From: email@example.com (Mumthra)
Subject: Re: Gone Too Metaphar
Date: 14 May 1999 00:00:00 GMT
On Thu, 13 May 1999 22:02:09 GMT, bugToothpaste@scooter.net (Rev.
Barking Lunchbox) wrote:
:(anyway, thass the SPIRIT)
Here, Sir, have smores!
A thoroughly unremarkable and big blank white sheet of a morning was
had here. It was a day to ride to the school in pajamas, imitating an
overnight field trip gone terribly wrong. Sparky opined that a push
lawn mower COULD be as loud as a motorized one IF nobody oiled it for
a long, long time. This was what could be taken for a desperate
parting shot that didn't hit entirely as she intended but didn't miss
the bullseye in the china shop as much as she thought EITHER. It was
an extremely funny way to say goodbye, almost as good as falling out
of car and THEN saying, "I'll just get out here."
Spunky began to plead and beg like an inspired and petulant
photographer dealing with a deaf model in a cramped space. She JUST
PULEEZ wanted to have nail polish (she says it nail pawlish, and I've
considered correcting her and telling her to say nail Polish but have
been saving that for a special occasional chore).
I told her to PULEEZ WAIT while I finished getting presentable clothes
on myself, but apparently I took too long with the various zipping and
buttoning and preening, but I still would swear that I didn't take as
long as an overpaid hooker on the wrong side of the tractor. While I
was at it, she retrieved and opened a bottle of Raisin #330 colored
polish, possibly thinking that she was HEPPING.
When I appeared, I found Bo clutching the bottle upside down over a
big puddle of Fast-Dry Nail Enamel. Raisin #330 is not the color of
any raisins I ever saw, but it could be the color of raisins in the
sun under rose-colored glass eyes. It's more of a plum color or maybe
what some people call dusty rose that's been dusted off and made
shinier and darker than almost anything you'd want to find on your
beige carpet. That is to say that it stuck out like a sore thumbprint
made by a really huge and bloody thumb that had had a chance to drip a
little hither and there.
I went right to work without a minute to loose, racing against the
shock of the mightiest forces of fast-dry enamel, sprinting toward the
trill of victory with a dose of its own medicine: nail polish remover.
I blotted and rubbed, sprinkled and scrubbed, frenzied like a freshman
who was feeling not-so-fresh at the eleventh hour of no return at the
All to Noah veil I labored under my delusions of grand floor. It was
reduced to a paler shade of pink, but still my dining room has the
aura of a crime scene, minus the yellow tape, cigar-smoking detectives
and photo flash record making, chalk outlines, fingerprint powder,
mysteriously smoky flashlight beams, and authoritative Black Man
saying, "Something bad happened here."
Other than that, boy howdy, it hits the bill right where it lives.
Usenet is just like FAMILY!
There's always that one ugly cousin between you and the buffet table.