You, like pretty much everyone in my life, may occasionally find yourself wondering, "Does Karla have even one redeeming quality?" I've heard it before, believe me--that I'm insensitive, vulgar, inappropriate, and likely to take huge swigs out of your drink when your back is turned--but isn't there a good quality or two that makes up in some small way for the fourteen thousand bad ones?
The answer is yes. I am an excellent gift-giver. Common Wombat is one of those people who is hard to buy for--not because he has everything--on the contrary, he has nothing, and there's a reason for that. He deserves nothing. But I, being the gift-giving overachiever that I am, strive to make him feel important in spite of his glaringly obvious unimportance, by giving him unique and heart-warming gifts. The first gift that I gave him, I suppose, is the affectionate nickname Fuckhead Weasel Nuts. But I've also given him some tangible, and quite priceless, gifts that I will discuss here.
Exhibit A: The Acrylic Stand-Up Photo
For Wombat's birthday last year, I sent off to have an acrylic stand-up photo of him made. I tried to find a good picture of him, but that's like finding a picture of Britney with panties on. So I used this shot I took of him on one of his visits to Texas. I believe at the time the picture was snapped, he was screaming "I'm an American! I have rights!" as five burly policemen subdued and cuffed him and spent about 45 minutes trying to force him into a squad car--a job made difficult by the thick coating of cooking oil he was covered in from head to toe. To commemorate that event, I had this little photo statue made of him. I figured he could put it on top of the cardboard box he lives in, to make the place more homey. And yes, his birthday is September 11, just one more reason that day will always be remembered with sadness.
Exhibit B: The Christmas Ornament
If you read my blog regularly, you've learned a lot about Wombat--that he's mentally challenged, socially backward, covered in a thick, coarse layer of body hair--but what you may not know about him is that he's a Christmas nerd. Not just because he works for Santa himself, designing and installing Christmas displays in malls across the U.S. each year, but mostly because he really, really loves Christmas--in a sappy "chick" way. You'd think someone who works in the Christmas industry would get tired of it, but not Wombat. He loves--really loves--Christmas music, and has a collection of the vile stuff, by every has-been artist imaginable. And he decorates his house each year like the North Pole. I know what you're thinking--that he probably does this not because he is so possessed by the spirit of the season, but in an effort to lure children in so he can commit unspeakable crimes upon them--and you're surely right. But in addition to his love of defiling children, he really does seem to dig Christmas. Case in point: He collects Christmas tree ornaments. But he takes it one step further than the average little old lady who shares this hobby. He tries hard to find Christmas ornaments that remind him of people he cares about. For instance, if he has a friend who is an avid fisherman, he might buy a Christmas tree ornament of a fish wearing a Santa hat. When he told me he was going to try to find an ornament that reminded him of me, my mind reeled. A teeny bottle of Cuervo? A pair of crotchless panties? But he was going for something more mundane--a small replica of the state of Texas, for instance. I told him to relax, I'd find something more personal. So I took the most hideous photo of me I could, and I made it into an ornament. It's obvious to anyone looking at this ornament that I was actually thinking of Wombat when the picture was snapped, which makes it that much more personal.
Exhibit C: Personalized Candy
The idea for this one came to me when I saw a commercial advertising personalized M&Ms. On the commercial, they brag that you can buy a bag of M&Ms that say "Trevor" or even "Trevor Forever," as if that's interesting or cool in some way. I had in mind lots of things I could say to Wombat on personalized candy, but a quick trip to the company's website killed every idea I had, with their clear instruction, "No profanity allowed." Puritanical asswipes. So I bought a couple of bags of Hershey's Kisses and made stickers myself to personalize each and every one. They said things like "Eat shit," "I hate you," "Die, Weasel Nuts," Friendship OVER," and "Stay out of Texas." Even just remembering the raw emotion I was overcome with as I labored over this loving gift brings tears to my eyes. Only after I finished this task did it occur to me that a bag of chocolate candies might not survive shipment from Texas to Baltimore without melting into a soggy mess of darkness not unlike Wombat's own heart, but it was too late to go back, so I sent it Priority Overnight via FedEx and hoped for the best. And by "hoped for the best," I mean that I hoped the FedEx truck might accidentally run Wombat over as he stumbled out of his house to meet it.
