January 26, 2011
“The Gift” That Keeps On Giving Me Nightmares and Making Me Vomit In My Mouth A Little. Okay, A Lot.
Because some members of my husband’s family think they are funny when in all actuality they are total wankers, I got this CD for Christmas. The tag said “From Santa,” and since I have known since I was 5 years old that “Santa” was a lie, this wanker is obviously using it as a pseudonym because they are too scared to sign their name.
As they should be.
And the CD has been opened, which means that the perp obviously listened to it, and possibly even enjoyed it. Perhaps singing along to it in the car while driving around town running errands to places like SAS Comfort Shoe Store and to the local knitting store to get supplies to make their cat, Mrs Prissypants, a turtleneck. They probably even shed a tear or two on such lovely tunes as “Don’t Dream It’s Over” and “Perfect Day.”
This nightmare of a CD is called “The Gift”, which I think is an extremely terrible title. Because although this technically is a gift, it is not a good one. In all honesty I would have preferred a big-ass dog to take a giant poo on my porch, which I would then step in on my way out to get the Sunday paper. And then, whilst balancing on one foot to look at the bottom of the poo-smeared foot, I would lose my balance and fall into the giant pile of poo therefore getting it all over my favorite pajamas as well as in my hair. Then, while I was shouting for help from my husband, the big-ass dog would hear my cries and consider me wounded prey and decide to come and drag me from the porch, taking me back to his dog house to eat me for dinner. But instead of eating me all at once, he would eat one limb a day, burying me in the yard between meals, then digging me up again for the next course.
I don’t think I’m exaggerating here.
And if I hated receiving this CD that much, imagine how much I would hate having to listen to it.
I wanted to drive my car over it a few times, then beat it with a hammer, then let a goat chew on it, then put it in the cat’s litter box for awhile, then have a hobo rub it in all up on his junk, and then throw it in my fireplace. But since I try not to be wasteful and I am afraid the fumes of burning such a toxic CD might kill what remains of my family’s brain cells, I decided to offer it up for free on my neighborhood website to see if there was some crazy person who might actually like Susan Boyle.
My initial plan was to set a trap and offer this “Amazingly Beautiful” CD for free, just to see what kinda people I get. But since I am too honest for that I pretty much said what I’m saying here. Dog and all. I totally hoped that nobody wanted it. And you know what? I got a ton of responses, but everyone agreed with me.
Of course, there might have been a few people who wanted it bad, and were maybe even desperate for it and all tingly inside. The way I get when I think about Paul Rudd. Or Guacamole. But I suppose that those people were afraid to come out of the Susan Boyle lovers closet. And you know what? They should be. I’m totally for coming out of closets, but the Susan Boyle closet is one that I prefer to have locked. From the outside. With, like, every kind of lock that Home Depot has in stock. And combination locks on top of those locks. Plus one of those hand scanners. And an eyeball scanner too. And a few armed security guards with attitude problems.
And a big-ass dog.
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