Intercepted Valentine Hallway Discussion

As I headed to the litle disabled-folks-operated store in the headquarters of a major US government agency, I fell into step behind two young hotties, typical of the new type of employee there, very young, over-promoted and overpaid, sadly underqualified for the senior duties many of them have assumed, and very arrogant about who they are and where they are and what they do, or are convinced they do. I was about two paces behind 24-something Blonde Hottie, and 26-something Redhead Hottie, both in their too-tight black pants, identical black high heels, and too-tight tops. They had their requisite morning coffees, and were headed back to their cubes to protect the world from all threats, foreign and domestic.

And Blonde Hottie asked: So, how's you Valentine's Day going?

Redhead Hottie: Pretty good so far. I mean, I was up at six this morning, with Justin doing me up the butt.

BH: Really, you let Justin do that?

RH: Sure, you know, it's Valentine's Day n' all, n' he likes it so much.

BH: So . . . and . . .?

RH: It wasn't too bad. I wasn't too into it this morning, since it was so cold, but sometimes if I'm really drunk I really enjoy it.

BH: But doesn't it hurt?

RH: Only a little, at first, and not if you go nice and slow. Justin taught me that . . .

At that point my corridor junction appeared, and I peeled right, leaving the two to openly and freely discuss their anal and other sexual activities as they returned from morning coffee.

Not a bad way to start a cold winter morning.

Dumbass Ubiquity

They're out there, everywhere, and there are more of them than there are of us. These are the fools with some education, with a mere modicum formal instruction in anything, which to their tiny minds makes them absolute authorities on all subjects, all topics. And when they open their mouths, the good stuff comes streaming out:

I was listening to the radio the other day, and some dumbass stoned-on-Jesus Christian femme was talking about Baby Jesus this and Baby Jesus that, and then she told all about how he, when he was born, was wrapped in "swabbling clothes." Yeah, you heard that right, folks, and that's when I turned up the radio. And she just kept on saying it, over and over, every time she could work it into the mix. She was fascinated with fun yet highly respectful and traditional word for the kind of fashion accoutrement that Baby Jesus had sported there in the manger. You could tell she just loved the way the sounds, the syllables just trickled from her bubbling Christian lips, like delicate drops of a mountain stream. Ah, the mellifluous sounds of mangled speech. Yeah, right, you moh-ron. Just what in the hell is "swabbling?" It sounds like a Welsh road game, played with crooked sticks and balls made of carp bladders and the scrotum of a wild mountain goat. It sounds like a detestable sexual practice that would find its way into a Bob Saget rendition of the "Aristocrats" joke. I mean, really.

I saw the doctor the other morning for this crippling head cold. She was petite and polite, very professional and thorough, consequently not very sexy, not even in the repressed-professional-naughty-doctor kind of way. And as we finished up she admonished me to drink lots of clear fluids in order to keep myself properly "humidified." What, I need to increase my personal humidity? Four years as an undergrad, another six in med schhool, and countless years of residency, and she's telling people that proper humidity is a healthy body state? And she doesn't know what she's saying is flat-out wrong. Sheesh.

Heard some yutz of a ski racer muddle his thoughts and his words this morning. Having won one of the Olympic races, he was trying to be gracious, and he figgered that he'd use some of that there expanded vocabulary to convey his deepest feelings of emotion and respect and all that crap. Talking about the serendipitously successful and of late dud Bode Miller, who essentially flopped out of the competition, Skier Dude said something to the effect of, "Yeah, like, and if he hadn't missed that gate, there was no way I could have surmounted him." Whoa, that sounds naughty, actually. Although it's not, it's just plain stupid, yet another idiot acting irresponsibly with vocabulary with which he isn't familiar. Dude, you're a skier, a freeking snow-hippie, so stick to terms like "shred" and "drop in," "couloir," and other single-syllable utterings to keep your mind on track with your mouth, and vice versa.