Wednesday, October 31, 2007

I’m not one to jump on fads and current trends, (though I must admit an undying love of parachute pants and Tomigotchis) but I would be remiss if I didn’t add my own bit of seasonal flavor to this year’s Halloween.
Now I’m sure that everybody and their mother (Dorthy Mantooth is a saint!) are writing a stupid blog about Halloween (the history, past adventures, crap about costumes and other pointless junk like that) and I’m no different! Well, I’m different in one way, I’m actually a good writer (ooooh! Burn!)
Allow me to weave a myriad of truthful tales of horror and fright, in that special way that only Joshua: Something Something of the Eight-Four Glyde, can. Are you ready to enter a world of ghosts, odd sounds in the middle of the night and weird smells? (excuse me, I had Mexican for lunch) Of course you are. Americans love to be scared, that’s why we all drink and drive!
I shall begin by scaring you with the most frightening thing I can think of. A thought so terrifying and repulsive that the mere whisper has driven sane men crazy, crazy women even crazier and children to drink heavily. A thought so horrifying and evil that once I mention it, you will never have another peaceful night of sleep again!
George W. Bush is still president!
Alright, alright. That was a cheap shot, I’m sorry. It was just so easy, I couldn’t help myself. That sentence is also a great way to scare somebody into losing his or her hiccups. That’s a little tip from me to you!
So…Halloween. Candy, costumes, toilet paper, razor blades covered in apples, bag snatching, pumpkin destroying, grand theft auto. All wonderful things that make this such a special time of year, and all things that have been covered to death! Let’s talk about the truth. First hand stories of actual supernatural experiences. Got your attention? Good, cause that’s how I roll.
When I was younger, my dream growing up was to be a parapsychologist. Sure other kids wanted to be astronauts, doctors, fluffers in porn movies and what-have-you, but I was a little more grounded in my desires. For those who don’t know, a parapsychologist is pretty much a real life Ghostbuster. When I first watched the movie Ghostbusters, I saw that they started off as parapsychologists at Columbia University in NYC. So I immediately wanted to go there. I bought books on all that junk. And I’m not just talking about people who buy books about spiritual energy and auras and other new wave doodoo like that. I studied up on the scientific aspect of ghosts and ghost hunting. Low-frequency transitions, electronic voice capturing, measuring vibrations and stuff like that which either robs ghost hunting of its mystery or brings scientific legitimacy to some freaky shit.
Sadly, my mother told me that I’d never get into Columbia, so I didn’t even try and that dream dried like a raisin in the sun. Thanks mom.
Anyway, though my dreams of dealing with the supranatural (that’s like a whole ‘nother level above super!) were dashed so expertly, hundreds of miles away in Jersey, a cousin of mind discovered an ability that forced her into the world of ghosts. Let me just tell you that if you think that the Sixth Sense is fictional (or a good movie) you’re wrong (on both counts). There really are people out there who can see dead people and my cousin is one of them.
Ghosts don’t appear at convenient times you know. You can be in the middle of furiously rubbing one out in the privacy of your own bedroom (not that I do such abominable activities) when all of a sudden, out of the corner of your eye, you see your great grandfather sitting in your rocking chair with a horrified look on his face. Unsavory. On the other hand, ghosts can come at good times too to help you out. My cousin once went to Atlantic City and a vision of her father helped her kick ass at the roulette wheel. I shit you not.
Of course, having ghosts around isn’t always a good way to make extra cash; it can be draining on your psyche as well. My cousin did therapy and junk. Not fun. Her sixth sense is limited, she can only see dead family members, which is nice if you’re wondering what happened to your grandparents after they died, but not so nice if you consider a funeral and burial to be the last time you want to see that specific dead person
In college, I lived in a place called the SALT House. I’ve probably mentioned the place before, but if I haven’t, hold tight, there are dozens of Eighty-Four Glyde quality stories there for me to relate in future columns. Anyway, the SALT House was very old. So old in fact, that there were still gas fixtures on the walls from the gaslights that were used before electricity was invented. Tell me, have you ever lived in a place that old (besides your mom’s womb!)? That place was so old that the Blair Witch was too scared to go in the cellar. The SALT House was the kind of Amityville/Poltergeist house that couldn’t help but have a trillion years of mysterious and probably sinister past, full of murders, poisonings and people being bricked up in walls alive. Sadly, we never knew the history of the place, so we could only make up our own stories for the weird events that took place there.
That place had all the classic haunted characteristics: odd rapping sounds emanating from walls, creaks on the stairs when nobody was walking up or down them, doors that opened and closed themselves when you weren’t looking and, of course, blood cascading down the second floor hallway every night at ten, preceded by the appearance of a set of mute twin girls, (alright, that part was a lie, but then again that hotel from The Shining was one of the scariest joints ever!).
We never figured out what caused the haunting to occur. We just learned to live with it. Hell, our rowdy college behavior probably pissed the ghost off and made him leave. I know that if I were dead I wouldn’t want to be bothered in the middle of the night by a drunk dude pissing out his window because he’s too lazy to find the bathroom. Casper would have been gone in minutes, probably from alcohol poisoning. Though I wonder if a ghost could die that way. Hmmm sounds like it’s experiment time.

