she-wolf
IF I WERE A JOURNALIST
First, if you’re the type of journalist who goes to press conferences and gets to yell out questions, and you’re not walking around 24/7 in a hat with paper “PRESS” credentials sticking out of the band, I don’t know what you are doing with your journalist life.
Second, I would not be able to resist attempting to trap spokespersons into DEEZ NUTS jokes. Mimi Smartypants from Nutsack News, thank you for taking my question. Senator, what do you think will be the effect of the BOFA regulations on our trade relationship with Canada? Hey Bono, what do you think of Imagine Dragons well Imagine DEEZ NUTS draggin’ across your stupid face HEY LET GO OF ME *gets dragged out by U2’s jackbooted thugs*
I am not a journalist but I am a valued member of the media! I know this because I keep getting emails at my work account from U-Haul’s corporate headquarters that announce the opening of a new U-Haul rental location. These come from Corey Decker, “External Communications Intern.” (If that’s not a title to make one weep, I don’t know what is.) They ask me to please consider posting or publishing the attached press release, which “includes all of the necessary business details” and “U-Haul photos for [my] convenience.” I’m supposed to let Corey know if I need anything else, because he or she can send me additional photos or even arrange an interview with the location’s owner or a local U-Haul representative BE STILL MY HEART. When I contact Corey for those additional photos, I should probably also include some sensitive and motherly words of comfort about the now is not the forever, keeping one’s chin up, and how “External Communications Intern” is only the first step in what will no doubt eventually be a long and fulfilling life and career. Courage, Corey Decker. It gets better.
I THREATENED IT ON TWITTER, AND THEN I WENT AND DID IT IN REAL LIFE
I did a weird thing, recently, a first for me. I got fed up with my dry bumpy back and arm skin and booked something called a “lime and ginger salt scrub treatment” at a spa. I fully expected this to be awkward and weird, but it was actually really chill and nice. You’re never more naked than one limb at a time, there are candles and warmed towels, and you get oiled and massaged and scrubbed with salt just like a chicken getting ready for the roasting pan. (Put some rosemary between my skin and my fat layer! Tuck my wings under! Put a lemon in my cavity no wait don’t do that part.)
After all that you get to take a shower of sorts, only you are LYING DOWN (my favorite position) and someone else is doing all the work (my favorite way of accomplishing things). My only complaint was the vocal-heavy easy-listening music in the treatment room—I would have preferred either classic whooshy tinkly relaxation music or regular old smooooooth jazz, but overall the whole experience was wicked nice. And it was a good scared-white-lady baby step toward my ultimate goal, which is to get brave enough to go to one of those wacky Korean centers where burly grandmas scrub all your dead skin off right there in a public space. Someday.
FROG PANTS
You should know about my (genetic haplogroup) countryman, Lazzaro Spallanzani, who did a many good experiments but is probably most famous for putting cute little taffeta pants on some male frogs and observing that the pants stop them from jizzing on the frog eggs. You can read a more direct source here. I like this sentence:
I moreover observed, that an obtuse tumid point, that I suspected to be the penis, was elongated…but I could not perceive any emission from this supposed penis.
Sick burn on that frog penis! “Supposed,” indeed. FROG SEZ STFU
HOW CAN YOU NOT REALIZE THIS
Although now I can take or leave (and mostly leave) the Beatles, as a kid, I really liked the Rubber Soul album. I used to borrow my dad’s vinyl copy and was very fond of belting out “You Won’t See Me” in my room with stuffed animals providing imaginary harmony. I also liked “Norwegian Wood” and got a dark little proto-goth chuckle about its ending, where the singer clearly burns down the girl’s house.
What? That wasn’t your interpretation of that last line about lighting a fire? I always pictured the rejected-for-sex arsonist snickering, “Isn’t it good” as flames engulfed the building. Then I mentioned that to someone, in a “everyone knows this” kind of way and he thought I was nuts. If it’s not true, then the song REALLY sucks because that was pretty much its main redeeming quality in my mind.
—mimi smartypants is non-venomous and harmless to humans.