Ghost Writer

After my April Fool’s Day post, I received requests for a translated version (it was written in Japanese), based on the presumed hilarity of the content. Alas, while I’m capable of being hilarious in several languages, Japanese is decidedly not one of them. In fact, the only Japanese I actually know (besides how to do a Japanese Necktie) enables me to successfully negotiate a better price at the soopurando (google it). No, the post described me waking up early to do an honest day’s work, something that would never actually happen,  in a language I don’t actually speak, because if you’re gonna fool someone, and fool them good, you need  layers… but then what the hell would you know about it? You couldn’t fool your mother on the foolinest day of your life if you had an electrified foolin’ machine.

Anywho, over the past week, the Baron had a consort from out of town staying with him, let’s call her, say, Martina. Now, if you read my post ‘Mr. Saturday Night’, you know that I derive no small amount of amusement from the conversations I embark on with the cavalcade of dumb whores that parade through the Baron’s abode. I don’t, mind you, go out of my way to be caustic or mocking to any and all females, but when some spoiled, brainless twat whose afternoons are spent filing her nails on the couch while watching Jersey Shore and The Real Housewives Of… oh I don’t know… Sodom & Gomorrah, wants to talk to me about her favorite tv shows, I’m gonna chump her, mercilessly, and without regret. With Martina, however, I refrained, and barely spoke to her. Such was my reticence in Martina’s presence, that the Baron informed me that she had inquired why I was so rude as to “practically ignore” her. Here was my response:

“Man, I’m not trying to be rude, I’m trying to be considerate. If I spend any amount of time speaking to her, it’s gonna seem odd that I’m studiously staring off into the distance, glaring at the floor and such… which I have to, for if I peer directly at her, I’m afraid I won’t be able to control the look of revulsion on my face, which I will be hard pressed to explain. So rather than tell her that I find her repulsive, I believe I‘m being kind  by keeping our interaction, particularly any interaction between my eyes, and her face, to a minimum.”

“Dude, she is ugly isn’t she?”

“She’s hideous. You have got to consider selecting these chicks for something other than the size of their implants, man, look up once in a while.”

“Yeah, the other night I had to keep telling her to face the other way while I was fucking her.”

“Ugh, don’t tell me about that, you’re gonna make me nauseous. When’s she leaving?”

“Couple more days.”

“Bloody hell. Can’t go to the pool for fear of stumbling upon her repugnant visage. Don’t wanna drive the Ferrari cause every time I walk to the garage I’m afraid she’ll pop out of the house and I’ll catch a glimpse of her hauling that ghastly cranium of hers around. Forget about coming to the main house to do laundry, way too many turns between the front door and the laundry room, each providing a corner behind which she could be lurking with that appalling countenance…”

“Yes, I get it, she’s unattractive, and you have a big vocabulary. Speaking of which, can you help me spruce up this e-mail with a couple of big words?”

“Yeah, no problem.” It was an e-mail to a business partner, I ended up suggesting the inclusion of the words ‘prodigious’ and ‘untenable’. Here are the first two sentences of the response the Baron received:

-What’s with ‘untenable’ and ‘prodigious’, did you get Clint to write this for you? And that Martina chick is brutal btw, what were you thinking?