Wednesday, October 24, 2007

Don & Mike: Radio Snobs

I really hate that I have so many negative Eighty-Four Glyde entries where I seem to only focus on things that irk me. I would love to do a blog about the things that I like, (much like my column on Topanga a few weeks back). Sadly, this won’t be that kind of entry.
Joshua is national. So national, in fact, that Joshua can refer to Joshua in the third person. An honor such as this is reserved for the very few. To be honest, I’m international, read in such far away (and extremely foreign lands) places as Iraq, Korea, Germany and Jersey. Which means that the entry I’m doing today will only make sense to a few people, (probably just myself) and therefore, you’re not missing much if you skip it. With two strikes against today’s entry (1. It’s negative 2. It’s localized) feel free to just relax, check out some porn, create a virus to destroy the Tila Tequila empire and call it a day. For those who stay: prepare for the suckfest!
There’s a local radio show here in D.C. called the Don & Mike show. They broadcast on a talk FM station (106.7 WJFK) and are syndicated to a bunch of small markets around the country. Don and Mike have been together, doing the show in one form or another, for the past 20 years. They’ve been through much. They started off as a “wacky morning zoo” show on one station and eventually made it to the third or fourth highest rated show in the afternoon drive (my figures could be a little off, but, since they’re not going to read this, I’m not too worried) on another station. They’ve been together through a bunch of program directors, station managers, producers, interns, format changes and stupid FCC rules. They survived in the post-Janet Jackson “wardrobe malfunction” world and that Imus debacle. They’ve been together since Don’s son was a baby (he’s in college now) and through the tragic (though I’ve rarely seen a death that wasn’t tragic) death of Don’s too-hot-for-him wife. They’ve endured marriages, divorces and mid-show runs to the emergency room.
The problem is that they’re just too damn old.
If you don’t listen to the show, then you won’t know what I’m talking about, but bear with me here. They used to be hilarious guys. They had great bits and seemed to enjoy themselves (not in that way!) on the air. They had regular callers, guests and all types of sweet shit that made it imperative to listen to them everyday. But then they changed.
They started to insult callers more. Insulting callers isn’t a bad thing, it can make for interesting radio. But they weren’t just insulting the retarded callers who should have been tied in a bag and thrown off a bridge at birth. No. They would also insult callers who had the gall to call in and compliment the guys, telling them how much they love the show. And I’m talking brutal insults. They can’t get away with cussing on the air, but they seriously lay into these people for no reason. These people are their fan base. We are the ones that come out to live shows and support Don and Mike. We are the ones the show is meant for. Why, it makes about as much sense as having a president who doesn’t look out for the American people and is only concerned with his own selfish agenda, regardless of how low his approval rating is (shocking)!
They’re even worse with guests. If they like the guest, then they immediately start sucking that celebrity guest’s ball sack as if it contains grape drink (I want that purple stuff!) If they don’t like the guest, then they do sound effects that the guest can’t hear that do nothing but demean everybody who listens (just because you don’t like Alton Brown doesn’t make him a tool you douches!).
And I seriously think that they purposely stay out of touch with reality. They never know what’s going on in the world or who anybody is in the news. It’s all about the current events people! They’re both almost 50 and I think they’re trying to hold on to the old times as long as possible. They love to talk about Larry King, Regis Philbin and Wayne Newton. When was the last time any of those decrepit old fossils were relevant? Back when you were just a gleam in your daddy’s eye is when. They watch Good Morning America religiously and make sure to always comment about the anchors. Very weird. But what’s even weirder is when they devote whole hours of their show to small-time, nobody, local anchor people. They must know that people in Kansas don’t know or care about the weather lady at my local Fox affiliate. Yet they continue to talk about these people. Just to entertain themselves, I guess.
I’ll post a link to their site at the end of this, but it won’t be useful. You’ll just get an idea of the way Don & Mike are now, not of the glory days of the early to mid 90s. I would call the show to give my criticism, but I’m sure I’d simply be hung up on or yelled at. I’d go to their discussion boards and address what I feel are the concerns of a long-time and loyal listener, but the fools there would most likely bash me until I commit suicide or leave my computer and go enjoy the real world. Don & Mike are not good at taking constructive, or positive criticism, no matter what the intentions. I just wished that they’d listen to all of their listeners, not just the most vocal of us. And I wished that they’d take into account what the listeners think, and not just what they think we think.
The show will end next year when Don retires, and as much as it pains me to say it, I don’t think I’ll miss them that much. At this point in their careers they are like Old Yeller, foaming at the mouth. They need to be put down before they embarrass themselves or cause any more damage to their once shining careers.
Don & Mike, if you guys ever read this, just know that I love you guys and listen everyday. And even though you might have been broadcasting together for over 20 years, you’ve lost touch with your fan base and with the real world. Time to go to bed.

