Being this is a week of weirdness, I became forgetful enough to not remember to dial up David on the RNS encrypted voodoo wave device last night to discover what tracks he had selected for today. But that is OK, I have a story to tell.
It is either surprise or jealousy that causes my friends to do this: Having been married to the same person for seven years and with her for over twelve, they think it is funny to put certain ex’s back in touch with me.
By “certain”, I mean the complete psychos: The type who’ll knife the tires on your car.
Now, the last time this happened, it spawned its own Soundboard post as well, though I’m pretty sure that one is in the offline archives because I can’t find it. That gentleman got some revenge served up ice fuckin’ cold and raw as a Pike Place Market tossed salmon in his love life shortly thereafter. Quite possibly due to my mentioning of a prior bad act his wife didn’t fully appreciate at the time. When you can make a guy of Japanese heritage go whiter than Edgar Winter in his own living room with a sentence, you know you have avenged yourself.
Our latest contestant learned from his predecessor’s mistake and only forwarded an email to see if I’d bite. I’m biting, but only for a laugh. Hence the title of this post.
It seems that a certain not so special someone has seen the light of the Obamessiah and is sending messages to all her old friends, and apparently not so friendlies as well, to try and get support for Mr. BigHopeyChangey.
I would not call this the best marketing strategy in existence, but when you’re as crazy as she is, I suppose it sounds reasonable.
Lita was definitely “the kind you don’t bring home to mother” and I knew that the night I met her. I didn’t know it would cost me a windshield and half a set of Yokohamas in under three months.
I also didn’t know about how hard I’d laugh at her nearly fourteen years later.
Even though she was never even a “maybe” this track from the Post album is for her
The appropriate to the subject lyric is as follows:
Who knows what’s going to happen,
Lottery or car crash,
Or you’ll join a cult.
And, for your two-fer this week, simply because the bass line sounds so, so very nice in my truck
From the Vespertine album