Our long absence from this space is attributable to a bout with the flu, a nasty eye injury and the unforeseen onset of end-of-the-worst-year-ever apathy.
Nevertheless, incidents are occurring. Blips on our radar screen, each pregnant with the promise that 2010 will be just as retarded as the aughts. And we've decided that should we repress our ass-whuppitude for another minute, we'll likely bust. Ready?
POST-IT NUMBER 1 — To Gary Stewart, the Rude Homo Who Kidnapped His Lesbian Neighbors' Three-Legged Kitty-Cat
Lesbian cat-lovers are admittedly insufferable. Not only that, it's an indisputable universal truth that three-legged pets are irritating. They hop around, pretending everything's hunky-dory when clearly everything is not. It was careless of them to misplace a limb.
Be that as it may, Mr. Stewart, not only was it ill-advised to kidnap your lesbian neighbors' wretched feline tripod, it was sloppy to have been caught in the act.
Furthermore, when you mixed slug pellets into a take-away curry dish and presented it to those tedious sapphic amputee aficionados as a peace offering, it betrayed your woeful lack of expertise in the area of ridding one's block of be-flanneled rug munchers (for inst, every homo knows it's far more effective to hire k.d. lang to coax them into a humane lesbian trap and release them into a distant Home Depot parking lot). But slug pellets and curry is hardly an effective recipe for Lez-b-Gone.
POST-IT NUMBER 2 — To Ivana Trump, Baby Curser-Outer
We were troubled by recent accounts of how you were physically escorted from an aircraft when screaming children infiltrated first class, triggering a terrifying relapse of your post-traumatic stress disorder.
After all, those horrific memories of playing the Rusty Trump-bone must be repressed for sanity's sake. Goodness, we'd sooner felch Karl Rove than bump uglies with The Donald; who, aside from owning the world's most architecturally unstable comb-over, is the ghastliest tub of paste in the Milky Way Galaxy.
Nevertheless, a classy dame such as yourself simply does not charge the cockpit of an airliner after screaming at a baby and calling it a "little f*cker." Don't get us wrong. We sympathize, and secretly believe the major airlines should require all under-fivers to be shoved into baby kennels and checked as baggage.
At the very least, one wonders why the Valium people haven't introduced Teletubby-shaped chewables. The world would be infinitely pleasanter. Agreed?
POST-IT NUMBER 3 — Attention Chattanooga Wal-Mart Shoppers
We hear you. Times are hard. To add insult to injury, y'all live in Chattanooga. But any time you need some cheap entertainment, simply pile the family into the Caravan and head to your neighborhood Wal-Mart.
It seems some fellow Chattanoogans recently performed a dazzling piece of Wal-Mart performance art (Walm-Art?). First, a man attempted to circumvent the cashiers by strolling through the exit pushing a cart filled with flat screened TVs. When questioned by a security guard, a woman nearby started having a heart attack. Suddenly, a witness told the guard the heart-attack-haver was actually the shoplifter's wife and was faking it. Perturbed by having her shenanigans exposed, the woman experienced a miraculous recovery and followed witness into the parking lot and attacked her. Then the witness stabbed the woman with a pocket knife.
Kudos and bravo!
POST-IT NUMBER 4 — To the Best Aussie Dad in All of Queensland
As the show-tune goes, when one plants a radish one gets a radish, not a brussel sprout. But with children, sometimes the son you dreamt would grow up to play rugby and bang broads suddenly starts skipping about wearing purple blouses and lip-syncing to Cher. Relax, this is nothing more than Yahweh having a good laugh at your expense.
But should you plant a zucchini and harvest a kumquat, you'd do well to love the kumquat for being a kumquat. We'd advise against forcing the kumquat to bone a hooker. But you did just that, and stood outside the door, threatening your terrified 14-year-old son that he wasn't going home until he produced a used condom as evidence of the deed.
Because when one forces an under-aged boy into sex, it's called child rape. And now you're charged with the rape of your son. And now you'll likely end up in a sad place where men like you learn exactly how to be a kumquat (you'll be delighted to discover it's remarkably similar to rugby).
And that, my dears, is irony.
FINALLY — THE FIRST-EVER WAM PLUG
A very good friend of ours has written and directed a truly hilarious 2-minute movie and it's entered in the Nikon 2-minute film competition. Check it out. It's short, clever, and we laffed outloud several times.
His name is Rob Muraskin and his film's called "Carpool Therapy: First Day"
Vote for him. He's a gifted dude and he deserves the prize.
Ivana sez: "Every time I start to remember The Donald in his Aquaman Underoos, I remember my subscription to this blog's feed and life seems bearable again."