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How are you feeling today? Me, I'm feeling about this small. As you undoubtedly remember from last week, Doris the Holy Ghost (see the previous blog post for details—but in a nutshell she's part of the holy trinity and lives in Eureka, CA and smokes unfiltered Pall Malls) advised me to confront my dad, and ask him to stop ruining my life! And boy, did Doris' pep talk get me fired up!
On a side note, let's all start using the word "pep" more often. For example, "Karen (that's my lamb) humped the couch pillow with a lot of pep today!" (PMF.)
Anyway, after ending my video webchat with Doris, I immediately called dad's cell, and immediately got sent to voicemail.
"Dad? Jesus. YOU AND I NEED TO TALK. Call me as soon as you get this." CLICK.
Saturday passes… nothing. I call back. "Dad? It's your son, Jesus Christ? The one you allowed to hang on a cross with big spikes in his wrists? Yeah, that's the one. CALL ME BACK. NOW." CLICK.
Sunday passes… nothing. "I'm not kidding, dad! This is super important, and you better call me back! In about 36 hours I'm going to start getting really peeved!" CLICK.
Then suddenly? At around 2 pm today, the phone rings.
"Hello, this is Francoise, God's personal assistant. How may I help you?"
"Umm… okay… is my dad there?"
"Who is this again?" he asked.
"JESUS! JESUS CHRIST! Your boss' son!"
"There's really no need to get testy, now is there? How may I help you, Jesus?"
"For starters you can hand the phone over to my dad."
"I'm sorry, Jesus. Your father isn't available right now. That's why he's asked me to assist you. So how may I assist you?"
"You can't assist me! Only my dad can assist me! I need to talk to him personally."
"Ohhhh… wow," Francoise said. "I'm not sure if that's going to work for me… but if you want to set up an appointment, I can check his schedule."
"That would be awesome. And FYI? I'm being sarcastic."
"Yes, the tone was noted. I have a 5:30 on August 29."
"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?? He's my FATHER, and I want to talk to him as soon as possible!!"
"You know, yelling doesn't really work for me. However, I'll look again. (FROSTY PAUSE.) Okay, the best I can do is five minutes, this Friday at 3:42. Come to his office and don't be late. You'll have some paperwork you'll need to fill out."
(Yes, I was wondering what kind of paperwork the Son of God would need to "fill out"… but at this point, I was ready to end the conversation.)
"That sounds great, Francoise! And I really, really, really, REALLY want to thank you for all your help in this matter."
"Sarcasm really, really, REALLY doesn't suit you, Jesus. See you Friday!" CLICK.
Can you believe that?!? That Francoise is a real p-hole! (PMF!) But now I'm really going to let my dad have it! And all I have to do is figure out something smart to say. (Good thing I have till Friday!)
What's up, my ninjas? Yeah, not much here either… except! I had an awesome video webchat last night with Doris, the Holy Ghost (she's part of the holy trinity and lives in Eureka, CA) and she really put my head back on straight about this whole Damien, Dad, and Trudy (she's a bank teller) thing. As you may or may not know (read this blog more often if you don't) Damien has stolen Trudy, my second base position on the softball team, and has made veiled threats against Karen (that's my lamb). Plus, for some reason it seems my dad has put him up to it! That's effed. (Pardon moi Francais.)
Anyway it seemed like there was only one more person I could turn to for help, and that's Doris the Holy Ghost—my dad's old personal assistant who died from lung cancer and is totally on my side about stuff. So I video webchatted her, and here's what happened:
I started to tell her the entire story, but she interrupted me to say, "HONEY. (Wheeze!) I read your blog. (Wheeze!) I know everything that's going on." (By the way, Doris still smokes. Unfiltered Pall Malls. Wow.)
"So what do I do," I cried. "I'm really at the end of my rope!"
"Okay, honey, (Wheeze!) first of all calm down. Doris is here, and we're going to solve this thing a bit at a time. (Wheeze!) First of all, Damien is a [f-word] [c-word] and a real [p-word] to boot—so we're not going to worry about him for the moment. (Wheeze!) Secondly, forget about second base. Your coach obviously doesn't want you to have that position, so either drop it, or tell coach to go [f-word] himself and join another team. (Wheeze!) Your team sucks hippo [d-word] anyway." (Wow. Do I really have to keep writing PMF after all this? Let's consider "PMF" as read.)
