Blogging Naked

by pjmcbride

Corn!

Corn! (Photo credit: smilygrl)

Got your attention, didn’t I?

A Certain Person asked me to write about her first call the other night, in which the caller said, “He grabbed me off the toilet while I was taking a $hit.” I didn’t really want to address this topic, but I couldn’t help thinking about it, so here you go. You can thank me later. (I prefer not to be beaten up in the parking lot, if that’s what you had in mind.) (Also, while I reserve the right to refuse requests, this one goes to show that I probably never will.)

We can divide our analysis into two parts:

1.) As a Certain Person said, Who does this? If you want to beat someone up, doesn’t it make more sense for you to wait until they finish their business on the toilet? It makes the cleanup much easier.

2.) As a Certain Person and I also agreed, Who reports this? Sure, you might want to get the police involved, but why mention the exact circumstances? I don’t know, maybe the investigating officer would ask, “Were you on the toilet when the attack commenced?” because they need it for their report, but why volunteer it otherwise? It’s like all the people I overhear relating their arrest history. (And you’d be surprised how many I overhear, and not just at work, either.) (And no, I don’t mean in my personal life. You people are too inquisitive.) If I’d ever been arrested, I wouldn’t be telling my fellow bus passengers about it. I’d be too ashamed to tell anyone but the person I was trying to persuade to bail me out. OK, who am I kidding? I’d tell my entire FanBase the whole story. Because…well, I don’t want to get into my reasons. OK!! Because genius needs an audience, to quote Sherlock Holmes in a charming BBC adaptation of his story I just watched. (I’m not really a genius, I just play one on TV. Well, on some kind of screen, anyway.) ANYWAY, people just aren’t ashamed of anything anymore. And, on a related note, when I started this job, Sundays were the quietest day of the week. Now they’re just another Saturday.

Has it occurred to anyone, like it just occurred to me, that the 14-year-old girl I previously reported on, who dislocated her knee while dancing, was probably made to dance by the Union Suit? I also have in my possession an advertisement for “Visit the Corn Maze! The Ultimate Fall Experience!” Yeah, I bet it is. Here’s how to get there: “Located 4 miles north of Loogootee on Hwy 231, just North of West Biggs Park and Citgo Station. Loogootee is located at the intersection of Hwy 50 and 231.” Just reading those directions gives me mild anxiety. They have Lost in the Corn written all over them. Going down to the crossroads, I believe I’m sinkin’ down…

On a yet-more-tenuously-related note, in the story I reported on last time, about the woman who wanted to turn in a man with a warrant but I was refusing to cooperate, his name was Bradley Emerson, not Bradley Evans. So I apologize to Bradley Evans, whoever he may be, but I’m pretty sure he’s a regular reader here, on Scratchy Glitter, the world’s least popular blog. Published erratically and distributed sparsely, as my editor at the high school underground paper used to say. That was my first published writing, and I still have the yellowed and crumbling sheets, if anyone wants to find out what issues concerned high school students in the early 70’s. (Smoking and public displays of affection, and that both should be permitted on school property. So now you know.)

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