Friday, March 21, 2008

Thanks, March Madness, for bringing my ineptitude to light.

Right now, the sports world is going all Mickey Rourke kinds of CRAZY with the INSANITY that is MARCH MADNESS! In honor of the festival of full court press LUNACY, I am going to unload a little of my own El Donzer Loco on your lap like it's hot.


I have handpicked for you Ten Nutjob Things in My Life That I Assumed to Be True, But Then Turned Out to Be Quite False.

1. Surname Stupidity - I believe you know I'm married, yes? Well, long before I was a member of the Donzer party, I had a maiden name that became quite a popular joke on some hilarious stylin' t-shirts back in day. You probably had a zany neighbor down the street who got just a little bit too blitzed at the neighborhood potluck, fed Bootsie, the schizophrenic German Shephard, Schlitz from a water bowl, felt up your mom, and rocked this t-shirt. Have you pictured the shirt yet? That's right: It was the classically hilarious Big Johnson tee. This, however, is not even the source of the stupidity. You see, I was a little white girl Johnson, but apparently I didn't notice. For, I thought - nay - I believed that each and every Johnson was my cousin, and I told everyone. Including my entire first grade class. That Magic Johnson was my cousin. Right. Ridiculous. I argued this point to the death, and I religiously wrote Magic each and every Tuesday night to check in and inquire as to when he was going to return my letters and come for a visit. Imagine how pissed I was when, on a very special episode, Maury Povich ripped open that fated envelope, looked into my innocent eyes, and said, "Earvin...is ...NOT your cousin." My idiot vanilla life has never been the same.
2. Sex Education Screwiness - Pardon the pun. I believe we've already established
I wasn't the quickest on the uptake. Well, lemme just tell you my mom might have handed me the What's Happening to My Body Book For Girls just a little too late. You see, I was a pretty damn big fan of Barbie playing. And, I couldn't help but notice that Barbie and Ken's clothing had the ability to be removed. Sexual experimentation ensued. Wanna know how Ken knocked up Barbie 4,847 times, begetting the lovely Skipper over and over again? Well, he'd simply rub his flesh-colored tightywhitied phallus all over Barbie's mysteriously un-nippled boobies. I swear, until I was fifteen I was sure that's how I was created. Preposterous.

3. Deep Vein Dementia - Alright. I am going to be quick with this one. I can
honestly tell you that for the first sixteen years of my life, I pretty much subsisted on Chicken McNuggets alone. I don't know if it was a disarmingly defensive case of denial, but I was convinced that the - gulp - veins included in the tertiary butylhydroquinone / polydimethylsiloxane / chicken (?) mixture were actually better-for-you bits 'o protein. Hahahaha. Naïveté. Dumbass.
4. "Leave Us Alone, You Loon" Looniness! - Oh, 1993: You were a simpler time. The Real World, she was but a dewy, doe-eyed youngling, just beginning her second season of life in Los Angeles, CA. We've established the occasional mental lethargy of my past; however, even I, a fourteen going on fifteen year old lass, could recognize that stupid Beth Stolarczyk was an abominable casting choice. She was whiny and needy and the lamest of the lame. But, at least I recognized the fact that soon her season would come to pass, and she would be out of my life for good. Oh, God: what funny jokes You play! Yet another case in my life in which I was oh so wrong. For it seems just when I have stopped hearing her haunting cackle in my head, that Skanky Stolarczyk pops back into my life to make another nails down the chalkboard cameo. Even ridiculous Boot-Scootin-Boogie-John thought Beth was the worst. I-seriously-wired-my-jaw-closed-like-an-ass-Tami recognized Beth was crap. I did the math. Beth was 24 in 1993, so that makes her like 68 years old now! Why won't you just leave me alone, Crazy? We get it: Fake boobs are the tops! Now Get Off My MTV!

5. Mephistopheles' Melodious Moronitude - I feel that the more I share with you about my past, the more you picture yourself sitting behind me wiping your boogers on my back during social studies class. Why don't I lean over for you: here's more dumb to fuel the fire. Remember INXS? Remember that song Devil Inside? Well, let me just say, I waited for years for God to punish me for bearing witness to Beelzebub's message. I knew if I didn't switch the station from Y-102 within 6.66 seconds of hearing Michael Hutchence breathe heavily into my ear about my sinful capabilities, then lightning was sure to strike me down. I was such an idiot! I made it eleven seconds once, and after two weeks, I fully recovered from the electroshock. Take that, Satan!

