Dead Chaos Week
Yep, due to a rather malignant and disturbingly powerful virus that is the sinus cold, I've been pretty much out of commission the past few days. Having to share a bed with 4 Shih-tzu puppies hogging most of the space doesn't help to make one feel more comfortable either. While today certainly finds me better than I was on, say, Tuesday, I'm still not up to my usual speed o' things.
But not about to leave all 3 of you reading this without any sort of rantings or ramblings, I decided to give you something better: abject humiliation at my expense. So I called up a colourful diary entry of mine dating back to mid-December. This is more or less referred to as "The Givenchy Incident", or "Gerbil Pour Hommes." Enjoy!
*****
23rd December, 2002.
The season of Commercialmas is nearing us all, and as I tour the malls and soak up the frenetic shopping spirit that is $-mas, I cannot help but wonder if the world has gone mad. That or else I have somehow drifted back to the shores of sanity in a rubber dingy.
The past few days have found me enduring curious incidents that either confirm the world is in fact going mad, or else someone has been slipping magic mushrooms onto my pizza orders. For example, I have discovered a new thing about my cute little puppy, Shady.
Shady is a Shih-tzu. Shady is cuddly. Shady follows me almost everywhere I go. Shady also appears to be a lesbian. Yes, I'm not sure just how it happened, but apparently I have a lesbian puppy for a pet. How have I discerned this? Well, when your female puppy decides to start humping one of the other female puppies in the house....
You get the picture, people. Please don't make me draw one.
And now, with only two days to go before $-mas day arrives, I have made a unique discovery: 'Givenchy Pour Homme' is a cologne that makes me smell like the woodchips in a hamster cage. my girlfriend & I were doing some Commercialmas shopping for her earlier this morning, and she wanted me to try out some different styles of colognes.
Now thus far Calvin Klein's "Contradiction" seems to work really well on me. But Mel wanted to experiment, and I was open to seeing if there was some other cologne I could use in the future.
The sales lady in The Bay was very helpful when we said we were testing out scents, and proceeded to rather cheerfully bombard me with the tester for Givenchy Pour Homme. Within about 10 seconds I smelled like a Parisean whore. By the time we left The Bay about five minutes later, I smelled like a
cheap Parisean whore.
Hours have passed and I have tried to scrub the scent off my arm as best I can, using a facecloth, some soap, and a good dose of Boric acid. I still smell like a pile of woodchips in a gerbil cage.
So I suffer this indignity, but I always try to find the silver lining in every cloud. Namely, if you can still learn something from any experience, even a very unpleasant one, then the experience itself was not a waste. You can find this lesson at the end of all this.
But enough about that.
There has also been a strange if not ironic increase of Spam in my Inbox. Now this unto itself is not a new thing at all; Spam has now been added to that list of inevitable things we all hate but will have to bear, like death and taxes. Yet recently, many kind people have been Emailing me, excitedly sharing with me how I can increase my breast size to at least twice what it currently is. Now I'm pretty secure about my physical appearance, but what scares me is that after seeing all these Emails, I'm starting to wonder if my cleavage is in fact smaller than average.
Though Mel assures me her breast size more than makes up for my bust inadequacies, so I guess it balances out in the grand scheme of things.
No doubt in the near future, $-mas will herald many other strange and ominous events that must be recorded. Until that time, this is me wishing you all a not-so-nonsensical Commercialmas.
Today's lesson: the odour of 'Givenchy Pour Hommes' likens me to a cheap Parisean whore's pet gerbil.
Today's other lesson: parents hate you when you walk down the toy aisle in Walmart, and set off all the "Chicken Dance Elmo" dolls so they're all singing simultaneously, which instantly attracts kids. Honestly, if looks could have killed with that one mother who, thanks to us, suddenly found her 2 year-old son going after a Chicken Dance Elmo like a piranha on a porkchop....
posted by Phillip at 7:57 AM