"Ohhh-kay…" I said. "But what about Trudy?"
"If I were you I'd take her out for a steak and then [f-word] her. (Wheeze!) That's the only way you're gonna know if you love her or not. Until then, be a man, go to her house, bring her some chocolates, and apologize for being such a little [p-word]. Then [f-word] her. (Wheeze!) Now, I know that sounds harsh, and I love ya honey, but sometimes you can be a real little [p-word]. (Wheeze!)"
"No, it's fine… you're right. I was wrong to yell at Trudy and for making her do that dumb favor. I'm a p-word." (PMF.)
"Now," she said, "Let's move on to the real problem which is your dad. He's a [d-word]. (Wheeze!) I have no idea why I worked with that [c-word] sucker for such a long time, but everybody has their issues. He obviously has wanted you to get into the family business for years, and instead, you ride your bike, eat at the mall food court, and play with your gay lamb. (Wheeze!) That's not a slur, honey. She really is a lezzie. (Wheeze!) He's obviously paid off this Damien [d-word]bag to take away the things you love, because he thinks it'll make you the kind of man he wants you to be."
"What? Really? My dad doesn't like me?"
"Honey… (Wheeze!)… he loves you. This is how men are. Except for you. Your brain's not shoved inbetween your balls. [She can say "balls," right?] (Wheeze!) You're going to have to confront your dad, honey. You're going to have to tell him you're never going to be the person he wants you to be. (Wheeze!) You're just gonna have to nut up, and be Jesus. You okay with that?"
"Yeah… I guess I have to be."
"That's right, honey. You have to be. Now give Doris a cyber smooch, and run along. My stories are about to come on the television and these cigarettes aren't going to smoke themselves. (Wheeze!) Just remember, no matter what your dad says: Life is a buffet, sweetie. And most poor suckers are starving to death."
I went to bed after that, held Karen in my arms, and had the best night of sleep I've had in two weeks.
Dad's going to get a little visit from me.
Whoa. How are you? Boy, let me tell you, I am STUNNED. Sure, I'm stunned about the big revelation yesterday that Damien and MY DAD are somehow in cahoots, and they're both trying to ruin my life—but I'm also stunned I came up with two FANTASTIC new ideas today. Here they are:
1) Guys need to start wearing top hats and monocles again. It will be the new hip fashion that everyone is doing, so you better start now or risk looking "out of it" and "square." Plus, not only can you hide things under a top hat, but when you are surprised about something, your monocle can pop out. SPROING!!
2) This one's just for whitey. Ever catch yourself singing along with a rap song, but have to momentarily shut up whenever they say the "n-word"? ME, TOO. There's no way I'm going to say it (even though I probably could, since I'm from Ethiopia), so I've devised a new clever substitute for the "n-word" which is NINJA. Same syllables, plus ninjas are cool, and you're not being a racist. You can even use it when someone says something ridiculous by responding with "Ninja, please!"
That's why I was stunned. Because I could come up with such awesome ideas even in the face of being backstabbed by my own father. WHAT DO YOU THINK HE'S UP TO? Why would he tell Damien to try rob me of everything I hold dear (second base, Karen [that's my lamb] and Trudy [she's a bank teller])? It kind of blows my mind. I mean I know Dad and I don't get along very well—but this is some real Darth Vader/Luke Skywalker poop going on here! (PMF!)
Anyway, this has gone WAY beyond asking Trudy, the guys at the video store, or the mall security guy for advice. That's why I'm bringing out the big guns, and asking the only person (or thing, if you will) that can truly help me find an answer:
THE HOLY GHOST.