6. Monkey on My Back Mania - This one really stings. I have sworn over and over - a thousand times over - that I would quit you, The View. My God, what you ladies do to me! I was ready to abandon you for good, but then someone upstairs heard my pleas and Debbie Matenopoulos was taken out and dropkicked to cable. I was back. But, just when I was ready to jump ship again - for Lisa Ling had finally filled my nausea threshold to capacity - she was gone, and I was lifevested aboard yet again. The pattern continued. A slew of grating guest hosts, Rosie, Elizabeth (thank your lucky stars you become impregnated frequently, or else you'd be the impetus to write my permanent eviction notice, Betsy), the list goes on and on. But something keeps me coming back. Betsy, Babs, Sherri, Whoopi, Joy friggin Behar, for crying out loud! I thought I could leave you! Why must I always need more?

7. Spelling Star Screwiness - This is getting pathetic. Okay. When I was in elementary school, I was kind of convinced I was the hot shiz based on my damn fine (and I do mean damn fine) spelling prowess. Yeah. I got a little high-horse-big-britches-shut-the-f-up-kid all up in here, and I needed to be knocked down a notch. You see, I believed - I KNEW - that my in-yo- face spelling skillz would one day land me in a high-powered, multibillion dollar salaried career in which I'd be spelling my junk off each and every day. Did I mention that this blog is eggsalady is that omnipotently high-paying job? Prophecy: Fulfilled!
* Here's a little kick to the nuts happy ending: I won't get into the nitty gritty details, but there just so happens to be a very juicy story involving me being the 3rd grade spelling rep for the entire school, wearing my Valentine's Dress, in a fast-paced, empassioned spell-off, and - oh yeah - me violently spewing a stomachfull of Conversation Hearts all over the spelling wanker to my immediate left. Embarrasingly pathetic personal comeuppance? You betcha.

8. Colored Sugar Crappitude - I am just sorta piggybacking off my last story, but, for whatever reason I believed that there was never, ever a limit to the amount of Fun Dip deliciosity one could physically ingest. I am here to tell you that six packets full of pink and purple love and six Lik-M-Aid sticks later, my mom's carpet begs to differ.

9. Neuterific Nuttiness - Again - no pun intended. The gist of this lesson learned? Well, I was kind of under the impression that when the nuts go away, the pencil can't play. Boy, was I ever wrong. I have a seven pound weiner dog who'll gladly whip out his magenta magic to prove it to you. No nuts? No problem. Thanks, Timmy.

10. Lupine Lunacy - Finally, what has been perhaps proven to be the most painful lesson of all. I think I'll just write this in code to save myself a little embarrassment.

Dear Wolf,

I guess this is it for me and you. I thought that you and I were destined to be together; I thought that it would be forever. But, it seems as though you have changed your locks and gotten a new number. I guess I can see now that the world is not ready for our love. Lesson learned. For real this time.

Love,
W.A. Donz.
p.s. - I'm kidding, W! Call me!!! Please!!!


Wow. Cleansed. Thanks for holding my hand through the madness.


Perhaps you need a little rinse. How about visiting here for a soapy cleansing: humor-blogs.com

3 comments:

dub-b said...

Well, I guess that explains Timmy's nickname: T-Bone. He looks a little Hugh Hefner-ish in that shirt...or is that his smoking jacket? He probably likes scotch too doesn't he?! That sly dog.

cory said...

I don't know what you're talking about... I found Beth to be extremely talented, engaging, and charismatic on The Real World Road Rules Gauntlet Battle of the Seasons Inferno Fresh Meat The Duel Battle Of The Sexes Extreme Challenge X. You obviously cannot recognize true talent when you see it.

And while we're at it, whatever happened to that crazy kid Coral? I long to hear her unique, tell-it- like-it-is, you-go-girl brand of sassiness. If only there were a way to see more of her.

But alas, it seems my dreams are destined to remain only dreams. After wrapping The Real World: Back To New York (holy crap, New York again?!? totally awesome), it seems Miss Sass has vanished into thin air. Come back Coral... I need you. Check that, the world needs you.

what's a donzer said...

T-Bone, indeed! And, yes, it is a smoking jacket. It's hard to get a picture of him in it, though, because the three golden retrievers down the street are all up on the pink flash all the time.

Sorry, Cory. I forgot about your double double deez deez burger burger please Coral affinity. Gosh - the hot air from her mammarian region combined with the hot air from Beth's head - that would be enough to make the largest basket of Jiffy Pop this world's ever seen.

Gotta go - there's a reality show I suddenly need to pitch.