Yes, I’ll have to second that – Rue, you are just too cool. Probably not as cool as a fool standing half-naked in front of a refrigerator on a hot day, wondering why the utility bills mean the house has to be re-mortgaged, but cool, nonetheless.
If you’re starting a fan club, let me know. I’ll apply for membership. I’m good at admiring from afar. (Stuck out here, neighbouring Oz, but really 6000 miles at least from anything more interesting, you get real good at the ‘afar’ thing, yessiree.)
Hey, how did we start a “Rue appreciation club” and me not get an invite. I want a wooden one. Maybe I can hit upon someone and get a date soon. The only problem with that plan is I don’t like dates. Don’t like figs either. Maybe I could get a pear. Yeah a pear, that should double my pleasure.
Where was I? Well Rue I have had many the laughs at this humble thread. I have fallen for you, uhm could someone call a medic, I think I may have broken something.
Motto for Rue fan club: we don’t just stalk, we do it with the whole celery bunch.
Amen to that, sister deb. Amen to that!
Thanks to this thread, I have a nifty new motto, which has since transformed into a sig. In case you weren’t aware, they can do that. Motto one day, next day zing: sig. Transmottofication.
My previous motto was an utterance by a Muppet (a Mutterance); “I am not a shrimp! I am a King Prawn!”; which was intended to signify my admiration for Pepe, a King Prawn, but I realized that, having myself never been called a shrimp (I was always big. Even as a baby. 10.75 pounds. Mom still hates me.), it just didn’t make sense. So I cast about for another sig, looking every which way. Earlier today, I considered “I’m huge, from a certain perspective” but the quotient of innuendo was a little high. I believe it could be somebody’s motto, though. I also considered a few quotes from my favorite films, such as “I have no response to that” or “Noooooooooooooooooo!” but I thought that those weren’t too original, and I should really come up with something that would reflect my overall personality a little more uniquely.
And then, I got a motto. And the world was a better place. My world, at least. Birds chirping, sun shining, babies gurgling (gotta get those fixed), puppies wriggling, all of that. I live in a happy place now. All thanks to my new mottosig. Sigmotto. Whatever.
Of course, I refuse to post my new sig, so that you might have a jolly time trying to guess what it is.
Aren’t I nice?
I do declare that I am a member of the Rue fan club. But I believe we should all have our own fan clubs, staffed just by Rue. Because it’s an eye for an eye in this world and I’ve only got two. If I’m going to give him the eye, I want one in return. Hopefully a matching colour. But if not, that could be cool too. Think of David Bowie. All the chicks love David Bowie. I dressed up in genie pants for that man. Rue, not David Bowie, although I’d probably wear genie pants for him too if he asked.
Shall we have badges? Motto: It’s not a club if we don’t have badges. They could have our mottos on, but they’d have to be in teeny-tiny writing. So then, when people leaned in close to read them, we could punch them. Or kiss them. Depending on your current mood of course. You could just do neither. You just just let them read them and be done with it. That’s much nicer. We could be a nice club, who don’t go round punching or kissing people just because they lean in to read our badges. I hate those people. Bastards.
Puddin’
I dunno, Fran-Puddin’, I tend to prefer silk-screened T-shirts to badges - then you can be identified as a club member from miles off. Unless, of course, this is a Secret Society, in which case we’d probably want to have our mottos silk-screened on the insides of our T-shirts.
We could get matching ball caps and pretend that we’re a renegade softball team, but then we’d have to carry bulky sports equipment with us everywhere we go, and that becomes damned inconvenient in your classier dining establishments.
Perhaps the most appropriate tribute would be for us to name our first-born children after Rue… or our parakeets… or our garden gnomes… I’m thinking of shaving “RUE” across the backs of my dogs - or is that a tad obsessive??
No matter. There will be dancing.
Ah, my ladies… all of you. I am so touched by the Rue Fan Club. (I’d be touched by the guys wanting to join too, but I’m not that kind of boy.)
Maybe this will help you know just how I feel…
Far away, on a desolate mountain top there lived a wise man named Omnugaty Punumushy. Only he wasn’t and he wasn’t. Two lies in the first sentence. It gets better. His real name was Xin Pook. He used “Omnugaty Punumooshy” as a stage name. More accurately as a mountain name. He thought it made him sound mysterious. He wasn’t particularly wise either. He was a bit of a putz.
Would a wise man really sit on top of a mountain? Wouldn’t a truely wise man be wise in a nicer location? Like on a nice beach somewhere?