Wednesday, October 17, 2007

Reasons to move to a deserted island

• Why do people say “who cares?” What they really mean is “I don’t care.” So why don’t they say that?
Steve: “Britney Spears just lost custody of her children!”
Dave: “Who cares?”
Steve: “Well, I do, for one. Obviously. Since I brought it up and all. Her kids could possibly have an opinion on this subject as well.”
• Why do people walk through doorways and then just stop on the other side of the entrance? I don’t get it and it frustrates the hell out of me. If you arrive in a building or room you’ve never been in before and the fancy walls, floor and ceiling astound you and leave you dazed and confused, then please, please, step to the side, out of the way of everybody, and get your bearings without holding up traffic.
• Why do some people equate questioning or criticizing the war with being unpatriotic or traitorous?
• Why does religion cause more problems than it solves, yet everybody thinks religion in general is just the bees’ knees?
• Who came up with the saying “bees’ knees?” Does that make sense to anybody?
• Why is our productivity defined by how many hours we spend at work? Why can’t I go to my job and do my work until I’m done, then leave? Why do I have to sit at a desk for eight hours a day for almost 30 minutes worth of actual work?
• Why do people put so much stock in the Constitution? Don’t they know it’s a worthless piece of paper? You can’t run a country based on a document that’s hundreds of years old and incredibly out of date, that’s like trying to set up your cable TV using directions for assembling a bike. It’s going to lead to some bloody knuckles and hella frustration.
• Why don’t people use their turn signals anymore? What is it about talking on a phone while driving that turns everybody stupid? They decide that with one hand on the wheel, and one on the phone, that they can’t reach the turn signal switch, I guess. Sadly, it’s not just people on phones. It’s just thoughtless people in general.
• Why do people always think that they’re the exception to rules? Everywhere you go you’ll see somebody try to cut in line or make a turn from a non turn lane, or something that they know they shouldn’t do, but they don’t care because everybody thinks he/she’s special. Or that the rules don’t apply to them. Parents are really bad at this. They tell their kids what they can and can’t do, but then go ahead and act any way they want around the kids without realizing that they’re being watched. Why am I supposed to do what you tell me to if you don’t think that you should follow that rule yourself?
• Why are people so willing to let our insane government take away all our rights and freedoms under the guise of fighting terrorism? Why do people let the drummed up fear of “terrorist acts” control them so much? Military people like to say that they’re fighting for our freedom, (a favorite saying of soldiers is: I may not agree with what you say, but I’ll fight to the death your right to say it!) the thing is, all of our freedoms are being stolen by our own government. Terrorists aren’t trying to keep us from smoking in public or lobbying to have Intelligent Design taught in school. Nope, that’s our own peoples doing that shit!
• Why do politicians put more effort into talking about shit instead of actually getting shit done? It’s like they’d rather spend all day arguing about why things are messed up instead of fixing anything.
• Why do political bloggers spend so much time insulting each other and doing character assassination instead of partaking in logical, well-thought out and researched debates? And what’s the point of political bloggers anyway? Has anybody ever been swayed by somebody’s tirade against the biased liberal media, or somebody’s rant against the holier-than-thou conservatives? Doubtful.
