Linka In Lebanon
Dear Linka Mcphearson,
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spaceWord around the cesspool we call our break room here at Marrison Resort and Indian Gaming Center is that you have moved up in the world. I remembered when you first got here starting out as a lowly cocktail waitress throughout the slot machine floor. Old men ogling you with boxed wine goggles and the gag reflex provoking scent of 85 different type of cigarettes smoke meshing together to form a cloud resembling London’s fog on a bad day, a very bad day. Thank god I worked in accounting!
spaceThe only man there was Billup the security monitor manager and the only thing he ogled was in inside of his eyelids. I will say that the stench from his Walgreens Brand Musky scent aftershave was foul, but I had cash to smell and juniper breeze hand lotion to cover it up.
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space Hey do you remember that time I bought Billup that Designer Imposters unisex cologne for the Christmas party at Samson Ranch and Grill? Or how He insisted on giving it to Ted, the district manager because, and I quote, “He really needs it! He smells like bluegrass plain” Like Billup can talk he smelled like a moldy sweaty yak. This all-taking place after Billup tried to drink from the fountain and licked his own armpit because I challenged his pride Ha! What pride? Your name is Billup, that alone reeks of the hillbilly-est of hillbillies and the trashiest of white trash. The only pride Billup has is in the confederacy, his shotgun, his pick-up, and moonshine! That guy was a riot and so easy to criticize, I didn’t even have to try. He was his own joke. Ya know, come to think of it Billup left three days after I met you.
spaceI remember it like June ‘79’ (the year I lost my virginity to a Jamaican body builder whilst I was visiting my grandparents for summer break before I went off to Westfield Junior College.) I was walking to go reprimand Jonas the bartender for not reminding me to give him that twenty-dollar bill he stole and kept replacing from the cashiers drawer and then it happened. You practically ran into me, I practically called you a festering ass wart, you practically cried, and your shirt was practically ruined and stained with assorted beverages and your own personal guilt. Lucky for you, you didn’t run into a customer there would have been your head! And then you wouldn’t be where you are today the head of the Lebanese humane society. I didn’t even know the Lebanese were human!
spaceSo, I guess we could safely say I caused your eventual title and fortune. I think I’m entitled to either some money, (ha Ha I can see the look of contempt you have for me.) Or some free advice. Don’t worry I’ll settle for the latter…for now.
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spaceOk, so here it goes. Recently I rented a cat. (Wait! You do deal with animals in Lebanon right? Well, if not, forward this to America for me.) Anyway, so I rented a cat because I had a hot date this past Saturday and I lied to him in one of our online chats, mentioning nonchalantly that I had one. I realized this lie a day prior to our meeting when I was reviewing all of our previous conversation, which I had intelligently saved just for occasions like this.
spaceUpon my discovery I frantically call fat Shannon, You know Shannon, from the blackjack tables? The table right next to the statue of the cactus that looked very phallic? Well, I called her because I remembered how she always seemed to be a future cat lady to me. So I called and asked to borrow a cat and she charged me eighty-five dollars. She called it an insurance fee. I call it pride protection money. Anyway so I picked up he cat.
spaceLinka the thing had no hair! Oh, well, excuse me I exaggerate. It had no more than 18 hairs! I fed the poor and disgusting thing and let it hole up under the recliner.
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spaceSaturday comes and the evening starts. My date and I met at la forge and he was such a dud, fat, pink, and whiny just like a pig, which was how he ate. I had to pay because he “forgot” his wallet. Then we went back to my house because a little under the table footwork proved him to be hung. And since I paid like a man he could be the Ho. So we have a nightcap, me, a Cosmo, him a six-pack of bud light that he had stored in his car. Linka you know I only drink steel reserve. By the way, his name was Dan.
spaceDan, the lazy ass, plops down on my recliner and the cat squeals loudly. He practically jumps out of his skin. I practically faint, the cat practically dies and it wasn’t practical. Dan then sat on the couch while I tried to find the cat. Just as I spot it, the cat runs off and I notice that it is limping. Much to my astonishment under the recliner is this piece of flesh. I reached for it, pulled it out, and realized it was an ear! A Cat ear! I practically died. Dan screams, then cries, then leaves calling me sick and morbid. Me? I’m not the one who ate two t-bone steaks dinners with a slice of apple pie alamode with mountains of guacamole on the side. He practically drank the steak sauce.
spaceSo he left and I chase the cat for practically an hour. Finally I caught it and drove straight to lard ass Shannon’s dump and demanded my money back. She refused and states I starved her cat. Is she blind? Can she not see! She is damn near 450 pounds. Everyone, the judge, jury, president, and even Lebanese humane society can all see that her elephant like figure and appetite caused a personal famine for that poor cat. But to make a long story short I called her names. She ran inside her house and cried in to a bucket of Neapolitan ice cream no doubt. And then I got home and wrote you.
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spaceSee the advice I need is what I should do? She is taking me to court. Can cats get leprosy? And can she really sue me and win? Can I be blamed for the 3 out of 18 hairs that fell off the cat due to my chasing the cat around? That is all I have to say about the preposterous issue. Her suit is unjustified. I’m an animal lover. I have fish!
spaceAnyway it was nice to talk to someone who understands my insanity and I hope you respond quickly.
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With Ridiculous Abandon,
With Ridiculous Abandon,
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Mary Christensen
Mary Christensen
Copyright 2004 Maiku
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