You’ve been warned.
Tiff and I watch Sue on the Oxygen Network. Nothing like somebody’s great-grandma telling you how to give head!
(Link via Milk and Cookies.)
UPDATE
Props to Erica for sharing her “Sunday Night Sex Show Drinking Game”! I think we need a chatroom for this! 😉
Club Medicated’s incoming president wrote his first of 12 columns for me. He’s very proud of it. It’s titled, “Meet (Pride Fag).” Now, my readers know that I inserted the Pride Fag bit, but if I actually used that term instead of his name in the newspaper, nobody would be surprised.
Other than misused adverbs, made-up words and a flair for redundancy and “you’re telling me this because. …?”-inspired moments, I suppose it’s not the worst writing I’ve read. I’ll even look past his inserted Internet-speak (do you know how much I hate that kind of shorthand? Use English, asshat!). I’ll even look past his, “Do you care about me yet?” sentences that punctuate the end of every sentence … he’s looking for readers to fall in love with him based on his tales of woe.
And woe is me. Writing sample below — identifiying info changed to protect the insane:
“I was born a poor, gay, (Injun) boy in rural (southern state). This has possibilities for a book or maybe even a movie, eh? I wear each of those descriptors like a badge of courage. I am proud of who I am … I figure it is better than hating yourself.”
< Editorial commentary > This man is no more “Injun” than I am male. But he’s got the gay part right — as if anyone could have MISSED that! Yet he insists on pointing it out to EVERYONE who will listen. < / editorial commentary >
Pardon my French, but this is gonna go over like a fart in church with my readers.
And I’m not altogether that impressed myself.
Besides, don’t all great tragedies begin with, “I was born a poor (insert race) (insert gender)”? A quick Google search of “I was a poor” turns up 4,680 results. At least.
I sent a priority note to Cruise Director, asking if he really, truly read this piece before he channeled it to me. I started the e-mail with, “Great — 11 more months of this.”
And isn’t THAT the sad part, when you think about it? I can (read, have) to deal with incoherent writers (except for Scott, who is going to be my savior), but incoherent leadership is just another matter I cannot handle.
Oh, and Pride Fag punctuated his e-mail to Cruise Director with, “Oh, isn’t Dawn writing a story about me?”
Traditionally, we do stories on the incoming and outgoing officers, but I’m lucky I remembered to put on my scandalous underwear this morning. (That reminds me — I need to do laundry, ’cause I only have sleazy underwear left in my dresser, and not many, at that rate.) Ahem. Anyway, no, Dawn did not do the stories because Dawn has eight million other details to work on. Like making your column sound coherent.
Where is that Exacto knife that I can impale myself on? Oh, there it is. …
I have to thank Shan for trying to block Demure from meeting with me today. Demure needed to see Cruise Director, so Shan gave her the time slot when Demure usually drags me kicking and screaming into her chambers. And Demure didn’t want that time slot, because of her meeting with me. Shan even went so far as to say that it was Cruise Director’s only open time slot, and besides, it’s crunch time for me, so she was certain I would appreciate having that extra time to work on the paper.
No such luck. Demure stalked down to my office with her datebook and explained the situation. She asked when I would want to meet. I said, look, you know how I feel about meetings during production weeks, so I would be fine if we canceled entirely. She pursed her lips and told me that was unacceptable. So now we’re meeting half an hour later than normal.
I can’t take this anymore. I really can’t. Meet about what? We had a McManagers meeting yesterday. Demure and I already met on Monday. And our meetings are never less than an hour. I am so ready to cry, it isn’t even funny. I literally have nothing on my agenda this week, other than to work. She’s going to want a progress update. Here’s your update: “NOTHING!” And why does it have to take an hour out of my life to convey that?