Fun With Email

So I've been having an email back and forth all day with this totally hot girl from aristocracy school. I had a few interactions with her during our co-education, but nothing beyond casual conversation. Today, she emailed me out of the blue, asking for advice on an arcane topic she remembered I knew something about. She completely fits the mold of girls I find attractive: brunette, brown eyes, and some other unmentionables (see past four girls with whom I've some sort of extended relationship: two Indians, that Serbian chick, ex-girlfriend of five years, my mom), and I'd be so laid if not for the 3500 fucking miles between us. Damn you, distance! Anyway, I'm pretty sure she has no idea that I now live at, approximately, the furthest point in the continental United States. No matter, I'll maintain this charade for an extended period, until it gets to an awkward and misleading point, at such time I'll cease all communication and act the total ass.

Right now, life kind of feels like it must for the Refugee, a constant groinkick of missed opportunity and shady behavior.

Life Imitates Blog

Excerpt from actual email regarding plans to see a play this week:

"i think [the Refugee] has off on thursday, so ill find out if he's interested in going too, but he's a filthy, drunk philistine, so that's probably a negative."

How Many the Refugees Does it Take to Screw in a Lightbulb?

Trick question. Too drunk to stand on a ladder and too poor to afford lightbulbs. Plus, the Refugee is better off living in darkness and not having to see the squalor of his home.

Last night, I found the Refugee and another large lout loitering outside my home. They were smoking beanies, you know, those cheap cigarettes wrapped in brown tobacco paper that Indian peasants smoke for the high. Anyway, they were buzzing on high-dose nicotine while trespassing on my estate - a trangression I allow to provide a refuge for the lost and downtrodden - in darkness, for the back porchlight had fizzled. the Refugee pointed this out to me, because he would actually like to see something nice every now and then. I told him I'd get management on the case and his world was blown, again. He made a snide remark about my life of leisure and luxury and then convulsed in anger and jealousy, I'm pretty sure he shit his pants, but that might just be the way he smells. Anyway, I offered him a dollar and a cracker if he changed the lightbulb himself, which he attempted but failed. First we tried a ladder, but he couldn't get the footing because he was so damn wasted from alcohol and dizzy from poor man's tobacco. After a second attempt on the ladder, he fell and hit his head and started crying. So I kicked him in the ribs and prodded him to get up and try again. He cursed and tried to crawl up the ladder, which, of course, didn't work. He started crying harder, which was an upsetting spectacle, so I gave him the cracker and went inside without the lightbulb being changed. Management is aware and on the case. the Refugee is sore and brokenhearted.

No Good Liar

No matter how loudly he protests or consistently he denies it, I kicked the Refugee's ass in Scrabble last night. It's definitely true.

Thwack

That's the sound of me bitchslapping the Refugee in a comment on his comment on the merits of caveman-style cooking, or whatever the hell he was trying to talk about. I keep my bitchslappings of the Refugee metaphorical these days, because the last time I actually backhanded the ho, he cried like a newborn girl.

Oscar Shmoscar

I can't believe that stupid fucking movie full of cliches and self-richeous chest-thumping won best production. Actually, I can believe it, the academy being full of fuddy-duddy dickheads who think seeing brown people on screen is still a radical act and can't tell the difference between melodramatic bullshit and, I don't know, something else. That's it, not only being totally classist and phobic of those not sharing my life of inherited wealth, I am coming squarely down on the side of racial bigotry, just to protest awarding that godforsaken awful movie the oscar. Fuck, that movie sucked so goddamn bad I want to hurt somebody, preferably a minority.

Anomie, another word the Refugee doesn't know

Since I am in the mood to be in character rather than engage the Refugee as an actual person with the gift of conciousness and introspection, I will treat his latest entry as meaningless drivel contrived to excuse his lack of wealth and participation in the modern consumer economy. Anyone not driven for large homes and hemorraghing debt in the pursuit of acquisition larger than the Jones's is not a victim, nor a sufferer of depression and malaise (or, to use a bougie word picked up through my bougie education, anomie), but what we call in modern parlance a LOSER. (Following words said in mocking dramatization) "Oh, poor me, the world is based on innovation and competition, and I am being grinded to a pulp and left behind in a maelstrom of human loss and remorse." Goddamn, the Refugee, where is your drunken and totally incoherent sense of pride? Fuck you and your neighbors, all those struggling next to the poverty line and grasping at dignity amidst deprivation. You think cooking fine meals for privileged folk is a subversive act tracing back to more primitive human impulses and values? Of course, after cooking for your rich benefactors, you will buy a hot pocket and consider yourself lucky, for you ate today and had enough money for a nickel bag and a rotten whore. You think you are a success because you don't suffer anomie and feel a connection toward your labor. Alienated labor is the shit, baby. Give up your decadent life in the trenches and have your soul crushed for a few extra bucks, like the rest of first-tier world.

If this post doesn't make any sense, it's because I spent all my rational brain power making great strides toward the completion of an illustrated version of my and the Refugee's journey across this great land. I will return to disparaging the Refugee soon enough, after you try to make since of his faint attempt at sober sincerity. Good night from the frigid coast.

Gross or Grosser

Mayo or Butter: If anyone actually sees this, vote for which you think we should use to determine who is the more worthwhile human being through an eating contest.

Vapid Victory

First of all, drunk guy swimming with pride due to an inconsequential and utterly meaningless victory in something that provides no status or value, it's 'commander-in-chief'. The title of your post means nothing, just like your slight win over me in a game I've played twice before and didn't even know the rules. You beat me because I kept drawing vowels, and I still finished respectably, falling back on my immense reserve of vocabulary and linguistic jujitsu (damn, that would be a kickass scrabble word - see, I'm making the connections already). But, I will give you a moment to gloat and feel succesful, it must be strange and confusing for you. This is what I feel when I think about life and my place in the general social order, and I guess losing due to bad luck, which I felt after the Scrabble game, is akin to your existence. A metaphor for the fallout of your life. It's good to stand in someone else's shoes for a time, especially someone as shitty as you. It gives me a deep sense of appreciation for not being you.

But, you want a challenge and I have given one to you. I have agreed to dip into the ugly and indulgent world of working class sports - a competitive eating competition. The offer stands and I know you're scared. Keep beating around the bush and living off the little fuel provided by a totally vapid victory.