Omnugaty Punumooshy was a “wise man” in a sort of “Emperor’s New Clothes” kind of way. After travelling half way around the world, struggling up Omnugaty Punumushy’s mountain and spending a total of $935,257.38 Canadian (Omnugaty Punumooshy liked Canadian money. He thought it was “pretty”.) would you be willing to say “Man, I travelled half way around the world, struggled up Omnugaty Punoomushy’s mountain and spent a total of $935,257.38 Canadian, and that guy was a real putz.” No? I didn’t think so.
If you’d say something like, “Geez! Is it ever cold up here!”
He’d say, “No, it isn’t.”
“Yeah, it is. Hhhhhhhh. See? You can see my breath. It’s cold.” you’d say.
“It’s all mind over matter. I don’t mind, so it don’t matter.”
Omnugaty Punumooshy (AKA Xin Pook) also said things like “I know this to be true: I was a Child Progeny.”
He was a bit of a putz.
He went by the name “Ontoppa Spageti” for a while, but even he could tell that was a dumb name. He still gets his Maxxim subscription by that name.
But this isn’t about Omnugaty Punumooshy (AKA Xin Pook, AKA Ontoppa Spageti). This is about his monkey Piotr. Piotr has a wooden leg and an eye patch. Piotr also had the full compliment of limbs and full use of his sensory organs. He just had a wooden leg and an eye patch, too. Piotr also had a cricket bat. Piotr was a very literal monkey. He used the cricket bat to bat crickets. There weren’t alot of crickets on top of Omnugaty Punumooshy and Piotr’s mountain. Piotr heard them anyway. He’d take his cricket bat and pound and pound at the imaginary crickets untill he couldn’t hear them anymore. Piotr was insane.
Piotr was also not a cute “Curious George” type monkey. He had a motto: “Curious George should have non-consentual sexual congress. Often.” It wasn’t a very good motto, but Piotr was insane.
Piotr had two driving forces in his unballanced monkey brain. One was the fear of freezing his ass off. Literally. Everytime he would stand up, he’d check to make sure his ass was still attached. Sometimes for a very long time. His other driving force was his unrelenting hatred for the village boy who came up on Omnugaty Punumooshy and Piotr’s mountain to sweep the snow off Omnugaty Punumooshy.
He was called “Sweeper Boy”, but his name was “Lloyd”. He pronounced it “Yoid”. One day, one of the many disgruntled seakers of wisdom coming off the mountain told Lloyd that the Spanish pronounce the double L as a “Y”. Lloyd liked the sound of that. He’s been calling himself “Yoid” since. Lloyd wished he has a llama. he thought that would be so cool. Of course he would call it a “yama”. Too bad for Lloyd he didn’t live on a mountain in South America. Or in Michael Jackson’s backyard. He called the color of a canary “yeyow”. And it was “yodeying” to Yoid. Lloyd wasn’t very smart.
Lloyd calling himself “Yoid” quickly got on Piotr’s nerves. Never get on an insane monkey’s nerves. (A good motto.) Yoid… I mean Lloyd also wore a leather jacket. It was a pretty nice leather jacket. It didn’t have a skull on the back or a lot of zippers and stuff, but it was still a pretty nice leather jacket. Piotr was not a member of PETA or anything, but he did believe in Animal Rights. Specifically, Monkey Rights. More specifically, Monkey Named “Piotr” Rights. Piotr was not big on Lloyd Rights. Piotr thought Lloyd… I mean Yoid… no, Lloyd should definitely NOT wear a leather jacket. Piotr vowed to kill Lloyd. Or Yoid. Someone had to die.
Piotr plotted a plan. Or planned a plot. Or hatched a plan. Or plotted a hatch. Piotr thought and thought untill he knew what he was going to do to rid himself of the Lloyd/Yoid problem that preyed upon him, eating, eating at his fevered, mad monkey brain. Yeah, that’s what he did. He did it, too. This is what Piotr did… Piotr made a snowball with big chunks of ice in it. With all his awsome monkey might, he threw this snowball at Lloyd (AKA Yoid). It hit Lloyd right in the eye, and put it out. You can put out an eye with a snowball with chunks of ice in it. Ask your mother. While Lloyd was clutching his stricken eye, Piotr hit him with his cricket bat and knocked him, Lloyd, off the mountain. Lloyd died. Poor Lloyd.
Piotr was so full of himself after that, he started smoking opium. He also got a tattoo. On his forehead (because he’s a monkey and that’s where they are not covered with hair). It’s of Curious George recieving non-consentual sexual congress in a sensitive portion of his anatomy from the Man in the Yellow Hat. Piotr was going to put “F**K CURIOUS GEORGE” above the picture, but he ran out of forehead too soon. Pity the small foreheaded, insane minkeys of the world. He also contracted syphilis from a whore in Lansing, Michigan.
