Lost In Translation

(electrostatic feedback)

Welcome- can I take your order?

--Yes, I'd like a small fry and a cheeseburger with no mustard (pause for attendant processing) double cheese, double pickles, please.

Extra mustard?

--No, no. No mustard, double cheese, double pickles, please.

Oh, okay.

jenji consults the drive-thru LCD so as to confirm the order wherein she sees the following:

-1 small fry

-1 cheeseburger

-NO mustard

-NO cheese

-EXTRA pickles

Will that complete your order?

--No, no...I'd like no mustard and double the cheese and double the pickles.

Oh, okay.

jenji refers to the LCD one more time:

-small fry

-cheeseburger

-NO mustard

-EXTRA CHEESE

-EXTRA PICKLES

Would you like to guess what I found once I returned home and unwrapped my burger?

Why Marvin, why? The plane would have crashed is all I'm sayin.

jenji

Inappropriate

As a Christmas present for my parental units, I thought that I might look into purchasing a couple of tickets to see Tina Turner live, as they about lost their marbles last time they saw her live and on tour-- as opposed to dead and on tour, which is entirely plausible since James Brown's family took it upon themselves to make it so damn trendy.

Anyway, the folks were particularly impressed by the energetic sass and bottomless stamina that Tina had sported throughout the entire performance despite her advanced age. Now, keep in mind that this particular tour took place a handful of years ago, so imagine how impressed they'll be to see her strutting about the stage at age 69!

So I logged onto Ticketmaster and everything was going just fine and dandy until I was prompted for word verification; to read and re-type the two fuzzy words that appeared upon the screen before me for security purposes.

Those two words were: beaten well

No, I am not kidding.
I'm just sayin', highly inappropriate.

jenji

The Punctuality of Correspondence

I would like to briefly address yet another item indicative of both the disintegration and degradation of the self-respect, efficiency, common sense and overall decency on the part of the federal faculties of the US Postal Service, as well as the all encompassing current state or might I say, disorderly State of Our Union.

I just received my friend's invitation to her out of town art installation, running February 16th to March 29th, today. Yeah, so I think I won't be making that show. I mean, as an artist, fashionably late can be the norm, but this would just be ridiculous.

Hey postal service? ...late much? I realize many of you have taken to delivering mail in civilian clothes and that's fine, as long as you deliver my mail within oh I dunno, 2-3 weeks of the postmark.

So, what could possibly be the hold-up?

As you might expect I have a theory and you should be informed that the following is a true story.

I would submit that a certain pathologically obsessed mail worker who had previously stalked me and who can only be described as a nonsensical, contradictory cross between a gigantic eunuch and an emboldened hermaphrodite, has in fact resurfaced.

To be more precise, said mail worker is a walking, talking progeny of a genetic misfire involving a kinky, drunken threesome between Hellboy, Alice the Goon and Jabba the Hutt, who was indeed forced into retirement, through a deal she struck with the federal government to avoid confinement for her felonious, federal offenses against me, which only commenced after HellGoonHutt had taken the bait (literally) of a decoy envelope addressed to me, which secretly had a federal tracking device in it, wherein she was ultimately followed, run-down, cornered and surrounded by 3 undercover vehicles packed with federal agents in the middle of an intersection and consequently arrested for possession of said decoy, where upon opening the trunk they found almost 2 years worth of my mail, while another heaping pile spilled from the glove compartment into the street—

Yes, I would not only submit that this disturbed freak of nature has somehow been reinstated as said mail worker despite her earlier, court-enforced retirement, but in fact bet that she has once again started to glean, hoard and jam both my relevant and irrelevant mail down her size XXX, polyester, federally issued postal trousers (for real, stuffed them down her pants), in an effort to silence, threaten, intimidate, and control me (as if).

Yet, two and a half Presidential terms ago it would have been utter nonsense to realistically consider that such a reinstatement could ever come into logical fruition and therefore, I would like to posit that it is entirely possible in our country’s current, illogical state of oh-no-you-didn't, it-can’t–possibly-be- existence. You know I'm saying?

I mean, this is just a theory, but the back story is true just the same.

In the end I'm just sayin'...US Postal Service....slow much?

jenji

Grammar 101

Participle present
A verb form ending in -ing. Although a present participle may usually function as a main verb, it may also be used as an adjective.

Although this grammatical definition remains undeniably confusing and difficult for some, one can overcome the challenges of using this form through dedicated practice (say, throughout grades 1-12) and visual repetition (say, through the use of official Air Force One Grammatical flashcards). However, some of us still fail to implement this form properly and thereby continue to hack the English language into a puddle of bloody pulp. For example, "the Iraqi people are askin' and hopin' we'll remain" or "you saw 'em votin'," or "we're runnin', comin' and gettin' close to success" doesn't quite fulfill or fully commit to the use of the present participle. You know what I'm sayin'? Oh, see now it's contagious.

If you can't commit to grammar what can you commit to?
jenji