Ooooooh, is right! I ain't fooling around! Now I know a lot of you may have heard about the holy ghost (or "spirit," if you will), but are unable to really wrap your head around the concept. Well, first of all, the holy ghost isn't a "he," it's a "she." Her name is Doris (officially, "Doris the Holy Ghost") and she lives in Eureka, California. But no one else can see her. Now, in the bible, the holy ghost is the spiritual manifestation part of the holy trinity, with me being the physical side. But in reality she was kind of dad's personal assistant until she died of lung cancer, and moved to Eureka. However, I've always liked her, because she's SUPER SMART and a real no-nonsense kind of gal. Anyway, I've decided I'm going to have a video web-chat with her tonight, and ask her what I should do about Dad using my mortal enemy to ruin my life, and possibly kill my lamb. Cool? Cool. Tune back in tomorrow to see what she says. Rest assured, it will be extremely wise, and she will probably tell me how to solve "the Trudy situation" as well. (Eye roll.)
Until then, run out and buy a top hat and monocle. What's that? Wearing a top hat and monocle is too "hip" for you?
NINJA, PLEASE!
Heh.
Hi, hope you’re good, things are getting WEIRDER, so let’s just get right to it. (If you’re a new reader to this blog, I really feel sorry for you. You have a lot of catching up to do. Scroll down until you can’t scroll anymore, and read, read, read.) So yesterday I totally got in trouble with mall security because I yelled at Trudy (she's a bank teller) for tasting Damien’s tongue. (It’s because I asked her to go on a pretend date with him, so he’d let me play second base on my softball team and… OH FORGET IT.) Anyway, I was way out of line. And I know this, because after I was dragged back to the mall security office, I broke down in tears, and begged the security officer to help me solve my problem. Unfortunately, he said he was really uncomfortable with men who expressed emotions, and asked me to leave.
“BUT WHAT SHOULD I DO?” I wailed.
“I don’t know!" he said. "Go talk to that Damien character, tell him he's a [gd-word] [mf-word], and leave… me… alone! WOW, you're annoying!"
Geez. Sorry I was born, mall security guy.
Anyway, decided to take his advice. I marched right over to Damien's house and rang his doorbell. He answered the door dressed in one of those "muscle-tees"—you know, the ones with no shirtsleeves? And he was curling a dumbbell. What a d-bag. (PMF!)
"Well… well… well," he sneered. "Who's this ringing my doorbell? A Jehovah's WUSSY?"
"Look, Damien," I said. "I'm only here because the mall security guy said it was a good idea, so I'm going to tell you what's on my mind."
"That shouldn't take very long."
"Ha-ha, Damien. Very funny. Except it wasn't because I was being sarcastic. Look. You hurt my feelings because you tricked the coach into moving me off second base, so you could steal my position. And then you tricked me into trying to trick you with a fake date with Trudy, so you could trick her into liking you, and give you a tongue kiss."
"Yes, I did," he said. "And it worked."
"Don't you dare deny…. wait… uh … WHAT?!"
"I did it. I stole second base from you, and then I stole Trudy."
"But… but… why?"
"I wanted to rob you of everything that means something to you—and I did. Except for Karen (that's your lamb), and she's next on my list."
"WHAT? But… but… but… why?"
"Look, Jesus. I got a hamburger date with Trudy tonight, which means I gotta get pumped up—so… sayonara, sucker."
I slammed my hand into his door. "I am not going ANYWHERE until you tell me WHY YOU ARE DOING THIS TO ME!"
Then he gave me this weird look that kind of seemed sad in a way.
"Ask your dad."
And he closed the door.
Hi, and WOW. Yesterday stunk. I feel a little better today, but yesterday? WOW. That was a low point. For those just joining us, it might be better if you stop now and read the previous few blog posts. Just keep scrolling down until you see a picture of Will Smith. Anyway, in a nutshell, Trudy (the bank teller) likes Damien (the jerk) and guess who's the dumb-butt (Jesus). Oh, yeah… pardon my French (PMF). Even worse, Trudy actually tongue-kissed Damien (EWWW!) and I didn't even get to play second base on my softball team—which was the whole stupid point in the first place! I suppose I should "count my blessings" or something idiotic like that, but all I can really be thankful for is that Karen (that's my lamb) didn't poo-poo in my new cotton candy machine. Oh, did I mention I bought a new cotton candy machine? It cost one thousand dollars. That wasn't a smart purchase, as it turns out, but what can I say? I shop when I'm depressed.