• Why is America so litigious? We’re quick to take offense at the smallest thing and instead of thinking, we have ignorant, knee-jerk reactions. What’s worse is that everybody thinks that they have these rights that they simply don’t have. If some dude tried to sue me for $65 million because he didn’t like the way his pants were dry cleaned, I’d slap the taste out his mouth. And if I were the judge in that case, I would get up off the bench, hike up my judge robes and walk over to the plaintiff to beat him to a bloody mess with my gavel.
• And while I’m at it, that Goldman guy shouldn’t get a bloody dime from the O.J. book. It’s not even about reparations with him, he’s purposely being a dick just for the sake of being a dick. Guess what guy? It won’t bring your son back if you get a judge to order O.J. to give you his watch!
• Am I the only one who thinks this political correctness thing has got to go? I’m down for everybody respecting people because it’s the right thing to do and people would like to be respected in return, but to force people to respect others is pointless. That way you just piss off both sides.
• Why do Americans take so much pride in being stupid? We can’t get along as the richest country in the world forever. Just like a model’s beauty fades and she has nothing to fall back on, so to will our civilization crumble if we continue to enjoy such fine television programming as Are you smarter than a 5th grader? Do people not realize that other countries make fun of us for having shows like that?
• Why do people confusing being fat with being ugly? Ladies and gents, just because you can break a toilet seat in half when you sit on it does not mean that you’re ugly. It just means you’re fat! There are plenty of attractive people out there of all sizes. It’s mostly women who tie up the self-consciousness of their size with low self-esteem about their looks. There’s no reason why you can’t be big and hot.
• On the other hand, people, don’t get it twisted. Being overweight is unhealthy. It just is, (so is being underweight, I’d like to point out). I don’t understand why our society’s cognitive dissonance on the subject resulted in people being proud of being fat. It’s not a matter of being right or wrong when you’re overweight, it’s a health issue. Don’t embrace your size (be it too large or too small) while ignoring the opportunity to make yourself healthier. Is it the fault of genes? Is it the fault of restaurants feeding us transfats and trying to trick us? Is it laziness? Who knows? But don’t let the reason for your size be the excuse for not improving yourself.
• What causes people to blame others for their problems? If you scared, say you scared, don’t blame big faceless corporations for everything. If you do that, then the real grievances with the soulless conglomerates get lost in the sauce.
• Does anybody else think that a democracy isn’t exactly the best way to run a country? I’m not a communist or anything, but think about it. It’s all about majority rules. That means that if 51% of the population likes something, and 49% doesn’t, then that 49% is screwed. Seems a bit off to me. I’m for a tyrannical dictatorship. If Bush just opened up and admitted that he’s mouth-raping the Constitution, the Congress and the population of this country, then I might actually have some respect for him. Instead, he won’t just come out and say that he’s evil.
• What’s up with the group mentality in America? Adults love to teach kids that peer-pressure to do drugs is wrong, but what about adult peer-pressure? Anybody remember Prohibition? The only people who wanted that were wrinkly, dried up old biddies, yet they were able to guilt others into passing that pointless amendment. Same with the “going green” crowd.
• Speaking of which, you know this whole movement to go green is just a fad, right? It’ll die out as soon as things become too expensive or it turns out to be too much of a hassle to stay green.
• I think vegetarians need to lighten up. Don’t you? Same with people who hate fur and people trying to get smoking banned outside.
• Why is this list of things so long? Is there anything I do like about America? What do you like?

Wednesday, October 10, 2007

The most expletive-laden Eighty-Four Glyde ever. Bitches!

