Dear Trent Reznor,

What happened to the days when you wanted to fuck me like an animal? You’ve certainly come a long way since then, but let’s be honest, it has been a stumbling path to mind-numbing boredom. I think I liked you better when you were heroin-chic. Let’s take your latest song “Capital G” by way of example. The very same song that the burned-out DJ at myNightclub™ has taken to slipping in amongst the alternative 80s dance tunes and current hits. The song in which you declare quite affirmatively that you are pushing the button in. Now, granted, the first couple of times you speak-sing that line, my dirty little one-track mind has no problem with assuming a sexual euphemism. No problem at all as I grind my kurvacious hips on the dance floor and jiggle my T&A to entertain the voyeurs. But, frankly, by the 75th repetition of “I push the button in” all I can think of is waiting for the lift in my office building to arrive while punching the HURRYUPALREADY button repeatedly in order to summon the particular demon who makes these things happen. Deal with the devil indeed.

Dear Sneaky Smokers,

Why do you insist on furtively lighting-up inside myNightclub™ when your filthy little habit has recently been lawfully banned? Have you thought for even a moment that the club’s owners could be penalised on your behalf? What do you suppose would be the impact on the employees who rely on your crappy tips to provide an income with which to support their children? As you stand there in your otherwise attractive little dress and fuck-me-sandals, do you honestly think to yourself “I know what will put me over the edge from cute to gorgeous … a cigarette!!”? Take it from me, you do not look cool, you look like what you are: an arsehole. Oh, and by the way, if you come within a foot of me with your cancer-stick, there is a good possibility that I will politely place my hand on your wrist in an iron-clad grip and squeeze just hard enough to make your fingers spasm and release their prize. Should I ever get burned by a cigarette again, there is also a good chance that I will accidentally practice that choke-hold I have perfected from watching too much UFC.

Dear Blue-Haired Girl,

I LOVE your hair! Yes, that’s right, I said “love”! Unlike when you bounced up to me in the bar at myNightclub™ and breathlessly declared: “I HATE you because you always look so hot and you have all those awesome outfits and the way you DANCE!!!” I hope that my gentle hug and even gentler admonition to substitute “love” or “like” or “adore” for “hate” has settled firmly in your pretty little head. We do not need yet another Opposite Word trend starting. Granted, I can be both “hot” and “cool” but I am not “nasty” or “bad” . . . well, depending on the circumstances. While we are on the subject, personally, I prefer to be fucked in the good way and not the bad way, and by “bad” I mean “bad”.

Carry on.

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This entry was posted on Monday, October 8th, 2007 at 12:47 pm and is filed under Humour. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.