| May 13, 2006 - The story of Butthole |
| Dear Friends, how am I ever going to shrink this beer belly of mine if I keep going out all the time? It's such a struggle! Last week I was a very goody, goody two-shoes, coming straight home from work, hopping on the stationary bike, and burning off hundreds of calories. But this week, I've found every excuse to avoid exercising. Things like, "I've got a hangnail so I can't possibly ride the bike." Or "I just want to sleep a little bit longer and then I'll ride the bike tonight." You know how it is, don't you? Not only does JOHNNYLEEN love going out for his delicious vodka tonics, he enjoys eating, too. So I'll get something really healthy at lunch like a salad, right? But guess what I chase it down with. Lay's potato chips! Woe is me! Have I no will power? And last night after many vodka tonics, I went out for spaghetti. And I felt I had to have a whopping bowl of soup with it! Oh, malheure de misere! So, yesterday as I was imbibing, a guy came up to me and asked, "Do you know of a restaurant around here called Mucho Delicioso?" And I answered yes, that it was just a few doors down. And he wanted to know what the place was like and I had to admit that I hadn't been there in well over a year, but that its food was really good the times that I had been there. Obviously he was not from around these here parts, so I said, "Are you visiting the Big City?" And he answered that he was, stated his name, and then stretched forth his right hand for a handshake. I shook his hand and realized there was something different about his grasp. I looked down and he was missing all of the fingers on his hand except for the thumb! Now dear friends, please don't think I'm an insensitive lout, but I was all like OMG! This guy has no fingers! But luckily I don't think my surprise showed on my face. When I feel compelled to, I'm good at hiding my feelings. Once many years ago I worked with a guy whom I'll refer to here as Butthole. I absolutely loathed this man and maybe one day I'll write about him and explain why. Anyway, we were all in a meeting one day chitty-chatting about dis and dat for about an hour. After the meeting broke up, one of the managers said to me, "JOHNNYLEEN, I'd like to see you in my office." So we went into his office, he shut the door, and he asked, "Is there a problem between you and Butthole?" I was really startled and asked, "Why?" And he answered, "At one point Butthole was turned away from you and you had a look of absolute hatred on your face when you looked in his direction." Well, there went my Helen Hayes Memorable Performance award! I was forced to tell him how much I disliked Butthole ranging from my disgust that when he ate salad he always talked with it in his mouth and sprayed creamy salad dressing everywhere, to my disdain for how he treated everyone as his personal servants. The manager then advised me to work harder at hiding my loathing and I promised I would. Butthole eventually left the company and I threw him a going away party, but didn't bother inviting him to it. Hee hee hee! I even had a cake! It was made to look like a license plate with the word STDMFFN on it. His new wife, who was the same age as his daughter, had had vanity plates made for him with that particular word on them. If you're too dimwitted to guess what it means, allow me to tell you it stands for STUD MUFFIN. I invited everyone who hated him to the party and we burned his business cards. I then read a farewell speech to him. It was lovely and the proverbial good time was had by all. Next entry Previous entry Go to diary entries Go back home |