How Piotr got to Lansing, Michigan is the classic “buddy road trip” story. Hollywood bought the rights to it and changed a few of the minor details. It was made into Thelma and Louise.
This post brought to you by deepbluesea.
HA! Made you look. It was really from me.
-Rue.
I just caught deb2worlds thing about the new world order and zip codes, so I wanted to gloat, as I once had the zip 43210. Talk about easy!
Speaking of easy, does anyone still use Easy-Off? I remember seeing commercials for that stuff all the time a few years ago, but not so much anymore. I wonder if that means everyone just lets their ovens fill up with gunk? Imagine that, the goop building up on the walls until you eventually have nothing but a solid charred mass of glop staring you in the face when you oven the oven door. Huh.
I need to clean my bathtub, actually, and the stuff that they gave me to do it, they being the corporate rental place that had the cleaning company that I fired for washing stuff with my dirty towels and toilet water, anyway, the stuff they gave me just isn’t working. Not to say I’ve got some industrial bath-tub scum or anything, just that the cleanser they gave me wouldn’t clean a bread crumb off of a Teflon-coated Number 5 Stainless Steel Hook.
That’s some craziness, isn’t it? That woman that wants to cut off her arms, or is it just her hands? Either way, they work and she wants to cut’em of. I say “More power to her.” I figure that’s more things for me on the top shelf…unless she get really long Stainless Steel Hook (I’m not sure how long the number 5 ones are.)
I’ve actually never been to the hospital. Not the hospital, just that I’ve never had to go because I was broken. I mean, I’ve been to one, of course. One of my doctors offices was adjacent to one and once I had to take my ex-fiancée there. To the hospital, that is. And she wasn’t an “ex” at the time. Additionally, and I think I should note this, when I say “one of my doctors,” I don’t mean to make it sounds as though I’ve got a fleet of doctors working for me, but rather that I’ve used the services of a few, various and sundry, medically trained gents over the course of my life and this happened to be one of them.
Strange how a simple sentence can mean so many completely different things. I’d give you another example, but I’m going to head home. By “home” I mean the temporary apartment I have while on assignment away from my real home. 'Course, what I call my “real home” isn’t where I grew up, it’s just the town I moved all of my stuff to and where I pay rent, even though I’ve not, technically, lived there for almost nine months.
I’m not bitter though. I might be a little stressed, but I’m not bitter. Certainly not about the $7,000+ I’ve wasted on rent in the time I’ve not been there. Nope, not a bit. I say I might be stressed only because I was at the doctors yesterday and they said I’ve got high blood pressure, which is odd. 160/102 is high, and I think it might be stress related, but the doctor just met me, how’s he know? See, I even brought it back around to doctors for you.
Anyway, no more M&Ms for me, that’s my point. That and my old zip code being easy.
One thing I’ve noticed on the Boards is all people are pretty much the same. (Wow, that was a pretty lame opener. “When I went out to get the paper this morning, I was attacked by pteradactyls.” That would be punchier. Also untrue. Harder to bend into the post I am currently building, too.) Not “cloned in huge batches like in Brave New World” the same, but “we all want pretty much the same things” the same. Something tastey when we have a rumbly in our tumblies. Somewhere to keep our stuff so it doesn’t get wet when it rains. Someone who loves us. This is going to be (mostly) about that last thing.
Some people think they need a Twinkie on the side. To you I say “No, no, no”. A Twinkie on the side just leads to Ho-Ho’s. Which leads to Fruit Pies. Which leads to your doctors saying “your cholesterol’s too high”. Which leads to no snack foods for you what-so-ever. So stay away from Twinkies. In the words of wise Kat, More for me. If it was Kat who said that. If not, it was some other wise person.
Some people think they don’t need someone to love them. “I’m fine all by myself” they say. Freaks. Not that being a freak is a bad thing. You could set up a tent at the County Fair, sit in it, and charge people 25¢ to look at you. Easy money. “Come see the freak hoo don’t want nobuddy to luv!!” the sign out front could say. Easy money. No heavy lifting either. Unless you’re real fat.
When you have someone to love, this is called a “relationship”. This comes from the Greek “relati” meaning “yer gonna” and “ons” meaning “fight” and “hip” meaning “alot”. That’s the way it goes. It’s a Yin-Yang thing. Who has the Yin and who has the Yang, I can’t say. You could have a relationship with two Yins or two Yangs if you want. But not in Arkansas.
You need three things in a relationship. Actually you need hundreds and hundreds of things. But on top of that you need three more things.
