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Sunday, February 12, 2012

Butt Plug and BettySue

Butt Plug is a fastidious little man with small white hands, a pot belly, and a fake smile. To say he’s uptight is an understatement. He can only be described as having a butt plug so far up his ass he can’t see straight. Hence, his name.


BettySue also has a fake smile. Occasionally she appears to have a heart, but it’s a tiny little heart that beats slowly (if at all). She’s always offending or pissing someone off.


Butt Plug and BettySue are cohorts, coconspirators in making people’s lives miserable. They work together and spend most of their day stroking each other’s ego and blaming everyone else for their stupidity.


I know Butt Plug and BettySue and have been forced to spend time with them. It’s been a lesson in life, a lesson in patience, and a lesson in foolery.


One night I was the last person to leave the office before Butt Plug. I waved good night being certain to conceal my middle finger that wanted so badly to thrust itself forward as the final gesture of my goodnight wave. Luckily I was able force my finger from going fully erect. It was hard.


Not ten minutes later my iPhone rang. When I saw Butt Plug’s name I almost didn’t pick it up, but I did.


His normally squeaky wimpy voice was in a high-pitched rage. I’m certain all the dogs in the neighborhood started howling.


Why the commotion? Butt Plug was in a fit because he was the last to leave the parking lot and had to slide the parking lot chain link gate closed. He screeched about his bad back and how it was too hard to pull the gate.


Bad back? Maybe if he loosened that butt plug he’d be a bit more pliable and would then be able to slide the gate closed.


I feigned concern, told him to leave the gate open, and hung up. Then I laughed all the way home.


The next day BettySue announced that if Butt Plug was staying later than everyone else someone would have to move his car out of the parking lot and park it in front of the building for him.


Did I ever move his car? No fucking way.

Thursday, February 02, 2012

Tough Love Time for Evelyn

My car remote has an alarm button. When I first got the car curiosity got the best of me and I pressed it and was jolted by its high pitched siren scream.


Evelyn (the name I’ve christened my car) surely has a strong powerful voice!


I love Evelyn but lately she’s been misbehaving.


When I get home from work I park her in my designated parking space in the garage beneath my building. She’s been sleeping in that spot since I bought her.


Lately, no sooner do I leave and get into my apartment she blares her alarm. The first time it happened I didn’t believe it was Evelyn. Then it happened a few minutes later. I ran into the hallway and clicked my remote to quiet her. A few minutes later it happened yet again.


Only in my garage does Evelyn do this. Wherever else we are she behaves beautifully.


The other night I was startled out of my sleep at 3:30 AM with Evelyn screaming. I’m sure the neighbors above the garage did not appreciate her outburst.


Why the misbehaving?


Maybe I haven’t been giving her the attention she yearns for, but I’ve working long hours, and she knows that. I thought she understood.


Maybe it’s because during my working hours she’s been stuck in a chain linked parking lot with other cars she thinks are inferior to her.


She loves going to the car wash and being soaped up and then sprayed and wiped. Afterwards she glistens in afterglow and purrs lovingly as we drive down the street.


Yesterday I took her for a wash, and then last night she did it again. This bad behavior’s got to stop!


We were planning a trip to Santa Barbara Sunday to visit wineries but it’s best I cancel. She’s not going anywhere, and I’m no longer going to blast her favorite Air Supply song - “Making Love Out of Nothing at All” - as we soar down the freeway.


It’s tough love time, Evelyn, tough love.