Malarkey
mə-'l�r-kẹ n. [origin unknown]: insincere or foolish talk

The Joys of Aeorosol Deodorant

June 15, 2004
I was thinking today about those people who never swear. I should clarify: not those people who never swear, but those people who substitute inoffensive words for swear words. I�ve been guilty of the occasional phonetic �eff this� in a workplace e-mail (god, the techies at my company have got to love me for the sheer entertainment value of my e-mail correspondence), but I�m talking about the bonafide fake-swearers�the ones who say �oh, fudge� and shit like that. I have cousins who actually say things like, �darn mad� and �son of a biscuit.� One of my friends hangs out with twins who call each other �eff-in behs.� This is supposed to be code for fucking bitch. What the hell is this? What does it all mean? Swearing really isn�t something I should discuss because I�m completely immune to it. Recent example:

Coworker: Starbucks is too expensive. I drink coffee from the gas station.

Me: Yeah, Starbucks rapes you.

Coworker: Can you please not use that word? Many people find it offensive.

Me: What? Starbucks?

End scene.

Hey, whatever happened to that STOP THE INSANITY woman? Remember her? She used to run around on infomercials talking (but mostly screaming) about the moment she realized her thighs weren�t rubbing together because of some sort of diet or supplement or exercise videotape. She had that spiky bleached hairdo, too. I miss her. Bring back the insanity, I say. Otherwise, what good is cable?

That thigh comment reminds me of a good story about an acquaintance of mine (we�ll call her Debbie) who married a very poorly paid truck driver. Everyone has that friend they can�t get rid of because they�d feel guilty. You might feel like a bad person to ditch a friend from seven years ago even though you can�t stand her and her fucking crunchy perm and she referred you to a hairdresser who called the creepy ghetto-bronze streaks in your hair �highlights� and charged you $120. Some people might. I, on the other hand, attended her wedding. And thank god I did.

I showed up to the wedding with my camera (I volunteered to take pictures) and noticed that the official photographer had the most glorious mullet I had ever laid eyes on. (Sidebar: For more on mullets, go here.) It was bright orange. Hi-lighter orange. Not found in nature (except on poisonous tree frogs) orange. The front was short but obviously curled and feathered (and hairsprayed) into a dome-like structure. The back was straggly and was growing down her entire back. The bozo mullet woman took all of Debbie�s wedding photographs in the parking lot of a church (which happened to be in the middle of nowhere and not fifty feet from the Interstate). There�s a particularly good photograph of the married couple kissing in front of a Buick. Everyone had a pained expression in the photos because of the highway traffic noise, which also caused mild ear bleeding. Good stuff all around, kids.

Anyway, I wait in the bride�s room while the entire bridal party is getting dressed. These were not little girls, mind you. I�m not saying heifer. I am saying meaty. The bridesmaids were cramming themselves into their dresses and all of a sudden, I heard an aerosol spray can. I didn�t think much of it until I noticed that one of the bridesmaids was hiking her skirt up to the waist and spraying toward her legs. I realized that she was spraying aerosol deodorant�I mean, the girl is coating her thighs with Secret-in-a-can. She noticed the horrified look on my face and I muttered something about not knowing that they still made that kind of freaky product. She said, �Oh. That�s just because it can get really hot and you know, friction and rubbing and stuff.� Christ, it really should have been a theme wedding. Corset dresses and �do you take thee, ye, blah, blah� with mead all around.

More of the girls lined up to spray their own thighs because Bridesmaid Number Three is, clearly, a genius. I go to my happy place. I don�t remember the rest of the wedding. The next thing I remember, I�m standing in line at the grocery store with strawberries and other assorted �yay, you�re married but too broke to take a honeymoon� goodies for Debbie and her husband. A middle-aged man who is in line behind me says, �Ohhh. You�re gonna make some guy happy tonight.� He laughs one of those super-perv kinds of laughs. Yuk, yuk, yuk. Effin beh, stop the insanity.

3:31 p.m. :: comment ::
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