We got some correspondence here at work from a couple of teenage girls in the Midwest. They love us, with little glitter-pen hearts over the i’s and everything. They love us so much that they were bursting with love enough to write a letter. They love us so much that they sent an 8 x 10 picture of themselves, enjoying us.
Now this is the sort of treatment I expect rock stars to receive. And I’m feeling a little like a late 70’s/early 80’s hair metal rhythm guitarist/lead singer right now…
Would it be wrong to tell them that just from looking at the picture I can tell that the one biting on the straw has a hungry, hungry mouth and that the one with the braces is into leather? Would it be wrong to tell them that I know they can work a bone better than a paleontologist? Would it be wrong to tell them that I have already made sick, filthy love to their 8 x 10? Twice?
Of course it would be. That was a test you sick dogs!
It did not however stop me from putting all of that into a letter to send back to them. Sometimes you need to live dangerously first thing in the morning on a Wednesday. Sometimes you need to throw in the fear of unemployment just to enjoy your day.
Song Stuck In My Head Right Now: House of the Rising Sun (the version done by The Animals)
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3 comments:
Oh my gosh, Bill you can't be serious!?
I can just imagine these two girls laying around, bored, on their frilly daybed and thinking of things to do.
"ooh" one suggests, "lets take photos"
The other one reached for her frappuccino, takes a sip and squeels with glee as she finished applying her pink strawberry-flavored lip gloss.
"go borrow the camera from your Dad... I will put on some clothes"
(...because as all of your readers already know, all barely legal, bored, teenage girls lounge about the house in various states of undress...)
Yeah no, not kidding.
I wish I had an electronic version of the picture that I can post. There's something about the wide-eyed, dilated pupil, manic grin on the one on the left that screams, "all coked up!"
And p.s., I also lounge about the house in various states of undress...
Billy,
You're a dirty dirty old man.
35...right? Halfway to 70?
I hope those dirty little coked-up hoes like your letter.
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