Thursday, September 21, 2006

Slaughter: Laughter with an “S” on top.

Merriam-Webster dictionary:
Main Entry: 2 slaughter (slô t r)
Function: transitive verb
1 : to kill (animals) for food : Butcher
2 a : to kill in a bloody or violent manner : Slay b : to kill in large numbers : Massacre. 3 : to discredit, defeat, or demolish completely

Kenyanchick’s dictionary:
S/Laughter. (sssss- läf t r)
1. You are demolished; I crack up.

Listen, you asked for the truth. I said I unleashed an ‘Epic,' ‘Ben Hur,’ blasting on L.F. and you said you wanted to know more.

Be careful what you wish for. Because now you’re going to get it.

First of all, it wasn’t funny. Because I was incandescent with rage.

Kudos to Jay who figured out that my smile masked my desire to sharpen knives and enforce natural selection.

It wasn’t pretty. But boy did I have fun.
When I get angry – are you paying attention, oh ye who harbour self-destructive thoughts? – I get hyper-literate in my language. (yeah yeah, whatever: bite me).
So I told him – and there’s no way I’d lie about this – that I thought he was a person who was “lacking in honour and integrity.”

I told him that he was a coward who stood for nothing, who had to be chased all over town for a pre-adolescent’s DVDs, and that I was obviously on some mind-altering drugs the day I decided I could trust him.

I said, “I deserved better and you know that. Give me my niece’s shit and we never have to deal with each other again, ok?”
All the little weasel could do was nod his head enthusiastically, and say “I know, I know, I’m sorry” over and over again.

THEN I told him that he would “rue the day” that he ever crossed me.
My mama's tuition money didn't go to waste. (Mum: there’s your endorsement. You can go back to the “Bold and Beautiful.” There’s nothing more to see here.)

Oh, um, about the wedding? I wasn’t invited! [Official explanation: Someone must have forgotten to deliver your card.]

I’m crying with [s]laughter even as I write this!

Friday, September 15, 2006

I don’t suffer from stress. I’m a carrier.

(Blogger won't let me publish pictures. Why, WHY??)

So I met LF.

When he saw me (it was an ambush; this was war) you should have seen his face. He was like a deer caught in the headlights.

Or, in his case, a dik dik.

And you know what happens to them.

I’ll keep it brief, but you should probably know something first.

Sherry Palmer is my mother.

See, there’s so much that I didn’t tell you last time. I gave you one scenario until my disgust stopped me from proceeding and writing more. Oh, but there was more. For instance: one day he was sick and asked to borrow some movies. The only ones I had belonged to my niece. Now, I don’t lend other people’s things because things can get ugly and complicated. (And why do some people refuse to return stuff?) But this was my boyfriend, right? In any case, he lives not far from me and anyway look, they’re DVDs, they belong to my niece and he’d never screw me, right?

I underestimated the sliminess of his character.

I hadn’t seen him since The Pork Incident, so I decided to SMS him, asking him really politely (I swear!) to return the DVDs as said niece was asking for them.
Silence. No response what-the-F*** -soever. I sent him 2 text messages. Nothing. He avoided me for a month.

Seeing as he was obviously raised by wolves, I went into Plan B. I was tired of chasing him around, looking for a 12-year-old’s property, but I knew I’d get my chance.

Boy did I ever. A mutual friend was getting married and was having a final ‘wedding meeting’ at a restaurant where I coincidentally also happened to be. He was very happy to see me and then stunned me with this comment: “So, I hear we might be making similar arrangements for you and LF soon, eh?” Ok, now I was the deer caught in the headlights.

It dawned on me that he’d been letting his friends believe that not only were we still together, but that things were getting serious. This man is seriously disturbed. Then I saw my opportunity. I smiled sweetly and asked, “Is he coming for the meeting?” Of course he was. Let the games begin.

As soon as he walked through the door he saw me. And froze. Me? I leapt up and gave him a biiiiiiiiig hug. (Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.) He knew me well enough to be completely alarmed. Then, smiling broadly, I invited myself to his friends’ table. Hilarity ensued. I was animated and relaxed; he had squeezed himself between his chair and the wall, drinking whisky without speaking or looking up. I had a blast.

Finally I was ready to go. Kisses all around, “see you at the wedding” stuff. Then I turned to LF and, lovingly, oh so lovingly, said "Can you walk me to my car please?"
What was he going to say, No? I thought his head was going to explode. We went outside, I briefly looked at his forehead for the alt-delete buttons, burst out laughing, throwing him off balance again (now I looked unstable) but I recovered sufficiently to rip into him. It was epic. It was the Ben Hur of blastings.

The next day I got the DVDs back. Except for one.
I told my niece it had been stolen.