Saturday, September 19, 2015

Happy Birthday M. Bouffant! I Took a Disgusting Survey For You!

Sorry for the ghostly silence around here. My blown-out disc has been getting progressively worse, to the point where I'm now grinding my teeth even while awake, and completely lack the patience necessary to play the Wingnut Game (even the Special Ann Coulter Edition with its fun mini games like "Guess the Number of  F---ing Jews in This Jar and Win a Prussian Blue CD!").  But today I'm just going to suck down the granulated tooth enamel and pretend it's the contents of a Pixie Stick, because this is the natal anniversary of our old friend, the entertainingly caustic and refreshingly radical M. Bouffant.  So let's unite, and party for Ten Days That Shook the World!

I remember the first time I read M.'s blog, Web of Evil (then called Just Another Blog From L.A.); I was immediately taken by its proprietary tone of smart, world weary vitriol, and utterly flabbergasted that its author was homeless and composing these thoughtful dispatches from the public library. Happily, M. is ensconced in his own bat cave now, but I try to remember his example whenever I notice I've let a week go by without writing a post because my back hurts, boo hoo.

Speaking of which, the handmaiden of lumbar-specific suffering is insomnia, and one of the things I do in the middle of the night when I should be blogging is sit in my recliner and fill out online surveys. This usually produces one of two results: either a series of brief, boredom-induced naps, or a gift card to Pizza Hut.

Most of the subjects are so intensely dull and oft repeated (car insurance, sports talk radio) that when a new topic is introduced I've actually heard myself exclaim, with genuine enthusiasm, "Ooh! Pet food survey!"  Unfortunately, since Google knows where I live, the survey senders can tell I'm an American, and therefore naturally assume that I'm horribly unhealthy; so a lot of these surveys have to do with what a mess my body is and how fast it's falling apart, and just how many of my friends and family are also quickly liquifying like the Nazis at the end of Raiders.

Now I don't mean to imply anything here, merely that I know M. is one of our senior Crappers, and is presumably also subject to the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to. So let's do one of these surveys together, shall we? And perhaps by pooling our efforts, we can earn enough to get one of those pizzas with the hot dog stuffed crust.



What sort of weekly care could I possibly be giving to someone with impotence? Am I supposed to play a pungi and charm his crotch cobra out of his basket?  I thought this caregiver business would involve holding the hand of a delicate ingenue as she languishes from a vague but photogenic disease.

No. Just...No.

Okay, this one actually makes sense, except here I'm much more likely to receive care than give it.

It's never Lupus.

I don't think the same person who cares for Irritable Bowel Syndrome should have to care for Overactive Bladder. At least not on the same day. We need to share the wealth here.

I finally decide to volunteer at the hospice, and this is the shift I draw.


Actually, I have been spending a lot of time lately injecting arsenic and mercury into the urethras of sailors, but it's really more recreational.

I'm afraid I'm not selfless enough to minister to the victims of a communicable and potentially fatal disease -- because I don't want Chris Christie to make me live in a tent -- but I'm not a complete monster, so I'll meet you halfway and agree to watch Camille.

Would I give care for this condition? Depends.

M. asked me to go easy on him this year, by which I assume he means "don't post pictures of disgusting food and then yammer on about it for five paragraphs." Fair enough. So let's skip the entree and head straight to the Dessert Buffet. Today's pastry selection comes to us courtesy of the October Revolution and Bolshevik Betty Crocker:

While our cheesecake comes courtesy of blacklisted activist Lena Horne:

And just to seal the deal, a pensive rhinoceros iguana will serve as our traditional...
Sexy Birthday Lizard!

Please join me in wishing M. Bouffant a very happy birthday. And feel free to supply your own survey answers below -- I'm confident there'll be plenty of hot dog stuffed pizza crust left over.


Smut Clyde said...

I assume that MB has Irritable Bowel Syndrome simply because if he didn't, it would be the one organ in his body that is out-of-step with the rest of him.

Smut Clyde said...

On the topic of Shingles, my second bout involved the scrotum. Subscribe to my newsletter if you want further details of the pustulation and weeping.

maryclev said...

Happy Birthday, MB! I'm hoping this will serve you as your BM for the day! (Birthday Message, that is...not the other thing. Although I hope you have one of those, too, since it means you're healthy know what? I'm gonna stop talking now. And typing. Anyway, happiest of happies to you!)

ifthethunderdontgetya™³²®© said...

Hang in there, Scott.

And Happy B-Day to M.B.!

M. Bouffant said...

How apropos, I have many of those afflictions; I ain't telling which ones 'though. Not, however, shingles. Just a little heat rash lately.

Mmmm, Commie cake & "Stormy Weather"!!!

And thanks again to Scott for more great blurbs. ("Caustic". I like!) Don't s'pose it does any good, but my birfday wish is for your aching (or worse) back to improve. Sheesh!

Later tonight two of my birthday friends, Twiggy & Joan Lunden, & I are getting together for a birthday three-way. Three-way nap, that is! And w/ that & a rimshot, I'm outta here! Thanks, all!!

Bill S said...

Have a Super-Splediforous birthday, M.!
It's also Talk Like A Pirate Day, and the birthday of Rex Smith, who played Frederic in a film version of "The Pirates of Penzance".

Weird Dave said...

I would ask if ya killed your boss yet but I know you took care of that years ago.

Happy B'day ya old punk rocker.

Li'l Innocent said...

Nothing compared to Slumberin' with Lunden, I know, and nowhere near the ballpark of either Lena or that swell iguana, but when you resurface from your group activity (and Twiggy is super-looking these days, in case anyone's interested) I hope you'll accept my sincerest birthday wishes - but you can only have them if you'll reveal what the M. stands for. I instinctively read it as Monsieur, but I'm pretty sure that's not right.

Is that cake really a Betty Crocker recipe? Does that make her a Fifth Culinist?

I hope you are much improved soon, Scott.

Doc Logan said...

Am I supposed to play a pungi and charm his crotch cobra out of his basket?

Surely I can't be the only one who hears the snake-charmer music from "Rabbit of Seville" in my head when I read this?

Happy birthday, M.B.!

grouchomarxist said...

I envision M. Bouffant as an elegant rake, lean and saturnine, whose rapier wit is as admired in the fashionable salons of Paris as his dazzling swordplay on the field of honor. (Warning: Reading too much Rafael Sabatini can be detrimental to your writing style.) Or possibly a major fan of the B-52s. Either would be pretty cool.

Belated birthday best wishes, Monsieur!

I like "pensive rhinoceros iguana"; it sounds positively Dadaist.

Unknown said...

SBL : I know rhinoceroses, rhinoceroses are my friends and you, sir, are no rhinoceros. Phoney.
That apart, I hope you had a perfectly lovely day, M.
And that a fantabulous year awaits you.

Dr.BDH said...

Happy Birthday, M!

As a medical practitioner, I admit to caring for persons with each and every one of these afflictions over the past four decades.

Now aren't you glad you decided to toss that acceptance letter from Harvard Medical School and take up the carefree life of the freelance skeptic?