Tuesday, August 31, 2010
and my name is Fatty. Nice to meet you. Earl. A male hurricane. This means one thing to me. Another man who blows into town, makes me wet and heads out until the mood strikes again. Fucker. Yes Mother, I’m back to saying Fuck. It’s the jelly to my donut. What can I say. I ate 12 donut holes this morning…alone…in my car…so I wouldn’t have to share. I did the math…it’s like 1.5 donuts. *Pause for random shock factor* I’m getting off track…. If you must know, I prefer woman hurricanes. They don’t just hang out on the radar threatening to do something like male hurricanes….or husbands. However, I can’t say mine threatens to do much but that’s beside the point. Katrina. Now there’s a bitch. She blows into town, breaks the levy and sticks around long enough to brag about it. My kinda woman. Earl. A category 4. Categorically, men scare me for many reasons. Blowing hot air is not one of them. I consider that part of what I call the “Dumb Man Gene.” Besides if Earl is true to his gender he’ll be all talk no action. “I’m gonna mow the lawn. I’ll take out the garbage in a minute. I was gonna put that dish in the dishwasher later.” If Earl could speak, this is what we would be forced to listen to. I might actually tune into the Weather Channel to hear that. Which brings me to another Fucker, Jim Cantore…
He’s about one inch from being a Roloff. For those who don’t partake in quality TV programming, they are a family of little people…midgets…widgets..tater tots if you will….starring in their own show called “Little People Big World.” However, my disgust for this wanna be Al Roker does not stem from his lack of height, hair or talent. That Fucker had the chance to put me on TV and didn’t. Can you imagine? He opted to allow a family of rednecks living under the pier…. with 2 teeth collectively (teeth not fit for a toothbrush I might add) to explain how they were going to be displaced by the hurricane! Do they own the pier? I think not. Just break into a vacant beach rental like everyone else and stop stealing my TV time….crisis averted! I had breaking news to report….My generator wouldn’t start. How was I going to be able to keep my Helluva Good Dip cold…not to mention Tivo the Real Housewives? These are serious issues people! But the midget goes for the underdog and leaves me to bob up and down behind him like a desperate starlet. In a last ditch attempt for my shot at prime time I devised a fool proof plan. I would go running on the beach right after they called for a mandatory evacuation. Clearly headline news! I wasn’t sure if he was partial to the fatties so I solicited my friend Tara to come with me. She is a SIF undercover. On the outside…tall, thin, pretty. On the inside…I personally watched her eat an entire pizza in one sitting. SIF. We ran right by him and all but tripped over that freakin stump in Levi’s with a microphone. Do you think he batted an eyelash? Nope. He was probably fixing his lipstick.
Earl does give me random hope of binge eating. There’s literally nothing else to do in a hurricane but eat and drink. Being drunk is not part of my plan however. When I drink I crave Taco Bell. Down here they close the border before they close the bridges. Good policy. Perhaps we can run with it in light of a little Cat5 I like to call “Illegal Immigration!” Yeah…close that border and throw the fatties a freakin bone! During the last Cat3, when I wasn’t chasing the bald midget, I was eating like a champ. Not bcs I was hungry. Bored. Stare at your husband (sober) for 3 days and see how long it takes you hook up an IV of lard and start drinking mouthwash. Seriously, it took about 2 hours before I was staring at him, head cocked searching for anything that resembled a redeeming quality. That’s why you have to have a generator. TV equals survival. Even if you have to watch a midget weatherman for days on end. TV really should be included on those “must have emergency lists.” Right under batteries and water if you ask me. My chance at TV came after the storm had passed. The Weather Channel showed up on our porch wanting to film us taking the boards off the windows. I gave them a shot at headline news and this is what they want?! My husband taking down boards with the drill he forgot to charge….so we looked like the Farkels on national TV! Good thing they cut out the dull moan of the drill begging for juice. I’ll have you know I did not partake in that parody! I was hiding in the bedroom like the high class hooker I am… I didn’t have time for hair and make-up. Mother was a Mary Kay lady. We don’t go down like that. National TV with no make-up and bad hair? I would sooner have stuck my naked ass out the window and spoke through my butt crack. That’s how I feel about that. That about sums up my life and death experiences with hurricanes.
So as I await the arrival of another disappointing man in my life, I am putting together my own little survival kit:
Batteries: Check
Rabbitt: Check
Bring it on Earl. You are no match for El Conejo!