Blondie and I went to hear David Sedaris on Saturday night. It was a gift from Beloved, who really knows how to bake my favorite pie.
Welcome to my head.
Oh, funny. It's a story about a mother stork telling her baby where stork babies come from. Funny. I like it.
But he's not really explaining the joke behind the stork thing. Because sure, I'm like his target audience, right? But kids today? They don't know about the stork. Can you imagine a modern mother sitting down her child, gently setting aside her coloring book of anatomically correct female genitalia and telling her a fucking stork brought babies?
This story is going to totally fall flat for anyone under the age of 18.
Maybe he's not worried about them. He'll have like six more books out by then, which they'll read by downloading it directly into their brainz from the computer chip embedded in their skulls.
That stork story was pretty dark.
Now, dogs. I'm starting to notice the wicked and totally unfair genius of David Sedaris is that he can pull off stories with absolutely no plot that barely hang together in a logical sequence of events. If I tried this shit, I'd have been kicked out of my program for hubris.
But ohmygod my stomach hurts from laughing so hard.
Airports, huh? Adolf Hitler was paged in an airport? That wouldn't surprise me. God lives in the hall, and Satan lives at gate A33.
I really hate airports. I kind of want to cry in airports, especially when I'm alone, because I just know I'm going to get trapped there for eight hours in uncomfortable shoes, which I wear precisely because I don't want to become that guy in the $8 FREAKY MOTHAFOCKA t-shirt Sedaris is talking about. I do have some modicum of pride, even though my neighbor constantly asks if my co-workers have secret cameras and they can see what I look like during the day, because sweet Jesus, I look like hell until 2 p.m.
Yeah, hate airports. I don't even know if I can listen to this story. It's bringing up bad memories.
I need a drink.
And now he's reading his diary. Wouldn't it be great if people would read my diary? I have no idea why they would want to do that, though.
Um, oh, hi.
As you were.