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The One Thing I Hate About People Who Don’t Speak English

Hot damn, was I on fire today. A raunchy one-liner here, an edgy anecdote there, a hilarious observation about someone on the street (I totally burned some broad wearing a purple faux-velvet bodysuit) — I pitched the proverbial “perfect game.” It was ricockulous. I literally didn’t say one stupid thing.

This other-wordly performance came at a savagely ironic cost: it fell on Spanish ears. The only person blessed enough to be within earshot of me didn’t understand one word I said. We were just ridin’ around in the work truck all day, and he had no clue what was unfolding before him, the beauty of it. He was just over there starin’ at me like I was speaking Chinese. What if only the blind were allowed in art museums? What if only the deaf were allowed to experience music? It’s like I travelled back in time to the mid-’90’s, made love all over Elizabeth Hurley, then set off a chain of events that led to me erasing my own existence before I could come back to the present and tell all my friends.

And that is the one thing I hate about people who don’t speak English. They’re missing out on all the amazing things I have to say.

Blong. Here is the Robert Goulet All-Holiday special.

The Thursday Tease

As I was sitting in a snobby Minneapolis coffee shop, wearing a turtleneck, sipping a 6$ expresso, and working on my new novel on an Apple laptop (it’s a tale of lies, deceit, and international intrigue: an erotic thriller if you will), all while talking on my cell phone about stock options and mutual funds, I came across this movie trailer. It might be good, or maybe not. That’s literally all I have today. I’ve got some stuff cooking for the Friday Fun Facts tomorrow.

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