how fat you’ve gotten. There’s just more of you to love. You can still find mister right. But then again, we’re family. I’m sort of required to say that.

New blog address:

http://downbydukiesplace.blogspot.com/

Be forewarned, though, I have not been updating it. I might get back into it, but then again, I may not.

toodles,

Dukie

p.s. Your blog is funny.

p.p.s Can I have the phone number of the pregnant 17 [year old] drug addict* that was checking you out? She seems more my type, homo.

p.p.p.s. I say “homo” respectfully. Some of my best
hot dreams are gay.

p.p.p.p.s. That was a joke. My hot gay dreams are terrible. Not that there is anything wrong with them, of course, but the dream dudes are all very inexperienced.

p.p.p.p.p.s I may post this email.

Him: Thanks tiger, and good news, you are sister and auntie free.

I'll be sure to pass along the next teen preggers i find in the hallways. Admitting total shame by paraphrasing a quote from Patch Adams, you know she puts out, so game on.

I’ve never seen Patch Adams. It must be some gay movie. I’ll probably rent it under cover of darkness... in a neighborhood I’m not likely to run into any of my friends.

*That should make for some interesting google hits.

Hate Mail From the Old Blog

Months ago, on the old blog, I wrote a post acknowledging/making-fun-of Eddie Van Halen for becoming a crazy old meth addict and the resultant him-looking-like-a-crazy-eighty-year-old-womanism. Some stranger came across this post and sent me an email expressing his displeasure with me.

Here is our exchange (him in bold):

Him: While not a tremendous fan of Van Halen, it's indisputable that Eddie Van Halen is among the 5 most influential guitarists of the last 50 years - and all you can focus on is the fact that he looks like shit.

Who the fuck are you? What the fuck do you do besides sniff celebrities assholes? Grow up and suffer a little yourself. You may learn some valuable lessons - asshole.

Me: BWHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Him: Your bad vibes will undoubtedly smack you upside your pussy little head fool. The sooner the better.

Me: MY bad vibes? This coming from someone who went to the trouble of seeking out a stranger’s email to send that stranger hate mail? People who live in glass houses filled to the rafters with piss and vinegar shouldn’t throw stones. You are angry and hostile. I am quite happy and amused by all of this. Who is it, exactly, who has all of the bad vibes?

Maybe if you didn’t listen to so much power rock and invested in some easy listening music, you could workout some of your own “bad vibes” issues.

Him: Went to the trouble to seek out a stranger's e-mail?? It's right there on your freaking blog idiot. My bad vibes? No, sorry. It's my rage at freaks like yourself who lack compassion and empathy for those in pain.

Me: Hey, I figured out why you are so angry. You are on meth, aren't you? YOU'RE METH CRAZY! All just tweaking on your computer, sending off crazy/angry hate mail.

Him: Man - or miss - you have no fucking idea who the fuck I am or what the fuck I do. And I suggest we leave it at that.

Me: Oh, of course not. You started this. Finish it. Tell me all about your "rage." Tell me about your pain. Enlighten me about human suffering. How can I embrace empathy if I am not taught by thoughtful individuals, such as yourself, how to feel?

Him: No my friend. Actually, you started it with your "catty" litttle post about Eddie Van Halen.

Me: Tell yourself whatever you want. I'll be too busy learning empathy. First, I'm going to kiss a bunch of puppies and kittens. Then, I'm going to read all the
thank you mail I get from my sponsor children in Africa. Klik Klak's village is going to get a new well thanks to my donations! At church, we're all going to clasp hands and send him a celestial prayer hug. And now, thanks to your help, I am one step closer to learning how to cry. Thank you!

Oh yes, also, thank you for finally sending me an email that isn't full of F bombs, Mr. Teach-me-empathy. We're both getting a little closer to the good vibes, aren't we? You're listening to Joni Mitchell too, aren't you?

Him: Oh wait, I forgot. You're a tough dude. Engaged in the manly pursuit of - online gossip columnist. I apologize. In your line of work, one simply can't afford to be a weak kneed wimpering bleeding heart like me. You gotta be strong to sit behind that laptop and make fun of
people. Where do I sign up? I could use some toughening up and the thought of joining the service and having a couple of limbs blown off in Baghdad is just sooooooooo unappetizing! Also, maybe I could get to meet some hot ladies, like Anne Coulter.

Me: See, now you're just not making any sense. What the hell does exploding limbs and Anne Coulter have to do with kissing puppies and Eddie Van Halen? Have you somehow assumed that my politics must be the opposite of yours, whatever the hell your politics are? After all, I am sure that you have assumed that I represent all that is evil, while you represent all that is good, so obviously we must have opposite politics, as I obvs. vote for satan. weirdo.

Update: His final email.

Him: Gotta sing off now. But I do have to tip my hat - you're obviously pretty smart or you couldn't keep up with me. Why not us the smarts for something other than celebrity bashing? All the best. Peace!

Gee whiz, I’m so thankful that he is willing to acknowledge that I was able to “keep up” with him. I must be one clever cookie to be able to do that.

Reborn

I blogged elsewhere for years, but began to feel boxed in and tired of making the same old dumb jokes, so I’m changing addresses. This isn’t intended to be deeply undercover or anything stupid like that, but hopefully my relatives and human friends won’t find this page.

dukiebiddle at yahoo dot com