Subject: Thirsty Thursday

Date: 08 Oct 1998 00:00:00 GMT

From: nospamum@radix.net (Mumthra)

Organization: MotPU: Where Binary Moodswings are ALWAYS on the Menu

Newsgroups: alt.foot.fat-free

 

 

 

 

Now that I'm all healed, I am gonna get back to my obligatory thirty

minutes of Whatitis-itis.

 

Last night, I had my first class on how to sell freelance writing.

This portion was devoted to the business bits, and the hugely

gratifying part was that the lecturer told me very few things I

haven't already learned on my own.

 

Even so, some of the reminders were helpful. I'm probably going to

spend a little time rearranging the office to get all the music gear

out. If I can do that, I'll be able to honestly deduct the expense of

the space as a sort of Pure Office Environment. Although, come to

think of it, I guess I could plausibly say that twiddling keyboards is

a necessary part of my writing craft. I bet IRS agents LOVE that sort

of story. "Yes ma'am the rec room and exercise space is part of my

office! Really! I have health spa perks as the president of the

company. See, that's why the shower is included in the office too. I

have to shower after my workout. Yes. That's right. The kitchen is

considered my cafeteria--I make my wife use a hairnet and a big

spoon!"

 

The lecturing guy also got my attention by saying offhand that humor

is hard to sell. I dunno about that, because it seems that an awful

lot of magazines are sniffing around for it. Hell, I even saw that

Playboy will pay 100 clams a joke. Seems like easy money to me, even

if it's not going to give your clip file a lot of highbrow appeal. If

I remember correctly, their jokes aren't even all that GOOD, so it

might not be something to be terribly proud of, even in a low-brow

way.

 

Anyway, I'm glad I went, but I'm more glad for the opportunities to

gawk at people on the subway. It was prime people-watching time. Two

giddy mothers kept me thoroughly entertained between Metro Center and

Rhode Island Avenue. The talkative one said "muh-fuh" a lot, and I

figured that was probably a polite pronouciation since it was

extremely mixed company: lotsa white boys, old women and everything

else except children.

 

The little mama was worried about going to the dentist. She said,

"Girl, I am tellin' you, I am AFRAID about dis."

 

"Hell," said the big mama, "you bettah be scared. Shit! I had to have

one of my muh-fuh teeth pulled last time, and I'm telling you, girl,

dat shit hurts like a muh-fuh. Day did me like dat, with NO muh-fuh

novacaine, just pulled that shit out and said, 'Did that hurt?' all

surprised and I said, 'Shit! You went and pulled my muh-fuh tooth out

with no muh-fuh novacaine! YES, it hurt!' You gonna be one sad chile

when those muh-fuh's get through with you, girl."

 

The little mama giggled into her hand, so I didn't bother to let

myself become appalled by the excesses of sisterhood scare tactics. I

just laughed and laughed. Dental pain is just that funny.

 

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