Crises in Progress

by pjmcbride

English: Northern curly-tail lizard (Leiocepha...

English: Northern curly-tail lizard (Leiocephalus carinatus armouri) in Morikami Gardens, Delray Beach, Florida (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

No, not really. Someone just wanted to know what the plural of “crisis” is.

BRANDING MYSELF

No, not with a red-hot iron (sorry, Nick, maybe some other time). It’s just that I read that yet another celebrity is starting a “lifestyle brand.” Now, the rationale for the celebrity is obvious–sell as many products as possible. It’s the rationale of the consumer that gets me–“I want my clothes, furniture, everything, to look just like The Celebrity’s.” So you’re saying you have no taste. Not in the usually-taken sense of having bad taste, but having no taste at all. This is a chilling prospect. But I’m as willing to make money off a chilling prospect as the next person (at least I believe so–I don’t think the person sitting next to me has expressed an opinion on the subject). Therefore, I propose the SCRATCHY GLITTER {trademark, copyright, patent pending} brand, featuring, among other things yet-to-be-thought-up:

–rose-scented body wash

–home decor featuring strategic use of spiderwebs (by “strategic,” I mean “not within my reach”)

–glasses, whether you need them or not

–soft stretchy clothes

–a refreshing lack of trendiness.

More to come, as that’s what the Lifestyle concept is all about. But right now I have a pressing errand…

THE DESOLATION OF NICK

“We’re off to seek a lizard,

The horrible lizard named Nick,

Because, because, because, because, BECAUSE–

Because of the terrible things he does!”

….I’m actually by no means certain that Nick is a lizard, although the scaly tail and predilection for burrowing would lead one to think so.

I found him pacing, restless and glittery-eyed. I was armed with his vial of pain pills, which his owner had given me to assist in reasoning with him.

He whirled, his tail knocking several toys to the floor. Luckily, everything in his den is unbreakable, although most objects have been chewed on at one time or other.

“Accursed wretch who troubles my quiet, what is your will?”

“You can skip the ceremonial language. When are you coming back to work? You seem greatly improved.”

“Improved enough to pace my cage! My wings are cramping! I tried chasing my tail, but then I caught it, and the thrill was gone.” He came to a halt before me. “I wasn’t allowed to play in the snow,” he growled.  “The cubs got to do it, but I had to stand and watch.” The faceted eyes were brilliant–in fact, they seemed suspiciously wet.

“Beast, are you crying?”

“No,” he said coldly. “Your eyesight is faulty.” He crouched down. “I’ll take that pain pill now, if you please.”

I toyed with the idea of hand-feeding him, then decided that would be a good way to lose a hand. After all, he looked all too ready to spring. I tossed the pill to him, and he caught it with a snap of teeth. The eyes, normally gleaming with malevolent intelligence, became cloudy and dull as the drug took effect.

“Is everything OK in here?” his owner inquired brightly from the doorway. He stumbled over to her and collapsed at her feet. From this vantage point, I could see that his haunches are, indeed, lightly furred.

She crooned to him. “Don’t worry, I’ll release you soon. Very soon. Maybe for Christmas, how would you like that?”  Watching this tender scene made me wonder–could the best taming method possibly involve kindness and consideration? Surely not!

To be continued…inevitably.

REVENGE OF THE TERRORIST SOFT DRINKS

As I was getting my drink at Phillips yesterday, I leaned over to reach for a cup, and my arm hit the 7Up lever, getting 7Up all over my sleeve. Luckily, my coat is waterproof, and hence sodaproof, so I brushed the droplets off smugly. I became un-smug when I reached work. I set my cup down on the decorative Central Dispatch Wall in front of the building while I fumbled for my key. When I then grabbed for my cup, it almost tipped over. Ironically, while attempting to prevent this, I squeezed it a little too tightly, and my thumb went through the styrofoam {trademark of Sty-Ro-Foam Corporation} and ruptured the cup. Most of the 44oz landed on the ground (squirting like a ruptured artery), but a good shot of icy liquid went up my sleeve, on the inside, where it isn’t waterproof. I am a cup-crushing force to be feared!

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