It was pretty clear that today was going to be a Very Special Drive when I woke Random up with the knockout combination of singing the "Mr. Grumples" song (of my own composition, now with more scat), improvised modern dance, *and* throwing towels at his head. I threatened to tack on an Early Morning Junk Grab™ with an extra helping of chilly hands, but oddly enough he blocked it. All of this, of course, was for my own entertainment as much as anything else, and I was already on a fast track to the Tee Hee Zone before we ever got in the car.
The drive was-- well, it's a shame, really, because it was actually pretty LJ-worthy but the thing is that I don't remember how to make voice posts (I don't think I ever have) and really you'd have to hear my Dramatic Re-Enactment to fully appreciate its LJ-worthiness. See, we ended up driving almost the whole way behind a car from our neighborhood, and their license plate said "IL & SL". (Noticing vanity license plates is a thing of mine-- I would have KILLED at that game show, "Bumper Stumpers", where you have to figure out what a vanity plate is supposed to be saying.) So I said, "Look, it's Il and Sil!" and promptly invented the Il and Sil Show, aka The World's Lamest Puppet Show, which I proceeded to perform for Random's amusement and/or silent wish for swift death for the remainder of the drive. When I realized they were getting off at the same exit we were, I decided that Il and Sil were going to work with Random today to help him out. "Great," he said. "Just what I fucking need, a couple of puppets underfoot all day while I'm trying to get shit done."
I do love how he plays along when I'm acting all retarded.
But this is what life with me is really like. Those of you who think it'd be fun to date me, weigh out my tremendous awesomeness against the possibility that you, too, could be awakened on a winter morning by an Early Morning Junk Grab™. I cannot promise that it wouldn't happen or that I would have the courtesy to warm my hands first.
When I dropped Random off, he shut the door, then waved frantically at me to stop me and ran around to my window. When I lowered it, he proudly declared, "Gute fahrt!" which we just learned last night actually means "bon voyage" or "good travels" in German but, well, you see where we went with this. I only wish I could fart on command because I would have cut one that made the gods tremble. That would've been awesome. Except for the part where I then had to drive the rest of the way to work suspended in a cloud of my own funk.
(Yes, I am in fact a delicate fucking flower.)
When I looked up how to spell Gute fahrt just now, I found this blog entry, whose author perfectly illustrates my own mental image, including the gleefully proud expression. (NSFW if a cartoon butt is off-limits.)
And that blog post reminded me that I meant to tell you guys that when I was road-tripping this past weekend, and stopped at a rest stop in Jersey (and BTW rest stops on the Jersey Turnpike at Christmas time are in fact some of the saddest places in the world, though I would still vote for them over George W. Bush), I noticed that the bathroom stall doors are manufactured by a company called Hiney Hiders. It said so right on the latch, where it was engraved. How fabulous is that?? I should have taken a picture. I mean, I guess if you're going to start a company that manufactures bathroom stall doors for Jersey Turnpike rest stops, you might as well have some fun with the name. Can you imagine getting a job there and calling your mom and being like, "I'm the new quality inspector for Hiney Hiders!...why are you crying?"
I would give my left nut to get on their holiday card list, because it would be the most amazing thing ever to receive a card with, like, a picture of a closed bathroom stall and under the bottom of the door you can see Santa's boots with his pants at half-mast and it says, "Wishing you and yours a joyous holiday season, from all of us at Hiney Hiders".
Maybe at their company picnics, the newest employee has to dress up in the mascot costume, and it's a giant foam butt that only their legs stick out of and they're bumbling around in sweaty horror because they can't see anything, and outside all the employees and their families are shrieking with joy because it's time to play "Hide the Hiney!" and they're like trying to throw their picnic blankets over it and the first one that stays on for twenty seconds gets a Hiney Hiders prize from the company store, like toilet paper with Hiney Hiders trivia questions on it, or hemorrhoid cream and everyone is totally excited by this and it's really very much like the final scene in The Wicker Man (the real one, not the Nic Cage dingleberry). And then some jackoff from Marketing goes and drinks too much again, and he's got a half-eaten kielbasa that he's trying to cram in Hiney's butthole and he's screaming, "Gute fahrt!!" and the children start crying because Hiney got molested again and HR has to intervene and the company has to give everyone Hiney Hiders frisbees so that nobody sues. And the company founder pops an antacid and wishes he'd gone to dental school like his mom always wanted because she didn't believe in his dream of hiding hineys and now she's dead and he'll never know if she was ever proud of him and that eats away at his soul so he's going to have to go visit the men's room in the Joyce Kilmer rest stop again tonight.
With the stall door closed.
God, how he hates himself.
Holy christ, it's a good thing I'm starting vacation tomorrow. For all our sakes, and the sake of the world.