COP OUT of the day

The goal (since I have nothing more substantial to offer the web-perusing public) is to bring you "something" of the day and today's theme is - get ready for it... POST of the day.

HA! Bet you were expecting something earth-shattering like "Free Hug from the Author of this Lame-o Blog of the Day" but really, isn't the essence of a blog just a high-tech derivative of "Dear Diary, today I got a free ice cream cone at Ben & Jerry's Free Cone Day. It was Coconut 7-Layer Cake and oh so delicious..." (fact!) So I am only reaffirming that my blog REALLY has no focused goal and feigning a purpose under the facade of what every freaking blog is up to anyway. Perhaps as the days go on I'll find my purpose...

So, for today's POST:

Behold: The Skirt from Hell

Looks like a skirt, smells like a skirt, but it is in truth the handiwork of the small children down in H-E-double hockey sticks who worship the Devil and do his bidding, even if it means hunching over a sewing machine to construct a deceivingly feminine and not totally cheap looking skirt. I hope all you devil children pricked your fingers, like, 40459823 times and had to wear thimbles like a loser.

Standing perfectly still, it makes one look like a true female (because we all know there are fakes out there) ready for spring already! (damn you, New England), but once the legs start moving, the devil skirt transforms into none other than a diaper. I kid you not. The part that can get caught between one's legs does so and inches upward toward the crotchal area; the sides then billow out like those horribly unflattering bubble dresses; and walking to and from work becomes a constant battle with all sorts of forces of nature. The right hand (left arm was busy carrying lunch) becomes a permanent fixture near the crotch tugging/pulling/picking and what is usually a sixish-minute walk from Back Bay T station to work becomes a neverending walk of shame (but not that kind), with thoughts of "I am wearing a floral diaper... I am totally wearing a floral diaper and everyone knows it!" on repeat, scrolling on an LED panel in probably red - maybe even doing an assortment of dances: it scrolls for a bit, then flashes, then wiggles and worms, and explodes!

I suppose a saving grace was I didn't do much walking around at work today. Instead, I designed some postcards, got a supersweet quote from PsPrint to print them, ate a homemade salad (tough times), wished instead for Chilli Duck's drunken noodles but it was raining and I am making a pitiful effort to save cashmoney.

Which brings me to Ben & Jerry's Free Cone Day!

Because if anyone should be responsible for filling the joy void in this world, it should be those two stoners who love all that is creamy, sugary and - dare I say it? - DIVINE. (Who is it who strongly dislikes atttributing heavenly adjectives to foods?...........)

Is it just me or does Free Cone Day frequently come when it rains?

I'm telling you, there ain't nuttin' betta than walking to Back Bay T station from Ben & Jerry's on Newbury wearing a skirt made by the Devil's offspring (you know they are all bastard children) with a sugar cone just piled high with coconutty, bits-of-chocolatey, cookieey goodness -- with the best part being the at-times-spittle-at-times-clear-vomit-projection from the Heavens that insists upon melting your piled-high coconut concoction. All over the hands. AH! NO HANDS AVAILABLE TO TUG/PULL/PICK AT THE DEVIL SKIRT!

All I know is it was clear that God and Satan decided to be friends for the day. Today, I got picked. Who knows how often They team up like this and who makes the cut for targets? And yes, I might as well make ridiculous, egocentric suppositions as having the mightiest (I don't think I even believe in God but I hear He's pretty Almighty) think of me and only me for a day because this is a blog after all. This is my teeny percentage of Internet realty and you are only a guest. I think I can afford to be a little self-centered on my own land.