mal•a•prop n. - the unintentional misuse of a word by confusion with one that sounds similar

Example: You need an altitude adjustment, you’re too self-defecating.”

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prop•o•si•tion (prp-zshn) n.

1. A Subject for discussion or analysis.
2. A statement that affirms or denies something.

Example: “I think you should go play a nice game of hide-and-go-fuck-yourself.”

Monday, April 21, 2008

People are people so why should it be?

Well it finally happened. I have given up on humanity. I’m always teetering on the edge of converting all my assets and credit into cash, changing my name to Miguel and going off the grid. But this weekend pushed me more than one step closer to a life of south-of-the-border siestas. At roughly 11:00pm Saturday night my girlfriend and I were at Blockbuster video in St. Paul. We went through all the new releases, took our time and found our selections for the evening. Aside from the annoying people in line ahead of us who didn’t have their membership information, it was a generally typical and not entirely unpleasant experience. I even purchased a bottle of orange soda for the drive home which turned out to be a more important purchase than I could have imagined.

Having my plans for the evening set and even my very own Orange Fanta, I approached the driver’s side of my girlfriend’s car with a sense of contentment. With my movies and my soda in my right hand, I reached down to lift the door handle of the little white KIA Rio with my left. “What the hell is that?” I ask myself as I quickly pull my fingers away from the now open door, feeling some sort of slimy texture. I looked down at my hand, not believing what I am seeing at first--I am in denial. “No, it can’t be…” But it is. There is simply no denying the familiar color and odor. There I stand, in muted horror, looking at my left hand covered in dog shit.

Yes, you heard that right my friend. Someone crammed dog shit under the handle of the driver’s side door of the car while we were in the movie store. Not just any dog shit mind you, but the light-brown, still warm, semi-liquid variety… just viscous enough to adhere, out of sight, underneath the door handle.

Calmly I walked to the front of the car, resigned to my fate, and using my Fanta, washed my hand off wiping it on the pavement, the grass, the dirt anything I could find. For some reason I did not panic, I did not issue forth a stream of obscenities, I simply walked back to the car, got in and looked at my girlfriend. She had this expression on her face that simply said, “What were you doing out there?” I answered in the only way I could. The only way anyone who had experienced such thing could: “Someone stuffed dog shit into the door handle.” What else can you say?

Really, what more need be said?

5 comments:

Matt Rouse - Oregon Voodoo Inc. said...

Netflix.

Anonymous said...

I really do feel bad for laughing so hard about this.

Anonymous said...

Hm. How do you know it's not a dog who set you up? Did you ever think that maybe it's really dogs that you hate?

Patina said...

People suck.

Anonymous said...

Write something new for f@@@'s sake!