Sarab (1000milesaway) wrote,
Sarab
1000milesaway

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E.T. and T.S. Eliot: The True Love Story of a Wrinkly Turd and a Highbrow Modernist Poet

Oooooowwwwwwww, it hurtsssssss.

Just when I'd thought that I'd heard the dumbest question ("OMGWTF!!!!!111111!!! What happens if I use night cream during the day????"), Jan from the Supplement department shared this gem:

(customer picks up a bottle of one-a-day multi's, confused) "How many of these do I take a day?"

Seriously, no comment.

Mi fa male la testa!

Then, there was the time last week when this guy, who was on his cell phone, came up to me and said, "My friend wants to talk to you."

Taken aback, I answered the phone. It took the guy approximately two minutes to even utter a word. He then said, in a hush-hush voice: "I have a problem with CONSTIPATION."

He didn't even ask if I worked in the store, so I could have been a just a random stranger. Then again, maybe some people like discussing their ass problems with strangers? Who knows.

Combine this with the time when a customer picked up the box of Smooth Move laxative tea and asked "What happens when you take this?"

I can't tell whether I just have a problem relating to the world because I'm smarter than a good chunk of the population, or if it's because people really are that stupid....but eeesh.

Quick, I must distract myself!

On to the next topic: E.T. would have been a much better movie if they replaced the little boy Elliott with T.S. Elliot. Every little boy I know has been molested by aliens at least once. And what could possibly be more heartwarming than a ham-headed, freakish alien of indeterminate gender palling around with an uppity Modernist poet?

For my intents and purposes, T.S. Elliot has a British accent, even though he was American.

"Let us go while the night is spread upon the sky like a patient etherized upon a table! Ooooooooh, yes! Do I dare to part my hair? Do I dare to eat the peach? Do I wear white flannel trousers and walk upon...?"
"Phoooooooooooone!"
"Heavens, Eetee, I cannot enjoy meaningful discourse with myself on the emptiness of life with your mindless drivel on phoning home! Oooooh, 'E.T. phone home.' Why don't you just go home, you wrinkly turd?"
"Ooooouuuuuchhhhhhhh."
"Oh, why must you look at me like that, Eetee?....Oh, oh Eetee"
*cut to close-up of E.T.'s penis finger sticking up*
*cut to shot of poor Indian children packing fudge into boxes in a factory*
*cut to fireworks*
*cut to shot of E.T. and T.S. Elliot in bed, smoking cigarettes*
"Let us never speak a word of this night again, Eetee."

I wonder if E.T. would have traumatized me so much as a child if they cut right to the chase and made it a tale of true love and TEH BUTTSECKS! Probably not.

I really thought I was the only kid on Earth who was scared shitless of that movie, but almost all of my friends were equally disturbed by it. It IS creepy shit, though. I'd call the dog catcher if I looked in my backyard and saw a crane-necked walking sphincter muscle waddling around like it has a dirty diaper and leering at me through the bushes.

Hell, I already know what it's like to be leered at from behind the Sea Vegetable rack by a middle-aged man who looks like a squashed Tootsie Roll with a mullet. His name is Larry. I don't care what they say. The spaceship left him behind because even aliens from his home planet think he's a creepy dipshit.

Also, I know Ballchin. How is this at all relevant? I dunno. I do hate him, though.

But seriously. I wonder if there's a big market for E.T. fan fiction. I'd so totally submit my version, as it's far more realistic than the novelization that I never read where he supposedly grows a giant turnip and flies back to Earth. Then again, E.T. IS a kids' movie, and they'd probably have me banned from the kiddie section of the library, for fear that I sodomize little children. In which case, a pen name of Mo Lester might not be a good choice. Damn.

And don't get me started on stupid moo's that think all men are child molesters and have actually gotten some states to pass laws prohibiting men from entering children's sections of bookstores or libraries without a child in tow. Hello, discrimination. What if you're a father looking for some books to bring home to your little sproglet, or hell, if you're simply looking for a copy of The Little Prince?

But yes. My high modernist version of E.T. is probably one of my highest ambitions as a writer since the Judy Poopypants saga, or Chutney, or the time Wally and I started writing erotic "friction" for American Grizzly. (I really miss that mofo sometimes, but that's another entry).

Anyway. Time to go learn some more muscles, do a few exercises and call it a night. Funny how now that I put on 8 pounds from not dancing and now have the "womynly curve" I'd always wanted, I feel flabby and miss my six-pack and want to be ripped again. I'll check with my D.C. tomorrow (or maybe e-mail the chiro cutie I met at Borders) and ask if it would be out of line to ease my way into weight training with my back still on the mend, but I'm starting to get all antsy about joining a gym and working out again.

The bad thing is, with my history, I could very well be overreacting to a normal and healthy weight gain. (I'm also so small-boned and petite that as little as a 3 pound gain can make a difference in the way my clothes fit and the way I look all around). But for health reasons, I could afford to be stronger. Not to mention, with any amount of physical activity, I get very muscular. That's just my natural body type.

Ah, I've blabbed too much. Good night, kids.

Beeeeeeee...goooooood....

~Lisa
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