Poop, cowpokes and Star Wars

Lovely day here. On the day that the cafeteria gets adventurous and serves up the jalapeno special is the day the building decides to shut the water all day. hence, no toilets. Walking the halls is like traipsing through a Romero feature as pale forms shuffle stiffly past, contorted, reeking, with pained expressions of desperation and rage...

Hence, I have responded, in turn, with a well-placed packet of my own 'rage' in the stall on 5th floor. I call it my silent (but deadly) protest.

Oftentimes, I spend hours chatting on MSN. Here is a typical transcript.

After discussing his liver issues, the gentleman I was having this particular chat with learned of my newfound outlet, this blog. Now, I have a focus for my anger, desperation and fanaticism. He seemed smitten with the idea of a forum of his own, and the following conversation ensued (my notes in parentheses).

'him' says:
I’d like to start a blog too, but mine would be totally serious and depressing about how people don't smile enough anymore and people don't give up their seats on buses and subways to old people and that the oceans are dying and I’d have to have the suicide hotline link to my site and it would be so much fun to do! (I grudgingly agree, though I’d be hard pressed to give up my damned seat unless there was a missing appendage involved, and not just a finger or ear.)

'him' says:
Oh, and also how you can never find the SW action figures you really want because all the insane "serious" collectors have got there before you making both you and the children the toys are actually intended for weep and curse the hidden name of God! (again with the Star Wars. Insert eye roll here.)

'him' says:
…and what's up with female "letter carriers" anyway?

'yours truly' says:
I don't know. (I didn’t)

'yours truly' says:
god, I just don't. (I really didn’t)

'him' says:
see! see! it's a blog that's just gotta be written! Or else the world will keep getting away with such shit as this!

'him' says:
or is it "shits as these"...hmmmm...

'yours truly' says:
what, (women) carrying letters? damn them!

'him' says:
and they don't even come in to have sex like mailmen do for women!

‘him’ says:
where's our equal rights!?

'yours truly' says:
…women, and mail... diabolical!

'yours truly' says:
the nerve.

‘him’ says:
(though most of them are stubby and manly so...not so sure I'd actually accept the offerings, but still, it's just the principle of the thing!)

‘him’ says:
I say "letter carrier? I don't even know her!"

‘him’ says:
or better: "Letter carrier? I don't even know her or her!" (I have no idea where this is going. I think it alludes to the fact that some ‘people’ are not ‘affected’ by ‘diseases’ they are ‘carrying’. (If so, how droll, mon frere!)

'yours truly' says:
sheer madness. you would be spurned if such a blog would be made public.

‘him’ says:
spurred?

'yours truly' says:
yes, and well-chapped.

‘him’ says:
tea time. (at this point I was left to ramble, and vigorously, I might add. A generous helping of pseudo-sexual homosexual fantasy came in to play, of which I am not ashamed. Screw you, Pat Buchanan.)

'yours truly' says:
…you'd be a strapping cowpoke, waiting patiently for your mail and hard, strapping masculine love.

'yours truly' says:
..that only our letter carriers in their well-appointed and revealing shorts could 'deliver'.

'yours truly' says:
you still there?

'yours truly' says:
I’m putting this on my blog.

‘him’ says:
sorry, I really did go for tea time...

‘him’ says:
stick that on your blog and steep it! (I did. Steep that.)

I should charge admission for such cerebral entertainment. Hm. Send money and/or food.