Saturday, March 18, 2006

killing all kinds of darlings since 1982

A few weeks back, some friends dubbed me the "karate abortionist" because of some joke I made about punching pregnant women in the stomach or something. I actually don't remember why I got the title, but I totally want that on business cards.

Amanda K. Hempel:
Poet, Karate Abortionist

And I have another title I'd like to add to my card: Chair Deconstructionist.

Ok. I am not petite. Nothing about me is small. (Well, except for my car, but through the magic of bumper stickers, it pisses off jackasses in a big way.) Still, I never thought I'd say this--today at work, I broke my chair.

And I don't just mean I bent a wheel or I put it on some goofy setting. Fucker is dead. There is no coming back from this. One of the little starfish-like limbs at the bottom completely snapped off of the chair. I have no idea how it happened. All I was doing was sitting down. I didn't body slam it or jump in--in fact, I wasn't even sitting all the way down yet. I think the wheel got caught in a groove in the little plastic sheet thingy (those things are so annoying--it's easier to roll a chair on carpet than on dented plastic) and then... I don't even know. Maybe it was because I'd just emailed a friend at work and referred to the chair as the Devil because it was so uncomfortable. It just lost its will to live.

So after the snap heard round the office (plastic makes loud noises when it commits suicide--did you know that?) I had to roll my now-gimpy chair into the training room. I suppose I didn't have to roll the chair down the hall, but the alternative was sitting there with the broken chair next to me. And frankly, I was afraid it would be like "Christine 2: Office Chair" and start regenerating its little starfish arm and then exact revenge by breaking my ankle or wheeling me down a flight of stairs. Then I rolled another chair--this one made of genuine pleather--out to my cubicle.

But no, it's not over yet. Then I had to compose an email to my boss explaining what just happened. I didn't hear any guffawing coming from his office (damn) but I'm sure he drooled just a little when he read it. I know I had fun.

It definitely livened up the day before I had to spend 8 hours working on one of the absolute worst shows on television--"Derek Acorah's Ghost Towns." I know, I say that about pretty much all the shows I work on, but I have proof--here's an outline of why it sucks.

A) Everyone sounds like the narrator from the "Henry VIII" film. Some of you know what I'm talking about. The rest of you should give me a call and ask about it. But so you have some kind of a context, I'm talking about horrible quasi-Cockney accents. It's the auditory equivalent of bad breath.

B) I don't know if this particular episode has aired yet, so I will spare you the specifics while sparing myself from getting fired, but the general premise of the show is that this supposed psychic/medium, Derek, runs around the UK with his sidekicks--a "paranormal believer" and an "open-minded skeptic." (They use those phrases in a stock opening as though they are actual credentials. Fuck it, if they can do that, I WILL get those business cards printed.) A ghost-hunting show has to be pretty fucking terrible for me to not like it, and I hope I never again have to suffer through an entire day of trying to decipher what these morons are trying to say. Maybe I just hate the British in general. ...Nah, I could never hate a group of people who drink that much tea.

C) One of the sidekicks is named "Angus."

D) I had to look up stuff on websites that use the word "magick." Kill yourself now if you have ever used that word in anything but an ironic context.

E) They turn off all the lights and record themselves in the dark for absolutely no reason. If I were the spirit of someone who died hundreds of years ago and I were angered by the presence of people in whatever building I was haunting to the point that I was trying to scare them away, then I would not be put off by a lamp.

F) Angus. Seriously.

G) Mumbling and talking over each other.

H) They tool around in a vehicle called the "Ghost Truck."

I) Complete lack of attractive people and wit.

J) British men shrieking because something touched them in the dark.

K) Was his mother craving a hamburger when she named him?


Scott said...

mmmm angus.

Ok, now we must all say a quiet prayer for the lost soul of that poor dearly departed deskchair.

Don't feel bad about breaking it. I've broken quite a few desk chairs. Wasn't my fault either...

Anywho. So, I saw an abortion sticker yesterday. It was some women's lib. anti-abortion sticker. Is that legal? I forget what it said, but something about abortion disrespecting women or something. I don't f'ing know. I just know that it was retarded. I wasn't driving, so I couldn't swerve in close so as to scare the bejesus out of the poor retarded cunt...but in my mind, I did. Therefore, I did a good thing...In my mind...

Sasha K said...

hahahha, oh man... Angus.

seriously, did his mother hate him? or what?

yea, you can't hate the british... high tea? tea and pastries... gooooood stuff, man! :)

oh man, you TOTALLY need that business card!


fhqwhgads said...

I finally made up some business cards of my own, inspired by Mitch Hedberg.

My Name
Potential Lunch Winner

I've been dropping them in restaurant fishbowls all over town. No calls yet, but keep your fingers crossed.

BTW- Great story... I'll have to stop by here more often.