Thursday, April 23, 2009
They say that revenge is a dish best served up cold. I like my revenge with a side of chocolate mousse and some raspberries. Because if you're going to have revenge, you should go all out and really have revenge and not worry about the calories.
But when you think about it, there's revenge, and then there's REVENGE. There's a big difference. I'll break them down for you.
revenge: Someone eats your pudding cup that you clearly labeled and put in the refrigerator at work, so the next day you dump her granola in the toilet.
REVENGE: Someone eats your clearly-labeled pudding cup and possibly bangs your husband, so you drug her and mail her to Swaziland.
And then there is passive revenge, which is something entirely different. Passive revenge is when you don't mean to take revenge; revenge takes itself. This is usually when someone does something to you that is pretty minor, perhaps not even deliberate. And while you are thinking about how much fun it would be to take revenge, something happens to that person that makes you feel like you've had your revenge. It's hilariously satisfying, and yet you did nothing to bring it about.
For instance: One time, my friend S. was telling me a story about her first pregnancy. She was nine months along, and she felt huge and uncomfortable. And she and her then-husband were at a baseball game. The husband got up to head to the refreshment stand and said to her, "You want anything, slim?" And before she could answer, a woman sitting near them muttered under her breath, "Yeah, like SHE'S slim." Five minutes later, a foul ball hit that lady in the face. To this day, that story melts the frost around my frozen evil bitch heart and makes me laugh and laugh. In a very wicked manner.
I have never felt passive revenge to that level of sweetness. But the New York subway system is always on my side. I have several subway pet peeves, from people who breathe with their mouths open after eating what smells like pig rectum, to those who rest their giant handbags on the laps of others. ALL of my pet peeves are related to my personal space being violated. Therefore, it made my heart just a bit jolly on Monday when a woman whose purse had been terrorizing me for blocks had to balance herself on one foot while she struggled to get her shoe back on the crowded steps coming out of the subway. It's really too bad she didn't have an extra shoe in that GIANT purse of hers. Oh, snap. (Did I mention that I may or may not have accidentally bumped said shoe right before it fell off? Because I did.) Passive revenge was mine.
I hope to never experience the kind of REVENGE that involves finding my pet's severed head on my pillow. Or even that type where someone sends my breakfast to a watery grave. But even I, the benevolent and wise Mayor of Bethville, frequently deserve the sting of passive revenge. Nobody's perfect. My purse is always bumping people, and I constantly utter mean things under my breath. When passive revenge does happen, I know that whoever I've just wronged will bask in the glow of my embarrassment, if only for a moment.
Until I hurl her cell phone onto the subway tracks.
(**Photo courtesy of Dreamworks, Warner Brothers, and my sex sandwich fantasies.)
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
People like loyal Bethville reader Peach send you smart-assed letters to the editor. Duly noted, Peach.
Bethville Gazette & Daily TP Substitute
We bring you only the quiltiest news!
***OP-ED/Letters to the Editor***
Dear Gazette & Substitute:
Today marks the thirty-third day that our beloved Mayor has remained in her comatose state at the Bethville Hospital and Food Emporium. I do not write to rehash the sordid speculations that have held your front page headlines captive for the past month. Whether the Mayor did indeed slip upon a skateboard placed craftily outside the Town Hall doors by Benville saboteurs or whether, after being spooked by a Channel 7 news van with darkened windows, she ran headlong into the Town Hall sculpture of Wolverine’s adamantium claws screaming, “Stranger Danger! Stranger Dan…!,” we can all surely agree on one thing: Bethville has gotten along swimmingly in the absence of the Mayor’s guiding hand!
I applaud my fellow townspeople for rallying together to ensure that daily life and governmental business in our little hamlet has continued uninterrupted. I congratulate Wally Bangdenwafer, the second undersecretary to the Mayor, for taking charge of the annual performance of “Going Down on My Dog Skip” at the Viceroy Theatrer. The show was a spectacular success in view of the comatose state of the original director. Not a single line was flubbed! And the main character, Mr. Bangdenwafer himself, substituting for the Mayor, was only locked in his dressing room for 15 minutes of the second act. Once he read the “PUSH” sign on the door correctly, he rejoined the rest of the cast on stage, where he discovered the audience enraptured by the lead actress. She had cleverly ad-libbed a vivid death scene by rigging the scenery props to collapse upon herself—an entirely unforgettable performance!
I also congratulate Charlene Harrisburgson, the head of the Bethville Sanitation Department. Although the comatose Mayor has not been available to make her weekly collection rounds, our standard of living has not suffered one bit! Ms. Harrisburgson cleverly purchased an automatic street cleaning system from GhettoBab917 on amazon.com for mere pennies. In fact, instead of waiting for the Mayor’s personal bubblegum pink garbage truck to come by once a week, our new state-of-the-art Norwegian Rat system has agents that work 24 hours a day, 7 days a week!
These examples are only a small portion of the heroics performed by determined Bethvillernites—your neighbors! Whether or not our mayor returns to us, I have complete faith in the future of… Oh dear, I must go now. There is a street cleaner trying to eat my toddler. They’re just so thorough!
Llyod S. Fishersbottom
The Bethville Parks and Jell-o Fountains Commisioner
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Hey, it's my turn to write about Susan Boyle on my blog. It's not your turn, Huffington Post. It's not your turn, Jezebel. Stop eyeing my spotlight so hungrily, other bloggers.
If I don't write about Susan Boyle in my blog, I risk ridicule, that kind of ridicule like Susan Boyle faced when she performed on that show I don't watch or really care about. I would carry the shame of a million William Hungs. It would be like that time some lady on American Idol sang a song really bad and wore glitter eyeshadow and everybody laughed at her.
Some people write about how awesome Susan Boyle is at singing songs. Other people write about how awesome Susan Boyle is at singing songs while in possession of untrimmed eyebrows. And still other writers talk about how OVER Susan Boyle they are and wish she would take her eyebrows and go back to Scotland.
But I'm not going to write about any of those things because that's already been done. Instead, I'm going to write about how annoying it is when you're on a talk show first thing in the morning, and some talk show host asks you to sing a song a capella, which means without any accompaniment. And that is really, really hard. And unless people are throwing money at you, entertainment isn't for free. So I think that people like Matt Lauer and Meredith Viera need to stop asking people like Susan Boyle to entertain them with a song a capella. Especially when Willard Scott could easily accompany her on his pan flute.
So, I think it is fair to say that I have nothing of value to say about Susan Boyle. You might also say that this blog post is utterly pointless and that I'm rambling. But you writing haters would be mistaken. I think you are merely judging me by my hair that is frizzy from all of this rain and my eyes are red from weeping over Susan Boyle's rendition of "I Dreamed a Dream." Have you learned nothing from Susan Boyle's triumph?