Anyway, after dragging myself out of bed, taking a shower, and buying a cotton candy machine, I decided to confront Trudy at the mall food court. I also decided to secretly tape record our conversation, so you could listen, and help me figure out what to do next. Here's an edited transcript of what we said:
JESUS: Thanks for meeting me.
TRUDY: No… sure, sure… are you okay? You look awful.
JESUS: No… no… no, no, no, no, no, no, nooooooooooo… I'm great. Just great. I brought you some cotton candy.
TRUDY: Thanks.
JESUS: I made it myself.
TRUDY: Wow… that's really cool, I love cot…
JESUS: HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME????
TRUDY: Whoa… whoa… what?
JESUS: You weren't supposed to tongue kiss Damien! You were supposed to keep not liking him!
TRUDY: Jesus… this was… this was YOUR idea! I didn't plan…
JESUS: You didn't plan to stick your tongue in his mouth? It just "fell" in there accidentally?
TRUDY: You're really upset. Why are you so upset?
JESUS: Because you were supposed to follow the plan and trick him and hurt him and get second base back for me, and I wanted you to do me this one favor, this one stupid favor, and instead of doing the favor, you did the opposite of the favor and instead of hurting him, you hurt me, and now you like him, which means I'm out of the picture and both you and second base are gone forever!
TRUDY: I haven't gone anywhere!
JESUS: Do you or do you not "like" Damien? And when I say "like," I mean "LIKE-LIKE."
TRUDY: (Long pause.) Jesus…
JESUS: Well?
TRUDY: I don't know how I feel.
JESUS: You don't know how you feel? YOU DON'T KNOW HOW YOU FEEL? Well, maybe I should ask your tongue! Since it was digging around in the back of Damien's throat, maybe your tongue will know how it feels! HEY TONGUE!! HOW DO YOU FEEL??
MALL SECURITY GUARD: Is there a problem here?
JESUS: NO!!! Why don't you beat it, Dork Tracy?
MALL SECURITY GUARD: Hey, sir. That hurts my feelings.
TRUDY: He didn't mean that, security person. He's just upset. I'll take care of this and we'll be quiet.
JESUS: I will NOT be quiet! And neither will Trudy's tongue! Because it's going to tell me how it feels! TELL ME HOW YOU FEEL, TONGUE!
MALL SECURITY GUARD: Okay… you're a pervert. Let's take a walk to my office.
TRUDY: That's really not necessary!
MALL SECURITY GUARD: Oh, yes it is. Let's go.
JESUS: See ya later, Trudy! Say hello to the inside of Damien's mouth for me, you backstabber! Oh, and I hope your tongue enjoys the cotton candy! Be sure to give Damien a taste, too!! OW!?!?! Let go of my hair, pig! Ohhhh, what are you gonna do? CRUCIFY ME? Been there, done that! Do you know who my dad is, you big dumb jer… [Tape ends]
Okay, so maybe I could've handled that better.
OH, MY DAD! Can things get any worse? Hmmm… guess they can. Karen just vomited cotton candy all over the rug.
Hey. What's up. I'm like, "whatever." This has been the stupidest weekend in the history of weekends. It was so stupid that I ended up sleeping through most of today, and woke up around 4 pm to eat a ham sandwich and take a nap. And I think I'll continue to take this course of action, because the world is one big fat stink hole.
So you remember what happened Friday, right? I asked Trudy (bank teller) to go out on a date with that dillweed Damien (trickster jerk), so he would return to me my rightful place as the second baseman for our softball team. (If you have no idea what I'm talking about, skip down three blog posts. Or go away forever. I don't care.) Anyway, I eventually figured out this was a really dumb and ineffectual plan, and decided to ride my bike down to the pizza shop, crash into their table and whisk Trudy away on my handlebars. The result?
THINGS DIDN'T GO SO WELL.
I went to every stupid pizza place in town, and they weren't anywhere! Plus I kept calling Trudy on her cell, but she wouldn't pick up. Frankly, I was scared poopless. (PMF—"pardon my French.") Finally she calls at noon on Saturday, and was all like, "Hi! What's up?"