The times, they are a changin’. It used to be, back in the wild and swingin’ 70s (or 60s, I don’t really know because that was a long time ago and I’m old enough as it is) that, according to George Carlin, there were seven words you couldn’t say on television. Some of these words were pretty high on the old cursometer, (the system of measurement for just how bad a curse word is), but some weren’t so bad, and a few are actually said on TV in this day and age. Words like: shit, piss and tits can be heard in any given episode of South Park, or Two and a Half Men (actually, I don’t know if that’s true since I don’t watch the dumb thing, I’ve just wanted to take a crack at that show for months now, but couldn’t figure out how to work it into an entry. Honestly, who watches it anyway? All the chicks Charlie Sheen has boned? That’s the only way to account for the high Neilson rating).
Is this the fault of American society? Have we become so loose with our morals and ethics that we have allowed curse words to infiltrate the everyday life of our culture, tearing it asunder? Have we lost sight of family values and the principles that this wonderful country (America. Motto: Either you’re with us, or we’ll unlawfully invade your country, rape your land and your women and make off with your livestock!) was founded upon? Has the proliferation of curse words in our society been the catalyst that caused the moral bankruptcy of America?
Don’t be a moron.
Curse words have been around for as long as man has accidentally dropped heavy objects on his toes. Curse words (or cuss words, whatever) are the very definition of freedom and liberty. By exclaiming curse words whenever we feel the desire, we are announcing our independence from the “accepted” everyday language used for business and the subjugation of our spirits by a totalitarian and nosy government.
When I was a kid, it was different. Me and my friends cussed when we hung out, to show how cool we were, how old we were and because our parents weren’t around. Naturally, had our parents been around when these cussfests were going on, I’m sure that any future kids I had will have been born with black eyes from the serious beatdown I would have received. (That is the most convoluted sentence involving past-conditional and future-conditional tenses I’ve ever written. I don’t think it came out right.)
I could never get the hang of cussing around my parents. It just didn’t seem right. I know other kids who could cuss around their parental units (and who called their parents by their first names, which was and always will be a weird thing that only WPs do) and would urge me to also cuss around their parents. But I just couldn’t. There were two worlds growing up, the world of kids, who cuss around each other and will sometimes write notes in school that consist of nothing but cuss words (just to show how many they know) and the world of adults who take cussing for granted because they’ve been doing it for so long, but still hold onto the ability to do so, thereby robbing kids of the freedom.
I always held my tongue around adults. I didn’t want them to know that I knew more cuss words, (in more languages) than they did. While they were busy censoring themselves, I was easily filling in the blanks in the conversation, Mad-Libs style, with great delight. Speaking of cussing in other languages, my elementary school, from 1st to 6th grade, was all in French. We all learned a bunch of cuss words in French that we could use at home around our unsuspecting parents, and that was great. But we also discovered French words that sound like cuss words in English, and we would enjoy hours of saying them around adults and then defending ourselves as just being really cultured. The French word for seal, by the way, is very similar to the English word one uses to tell another to go fornicate themselves. Try using it in polite dinner conversation; you’ll be amazed by the results.
But a problem as arisen. There are no new or interesting cuss words. We’ve run out of expletives to hurl at each other. Sure, in recent years, we’ve developed new insults, “asshat,” comes to mind, as does the suffix (and this has only recently become a suffix, I’d like to point out) “tard” tacked on to the end of something (i.e. asstard, hattard, or asstardhat) and I’m very happy that “douchebag” has make such a strong comeback since the 80s. But none of those are cuss words and that saddens me. We need to create a new cuss word.
Of course, to create a new cuss word, you need a niche to fill. Cuss words have to somehow involve bodily processes, activities that involve the body, body parts or just funny sounding names for body parts, like taint, coccyx or uvula. Sadly, these niches are already pretty well filled, and the Tourettes crowd is making great progress in combining these words into new hybrids that make no sense but sounds dirty as hell. They’ve got that covered. Which means we have look to the second reason curse words are made: to insult or make fun of other races.
Recently, it has come to my attention that some white people feel as if they’ve been unfairly treated. They feel that in order to make great strides for unity in this piece of land we call the U.S.* (motto: Supporting US Americans in Africa and the Middle East, such as, for years) that there should be a derogatory word for white people. Black people aren’t making too much of a deal about this, we just call whites stupid or crazy and just go about our business. But that’s not enough for some people. They want to be insulted! They want to be able to rally around a word, steal its power and bury it in a symbolic, yet completely pointless funeral service. And I’m here to oblige.
It’s time we came up with a cuss word for white people. Let’s bring them down a peg or two, shall we? I guess honky and cracker just aren’t good enough insults anymore. We need to create a stronger, more hate-filled word that scores high on the cursometer and will cause children to cry, women to cover their ears and men to start land wars in Asia. Any suggestions?

*Located on any map, just above Mexico and just below Canada. You’re welcome.

Wednesday, October 03, 2007

Oh fair Topanga, why has thine lovely visage flown from my sight?

