Sunday, April 29, 2007

Now if someone would be so kind as to inform the police...

Recently It's Me, Maven... asked the following question on one of my blog posts:

"WHERE IN THE HELL IS WOMBAT??"

I happen to know the answer, and I'll share that with you in a moment...but to me, the more interesting question is why she would care in the first place. Judging by her decision to write in all-caps, I assume she was hysterical, or perhaps utterly shitfaced, at the time she asked the question--the only two conditions a person could be in and actually be interested in what Wombat is up to. Still, I'm fascinated, so I've spent some time trying to imagine what could have gone so wrong in her life that she's wondering about Wombat's whereabouts, rather than thanking her lucky stars that he's not around. I'm guessing it's one of the following:

1) Her children are missing, along with every box of Fruit Loops and Count Chocula in her pantry.
2) There are mysterious puddles of urine in every room of her house.
3) She's a homicide investigator trying to explain the dead bodies that keep cropping up all over town.
4) He still hasn't returned the Barry Manilow albums he borrowed from her 3 years ago, and she's getting pissed.
5) She's writing a column about married men hiding their homosexuality from their wives, and needs people to interview.
6) She's a drug dealer trying to collect a debt.
7) Someone has been wearing her underwear and then putting them back in the dresser afterward--as evidenced by the sweat stains and traces of Fluffernutter all over them.
8) She borrowed his vibrator and wants to return it.

It may not be possible to unravel the mystery of why anyone would care where this derelict has disappeared to, so I'll give up on that for now, and answer Maven's question. Common Wombat used to blog on a fairly regular basis--much to the dismay of the decent, God-fearing internet public. His posts were not exactly works of sheer genius--in fact, he commonly searched for blog topics by peering into his own toilet. He was able to coast along this way for awhile--but eventually even he had to admit that there is nothing very compelling about repeatedly broadcasting the frequency and consistency of one's bowel movements. He probably spent some time trying to brainstorm other, non-fecal, topics to write about, but alas, trying to whip up something creative from of a "storm" in a brain that small is akin to trying to scrape up a satisfying meal using a Barbie Doll shoe full of grain, so eventually Wombat had to admit defeat. I think he learned a valuable lesson, though: That there is nothing whatsoever in his cavernous head except some seasonal phlegm and an unnatural quantity of ear wax.

So Wombat gave up on blogging, which gave way almost instantly to a 3000 percent increase in internet user satisfaction...but sadly, a corresponding 3000 percent decrease in his wife's marital satisfaction, since Sally used to treasure those few moments each day that Wombat was engrossed in blogging instead of following her from room to room in their home, describing in minute detail his morning bowel movement. Tensions in the home rose, and Sally threatened divorce. Knowing full well that he'd never find another (living) woman willing to cohabitate with him and his enormous collection of porcelain dolls, Wombat did the only thing he could think of to keep Sally around--he bought a life-size suit of armor and forced Sally into it, then welded it shut.

Now Sally spends her days standing at attention in the living room of Wombat's home, sobbing with humiliation as Wombat cheerfully hums to himself while dressing and undressing her suit of armor with a variety of different lingerie items and lacy thongs. The bloody scrapes across his cheeks that never heal are from his repeated expressions of love, as he lifts the little metal door that covers Sally's mouth and attempts to kiss her--it hurts him, but he doesn't mind. "Love hurts," he'll say philosophically, as he lovingly polishes his bride with Brasso, then turns her toward the television so they can watch Star Wars again, as they do each day. He's settled into a routine that he has found some comfort in--even if that same routine has made Sally wish she were dead.

So there you have it, Maven. I'm glad I could be here to answer your question, even if I don't quite understand your interest in it. Please let me know if there are any other ways I can be of service.

20 comments:

Jessica said...

Was he not the guy that took photo's of himself while taking a shit?

I wandered over there once and have never been the same.

TexasGal said...

if Sally could move her arm, maybe she could whack him with her huge ax thingie

OldHorsetailSnake said...

You are nuts.

Mighty Dyckerson said...

What, no shameless plug for yours truly this week? I've been blogging about my bowel movements for nearly TWO YEARS now.

Speaking of which, I unleashed my first triple-flusher of the season this morning. I wish I had my camera.

It's Me... Maven said...

:) Thanks so much for the 411, Karla.

Re:

1) Her children are missing, along with every box of Fruit Loops and Count Chocula in her pantry.

No such luck. Not a breeder at the moment.

2) There are mysterious puddles of urine in every room of her house.

Nope.

3) She's a homicide investigator trying to explain the dead bodies that keep cropping up all over town.

Close, but no!

4) He still hasn't returned the Barry Manilow albums he borrowed from her 3 years ago, and she's getting pissed.

They were Air Supply LPs, but no.

5) She's writing a column about married men hiding their homosexuality from their wives, and needs people to interview.

Close, but no!

6) She's a drug dealer trying to collect a debt.

One doesn't need a dealer for Metamucil, glycerin suppositories, and Preparation H, do they?

7) Someone has been wearing her underwear and then putting them back in the dresser afterward--as evidenced by the sweat stains and traces of Fluffernutter all over them.

Ah! So that's what those stains were? I thought it was just sticky splooge.

8) She borrowed his vibrator and wants to return it.

Actually his anal beads... which really aren't as much beads as much as they are baci balls attached with masonry cord...

The real answer, of course, isn't as glamorous as any of that. I was curious whether he was "done" or not, because every couple of months I "pare down" my sidepanel, and wanted to know if I should delete his blog from my sidepanel.

Mighty Dyckerson said...

Maven, the comments aren't supposed to be longer than the post.

It's Me... Maven said...

Touche, Dyckerson! Touche!

andy said...

Karla,

I always knew you could do better.

Also, that would make your friend the REAL 'Knight Rider', huh?

(that hurt me.)

miss kendra said...

i have been wondering about wombat myself, though one could ask the same questions about me and my whereabouts.

anonymouscoworker said...

I remember when I wrote a post about pooping my pants, and he sent me a link to a post of his about when he pooped his pants.

I'll miss that.

Spaceman Spiff said...

Maybe he "rode" the right bull and they've eloped to Mexico. I hear the internet isn't as easy to access there unless you've got satellite hook up.

tfg said...

Goddamn Blogger ate my previous comment.

Jenni said...

Wasn't this once an episode on Law and Order? Yes, I think it was...and Ray Liota was Wombat and Tracy Gold played Sally.

Creepy.

psquared said...

Dear Big Mama:

I find it curious that at the same time Common Wombat’s mysteriously large girth has vanished you have grown in size, or are “pregnant”. With your long history of cannibalism I am calling “Law and Order: Mattress Police” to see if you are really on bed rest.

Best,
p2

Legaleagle said...

And your post proves my theory that eventually it all comes back to poo.

Stacie said...

You're too much! Love it.
Stacie

Jessica said...

I clicked the link this time and saw him on the shitter. Which makes my first comment totally dumb.

I hate myself.

~Tim said...

Wow! Is there anything you don't know?

Malnurtured Snay said...

Wombat's fingers fell off after an unfortunate incident involving poo and bleach. He's been trying to find a keyboard that he can use his nose to type on ... but so far, no luck.

CommonWombat said...

Wombat is currently walking the earth in search of his true nature, sort of like that dude in "Kung Fu," except less with the helping people in need and more with the farting in crowded restaurants. He appreciates your concern and wishes to tell the 3 people that read his blog that he'll be back one day soon.

Please leave a message at the beep.