So, I’m thinking of pitching this movie to Hollywood producers. Here’s the gimmick: a girl who only goes out with men who drive foreign sports cars gets flummoxed somehow by Rue McClanahan’s breasts so that when she looks at men with pieces of shit cars, she’ll think they’re Porches and Jaguars and the like. She hooks up with a tool that drives a ’79 Chevy Chevette, which she thinks is a BMW. Wacky hijinks ensue.
I’m serious. I just realized this today. A Jaguar adds points to a man’s sex appeal.
So I’m shallow. You can call me fat too.
I have an ear infection.
My niece Abby had tubes put in her ears for having fewer ear infections than I’ve had.
I think this boils down to a sin from my past. It’s all ying and yang, I think, in an organic kind of way. If I were a medieval doctor, I might think that someone whispered gossip and it festered there, causing pain because I deigned to listen rather than turning my head.
But I tend to thing things are a bit more scientific than that.
Once upon a time, I somehow got sperm in my ear. I’m not going to go into the logistics. It happened easily enough. And keep your snickers to yourself, dearie, as I know damn well that you’ve had sperm in some pretty unusual places yourself. Don’t ask me how I know. I just do. Let’s just leave it at the fact that somehow, doing something I got sperm on my ear, very possibly in my ear a long time ago.
And I’ve had ear infections ever since.
See, kids, sex before you are married is BAD! It fucks up your hearing, for one thing! If prophylactics had been involved, I would not be currently deaf in one ear, downing four Advils chased by Blavod.
Ok, not really, my hearing is only partially fucked up in that ear. I feel like Jimmy Stewart in It’s a Wonderful Life, only instead of saving my brother from drowning under a frozen pond, I ended up with spoodle in my ear and it is now ruminating about, doing crazy spermatazoan dances, having crazy one-eyed tail flagellating parties and all running amuck. I’d stick a q-tip in there, but I’m afraid they’d try to fertilize it.
Now, I’m certain that you’re probably thinking, ‘Now Weetabix, it is simply not possible for sperm to live in your ear for, say, eleven or more years.’ But you don’t have a bunch of crazy ear achy single cell organisms flagellating around, dressing up for Halloween like paramecium, now do you? And in the next few years, when science discovers that yes, it is scientifically possible for sperm to stay alive for 25,586 days when kept at 98.6 degrees in the hospitable climate of a karaoke diva’s ear, then, well, you’ll just have to admit that Weetabix knew it all along.
Don’t listen to me. It’s the Augmentin talking now. Go read the entry from two hours ago, back when I was still making sense.
I’m going to go nonoxonol-9 my head now.
