Funny for Your Friday

I warn you, not much will be written today. I am finishing up all the work I need to get through before Super-Awesome Weekend can commence, which involves a lot of crappy paperwork and odd jobs that I have been putting off for a few weeks. Which I will start just as soon as I can tear myself away from Television Without Pity’s recap of the fourth Star Trek movie. Oh, it is funny.

Since I can’t create anything riveting today, I will share with you the latest email exchange with My First Fan (I owe it to him for reading all of these entries about bra shopping and the ever-fluctuating mood of my uterus). I sent the original email, which was about where to buy / not buy gas. I don’t know if I’ve ever laughed so hard.

From: CD [3:14 PM]
Up in the UP we hunted our own oil and made gasoline in the back shed in order to thwart high gasoline prices.

From: Beedoo [3:15 PM]
I have no doubt.
Where do the moose come in? Are they part of the still?

From: CD [3:16 PM]
We eat the moose after a long day hunting oil.

From: Beedoo [3:18 PM]
Well, duh. But I hope you at least use the antlers as a homemade alembic for that sweet Liberty Gas.

From: CD [4:43 PM]
This is actually a photo of my great grandpappy and I celebrating our liberty gas. (link to photo of two guys, obviously hunt-gasming over bringing down a thirty-pointed moose, which I really wish I could post for the full effect)

From: Beedoo [4:51 PM]
Shoulda brung me wit'cha. Here's a photo of my dear departed great-grandmaw. (link to
this photo)

From: CD [4:55 PM]
Are you sure that's not a picture of you in your teens? I recognize that mannequin expression...

Sadly, before I could reply “Aw, naw, that was they way they made women back in the day. Log-pullin’, bacon eatin’ women. The kind that could bench press anyone that made a crack about their looks”, I had to run for the bus. Don’t think I don’t know I have a withering stare that makes all men tremble with ill-concealed fear. Because I know. That mannequin expression makes anyone who falls prey to it question themselves entirely; as an added bonus, I seldom need to wrinkle my features. It’s what keeps me young.*

Thanks, great-grandmaw.

Beedoo’s Book Club:

I finished The Lovely Bones last night—much less frightening by the end. I really, really wanted the killer to get his, and I wanted it in detail, but I think I just wanted revenge and the author knew that (well played, Siebold), so she focused instead on the little girl’s family and their lives that went on after hers ended. I really loved the imagery; the writing is beautiful. If you can get past the first six chapters that scare the panties off of you, you will love the rest of the book.

Beedoo’s Book Rating: Worth 3 out of 3 nightmare-filled REM cycles (even the one where I had to turn on Friends at 1:30 AM to get over the creepy dreams).

*Well, that and the big-ass gun. And did you see all those medals? I’m scared of Annie Oakley.


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