Don't Read This

Rambling...that's my middle name. I would change it, but I don't like change...unless it's jingley change. That I like. That and donuts. But not the "fat-free" kind. Those are yucky. What was I saying?

11/18/09 2:36 PM

BigFoot Stole My Carbon Footprint!

So, my boss at work calls me into her office the other day. I was in my office doing important things like…okay, I was doing a crossword puzzle, but she gave it to me and that's the truth. Not an inconvenient truth…but I'm getting ahead of myself.

So, she calls me into her office and she says, "You suck at life, fill out this form and then afterwards I'm going to kill you." No, she didn't say that. Well, yeah, she did, but still, that's not the point of this entry.

She asked, "When are you going to start reducing your carbon footprint?"

And that's the point, you see, because I am not going to reduce my carbon footprint. I'm going to *increase* my carbon foot print, that way people will know I was here. How else can you know? You're welcome.

The best way to increase your carbon footprint is to shop at Foot Locker. Don't you just love their cute little checkerboard shirts? They look just like coaches in the NFL, except I doubt any NFL coaches wear pink lipstick and sport beehive hairdos like that lady did at the store where I went. She was really nice though and let me blow that big whistle around her neck. Actually, she didn't, it was a huge gold locket with pictures of her grandkids inside, but how could I know that? It was in my mouth. See? You understand.

Anyway, I told her I wanted to increase my carbon footprint and asked where they stocked their carbon dock martins. She just laughed and laughed and laughed. She thought I was so funny. No, she didn't, she actually called mall security, but I did buy a shoe horn while I was there. It was an acoustic shoe horn, but it wasn't tuned, though. After that, security dragged me out kicking and screaming. Okay, they didn't drag me out, but I was still kicking and screaming. I think I need more fiber in my diet.

About the Author
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I was born in Rangoon and was raised by a one-legged goat-herder who suffered from halitosis, crunchy hair, and a cough due to cold. One day while I was out helping my goat-herding legal guardian collect a couple of stray goats who were bleating and eating our neighbor's poppies (they weren't really poppies...they were carrots, but he tried to fool us so we wouldn't eat his "upside down flowers"), I happened upon a book written by Mark Tween (yes, I know it sounds the same as that other guy, but trust wasn't him) and instantly fell in love with book binding. It was beautiful.

Later when I was in high school (okay, prison, but they did teach us things), I decided I wanted to become an amateur milk I went to finishing school (where I learned to finish the folk tales I used to spin but never finish when I was a kid and an old plate of beets I refused to eat when I was eight because they reminded me of my Aunt Edna's blood boils)...and the rest, as they say, is history. Well, not the kind you'd read in a book...unless you happen to be writing a book about me, which would be pretty unlikely...unless you're my mother and someone raised you from the dead. She's not actually dead, but that's what she always screams at my brother. "You make me so mad, I wish I was DEAD!"

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