My "farewell to Bloggerparty" post.
* * * *
“Woooo hoooo!!!”
“Not right in my ear, dude! I can hear you already! Or, I could, once.”
“Sorry, dude. I kinda lost it for a second. But look at this, you’ll see why.”
“A fashion website? Dude, you have lost it.”
“But what fashions, eh dude? Ah huh ah huh ah huh …”
“Don’t make me get the Gatorade bucket, dude. Reminds me of this chick I knew once …”
“You knew a chick? How did that happen? And how come you never told me?”
“You expect me to tell you everything? Not gonna happen. Especially if it involves chicks. Or ain’t you heard about ‘three’s a crowd’? Yeah, I had a chick once. Before you came around and scared ‘em all off. Used to work at Victoria’s Secret.”
“Victoria’s Secret!?! Hooo …”
“In your dreams, dude. Went in there with her one time. Saw all these people pawing through the scraps, trying to find the one that would make them look like the pictures. Only one thing we wanted to tell ‘em.”
“What was that, dude?”
“’It’s not the underwear!!’”
“That doesn’t sound like ‘Saleswoman of the Year’ material to me.”
“It wasn’t. She quit. I was happy ‘bout it.”
“Too bad they don’t do hats. Look at these sexy numbers.”
“That’s their hair, dude! When the hell … Man, I don’t even want to think about totin’ one of those dos through a party. That redhead’s gonna get a crick in her neck. And how the hell can she see??”
“Dude, you got something to say ‘bout everything. Like you don’t want anything to do with chicks.”
“I want a real girl, dude, not one of these plastic things. Someone more interested in a relationship than her makeup.”
“Wow. You ok, dude? I’ll be right back with the Advil …”
“Besides, this Victoria’s Secret stuff is just one step away from the “Indian country virgins” crap that just showed up on here. Talk about sexploitation …”
“What … Holy shit! Don’t let O Ceallaigh see that, he’ll throw a wobbly. And we might get terminated!!”
“Too late. He has, and he has. But don’t worry, he’s told us we’re safe. Just moving.”
“To California?!? Oh, please, please …”
“No. To Blogger. At least until he figures out something else.”
“Damn.”
“You would prefer command-X?”
“That’s control-X. How many times I gotta tell you, you Mac-kissing deadhead?”
“Say goodnight, dude.”
“Goodnight, dude.”
- O Ceallaigh
Copyright © 2006 Felloffatruck Publications. All wrongs deplored.
All opinions are mine as a private citizen.
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