Hurry. Today is hurry. Scrambled eggs in the microwave. Automated coffee maker set for 5:30am. Six piece toaster. Hell yeah. Three showers, one bath, thanks to the new, energy efficient hot water heater. (Why do they call them hot water heaters?)
Drop the elementary kid first. Middle school.. Then, one block away from the High School, dump the oldest (can’t be seen riding with mom/dad.) In my new, supercharged, 0 to 60 faster’n u can say snickerdoodle. GPS’ll take me by that house for sale in Pleasant Manor. Check my email on laptop - whatthehell, I see them sumbitches texting on the Interstate. Can’t forget my time management class tonight.
Suzie’s cough getting worse. Might haveta swing thru CVS Pharmacy and have her looked at. If they prescribe meds, we can wing thru Mickey D’s, then back thru the Drive Thru pharmacy lane. Hey, did u happen to notice at Mickey D’s, that snotnose punched a button, a cup (my medium size) dropped down, the conveyor belt slid it over, and jualah, sumbitch filled up automatically! Way cool.
Soccer practice. Dance class. Aerobics. Smith’s outta town, gotta grab their son from Scouts.. Oh shit, the Time Management Class! Need some cash for Amy’s field trip.. Buzz thru this ATM…
Gotta print out the budget. Pot luck at work tomorrow, print a recipe, start it and then throw a load in the washer. In between, will read online about composting faster.
Damnit. Forgot the boss wants those $$$ projections on his desk by 8am. I’ll Google that crap. After I’ve had me a cuppa coffee from Starbucks. Crap, what time the dry cleaners close? Thank goodness I’ve got that new quadrillion megabyte inkjet printer.
Geez, I’m stressed, WHERE’S MY IPOD? SUZIE?!!!!!
Oh shit. My wife? Where’s my wife? It’s 8:30pm, and we ain’t texted since 4:37. GD it.. Where’s my palm thingy… I know she had several things going on tonight.. Was I sposedta be there with her during any? It ain’t Jimmy’s PTA night is it? JIMMY? YOU HERE?
Patooey. Some call it… The McDonaldization of Society. I personally blame… Jiffy Pop. Them sunsabitches came onto the scene in 1959, the nervea those bastards fixing popcorn so damn fast we’d have time to pop it, and still figure out if Granny whopped Jethro on the head with the frying pan.
I have been to households… where one is on the laptop.. Another is playing a GameBoy… X-Box is going full force… “Dinah’s” in the kitchen… “Someone” is setting the table, feeding the dog, pouring water, sweeping.. Answering the phone (the landline) and looking to see who’s calling on his cell. That shit wears me out justa watchin’.
We’re slobs! Big Fat slobs! I WANT WHAT I WANT AND I WANT IT NOW!
Look here Bitch, I ORDERED FIRST… It’s MY turn to pullup to the first window!! I’ll smash your Lexus all the way to Texas!
Remember how we always thought they were puttin’ salt-peter in our orange juice at school? (Never stopped me from trying to lookup Connie Dunleavy’s dress).. Hehe..
I’ma thinking, mebbe insteada bailing out all these GD (gosh darn) banks, The Big Three.. Handing out stimulus checks… Uncle Sam’d do well to have mandatory Prozac and Quaker Oats mixed together for each and every family for breakfast right here on earth. (Or at least the US.)
Can we slow down a minute? Can we take a spin? Can we park, and simply watch people? Remember when we usedta make out waaaaay up there on that hill at the Methodist Church and look down allover our fine City? No hurries. ('Ceptin when I got fidgety, nervous cause I couldn't unsnap that damn thing.) Can we just try it again?
Can we getta REAL lock on our bedroom door? Not onea them sunsabitches with a Code… I’m talking a REAL lock.
Would they call DFS if we got onea them invisible dog shocker electrical fences and wired it around our bedroom (turning it on only after 9:00pm bed tmie) to keep them lil’ sunsabitches out?
Should every tub come with Jacuzzi jets? Could every tub come with Jacuzzi jets?
Can one simply get (only) a massage at a massage parlor?
Sheeeeeeee - iiiiiitttttt we’re In too bigga hurry. Slow down, you move to fast.. Got to make morning last.. Just kicking down the cobble stones, looking for fun and feelin’ groovy.. (turn on the electric zapper bebbe, let’s suckface.)
Quantity. Quality. Our folks probably laugh at us. The Amish probably laugh at our folks.
I still blame Jiffy Pop. At least with McDonalds, back then, we could drive by daily and watch the “Burgers sold” sign change. Oh, and I blame thirteen-year-old Morgan Pozgar. She’s the snotnose that texted supercalifragilisticexpialidocious faster’n u can say Orville Redenbacher (15 seconds)…
I do hereby promise to live life as I do on the highway. One car length per every ten miles per hour. In inclimate weather, I’m onea the ones that’s cussed at. Don’t care. I get there. And enjoy the scenery along the way. Life’s about enjoying the scenery. Damn popcorn sounds good. Think I’ll go throw some oil in the frying pan for old timesake. NOT! Love, Victurd.
No comments:
Post a Comment