You're Still A Fuckwit

Sunday, Sept. 26, 2004 - 10:07 a.m.

Yesterday was nice -- we visited with Br1@n Cl@yt0n, and hallelujah, we have another disciple of the gospel of Interstate 60, brothers and sistahs.

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I overdosed on carbs. Chips Ahoy were on sale at Albertsons at two for the price of one.

Holy Moley.

I feel like I have a hangover.

But god DAMN, yesterday was fun... :-)

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Early this morning, I saw something in the comments section of somebody else's diary that irritated me so much that I decided to dedicate the following portion of today's entry to the person who left the comment. I kludged this from alt.humor.best-of-usenet several years ago. It was originally posted by a user named M Otis Beard, and forwarded to the humor group by The Avocado Avenger, but what I saw a little while ago was enough incentive to share this bit of writing anyway:

I looked up 'fuckwit' in the dictionary and there was a picture of you next to the entry. I clipped the picture out and made a negative of it on my stat camera, but you were still a fuckwit. So I used the negative to burn a silkscreen and printed the picture onto a really cool shirt, but you were still a fuckwit and there I was with a ruined shirt.

So I gave the shirt to Goodwill.

Two weeks later some homeless guy asked me for spare change and HE WAS WEARING THE SHIRT but you were still a fuckwit. So I bought the homeless guy a house, put him through detox, got him a job and a devoted wife and a new car and a closet full of Pierre Cardin suits, and then I broke into his house while he was at work and stole the shirt so I could draw a mustache on the picture of you I silk-screened onto it, but you were STILL a fuckwit.

Then I wrote a letter to the editor of the New Yorker and enclosed the shirt in a self-addressed, stamped envelope, but he sent it back to me with the following note:

Sir and/or Madam,

The New Yorker does not accept unsolicited menswear, particularly menswear depicting fuckwits.

Perhaps you would have better luck submitting this material to the Atlantic Monthly.

And you were still a fuckwit. I didn't know WHAT to do next, so I sat down on a convenient toadstool and thought about it. While I was thinking, my hands were kind of nervously picking at the ink on the shirt (I used Plastisol instead of Wat-R-Tex, and there were some ink boogers on your face), and when I looked at the shirt again I discovered that I had accidentally peeled off some pieces of your face, making you look just like Drew Barrymore in 'The Crow'. There were still some ink boogers left, so I peeled those off too, and then you still looked like Drew Barrymore, but kind of thrashed, like the way she looked in that Clint Eastwood movie, Unforgiven, where she gets her face all cut up by some cowboy. You were still a fuckwit, but now the shirt actually looked kind of cool, so I put it on and went downtown and suddenly realized that I was hungry and didn't have my wallet on me. So I asked this guy in a Pierre Cardin suit for some spare change, and he gave me a job and bought me a house and a new car and a wardrobe and hooked me up with this really hot chyk who makes great chocolate chip cookies, and after I got out of detox I really dug my new life, even though I knew you were still a fuckwit.

So anyway, yesterday I was thinking about you and wondering if you were STILL a fuckwit, and I thought I might wear that shirt for the 4th of July, but I couldn't find it anywhere, and it looks like the lock on my bedroom window has been tampered with. I thought about calling the police, but they couldn't find a doughnut at Krispy Kreme with both hands, so I turned my computer on to look for a private detective.

I got sidetracked and started reading Usenet instead, and guess what I found?

Proof that you're still a fuckwit.

And just for the record, it's my opinion that the person who left the comment also has the smallest set of tackle I have ever seen on an adult human male. If the image I have been treated to is an accurate depiction, then that person has reason to be jealous of an underendowed chihuahua. Which probably explains why he's up late at night on Usenet, causing trouble.

Ahh. I feel better now.

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Finally -- I plan to be largely unproductive for the rest of the day, as the Brady Bunch marathon is on TV Land and I want to see as many episodes as possible.

Tonight we are having szechuan beef, but if that hadn't already been planned and the ingredients already purchased and in the fridge -- I would have made pork chopch and apple shosh.

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