Beware of Butt Stubble

Just to the right of my medulla oblongata | March 12, 2004 | Me, Myself and I

[BluegrassScholar]

Alas, the Ides of March find me unemployed, or as the Brits say, "made redundant." Oy, vey! C'est la vie.

A word of warning to any of you who suddenly find you've been made redundant. Do not, under any circumstance, visit eBay.com. Take a moment now and throw your computer into the backyard. eBay is the online equivalent of crystal meth, but perhaps even more addicting. I now own things I never knew I needed...a portrait of Walter Mondale made from painted macaroni, a bass clarinet, paraphenalia from the old soap opera "Ryan's Hope" and a hamster cage made entirely of swizzle sticks from defunct casinos and restaurants.

The latter purchase required me subsequently to secure a hamster and the required accoutrements such as litter and a chew stick. Unfortunately, not until I came home with my new housemate and googled on hamsters, did I learn they were nocturnal, meaning they sleep all day (not completely unlike those made redundant). However, now I must tiptoe around my own house lest I wake the sleeping hairball. My googling warned that hamsters become aggressive, alarmed and frightened if awakened suddenly (geez...who doesn't). But at night, at least I have someone (er...something) with whom (or which) to watch "Are You Being Served." Every time Mr. Humpreys tosses off a double entendre, Hairball starts spinning on his wheel and chattering.

I did own two hermit crabs a couple of years ago, but they were pretty low maintenance. You could throw a single pinto bean in the terrarium, and they were good for days. Plus, they liked bluegrass. Whenever I'd crank up some Del McCoury or Rhonda Vincent, they'd emerge from their little shells and kinda bounce up and down in time with the music. I miss those crabs.

However, Hairball and I must now reside on opposite ends of my modest cottage since his nocturnal scratchings and chatterings were preventing me from slipping into the arms of Morpheus (and I'm referring to the Greek god of dreams, not the dude from the Matrix movies). In a prescription-induced stupor, I was seized with the idea that Hairball needed a housemate, but I first needed to determine whether Hairball was a he or she. Googling provided me with the necessary steps, but the procedure was clearly unnerving (to Hairball) and perhaps illegal in Mississippi and Utah.

My continued redundancy, too, has me sliding apparently towards sloth-like slovenliness. This was discovered earlier in the week, when after returning home from a beer run, I was struck by an odor that smelled like a wet dog passing gas after rolling in rancid squid. And trust me, I know from odor. After living five and half years in the Kappa Sig house at Southern Mississippi, I learned to sleep, eat and imbibe peacefully among smells that would blister skin, drive flys from a carcass, induce immediate retching from amateurs and prompt frantic calls to 911 from downwind neighbors. Since I don't own a dog, this aromatic assault gave me pause and I broke into tears with the realization I had funked up my own house. And I understood, too, why Hairball had been chattering nonstop. It was the big-cheek bugger's pitiable cry for help from the slow, but lethal, asphyxiation he was enduring.

Lastly, as some of you may know, I've begun shaving my head to disguise my baldness. But in a cruel practical joke from Mother Nature, each hair that fell permanently from my head was replaced ten fold with hair growing from my ears, on my nose, down my back and on my behind. While under the influence of the narcotics (which a pharmacist friend said were normally prescribed for zoo animals prior to invasive procedures, but were administered to me to combat some obscure variant of malaria I picked up in Mali), I was seized with the idea that shaving my body would be help counter the wet-dog-passing-gas smell. My poor Norelco beard and moustache trimmer was exposed to body parts its designers never imagined. Frankly, I think I voided the warranty once I moved below my collarbones. Consider yourself warned. Should you choose a full body shave, just know that two days worth of butt stubble is no kick in the pants.

[texasflower]

You are pretty funny. I also enjoyed your "Tribute to a Dead Squirrel"

If you have a ping list, please add me to it.

Tammy

[boris]

For some reason I seem to be immune to the influence of e-bay.

I once sold a printer there.

Then I tried to sell a "nearly new" Jaz drive, Adaptec controller, cable, power supply, 10 2-GB media (certified good by Boris' extensive testing), 4 1-GB media, shipping paid by me.

Asking opening bid was $125. I got ZERO bids.

Oh well.

--Boris