Friday, May 27, 2005

Comforted by the Knowledge That Each Little Annoyance Will Lead To My Canonization

Wondering if I should contact the editor of a certain magazine concerning the blank e-mail I received yesterday…Nah, probably just a “yeah, yeah, we got your submission, so please wait your ass for the next five months” auto-response. But I received one the day after I submitted my story, like, last week. Dear me.

Boy, that pisses me off, the not knowing.

My son keeps crapping in his SpongeBob underwear, too. That pisses me off. I mean, really pisses me off. I’ve been quite patient all week, what with the peeing and pooping in the underwear several times a day, but folks, I simply have no more patience to spare. I may resort to diapers once again. Hate to do it, but the SpongeBob resources are all but depleted as I throw out the crapped up ones. There are three pair left, and I am down to my last nerve.

I’m pissed off at many people this week as well. Her and him, and her and her. I can’t stomach insensitivity, nonreciprocal caring or outright asshole behavior for very long. They can all go perform fellatio on the anatomically correct Ronald McDonald statue that sits on the park bench inside Wal-Mart for all I care.

Actually, I would care, as that would be pretty damn funny.

I’m pissed off at Michael Jackson’s defense team -- why those buncha loons. Blaming the victim is so nineteen eighties. I’d like to see them kneeling alongside her and him, and her and her, mouths open in anticipation of receiving Ronald’s brightly painted plaster monster, really I would.

And the list continues, yet I shall refrain from elaborating further.

Aw, I appear to be in a mood today. I'm allowed a mood once in a while, though, aren’t I? I have a right to occasionally be as nasty as I want to be (within reason) considering I’m a freaking saint most days. Why, I’m so saint-like, I expect that I will be beatified upon my death, great monuments will be erected in my name, marble images of my likeness placed beside lounge chairs or atop kitchen counters, and wondrous miracles will shower those who pray to me -- thus my imminent canonization.

I even envision the prayer that David Draiman of Disturbed will write specifically for me, a tidy package of praise and glory titled “The Lor’s Prayer.” It will most likely go something like this:

Thy head, ego-swollen, thy heart full of love
Bless me, O Lor, with thine absolute grace
Get up, come on, get down with the sickness
***insert monkey sounds***
Mother, thou art Queen, how great thou art
***insert charging rhino sounds***
Amen


Hey, it could happen.

8 Comments:

At 10:58 AM, Blogger Katie said...

"Ronald’s brightly painted plaster monster?" heehee!

A blank email? Is this magazine so busy and important they can't come up with a boring form letter to send people?

 
At 12:52 PM, Blogger bevjackson said...

my serious belly laugh for the day. Never stop posting! I kneel at your shrine o' Lor'.

 
At 5:15 PM, Blogger Tea Hilton said...

This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

 
At 5:16 PM, Blogger Tea Hilton said...

LOL Lori. We are all allowed. As Stephen King wrote in one of his novels, "Sometimes being a bitch is all a woman has to hold onto." ;-)

 
At 11:34 PM, Blogger G-Man said...

Hugs and kisses from G-Man.

 
At 12:25 AM, Blogger Ms. Lori said...

Thanks everyone, for not throwing, like, bags of garbage at me...Or worse, holy water. Gawd, I can be so horribly blasphemous at times, can't I? ;-)

And hugs & kisses back atcha, G-Man.

 
At 4:20 PM, Blogger Melanie said...

I would like to see them doing felatio on the Ronald Monster too. That is something for cable TV.

A good bitch never needs an excuse. Just a righteous exit. Stage left i go....

thanks for the laugh...~melanie~

 
At 10:20 AM, Blogger Ms. Lori said...

Ah, Melanie, you are correct, sir. ;-)

I shall now attempt exiting with proper bitchitude.

Damn, I tripped over the cat. Stupid cat.

 

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