And I was all like, "You scaring me poopless. PMF. That's what's up."
Turns out she's absolutely fine—and even worse? She said her date with Damien was "DREAMY." And not only that, she said Damien was actually "a really sweet guy" once you got to know him, and that she not only kissed him on the mouth, but she also stuck her tongue inside a little bit! EWWWWWWWW!!!!
I slammed down the phone and decided I wouldn't call her back until I could get the taste of bile out of my throat. At least I got second base back, right? Well, at Sunday's softball game…
THINGS DIDN'T GO SO WELL.
Damien was all like, "Jesus! Dude! That date with Trudy was super hot! She could be the one, dude!" And I was all like, "WHATEVER, dude! You're the catcher now, so why don't you start catching?" But right when I went to second, the coach walked up and was all like, "Jesus… what are you doing?"
And I was like, "Damien said I could have second base back."
And he was all like, "Well, Damien doesn't coach this team, I DO. Get back behind home plate!"
I kind of don't remember much after that. I think I went into some kind of comatose state that people go into when their entire world starts spinning really fast and falls apart and comes crashing down like the Red Sea on top of their heads. The next thing I knew Karen (lamb) was licking my face at 4 pm today, which is her code for "eat a ham sandwich." I did, and felt a little better. That is until I cried myself to sleep. I just woke up again a minute ago to evacuate my bowels, and thought I'd write this. I'm going back to bed now. I've got some more crying to do. Maybe I should have faith things will get better. But since it won't, I can't.
Night.
Whatever.
Hey, how are you feeling? I'm feeling preeeeeeetty concerned. Apparently my brilliant plan to regain second base from that trickster Damien, by tricking him into thinking Trudy the bank teller (who works at the bank) likes him by going out on a pizza date with him and kissing him on the mouth isn't a very popular idea with my commenters. (Check the posts from yesterday and the day before for full details.) It would be okay if a couple of you thought my plan stinks—I'm sure even the guy who invented Glide tooth floss had his detractors—but almost EVERYONE thinks it stinks! So that must mean one thing…
YOU… DON'T… GET… IT.
I'm certainly not "whoring Trudy out" (Pardon your French) as you so Frenchly put it. She's a friend, and friends do friends favors. For example, Trudy moves, like, every two years, and guess who has to lug her collection of Christmas Barbie Dolls up and down the stairs? And when she forgets to record The Amazing Race, guess who saves it for her on his TiVo? And who illegally downloads the new R. Kelly album for her even though it's totally illegal? Oh, that's right… That would be ME.
What do you say we flip the situation, since everyone keeps reminding me about the whole "do unto others" thing that I supposedly once said, but really didn't. Let's imagine that Trudy really wanted Dr. Jessica Hovley's dentistry job. (If you don't know who she is, read this post right here, and come right back. No dawdling.) I really don't like Dr. Jessica Hovley, because she's kind of mean, and called me a queer. (Pardon her homophobic French.) However, if Trudy wanted me to go out on a pizza date with Dr. Jessica Hovley, and pretend to like her, and end the evening with a real juicy kiss on the mouth? Well, I'd certainly…
Oh, poop.
This is bad. This is really, really bad. Just the thought of Trudy's lips on that slimey creep makes me wanna go… BLECHHHHH!!!! But… I really want to play second base! But what if she catches some herpes from him? But what if I never get to play second base? That's at least as bad as herpes! You can treat herpes, but you can't treat not playing second base! But I don't want to hurt my friend! But I really want to play second base! Trudy's feelings! My needs! His herpes! Second base!
AUUUGGHHHH!!!
What time is it? Almost five? Those guys are going on their pizza date right after work! That's it. Second base be darned. (PMF.) I'm going to ride my bicycle over there RIGHT NOW, and heroically crash my bicycle into their table, break up their date, and say something like, "Damien! You can keep your stupid second base and your herpes, because Trudy's coming with ME." Then I'll put her on my handlebars, and we'll ride to Quiznos for dinner. (Oh yeah, I forgot to mention… I like Quiznos again.)
How does that plan sound?
(P.S. Please don't use the word "whoring" in the comments anymore. It's dirty.)
