I wore my trench coat today.

13 Nov

from January 3, 2008

I wore my trench coat the other day. Which was a pretty stupid idea because it was one of the coldest days of the year. (But I’m full of stupid ideas. Remind me to tell you ’bout the time that I thought it would be a good idea to become a teacher.) [HEY! See the parenthesis, apostrophe, brackets, and caps? It’s going to be one of THOSE blogs. Stop reading now.] [Don’t say I didn’t warn you.]

I wore my trench coat the other day. Which was a pretty stupid idea (you may have read somewhere) because it was one of the coldest days of the year. And to make it worse I took out the lining so it was a THIN trench coat on one of the coldest days of the year, which you may have heard was a pretty stupid thing to wear on such a day, i.e.: the coldest day of the year so far. Or “thus far.” Will one of the present and/or (heh heh) past English teachers who allegedly read this blog help me out here? “So” far or “thus” far. I got it: It was one of the coldest days of the year up to that point. (Italics.) That’s how I’ll roll.

I wore my trench coat the other day. Which was a pretty stupid idea (and I am solidly ignoring this sentence fragment which I am typing for the third time) because it was one of the coldest days of the year up to that point. But today was colder. SHIT!

I wore my trench coat the other day. Which was a pretty stupid idea (and I am still solidly ignoring this sentence fragment which I am typing for the fourth time) because it was one of the coldest days of the year up to that point, until today, which was colder.

Where was I? I am confusing myself. And I haven’t even gotten to the point yet. And what are the chances of that happening before my laptop spontaneously bursts into flame to save itself from having to save this crap on its hard drive?

To  recap:

1- I wore my trench coat.

2- I took out the lining.

3- It was cold.

4- But today was colder.

Yada yada trench coat yada I wore the aforementioned black trench coat (and no, I did not afforemention that it was black. And no, “afforemention” is not a verb. I’m trying to start a trend. Remember how “blog slinging” caught on?)  I also wore black (albeit faded) jeans (albeit?) and black (albeit gray) sneakers (albeit again?) and a black t-shirt (no albeit here) and a nice black shirt (albeit it was blue) and carried a black backpack and it occurred to me that I looked just like one of those “trench coat mafia” guys that shoot up schools, and here I was walking into a school, and all I could think of was “damn it is cold. Why did I wear a trench coat (without the lining) on the coldest day of the year? Up to this point. Although it may be colder on another day soon.” 

But I entered the school without a glance toward me and took out my shotgun and it turned out I really was one of those trench coat mafia guys and- [Hold on a sec, I know the government reads everyone’s blogs and thermostats. DO NOT send the FBI around to break my legs, I’m kidding. I am a merry funster.]

It was warmer in the building, so it turned out I was glad I took out the lining (on such a cold day, coldest of the year, up to that point, etc etc) so I could walk around for a while with the coat billowing out behind me.

I’ve gone on record about capes. Love ’em! (Apostrophe again.) But as I’ve said before, unless you are the late Godfather of Soul James Brown or in drag as Supergirl there is no excuse for wearing a cape. And I am not the late Mr. Brown come back to life, and white, nor am I going to risk an assault by dressing as Supergirl (though I do have the legs for it) so wearing a long trench coat is the closest I can come to legally wearing a cape and pretending to be a superhero.

So, as I said, and if I didn’t repeat myself this blog would have been finished last week, I walked around for a while with the coat billowing out behind me. It was sooooo cool. Unless you were not me and just one of the people in the halls who saw me and thought I was sooooo uncool.  (I was told I looked very gothic, which just proves that people still dig Goths, but who cares she’s cute.) 

In fact, I wanted to keep the black trench coat on all day. Which would have looked silly (but soooo cool) but for the annoying fact that it was actually warm in my room. Who expected a warm room in Lafayette? So, take a guess, what do you think I did? Think carefully now! What did I do? What did I do? Hmmmm?

I took it off, that’s what I did. I was warm. And what fool (me?) wouldn’t take off his coat when it is warm? Even a very cool black gothic-looking trench coat (which had picked up some dust on the bottom, it being so long) without the lining? On the coldest day of the year so far up to that point, etc, in a warm room, though today was both colder outside and warmer inside my room.

This blog is why I get headaches so often.

So I took the coat off, but when I went outside my room, guess what I did? What did I do? What did I do? Hmmmm? I didn’t put it on. Why would you guess that? That would just be silly. And I may be stupid (often) [Hey!] but I am not silly. But it would have been cool, striding the halls, casting a fearsome shadow, cutting a dashing figure, using more descriptive phrases than usual, looking for all the world like a member of the trench coat mafia [Just kidding, FBI! Merry funster and all that.] and just generally being cool as Hell. (A- I am capitalizing Hell, even though I often don’t. B- Why is Hell cool? Shouldn’t Hell be hot? Is this a mixed metaphor thingy? Nah, I am using cool in a totally different sense than temperature. You should have known that. Why do I have to tell you these things?)