So as you can see, I do have my good points, or one, at least: I am an exceptional gift-giver. I suggest each of you start sucking up to me right now, that you may reap the benefits of my generous heart when your birthday rolls around.
You already missed mine.
....but what has he done for YOU?
ACW: Yeah, but I couldn't have sent you anything. You're ANONYMOUS. But I like you like that.
Soapbox Superstar: Great question. So far he has done a few things for me, none of them good. He has made me wish I were dead, he has given me a deep aversion to Baltimore and all its inhabitants, he has taught me never to trust anyone you meet in Blogland, and he has caused me to have to re-carpet and re-upholster my entire house after his last visit. Some stains just don't come out. He taught me that, too.
YOU CRAZY BABBLER!!! It is quite clear to everyone how infatuated you are with the Dingbat.
Meanwhile, there's a rumor going around that you're pregnant again. Could Dingbat be the father??
You are truly a goddess of gift-giving.
Dyck: No and no. Meaning, no, I'm not pregnant again--in fact, my hoo-ha has seen its last infant. And no, Wombat couldn't be the father. He'd need male genitalia for that.
There are a few blogs that I read, authored by women such as yourself, that really make reading a great day.
You're priceless ... especially on 2/15
my birthday is a well kept secret from the 'make my own everything' moms i hang out with...
it's january 30th. get to work!
Pssst, testosterone pills are for men KB; read the label man.
You're kinda like the little girl in 5th grade that shows affection to the boy of her dreams by kicking him in the shins with wooden clogs. I think you love the wombat....scary thought. Makes me wonder what you do for/to the people you don't like. Either way, it makes for great reading.
I was just sitting here in a pregnant funk thinking about how I HATE everybody's relationships with each other and people are so fake and needy, THEN I SAW THIS.
THANK YOU. You have restored my faith in humanity.
See, those Hershey's kisses are the best damn thing I've seen all YEAR. I am laughing so hard right now. What is beautiful is that you didn't resort to simple profanity, but heartfelt slogans, such as DIE and Stay out of Texas, and things that are really meaningful to both of you.
Wait, I have an idea. Can we have a gingerbread-house-making contest in honor of CW this year? It just seems like the right thing to do.
Hey, I tried sucking up to you, but you gave me goatee crabs.
I'd like to have an ornament that reminds me of you, but is it possible to make one from a petri dish of syphilis? Wouldn't the CDC have to intervene?
Holy crap. I'm not even funny enough to comment on your blog....I found you through Say Anything's blog roll. Well worth the trip over.
Jenny: Don't be silly. I'm sure you're WAY funnier than most of my commenters.
I believe those are not "Hershey's Kisses" as indicated, but instead are actually "Hershey's Hugs". Has all that progesterone flooded your brain causing you to confuse your chocolate gestures?
For my bday, make sure they're kisses. The ones with the almonds inside. Better hurry.
I'm so glad I stumbled across you're blog you're a female version of me that can actually write. I may have a weird non-sexual internet crush on you now.
SURE it's non-sexual...(please).
Um I have terrible heart-wrenching story about how TEXAS stole my birthday if you're at all interested sometime. And I cyber-bought your new kid a book so I've actually gone from sucking up to full-blown "move-over-uvula-here-comes-Karla's-ass" action with like no results. Except maybe it got Dyck all riled which was nice...
but back to me and my special day...I don't have one. I blame texas. Now I blame you for loving Texas.
no really it's non sexual in the most perverted kind of way....
I did put you on my blogroll, that's gotta count for something. Although, I'm not sure that is a good thing. ;)
When I need a little lift and a lotta laugh I check in on your blog.
Great post. I was stifling a lot of laughter here in the office. Then you brought up Wombat's genitals in your comments. I hate you now.
I notice the baby isn't mentioned...which give me pause. Where's the baby?
(I think you're wonderful despite the vein of pure insanity which give you a lovely gleam to your eyes)
Also, I may just use your stickers and kisses ideas to express my feelings over my sister-in-law's upcoming wedding.
Karla failed to mention that the greatest gift the ever gave me was herpes.
I was going to say it's like a gift every time she swears she's never talking to me again, but seeing as how she never sticks to that resolution, it's less like a gift and more like a painful tease.
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