As I sat at the stoplight this morning and listened to the obnoxious whine of your leafblower, I realized that you weren’t just sandblasting my freshly washed car with bits of leaf and dirt – you were trying to teach me a valuable life lesson. Of course, It was hard to tell that at the time because I was too busy thinking about how I had finally washed my car for the first time in like six months and here you were undoing that effort in mere seconds with your detritus-blowing machine, but eventually I saw where you were going with it, and that is:
Life is short.
Life is too damn short. Time is a river where your kayak is always about to go over the falls. (Did that one make sense? No? OK, moving on.) Good things are transient and fleeting, like the $7 drive thru car wash I got a couple of days ago. So we must hold fast to those precious moments, we must enjoy those times that our car was clean for the first time in six months because who knows what changes each day will bring? I mean, one day, your car is clean. The next day, it’s covered in grime thanks to a completely oblivious leafblower guy. But the sidewalk next to the car? IT’S now clean! And you know why? Because the Universe doesn’t close a dirt-encrusted door without prying open a window.
So thank you, Leafblower Guy Coating My Car In Dirt. I shall spread your message (albeit in a much less annoying manner). I shall remind the world to dance like they don’t remember what happened the last time they had three mango-tinis on an empty stomach. Love like they’ve never been stabbed. Hurt! I mean hurt. And live like each car wash is a gift, a precious gift, a gift that will soon be covered in grimy bits of leaf.
You know how much I hate to call your sassiness into question; I mean you best of all know how much it pains me. But facts are facts. And as evidenced by the picture above, your “sassy” argument just isn’t holding any water for me. Let’s review the salient points:
1. You’re driving a Plymouth Voyager minivan. You may have a driver’s license, but that right there is enough to get your sassy license revoked.
2. You cared enough about letting people know of your sassitude that you bought a magnet for your car that you walked over and stuck on…upside-down? Minus 10 sassy points for being so damn slapdash about the whole thing. Get SERIOUS, you not-so-sassy mofo!
3. You have a “Support Our Troops” ribbon magnet also affixed to your Plymouth Voyager, but right side up! So you are capable of installing personality-revealing car adornments correctly! What happened with the other one?
Given the evidence clearly stated here, I regretfully say to you madam: you are a kind decent person. You support the troops. All of your brake lights are in working order. You are to be commended on any number of things.
Dear Guy Who Keeps Screaming “Get In The Hole!” At Every Golf Tournament,
Here’s what I like about you: you’re helpful. After all, if it wasn’t for you screaming “Get in the hole!” EVERY SINGLE GODDAMN TIME THAT SOMEONE HIT A GOLF BALL, who’s to say whether any of them would ever, in fact, get in the hole?
Why, if it weren’t for you, those golf players might have to rely on their natural abilities, their years of training, their expertly-crafted clubs and balls, their well-paid caddies, their trainers, their sports psychologists or the fact that they play golf every damn day to get the ball in the hole! But instead, they have you, which I think we can all agree is way better.
Now, sometimes after you scream “Get in the hole!” like a drunken, obnoxious jackass, the ball does NOT go into the hole. This might lead a lesser man to conclude, “Hmm, perhaps me screaming my face off does not have any direct correlation with whether or not the ball goes in the hole. Maybe the only thing my screaming is doing is annoying the shit out of the poor people standing around me trying to pay attention to the game, and therefore, I should shut my face so that everyone can enjoy their day. Also, I should maybe get treatment for my alcoholism.” But not you, buddy! Doesn’t matter who’s hitting the ball or when or at what hole or whether it’s a drive off the tee or a 12-foot putt – you’ll be there, screaming at that ball to get in the hole, because you have the Five P’s of Golf Spectatorship going strong: you’re Persistent. You Persevere. And you’re Probably Pretty Plastered.
In case you haven’t heard and in case you’re going to be in Austin this weekend itching for a drink and with nothing better to do, come on down to Opa! on South Lamar this Sunday from 3-5pm. It’s the Letters To Buffoons Re-Launch Party! Music will be provided by Tanya Winch and The Dirty Mercy! Come get a drink and have a good time with us!
We will be having a contest titled “What’s Up With This Scuplture?” Whoever comes up with the best caption/backstory/quote to go with this sculpture:
What’s up with this sculpture?
Wins a fabulous prize! It’s going to be so much fun that you can hardly stand it!
Dear Email List I Didn’t Sign Up To Be On That Is Now Sending Thrice-Daily Emails,
“We noticed that you didn’t complete your order. Would you like to complete it now?”
No, and the only reason you have any such order is because I had to jump through a dozen hoops to find out how much your product costs, among them adding it to my cart and providing you with my email address. Also, when I entered in that email address, I unchecked the box that said, “Send me a bunch of crap I don’t need!” Which you do not seem to be taking to heart. What would happen to my inbox if I had checked that box? I shudder to think!
“Hello again! Just wanted to let you know that in addition to the fine product that you put in your cart but did not buy (which made us feel a little sad, but that’s OK, if that’s the kind of person you are), we ALSO offer this other fine product! Perhaps you would complete an order for THAT product instead and turn our frowns into happy faces? Visit our website now!”
UNSUBSCRIBE. Unsubscribeunsubscribeunsubscribe. Jeez, where is the button? Oh hell, am I going to have to log into the site and change my email settings manually? GAH! I hate this company!!!
“We’re sorry to see you go! We will miss you! We will think about you at night and keep you in our prayers forever, even as you discard us like a ketchup-covered used paper napkin at a Whataburger. Was it a mistake? Did you make a mistake? Did you not mean to unsubscribe from us? We’ll take you back! Yeah, maybe you can come back, and it’ll be like the good old days! You can finish purchasing that saved order, we can go out for a pizza and just laugh like we used to! We can be good again, I know it! WHY CAN’T YOU BELIEVE IN US?!?!?!?”
I am now going to mount a nationwide boycott campaign against you. I shall make it my personal mission to destroy you. If I had laser eyes, I would drive to your corporate headquarters and stare giant holes into it. CHILLAX ALREADY.