It’s Friday night, mid 90s, and that can only mean one thing: the TGIF line up on ABC. TGIF was a block of family-oriented sitcoms that lasted for about 12 years (1988-2000). Every Friday I would remember rushing to take my shower after dinner (drying after the shower was optional, and often ignored due to my desire to get in front of the t.v. as soon as possible. Consequently, trying to pull my pajamas on while still wet lead to much loss of balance and gaps in my memory) and running to the t.v. to sit approximately five inches away.
Usually, I didn’t care what the show was, I pretty much loved them all. Of course, I did have a few favorites, Dinosaurs, Perfect Strangers and Family Matters (Hangin’ with Mr. Cooper was alright too.) But the show that drew my attention every Friday, (yeah, that’s right, I didn’t have that many dates back then. Fancy that! Television was, and always will be, my first love.) was Boy meets world.
Now, I could get into the entire seven or eight year history of the show --its many twists and turns, its highs and lows, its pathos, drama and how it was heavily influenced by the writers of Greek tragedies and the lessons and teachings of Confucius—but I won’t. Suffice it to say, Boy meets world was a work of genius, and (dare I say it?) far superior to Saved by the Bell. Not a TGIF show I know, but it longed to mimic the success BMW had achieved, (yes, SBTB came first, but it was still jealous.)
The highlight of the show was everybody’s favorite high school hippy: Topanga. Ahhhh, Topanga! Where have you gone? Relegated to G-Movies made by National Lampoon, acting alongside Vida Guerra. It’s a shame. But today we shall not dwell on what woes time hath wrought upon this unfortunate cherub, rather, we shall focus on the Topanga of old, the Topanga who could put your eye out with her nipple, the Topanga who wasted her time dating a complete and total (damn, how redundant is that?) tool who never lived up to the name “Savage.”
I must begin with the physical description. Though let me state that any words I commit to paper could never match up to the beauty and poise that was Danielle Fishel. Her eyes imparted a special glow, as if to say to me and me alone “hey there tough guy, I might be here stuck on t.v., but my fondest wish in life is to be all over your junx!” Her lips had the appearance of two plump Jimmy Dean sausages*, (or, Bob Evans if you prefer) as if she purposely had them stung by bees each morning.
Her breasts were full and large. She could have served as a wet nurse to a camel! (Can you picture that? Unsavory.) I’m more of a leg man myself, but even I couldn’t help but admire her dirty pillows.
Her chest was attached to one of her best features: her body. Topanga, as the veganized, soy-sucking hippy she was, somehow developed one of the tightest thick bodies in Hollywood. She was smart; she knew that guys really wanted a woman who could take their breath away (when she’s laying on top. Rim shot!!) And she delivered. Man, I miss the days when a Reubenesque body was seen as more than a person’s weak will power. Looking at Topanga, you got the feeling that she wore the pants in her relationships and made Corey Matthews her bitch. And I bet he didn’t mind at all. Lucky bastard!
You also got the feeling that she could beat up her female costars at any moment and probably ran shop behind the scenes, threatening to beat innocent women with her enormous ta-tas at the drop of a hat.
The only problem I had with Topanga was how she just let Corey run her life. In the first few seasons, Topanga was strong-willed. She didn’t hesitate to let people know the truth, and they could only stare slack-jawed, lamenting their pitiful brainpower in comparison. But one day, all of a sudden, she became a sheep. She seemed to like taking orders from Corey and forgiving him his trespasses when she shouldn’t have. It was a travesty.
A dark and gloomy day occurred in my life on November 5, 1998, (three days after my birthday no less!) the day Corey and Topanga tied the knot. Their marriage, (which took an excruciating two weeks to unfold) struck me as a dagger in my na├»ve heart. I could have offered her so much! Our marriage would have been the stuff of legends! The blasphemy was compounded by the terrible quality of life her husband supplied once they were in college. Corey was no provider. He was a fraud. He didn’t deserve to sniff Topanga’s farts!
A piece of me died the day Topanga Lawrence became Topanga Lawrence-Matthews. A piece of me is gone, never to return again.
Danielle Fishel, (unfortunate last name by the way) if you’re out there and you somehow manage to find this, let it be known: I will take you as my own! I shall show you pleasures and make all of your fantasies come true! I know you’re younger than me and for once, I am willing to make an exception to my older-women rule. I’m here baby! Let me know! I’ve been following the decline of your career for years, and I’ve got an idea for you. Dig this: an actress does a reality show wherein she marries a fan of hers she’s never met before. It’s brilliant! Give me a call, send me an e-mail, do some smoke signals, it’s all good!
(To Alyssa Milano, if you’re reading this, don’t be discouraged, you still have a chance, you just have to contact me first.)

*Sorry, I have no other way to describe her lips that doesn’t sound completely gay, or involves comparing them to food.