An Emergency Back-up Card
You can get these a Hallmark. I really recomend a Hallmark card as you Emergency Back-up. Hallmark cards just say “class”. In this case you want one that says “nothing”. This is your Back-up Card. You never know when you’ll need it. Get a blank one. You have to write in it, but it can cover all you card emergency needs. They, Hallmark, have a line of cards with black and white pictures of cute kids doing cute things. Then the pictures are colored in spots. I recomend these.
An Emergency Back-up Gift
This can be anything. Jewelry is probably best though. (Here I’m assuming you are a boy, and the gift is for a girl. If this doesn’t apply to you, do what you want. I don’t care.) A nice necklace. Not too expensive, but not cheap either. Just something nice. You really can’t give anyone a fish fork and hope it goes over well. OK, some people would like to get fish forks, but do you really want to be in a relationship with these people? You could take the fish fork and bend it in a circle and say you found this lovely, handmade bracelet at some Art Faire or Antique Shoppe or something. You will probably get caught out in your lie and I won’t want to hear it. “You gave her a bent fish fork and lied and said it was really something nice and she figured it out and now I should care? No, I don’t think so. Idiot.” That’s how it would go. Just get something nice for your E.B.G.
An Emergency Back-up Appology
You will need this. Somehow, sometime, you will need this. It could go like this…
My Dearest, Darling ___________ (Put something here. Don’t make it look like some stupid form letter. You’re already in trouble, don’t make it worse.)
You are my Sun and Moon and Stars. And green clovers, blue diamonds and purple horseshoes. Without you I am nothing. Well, I’m skin and meat and blood. And my clothes. And all my other stuff. But you are the good stuff. You are my everything. Not everything everything. You’re not, like, a dead oposum under the porch that stinks up the whole house. Or the hair glob that clogs up the tub drain. You are my everything good. Like brownies and puppies and stuff.
I was wrong. Dead wrong. Dead, burried, mourned a little, decayed and mouldered to dust wrong. Wow, was I wrong. (Remember that X-Files where Mulder and Scully went into the haunted house on Halloween? Was that dumb or what? It was Halloween and every week something really creapy would happen to those two, so you know on Halloween it would be worse. Anyway, at one point they find themselves under the floorboards. Not like “Gee, here we are, under some floorboards.” but like “Hey! Under these floor boards are two bodies! They are us!”. Remember? Remember how they were all decayed? Scully had mouldered. That’s all I wanted to say about it.) (Where was I? Oh, yeah.) Wrong I say. So incredibly wrong that I actually passed through wrong and ended up right, but then kept going and was wrong again. Wrong, wrong, wrong. You were right. I was wrong.
I am down on the knees of my heart (I stole this from a Jimmy Buffet song. He stole it from Sir Francis Drake. If anyone asks, it comes from Frank.) to beg your forgiveness, forgiveness, even if, even if, you don’t love me anymooooorrrre… (another song. You might want to stay away from reminding her that she doesn’t love you right now. Just a tip.) I would do anything to win you back. (Equate her to a stuffed animal you could win at the Fair. Chicks dig that.) Anything at all. Including, but not limited to, Hot Monkey Lovin’ all night long. I’d grovel at your feet. Here I am grovelling. Grovel, grovel, grovel. Hey! There’s a dime down here. You know what they say, “There’s always a silver lining.” Is this your dime? No? You can have it. Really, I don’t mind. Take it. See? You made a dime on this whole fiasco. You’re ahead. Now let’s put all this silliness behind us. No, I wasn’t saying you have a silly behind. No, it’s not that lop-sided. NO! I did NOT say that it was that big. No! Not big at all! Your butt is svelt! Really! When I think of your butt, I think “svelt”. It is too a word. It means skinny. Can we get off you butt now. No! I did not say “get off my ass.” Sheesh.
So now that I’ve apologized and all, we’re good right?
Your humble, loving servant,
____________ (This is where your name goes. If she calls you something special, use that. Unless it’s like “Pig Breath” or something. Put something good.)
You can use that if you want. Just take out the parenthetical asides. And check the spelling.
You might think this is a thinly disguised episode of my life. If you take off the nose glasses, you find… THE SWAMP CREATURE! Which is just a mask for Old Man Trepington down at the saw mill. “And I would have gotten away with it too if it wasn’t for you meddling kids!” OK, the Scooby Doo gag is kinda old. But I went to the store yesterday and got Scooby Doo Fruit Chew Snacks. For Soupo. Really. So now I can eat Thelma’s head. You know you want to, too. She was so annoying with her “Jinkies! A clue!”. Now I can eat her head. That all I wanted to say.
-Rue.