Sunday, December 30, 2007
The truth will set you free. Well...unless it lands you in the slammer, that is.
Fran loves my innocent, down-home, folksy anecdotes about my days as a country midwife in rural Iowa.
Not really. She just likes it when I lie.
So much so that she tagged me to give you seven "altered" statements about yours truly that may or may not be wholly truthful.
I'm a dirty stinking liar, therefore this works for me.
Being that it's Sunday and all, I thought I'd give you:
The Seven Deadly Sins of Whiskeymarie*, sponsored by the International Liquor and Wine Producers Association in conjunction with the Midwest Institute for Snack Food Engineering
Greed: I was once an avid collector of Garfield Merchandise. Oh, how I love that precocious little kitty and his hilarious antics! I attended trade fairs, swap meets and on-line auctions to fuel my habit. Within a year of starting, my collection had grown to the second-largest in the world. Mildred Virgeen of Grand rapids, MI had a slightly larger collection, and she possessed the crown jewel of Garfield-related memorabilia: The rare "Rappin' Gangsta Kitty" Beanie Baby. A production error caused 14 of these to be outfitted in a "Life ain't nothin' but bitches and hos" t-shirt. The company destroyed all but 3 of them. Mildred had one, and the other two were rumored to be locked in a vault on a remote island in the Pacific. My ill-planned & drunken attempt to steal Mildred's resulted in an 18-month stint at the Camp Brighton minimum security women's prison in lovely Michigan. Mildred has since obtained a permanent restraining order against me and I am forbidden from owning or even coming within 50 feet of any and all Garfield-related merchandise.
Gluttony: I once entered, and won a competitive eating contest. I entered the Carver County "Pork-o-Rama" sausage eating competition in 1997, following my brief stint in Europe as a sexual surrogate for uptight aristocracy with "mommy issues". I entered under the name "Kandi Kielbasa" and was nearly beaten by the contest's 6-time champion, Phillip St. Cheesesteak. We were in the final 30 seconds, with me in a distant second, when Mr. St. Cheesesteak was stricken with a rare but fatal condition known- in layman's terms- as "killer meat sweats". After being haunted by the bloated, greasy ghost of Mr. St. Cheesesteak every night for two months, I used half of my winnings to commission a bronze statue of our fallen hero that now sits in a quiet park in Eustis, Nebraska.
Lust: My torrid, on-again, off-again affair with Marky Mark (aka Mark Wahlberg) was the reason he and the Funky Bunch broke up. Ours was a sweaty, obsessive love. Our jealousy tore us apart. That and his total refusal to wear a shirt. Yeah baby, you look good, but it's Easter! C'mon! Grandma don't need none of those "Good Vibrations".
Sloth: I spent the better part of 1999 at home, on the couch watching reruns of "ALF" and "ALF: the Animated series" while working as a phone-sex operator by the name of Poontana. I gained approximately 565 pounds during this period and eventually had to be lifted out of my home with a crane and airlifted to the Minnesota Center for Dorito Addiction. I spent 9 months there where I learned to love baked Doritos and diet Yoo-hoo, and I weaned myself from totally implausible, alien-based, laugh-track accompanied television series.
Wrath: I am now a two-year chip holder from ABA, or Angry Bitches Anonymous. I first started attending meetings after an unfortunate incident involving "constructive criticism" from a co-worker, a can of bacon-flavored easy cheese and a pair of size-9 pumps. the "victim" agreed to drop the charges if I agreed to start seeking "help". I would have a 3-year chip, but I experienced a minor setback one year in when a grocery store clerk refused to accept my coupon for 25 cents-off of a can of butterbeans. Last I heard the clerk was walking normally again. This altercation was a violation of my plea agreement, and I served 80 hours community service cleaning the woods behind the rest stop on I-35.
Envy: In tenth grade I successfully planted a rumor that the school's homecoming queen, Cathie Johnsonandersonmaki, was working as a high-class call girl in the evenings. Cathie was dating Gary Neidermaarkenbrot, who I had been obsessed with since the third quarter of ninth grade. I doctored photos that made it appear as if Cathie was "entertaining" large groups of Japanese buisnessmen and local bigwigs and then pasted them around school. I was eventually caught when I had started impersonating Cathie, complete with a blonde wig and frighteningly dark tan, and trying to make out with Gary. Even though I was punished and sent to the St. Stalkerus home for wayward girls, Cathie never fully recovered from the humiliation and now works as a canner at the cat-food factory and lives with her 6 children (different baby-daddys) in Sunnyvale Trailer Park. Gary is now openly gay.
Pride: Today you see before you a professional ferret groomer. I currently use my talents as personal groomer to Twinkles, the current reigning king of the "Ferret Chow Cup", a yearly Ferret show held around the country at various Holiday Inn conference rooms. But this wasn't always the case. In the beginning, I wanted this, this...honor so badly that I wouldn't let on to anyone that I had never previously groomed ferrets. The first few years were full of heartache and tears as I paraded mangy ferret after mangy ferret in front of the judges. On one day in particular I refused to take advice from Terry Manlove, the top groomer in the country, to use non-toxic fur pomade on one of my clients. Once the rash subsided and an out-of-court settlement was reached, I swallowed my pride and started taking community ed classes to hone my skills. I am humbled and honored to work in this noble profession.
There you go.
*All information contained is neither implied nor guaranteed as a lie. Some information contained may or may not be completely accurate. No ferrets were hurt in the writing of this post.