But when I left the building I put it on again and damn if it wasn’t still sooooo cool. But it was the coldest [shut up!] and I was freezing my coolness off, not to mention my ass, and I got in the car and pulled out of the laundry bag a big heavy sweater which I wrapped around my trench coat while I sat and shivered until the car warmed up. (Yes, I was going to do the laundry, and damn if I wasn’t the coolest cat in the place.) (“Coolest cat?” Who am I, Sammy Davis Jr. here?)

Well, I love my trench coat. I wonder if it loves me? (Oh my God. That is so lame. ) [So why didn’t I just delete it?] Anywho, or how, anyhow, I put my trench coat away, after brushing the dust off the bottom, and there it awaits until the temperature rises and I once again decide the need to feel pretty. I mean cool. Cool. Until I feel the need to be cool.

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Mr. Know-It-All on:

13 Nov

from January 1, 2008

Mr. Know-It-All on bloggers:

Is there a lower type of writing than a blog? Shit if I know. A blogger is the worst king of egotistical trash. Some guy decided that “Hey, I am the King of King Shit and I want EVERYBODY to read what I write because it is so damn cool!” Who the fuck cares? So the guy goes out and goes on eBlogger or MySpace or god forbid starts his own website and writes stuff. What kind of stuff? Crap. Jeez, look at your average BS blog. A movie review where the jokes are funny, even freakin’ hysterical….. to the writer. And maybe his one friend who knows all the Monty Python gags and jerks off to internet porn in his basement. Or maybe he’ll write up some dung about his day, like how he got invited to a Christmas party and didn’t go. Like we give a rat’s maggot infested ass about that. The usual blogger doesn’t get invited to any parties at all, ’cause he’s a toad, so when he does and blows one off he should be shot. Bloggers have no lives, they don’t even drink or pick up whores like he would if he were a Certified Advice Columnist like I am. Or maybe the blogger will make up like a fake interview where he wins an award. Who the fuck does he think he’s fooling? What the fuck? Then there’s the blog where he pretends to be someone else. Tough guy, right? Why don’t you just say it and use your own name? You’re not fooling anybody, bilgehole. This is why your friendly pal Mr. Know-It-All  does crystal meth anally and orally too, ’cause of pussy bloggers. I have a headache that reaches all the way down to my shriveled balls right now. I wish bloggers would go back to pulling their puds over their coworkers who they are never going to screw and get the frig off the internet so I can go back to my Chris (Dateline) Hansen tribute site.

Mr. Know-It-All on naked people:

Everybody with a working central nervous system has seen somebody and wanted to see him or her without any clothes (and since Mr. Know-It-All is no homo I’ll stick to “her” from now on. So don’t get any funny ideas. That guy in the bus station just wanted change of a five, OK? Nothing happened in that bathroom stall.) Everybody thinks about it. Natural, right? Especially when you see somebody hot. But Mr. Know-It-All wants to see everybody naked. Just out of curiosity. Yes, curiosity. Keep your pervert ideas to yourself. But not the skags and skanks. They are repulsive and trust your buddy, the world is full of unappealing people. But who doesn’t ever just walk into a bar, order bourbon, vodka, and banana daiquiri all at once and just picture like the woman in the next booth naked? Or the bus driver? Or the average looking woman in the frumpy skirt who may or may not need a shave? And even the tall woman with the big mole but has a great rack and if you just put a bag over her head you think you can get it up? Mr. Know-It-All used to work in an office where the secretary was sleeping with her boss and never even looked at Mr. Know-It-All unless it was to tell him to cleanup his mess and zip his pants. Shit,  I thought about her wearing nothing but a sombrero and a whipped-cream serape for two weeks straight. But the point, if there is a point, is that even the below average women have a chance with Mr. Know-It-All. I am usually so wasted they all look like Carmen Electra anyway, minus the STDs.

Mr. Know-It-All on giving advice:

We all know that Mr. Know-It-All is a nationally syndicated advice columnist with a radio show on Sirius satellite and a twice weekly newspaper column, but what we may not know is why he does it. I feel that a sacred trust exists between the advice seeker and the advice giver. It should never be taken lightly. Often the one seeking advice is a troubled teenage girl, looking to find her identity or orientation. Often a really stacked teenage girl on the verge of exploring her sexuality. Occasionally it is a hot MILF,  or a divorced mother looking to start dating. Sometimes it is a woman who needs simple comfort in the arms or bed or even the backseat of the car of a caring, advice-giving man with a column. Sometimes it is just a prostitute looking to score some blow. But Mr. Know-It-All, without exception, takes all of these with a personal touch, and the mantra, “no letters from men.”

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