Thursday, May 31, 2007

Tales From the Road: Cheeb and Email Don't Mix!

Well hey there, y’all! What an amazing age we live in. If you watch “Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader?” then you’ll know, of course, that this is the Cenozoic Age, which is Latin for Cretins Email Nonsensical “Ol Zany Odd Idiotic Crap (get it?!) I can’t remember life before email. Actually, I can’t remember what I had for breakfast this morning (probably Diet Coke and a cigarette!) but truly, email has enriched my life.

I love email. I really love the fact that I can take a picture (from a phone….HELLO!!!) and send it to God and everybody. I can also forward chain letters instead of paying for postage. (Okay, my hair has not fallen out, my husband has never impregnated a ferret, and my groovy Kitchen-Aid mixer still works, but damn sure I still forward those things because anything COULD happen and I am NOT ashamed of my Lord and savior, ‘kay? Y’all know who you are, so stop sending them already. Dad!) Anyway….

I love the good old days of email. I realize that it’s a relatively new invention. Y’know, in terms of Cenozoic geologic time. But we have entered a new age of electronic communication. I like to call it “The Age of Email Stalker Bullshit Terrorism!” Allow me to explain.

In the early days of email (last week), I would get about a dozen emails a day. Two of those were from friends, two were chain letters (from Dad) and the rest were either ways to “enlarge my member and make her scream…get VIAGRA NOW!” or ways to earn a doctorate degree based on life experience. (“Yes, I have a Juris Doctorate in Biggus Dickus! PHAW on your business degree from Harvard….LOSER!) I could pick and choose from any number of serious business opportunities (I need must wire right now immediately 40 gazillion eleven dollars into your account from Bank of Nigeria) or “Earn big money on your back! Great benefits!” Those were good times. I was busy screaming, studying, kiting checks…. Nevermind!

Well, as I said, times have changed. I remember an email that I received that should have been a signal to me of “THE END TIMES!” Y’all know hubby Jerry has always been a real handy dandy home improvement type. Anyway, I was very pregnant with Jenda (No, really. I know I looked REALLY pregnant five minutes after conception, but at this point in the story, I was eight and a half months and roughly the size of Wyoming.) Anyway, here comes this email….

“Hi friends! As you know, I have just had major abdominal surgery and Mr. Man has a bad back, and we are just so ready to get out of this sucky South Florida real estate market.” (Their house was in foreclosure. Again.) “Anyway, we are throwing a ‘painting party’ and your invited!” (They misspelled ‘you’re!’ I corrected it… smarter than a fifth grader, y’know. ) “We need you to paint the living room and dining room, replace the water heater, fix the hole in the kitchen ceiling, and tile the half bathroom downstairs. We will supply lunch and beverages, and there will be great music. We look forward to seeing you Saturday!”

What’n HAYULL?!

Let me see if I have this right. You want my pregnant self, my long-suffering husband, and some home improvement fairies to come to YOUR house, completely remodel it, and you’re gonna feed us? Oh, and don’t let me forget ‘great music’…I think ‘Crazy’ by Patsy Cline would be in order.

Trust me. You don’t want us. You want Ty Pennington. And when he clears up that DUI thing and you quit puffing on cheeb, I bet y’all can make magic! PUH-LEEZE!

I must say that while Jenda is too young for email, she certainly gets invited to a whole heap of birthday parties. Ah, the fun and innocence of a child’s party, right? HA! I actually get emails from the parents with gift registries for the little tykes. ‘Missy Ray loves Dora, Spongebob, Barbie, and dress-up clothes. She is registered at Walmart, Target, and Wee Bee Cheebheads.’ After one too many of these, I went online and ordered a buttload of copies of ‘Emily Post’s Guide to Etiquette’. This way, we can teach these kids some manners (and the parents, too!) and since the Federal Government says our kids don’t get enough exercise, they can damn sure get a workout from lugging that heavy ass book around!

Not too long ago, I heard from one of my friends, Casey. He had recently been stalked, er, emailed by an old acquaintance (no, not me!) for some assistance. I just LOVE this online panhandling! Seems Casey’s friend, Rudi, has had some medical issues and needs money. Okay, welcome to the USA in the 21st century, cheebster. Rudi went so far as to post some really gruesome car accident pics in the email (could have been anyone!), then said he needs $1500.00 for ‘Canadian Crutches’. He went on to add the address for all and sundry to send their donations, or ‘blessings’.

Of course, Casey asked my opinion and I was more than happy to bless him with it. First of all, Rudi lives in Texas. He can get a brightly painted and beautifully hand-carved pair of ‘South of the Border Supports’ for a hell of a lot less than $1500.00 ‘Canadian Crutches’. Is there some special reason they have to be Canadian? If he’s looking to be some kind of saint by getting us to all bless each other, then damn! He can start a whole cottage industry in Mexico and create jobs for a lot of poor people by outsourcing those crutches out of Canada and into Mexico. (“Canadian Crutches? Chu don’ need no stinkin’ Canadian Crutches!”) And think what he could save on shipping!

Where would it end? Brazilian braces? Peruvian prosthetics? Colombian joints? Oh, nevermind! The sad fact of the matter is that we have regressed from the days of panhandling on street corners where you might get your windshield washed to electronic begging. My feeling is, if you can afford a computer, well sell that badboy along with your blood plasma and buy your own crutches! Or sell your computer and use the money to hire a contractor for home repairs. I feel compassion for anyone with medical needs and no money (but hey, I voted Democrat!) I understand the need to remodel your home and try to move to a better place. But damn. Don’t terrorize your friends with this, ‘kay? Use email the way God intended it to be used. Drop your friends a quick note, say hi, stay in touch, and leave it at that. And always remember, ‘Friends Don’t Let Friends Remodel’.

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