OK. I am so not in a humorous mood today. It's more like an angry, vengeful, what-can-I-destroy-in-this-house-and-blame-the-cats kind of mood. For reals, I am one peeved little ball of kinetic energy right now, and would like nothing more than to rain down torrents of evil upon anyone or anything who dares cross my path of righteous indignation this afternoon.
Sadly, short of verbally abusing household pets, I am SOL on the terrorism front, as today marks my 5,307,246,001st day of not having any kind of motorized transportation to speak of. Or even the non-motorized kind. Which means that if I want to inflict psychological pain on another member of society, I would have to walk somewhere to do it. And it's hot outside. And social terrorism isn't as effective if said terrorist is sweating profusely and gasping for air.
As a tiny child, if you had told me that I'd be 24 years old and begging my mom to buy me a bicycle, I'd have laughed. Heartily. In your face. I'd have informed you that, at the age of four and twenty, I would most likely be your effing BOSS. Your Boss with an awe-inspiring shoe collection and a Bentley. Plus a uniformed chauffeur. A-thank you very much.
Come on, you know I'd be the sickest Boss in the entire history of Bossing. Don't even lie to yourself right now.
Alas, little Marisa could not have been more laughably wrong. Not only am I most certainly the Boss of absolutely no one at this juncture, but upon my return from London I discovered that my parents had taken it upon themselves in my absence to bequeath the majority of my worldly possessions unto their illustrious second-born. His name is Marc, but I refer to him exclusively as The Usurper.
In laymen's terms: BITCH STOLE MY CAR. YUP, STRAIGHT UP JACKED THAT SHIZ.
And according to my parents, this "Sounds like a personal problem" SHRUG. Translation? We don't give a flying fart in a hurricane that you're stuck in the house all day long EVERY EFFING DAY with two highly judgmental-looking cats, one arguably insane pit bull, and a fickle (at best) internet connection. As long as The Usurper can get to the gym for his requisite 6-hour a day fist-pump workout in front of the wall of mirrors, the universe shall survive to see another sunset. Ugh, as they say.
So, here are the top 5 completely legitimate reasons my little brother can Suck It:
1. I was born first, therefore I am 200% more important than you are. Mathematics.
2. I have a lot of hair on my head and you have none. Samson and Delilah. It's in the Bible, look it up. Wait, that doesn't make any logical sense. I'm just gonna go with 'I'm prettier than you are'. That's just straight up Science.
3. I estimate that, having been honing this skill pretty much since the day you were born, I should be able to kill you with my thoughts by the year 2015. Again, Science.
4. Make no mistake, I'm not above literally blowing up the car because IF I CAN'T HAVE IT THEN NO ONE CAN! Bam: Terrorism. Also, the Bible...Something about King Solomon and chopping a baby in half, only the baby is a Tahoe and instead of chopping it in half I'm just gonna explode that sonnofabitch. Because if you really loved Tahoe, you'd just give her to me.
5. You're the most horrendously offensive driver in the history of history. Seriously. You're The Worst. You collide with parked cars on a regular basis. I don't even know how the state still allows you to possess a driver's license. It's just negligent. They should take it away and give you a bicycle. With training wheels, so mom won't worry so much. Also, Science. Although your ability to maim and disfigure automobiles could reasonably be described as 'biblical'.
Bottom-lining this call to arms...Give me back my car or live to regret it, brother. And that's all I have to say about that.
I found a decent lady bike on the Tulane campus. If they are not locked YOU CAN TAKE THEM! Maybe you should walk around campus looking for a bike, and while you are there you can look into some other sort of graduate degree program.
ReplyDeleteMarisa,
ReplyDeleteDo not steal bikes from Tulane.
We have a girl bike you can borrow - a guy bike too for days like today when you seem to have lost your estrogen and replaced it with jet fuel and cat piss.
Marc should give you the car.
Girls need cars more than boys, it is safer for you to go out in a car and Marc on a bicycle. I do not know how Marc can look at himself in the mirror knowing he has put a woman (especially his sister) on foot in this dangerous city. Plus the car will last a lot longer with you driving it than Marc.
Basically it comes down to chivalry, and what a gentleman, a brother, should do.
When I was in law school, I rode I bike back and forth from the law library. We only had one vehicle, and Marta drove that vehicle. There were advantages as well, when you are on a bicycle you can drink to oblivion at Miss Mae's (now St. Joe's) or Cooter Brown's and then pedal home with impunity- no risk of a DUI.
Hopefully Marc reads your Blog and comments thereto. Time to dismount, pardner.
MMB
Prof. Butterworth gives better advice than I do about stealing bikes...BUT...don't end up like this guy as you ride home from Miss Mae's:
ReplyDeletehttp://www.wafb.com/global/story.asp?s=13134083
Hahaha,now that I know how well you write when you are angry,Marc definitelly keeps the car.Your talent requires that you spend more time at home,carless.We will get you a bike,as soon as it's cooler,with a basket for Alfie and books.Unless you have a job at NYT by then...
ReplyDeleteOk, Mike is obviously a genius. Credit also goes to Colin for making me LOL with the handle "Colin Baton Rouuuge!" Simply awesome. Seriously. LOLzing as we speak. No credit at all goes to me, seeing as this post, according to my mother, has backfired horribly. FML.
ReplyDeleteOH, also LOLzing at the thought of Alfie's reaction to me trying to put him in a bicycle basket and drive him around. That is a seriously humorous mental picture. I imagine him staring at me stonily for a good 5 seconds and then just bitch-slapping me, wordlessly.
ReplyDelete