Dangerspouse Rides Again

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Garage - Track

Aug. 30, 2004 - 4:18 p.m.

You Can't Buy Love....Or CAN You?

Hey, looky looky:



You know what that is?

Yep, THAT is my lack of computer know-how showing.

It seems that one of you was kind, generous, and (dare I say it) intelligent enough to nominate li'l ol' me for "Best Humor Entry" over at Diarist.net !

Unfortunately, I myself am NOT intelligent enough to know how to embed the graphic they sent me - the one that's supposed to be inserted into my template in order to be considered for the Golden Diary. I may have just disqualified myself because I only have a public school education!

Well I may be stupid, but I'm not stupid. Of course, neither am I particularly motivated. I mean, I suppose I could crack open the "HTML For Developmentally Disabled Idiots" that NewWifey(tm) got me in a fit of frustration last year. (We were applying for a Home Equity loan with our bank, and they wanted a pic of collateral we were putting up. Somehow I managed to accidentally send a photo of her anal warts as an attachment in the e-mail instead. We did not get the loan.) But opening that book would require me to remove my non-typing hand from my beer. So I came up with a plan to help me get around having to make an effort.

To wit: the picture you see above. (Um, I hope you see it. My uploading skills are still somewhat suspect also.)

I figure that until I can get my neighbor's 7 year old over here (assuring them that I will not offer her any 'lollipops' this time) to teach me how, I'll just insert that photo into every goddam entry I do from now on, with a little URL link underneath. I hope that satisfies the bastards.

Er...make that "I hope that satisfies the eminently fair, honest, and startlingly handsome judges over at Diarist.net."

Yeah, that's what I meant.

So listen - go vote for me. I'll send you a dollar if you do.


I feel safe in making this offer, even though my income would make a Somalian Mud Farmer gasp in pity. I've read the other two entries, and Holy Shit! Even my dead mother, offered resurrection by the Big Ghost if she would just vote for me (they have wireless up there) could not in good conscience make the deal after reading the other two.

So no, I don't stand to lose any money here. Only face.

You know what's funny? Well, two things:

1. They got the name of my diary wrong! They used the sub-title in that little blue line at the very top, the one that says "One Man on the Bummel". I change that all the time! (That particular one refers to one of my favorite comedic novels, "Two Men on the Bummel" by Jerome K. Jerome). I suppose I should have just left it as "Dangerspouse Rides Again", but who in the world would have guessed I would ever be threatened with honors and accolades like this? Oh well, there are worse things to be known as.....

2. I have been reading ladeeleroy forever. I mean, seriously, she was the first ever Diaryland diary I ever came across, back in the 70's. She is STAGGERINGLY brilliant at writing. I never know if I should read her entries sometimes because my family has a history of aneurisms, and I've laughed so hard that I seriously worry about arterial blowout. Conversely, I've rarely been as moved to pathos as I have after reading her tortured outpourings before and after her kid brother's death. It is SO easy (and common) to write turgid, melodramatic stuff when even a plant dies. Which is why I don't do it. (And believe me, I've had plants keel over plenty of times.) But she. She! Well, just go back through her archives and take notes on how to Do It Right, that's all I'll say. To be lumped in with her as a Finalist is truly an "I'm not worthy!" moment.

I had never read the other Finalist ( Paper Napkin ) before, but DAMN! I can see why she's a finalist also. I mean, I normally recoil from any diary that mentions kids in anything other than a pedophilia fetish sense. But this lady is a hoot, and so are her spawn! (Although I can't vouch for their tastes. One passed up a chance at Gingered Lamb Shanks! You've got a budding Tom Arnold on your hands, lady.)

So there ya go. I'm honored, flattered, and...not gonna win in the face of that level of competition.

Damn, NewWifey(tm) is gonna be so disappointed. Winning makes me get it up.

And I've only won things twice since we've been married. (One of them was a PowerPuff Girls keychain I won at a Seaside Heights boardwalk vending machine - the kind with the little crane that drops into the bucket-o-swag and 97 times out of 98 comes up just giving you the finger. But it did the trick...as everybody who looked at my Speedo's immediately thereafter could tell.)

So help out a put-upon (or NOT put-upon, if you will) frustrated wife, willya? Really, not for me, but for her. She's suffered so much.

And hey - there's a shiny new dollar in it for ya! What kind of American can pass THAT up, huh?

I thought so.

If you need me, I'll be polishing up my Acceptance Speech....




In an effort to snow...er, to SHOW the judges over at Diarist.net that I was at least trying to abide by the rules, I sent them an e-mail explaining that I'm a Luddite who finds HTML about as comprehensible as Linear A, and could they please hold my hand and show me what buttons to push?

There must be a very stong maternal instinct mojo going on over there, because I recieved a prompt reply with a bunch of squiggles I'm supposed to insert into the "BODY" of my "template", whatever that means. Anyway, if I did this bit of alchemy correctly, you should see the little Diarist button thingy somewhere on this page (and I have no idea how to control WHERE it will end up. Just look around, the page isn't that big for cryin' out loud).

Ok, enough talk. Go vote. Remember, voting is not a right, it's an obligation.

And a quick buck.

See ya there!


ps. Where was I *this* time? Vacation, of course! Yes, again. Sorry. I have all this time built up from other years when I took none. This year I've dusted off the T-back and I'm giving it a workout, baby.

pps. I had another entry half-written about showing up for work last night half-drunk and angry at a boob. (Coworker, not breast. This time.) But then I saw my Finalist's Notification plunk down in my In-Box, and just had to spread the good news. And hopefully some dollars. I'll finish the other entry in a few days - I'm gonna let this shameless plug / plea for votes sit and ferment here until it's good and stinky. I knew you'd understand.

ppps. That's ONE DOLLAR. American. In cash.

Hurry, supplies are limited.


SHIT!! The stupid button isn't showing up! Just one of those empty boxes with the red 'x' in the center. I HATE THAT RED X! Shit. Oh well, go vote for me anyway. Screw the dollar, just do it out of pity for an imbecile. (Oh don't worry, you'll still get the dollar. Sheesh.)

Anyone know a 7 year old...?

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