Fuckyeah, Fireland!

The House of Wigs #34
filed 07/29/04 

My cubicle buddy got all kinds of pregnant (totally not guilty — everyone knows I shoot blanks) and then her doctor told her to stay at home and take it easy for the last trimester (I carefully prepared a pointed and charismatic theory about how trimester was some kind of made-up word, a lazy riffing upon semester, sort of like the old saw about how a workaholic is someone who’s addicted to workahol, but then the know-it-all internet told me I might as well go ahead and eat that theory with some crow and maybe some worms). Then yesterday I’m driving around, top down, absolutely cranking that song about how you need to show your man your vagina when he gets home from work, and for a second I think I see my cubiclemate, walking down the street, 100% unpregnant.

My shriek of surprise was girlish and I took both hands off the wheel to clap them against my fat little cheeks. It wasn’t her, of course, but it got me to thinking about engineering an elaborate scam where you pretend to be pregnant, announcing it to your co-workers, faking a glow via carefully applied makeup, picking up a “Been Caught Stealing” Fake Belly Kit, etc. Then the sudden news where your fictional doctor orders you to stay in bed for the next three months, and then hell-o paid vacation city, USA. Then of course Phase II where you return to work with fake baby pictures and then have to hire some black market refugee to show up with you at company parties, but I think it’d all be worth it.

Yesterday my boss made an obscure reference to an old Steve Martin album (“May I mambo dogface to the banana patch?”) and I was all: “Steve Martin in the hizzie!!” And he was super impressed that I caught that reference. I mean it wasn’t like: “High-five! Way to feel me!” It was more like . He sort of shook his head in wonder, deadly serious, clapping me on the shoulder and saying I was a “pro.” This is good timing because my review is coming up and evidently I haven’t done any of things I was hired to do.

fireland:

“He took Michelle to see the Spike Lee film Do The Right Thing on their first date.”

[50 Facts You Might Not Know About Barack Obama]

Dude picks Do The Right Thing for a first date and we’re trusting him with the Button?? C’mon, Say Anything was playing that summer, too.

fireland:

The first draft of today’s Twitter post, for your files:

If the Hyundai’s a-rockin’, don’t come a-knockin’. Because I’m having sex. With your mom. OK? I even made it rhyme so it’s easy to remember.

P.S. I’m concerned that people will think this line is directed toward my [non-existent] offspring and interpret “your mom” as my wife. I’d prefer it if people thought I was talking to, say, a neighborhood kid I don’t know very well, or maybe a niece?

P.P.S. No, YOU have problems.

…how did you know I keep files on your Twitter posts?

Sprout (via Fireland)

fireland:

Got the invite to my dad’s wedding. He just crossed out the bride’s name from the last time around and wrote in That Hotty [sic] At Denny’s.

POST NO. π?!??!!?

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

*swoon*

fireland:

If you can’t prove in a court of law that we didn’t have sex last night, then we did. Yeah well I’m still updating the spreadsheet.

fireland:

The Incredible Hulk
A: [gleefully claps hands upon seeing Ed Norton]

Indiana Jones
A: [upon hearing the first line of the ominous voiceover, something about a mysterious secret in a cave or whatever] That’s all I need. I’m there, whatever this is. Wait, is that Harrison Ford?

The Happening
J: [upon seeing “M. Night Shyamalan*”] Fuck this guy.

J: [notices with smug satisfaction that they skip his last two movies when reminding us what he’s directed]

J: [remembers fondly this joke about a movie about Helen Keller who can see dead people called “The Fourth Sense”]

J: [after the fifth or sixth scary loud noise] I’m exhausted.

The Love Guru
J&A: [slumped shoulders, dead eyes]

*Spelled it right on my first try, you guys!

“The Fourth Sense”

fireland:

DJing tonight at the Applebee’s on West Colfax, laying down a sleazy set of Mark Almond and Aphex remixes and American Idol highlights from YouTube. The prom girls go absolute A-1 ape-balls and offer me unseemly Activites which I — as a Gentleman — refuse, sealing the Velcro on my cargo shorts. Sure enough I’m alone at the end of the evening, only my Triple Chocolate Meltdown to keep me company. Dirty, sweet company.

*sealing the Velcro on my cargo shorts*

<3

Zippo (via Fireland)

fireland:

Bloopers from a little gummi-related movie I made. Yeah I don’t know either.

Absolutely just made my day.