But first, here is something that happened to me this week that I think you should know about:
On Tuesday, I walked into the office, sat down at my desk, and had two hours of work marbled liberally with procrastination (work ethic is like a good steak, which is why Chewy was lazy—ok, the analogy doesn’t work). At 10, when I got up for my usual trip to the commode (which makes bathroom sound much cooler than it really is—like maybe it’s got fog lights, lasers and one of those ball-pits from McDonalds playlands), I looked in the mirror and saw that my undershirt was not only inside-out, but also backwards, which left the tag front and center between the collar of my button-down, fluttering like the awkward tie on one of those newfangled prom tuxedos.
I think that’s worse than having your fly unzipped, and here’s why: throughout the course of a day, everyone zips and unzips his fly—you forget one time and whoops, your fly is down. But do people strip out of their undershirts and turn them inside out every day? Every time you go to the bathroom? Yeah, me neither. Except on Tuesday, when I had to because it was already inside-out and so turning it inside-out from there would be turning it rightside-in. This story sucks. I’ll stop telling it now.
I saw this cool meme at a couple places on the blogonet, and it seems to work well for everyone. Try it out, even if you don’t post it.
The Band Meme
The first article title on the page is the name of your band.
The last four words of the very last quote is the title of your album.
The third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.
So, my results?
Band name: Pribilof Canyon
Album name: Details of Outer Life
And that’s pretty neat. What’d you get?
But on to more serious matters. Exploring some sexual stereotypes was fun for a couple of posts, but then the women start whining (and I can’t blame them, I mean, they are women) and the men get angry and go build something in the garage, and the women start cooking dinner with a lot of extra banging around of pots and pans and the occasional shrieked curse.
But that doesn’t mean there aren’t other stereotypes we can enjoy. Stereotypes are fun for the whole family, and something we should all appreciate. After all, our great nation’s history is marked with many wonderful stereotypes: slaves until 1865, women couldn’t vote until 1920, and people hate Michael Jackson because he is white.
For today however, let’s focus on a more pleasant stereotype that’s not only profound but also aesthetically pleasing. Ladies and gentlemen: ghetto booty.
I don’t know what it is in the black genome, but some black women have an unparalleled ability to swell out in the backseat like they’re wearing a headless snowman sideways in their pants.
My family is mostly Irish, and therefore most of us are pasty white. Some few of us, however, are darkly-complected, and the family rumor is (no, not a hot Jamaican milkman) that we’re partly black Irish (those are the Moors from Spain who were blown off-course with the Armada in 1588 and ended up in Ireland, where they got busy with the red-headed lasses).
And now, to equal measures chagrin and delight, my sister has been told that she “rocks ghetto booty.” And I? I couldn’t be prouder. We are now a truly egalitarian family, a real slice of American life (dare I say homeslice? No, I guess I dursen’t).
It is a stretch, of course, to call my sister’s a ghetto booty. There are several women in my office who would put her to shame, real genuine thunder-thighs. These women, all attractive from the waist up, make you forget about attractive or unattractive when you see them from the rear. The only reaction is one of awe, awe before the might of two globes so ponderous that when they work out, they don’t even need an exercise ball to sit on because they’ve already got two.
But I wish my sister luck, hopeful that one day she’ll be able to join this group, the widest, wildest women in America:
[picture removed at the instruction of my sister]
Thanks for stopping by on stereotype Thursday.