February 20, 2011
I love the wind. Don't you?
Okay, no. I lied. I actually hate the wind. Really. I hate it.
But more than that, I hate the cookie cutter wind.
The wind that "whips through the trees."
The wind that "stings the back of my throat."
The wind that "slaps me in the face."
And I understand if you feel that way, because those are some understandable metaphors. Grossly tired, overused, banal. But understandable.
8th grade. At best.
Does it make you feel alive to watch the same old fish that have lived in that pond for years?
Not me. I want to create my own fish. Fish with horns. And maybe an elephant's trunk. Or even boobs.
When I'm standing in the wind, covering my face with the hood of my sweatshirt, cursing the day it was ever fucking invented, cursing the wind's aunt with cancer and wishing a wretched death for it's first-born child, I say things like,
One day, Wind. One day. It's going to be just you and me.
You've emptied my bank account.
You've raped my dog.
You've stolen my damn underwear while I was still wearing them.
Now, I'm broke.
My dog needs therapy.
And I'm panty-less.
WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT FROM ME?
I don't care about my fucking throat.
I don't care if you like running around slapping folks.
And I have no interest in the sick and twisted way you go about molesting trees.
All I know is that you've hurt me. I am hurt.
You refuse to stick around long enough to have an adult conversation about this.
You flutter around like a fairy on crack, making people want to "dance with you."
They really don't know any better.
And they clearly don't understand that the lyrics to the "song" you're whistling describe the various ways you're planning on doing things like pulling their intestines out of their belly-button or....well...raping their dog.
So, you just keep right on fooling them, but you don't fool me.
I know what you're busy doing while they're singing with trite allegory from an out-of-print hymnal.
And I want my damn money back. And my panties. And my poor dog's innocence.
I'm not even going to give you the satisfaction of being called a "thief in the night."
I'm just going to call you a whore.
That will be all.
5 minions who have sucked on my crap:
Did you see that Oscars Award show hosted by Whoopi Goldberg? She came out after the performance of Colors of the Wind and said, "...you don't want to see the colors of my wind." as she was fanning her backside with her hand.
Classy, Whoopi. So classy.
Do I care what ants think when I trample their tiny asses and homes? Hell to the No. (Actually I prefer chemicals)
Does that damn gecko really care if I make my Geico insurance payment? I'd rather see Warren Buffett begging for my paltry donation. Let's make it REAL, shall we.
You are but collateral damage to the Wind. Now, someone PLEASE tell me why the food chain would suffer if skunks never existed. They scare the hell out of me, especially when they follow me and my daughter to the bus stop and when I have to take my dogs to potty. Perhaps the ants phoned in a favor.
Barb- I swear if you don't start blogging I will hunt you down.
damn....you REALLY hate the wind as much as I hate Rachel Ray...hahaha...and that's cool...I find seething hate endearing lots of the time...
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Suck on my crap