Shut your pie hole
I have this half-finished entry sitting in another window of my text editor. I'd planned to tell you all about the lovely, yet still somewhat hush-hush, project I'm working on for dragon*con. It was pretty prose, prettily arranged. I might even use it, in another form, on another day.
However, I must interrupt this momentary rhapsodization to remind my five members of the listening public of this glaringly obvious fact: IM trollers, if I cared, would really, really annoy me.
|Session Start (Yahoo! - domesticat01:clver12c): Tue Aug 19 17:38:59 2003|
|*** Auto-response sent to clver12c: Doing house stuff. I need a clone. Until I get one, I'm the only one available to do this stuff.
** This has been a recording **
|clver12c:||Love to chat if you are interested....|
|me:||Thanks, but not interested.|
|clver12c:||you do not even know yet....|
|me:||Unless you are a) part of the team that is helping me with my current project for dragon*con or b) someone I already know, no means no.|
|clver12c:||I am the keeper of the key, but your rudeness is changing my heart... Perhaps the answer will now come another way.|
|me:||I said no. Twice. Meant it both times. Move along.|
|clver12c:||Then shut your pie hole and quite responding to me.|
|me:||Thanks! You'll be on domesticat.net in about half an hour.|
"Shut your pie hole"?
I say again, "Shut your pie hole"?
Marvel at this, my fellow pie-holers. This insipid insult is the best that an American public-school education can create? How about even a shred of originality? Creativity? I'm not insulted by the fact that this guy felt the need to tell me to shut my pie hole as much as I was his lack of creativity in doing so.
I mean, the least he could've done is work in the word "festering." 'Festering' is a great word to include as part of a complete, spontaneously-created insult. It implies injury, rot, and neglect; a truly insult-worthy triumvirate if ever there was one.
On the other hand, pie holes are like assholes. Everybody's got one, and none of 'em ever shut up when they're supposed to.
Think back to your salad days, boys and girls. I don't know about you, but I remember far more stinging missives being created and passed via note, hand-to-hand, in science class by giggling thirteen-year-olds who hadn't even discovered how to bleach their hair yet. Descriptives of who your older sister slept with on Fridays after the game, how no one would ever love you because of the pimple the size of a state park on your left cheek, or the fact that you would die unloved and alone because you wore glasses and were good at math.
Meanwhile, I sit here, typing this out because I think it's high past time the Stupid IM Conversations category picked up another entrant. Or, if you wanted to be terribly picky about it, I'd admit that I'm also sitting here because the pasta I just added to the chicken soup I've been making isn't quite done cooking yet.
I have someone new to introduce to you this week. His name is Matthew, and he's an old, old friend, and right cranky he can be, too. If anyone is qualified in giving lessons on how the American public-school education has dumbed down the creativity of interpersonal insults, he's the guy. I'm covering my bases since I suspect that I won't be able to post entries while I'm at dragon*con.
He will entertain you, oh yes. I have no doubt in my mind on that point.
For now, though, you'll just have to shut your pie hole and wait. Dinner's nearly ready, and since my hand is still aching (more on that later) I need to save my typing for researching and continuing work on the still-so-hush-hush dragon*con project.
Until then, ladies and gentlemen, may your eyes focus in tandem and your insults never be generic.