I’ve been proud of the fact that Metten and I haven’t missed a single day of posting at mockable. It’s been, what, a month? Five days a week, for a month? Pretty amazing.
However… I’m ruining the streak. This is game 57, I’m afraid. I have an update almost ready to go, but not completely. So, I’m the first to miss a day; I’m solely responsible for blowing our perfect record.
For better or worse, I’m comfortable in the role.
Speaking of Metten, he’s been secretly writing a novel. In fact, he’s not just writing it, he’s written it — the first draft, anyway. Which, you know, irritates me a great deal…
Anyway, he asked if I’d read it, and I told him it would be an honor. So, he printed out the manuscript, and mailed it to my luxurious fur-lined PO Box in Olyphant, PA. And I picked it up on Friday.
On the outside of the envelope, in red rubber-stamped block letters, it said: REWRAPPED BY THE PHILADELPHIA B.M.C. I don’t know what B.M.C. stands for… Big Men in Cocktail Dresses? I’m unclear on it. But I sure didn’t get a warm fuzzy feeling from those block letters, of that I was certain.
And when I opened it at home, my fears were confirmed. The thing looked like it had gotten caught up in a thrashing machine, or some other piece of equipment used in industrial farming.
The postal workers (Black Men in Career Pants?) sent me the original envelope, as a courtesy, and it was shredded, wadded, and apparently flattened by something heavy. I didn’t even know it was possible for a large balled-up envelope to be mashed so flat.
Frowning, I looked at the manuscript itself, and saw that it started on page 147. The hell? Was Metten attempting some kind of weird experimental shit, here? Maybe I shouldn’t have agreed to read it, after all… But when I saw that the second page was 23, I realized everything was mixed-up.
So I sorted it out, wrinkled page by wrinkled page. What a mess. Some were upside down, others were folded in half, and everything, almost literally, was out of order. How is that even possible? How could every single page be mixed-up? Had it exploded from a machine, high in the air, like the contents of Costanza’s wallet?
Three pieces of paper even had footprints on them… Adidas, I think, size 10.
About twelve random pages were missing completely, and Metten (between fucks and goddammits) scanned them and emailed ’em to me. Today I think I have the complete book, and suspect it’s roughly twice as thick as it was when mailed. You know, because of all the wrinkling and moisture-swelling.
Heh, it’ll be like reading something found in the walls of an old house. It’s on the table behind me right now, and every once in a while I can hear it crackle.
What do you think? Bloated Mexicans in Corduroy? Is that who repackaged Metten’s book? Please help me understand.
Also, on a completely unrelated note, what’s the most unusual or remarkable thing you’ve ever seen in a public restroom? I thought of this one at work last night, and couldn’t believe we hadn’t covered it before. It was one of those Eureka moments!
Toney tells a story of walking into a bathroom at a rest area somewhere, and finding a shotgun blast of diarrhea on the wall, with a pair of men’s(??) underwear stuck to it. Can you top that one?
Use the comments section below. And remember, it doesn’t necessarily have to be disgusting, just something unusual or remarkable.
And I have to go. This is my Friday, and I need to get it in the rearview mirror.
See ya tomorrow, at both sites.