Are We Being Too Hard on Paris?

A reenactment of the past week:

SHERIFF: "Do you want to finish your sentence at home?"
PARIS: "Really?"
SHERIFF: "Sure. Three days in jail is enough. You can do the other 42 days as home arrest."
PARIS: "Thank you so much!"

Paris goes home. A few hours later, the Sheriff's phone rings:

SHERIFF: "Hey."
JUDGE: "Did she buy it?"
SHERIFF: "Oh, yeah. It was hilarious. Her face lit right up."
JUDGE: [laughing]: "Oh my God. This is going to be great. Get one of your guys to bring her to the courthouse. Tell her the judge needs to speak with her for a few minutes. Tell her it won't take long, and to leave her things."
SHERIFF: "This is so wrong."
JUDGE: "I know. Isn't it awesome?"

At the courthouse:
JUDGE: "Paris, I have some bad news. We're putting you back in jail. Right now."
PARIS: "What? But he said I could do my sentence at home!"
JUDGE: "Lee, did you tell Paris she could serve her sentence in her house?"
SHERIFF: "Don't believe I did, Mike."
PARIS: "You liar! Yes you did!"
SHERIFF: "Hold on a second. Let me think." [Sheriff strokes his chin slowly.] "Hmmm. Hmmmmmmm. Wait, yes! Yes!"
PARIS: "You remember?"
SHERIFF: "I remember that 'The Simple Life' sucked. Now get your scrawny ass back in your cell, bitch."
JUDGE: "Oh! Smoked!"

[SHERRIF + JUDGE give each other a high-five. An officer shakes his head and escorts PARIS out the courthouse.]

Tiffany

Cause she's a whore.

(Come on, Google ads. Show me what you got.)

Yabba Dabba Do

My window fell a few days ago, devolving back a technological age in the process. The front grate cracked, leaving a gap where one could insert a small object, like a pair of scissors.

This is useful as now the fan won't start on its own. I have to insert a small object in the gap, like a pair of scissors, and push a fan blade to the right to get it going. It takes about a half-dozen whacks on average to jump start the fan. It was fun the first few times. I even put a record on the pterodactyl to celebrate.

Now it's annoying. I wish my "WeatherWorks" brand fan was in its original condition. "WhetherWorks?" is not the whimsical adventure the name implies.

I have other items and gadgets that are in the gray zone for a poor person: broke enough to frustrate, not enough to replace. The MP3 player that I need to wrap the headphone cord around the body in a certain way to get sound to play in both ears. My 1994 Toyota Corolla that rattles increasingly loud when it comes to a stop. (I noticed it right after my MP3 player started acting up).

It can be exciting to pretend that I'm in an episode of Mission Impossible where a long red light can spell the doom for my car, and perhaps the life of innocent cars around me. My workarounds for objects in disrepair make me feel manly and smart too at first. "I'm not going to let an empty black ink cartridge stop me from printing. That's why brown is a font color in Microsoft Word."

But when these small inconveniences grow from a few to a dozen, I find myself getting frustrated, perhaps because I view my jury-rigged surroundings as a metaphor for the frustrations in my life. I feel like a broken person who's missing a few parts. I see my friends in careers, getting married, buying houses, pursuing their dreams, and can't help thinking, "What's wrong with me?"

Well, I wasn't expecting that to come out. Oh well. It is what it is. Yabba Dabba Do. Next post: why I find Tiffany soooooooo annoying!

The VA Gubna Race

I haven’t been following the Virginia governor’s race closely. It’s between the president of the Mark Warner Fan Club and some guy named Kilgore. Kilgore sounds like a evil robot the Republican party devised during the 2000 Presidential race. Now he’s broken away from his masters and campaigning against Democratic candidates around the country. “VOTE FOR ME, HUMANS. I WILL PROTECT YOUR BROODLINGS AND DESTROY TAXES WITH MY METAL JAW.”

Oh, and there’s a third-party candidate. It was thoughtless of me to forget. Third-party candidates are very special people and we should give them as much respect as any other candidate. Because, one day, one of us may become a third-party candidate.

My main news source about the race has been the radio ads that occasionally play when my alarm clock turns on. The radio ad this morning was one of the best political ads I’ve ever heard. Do you know how it started? “Jerry Kilgore has a sugar daddy.” And it got better from there.

It wasn’t a throwaway line designed to grab people’s attention. It was the theme. The deep-throated announcer repeated “sugar daddy” half a dozen times in a 30-second ad. “Even when the corporation was under investigation, he kept taking their money. Taking it and taking it.” I forget the details, but by the end, the message was clear: Jerry Kilgore is a slut.

All I hope is that the TV version of the ad shows digitally alters Kilgore’s face so he’s wearing gobs of lipstick and blue eye-liner. And big hooker boots with “Tiffany” embroidered on them.