My friend Katina thinks that I should tweet. On one hand, I suppose it’s high time that I’ve twet. It’s not that I’ve never twitted before…I twate twice last year but haven’t twaten since. They say twitting is fun, but last night it took me twenty minutes to compose a single twit.
And with that, I’m all twat out.
I’d be honored if you’d follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/merripetrovits
Hashtag…you’re it.
To the side of my Facebook newsfeed is a picture of Ellen Degeneres passionately kissing a man, along with this caption: “Ellen feels ashamed that she lied to her fans for years!” and “The media is shocked after discovering Ellen’s secret that shocked the world!”
Click on it, and the headline screams: “BACKSTAGE SKINCARE SECRET: Her Anti-Aging Trick Finally Exposed!”
I haven’t felt this deceived since Monica busted out the blue dress in ’97.
Karen is standing on her rooftop as Santa and Frosty fly off in their sleigh, with promises to return next year.
“Ugh…Santa? Frosty? You left me on the roof. I can’t get down. Guys? It’s not funny anymore. C’mon, you two, it’s cold out here. You ARE coming back, right?”
(Pause—)
Hello?
(Blinking at the empty sky—)
…
…YO, SANTA! TURN YOUR FAT ASS AROUND AND GET ME OFF THIS ROOF! I AIN’T PLAYIN’…GET ME DOWN RIGHT F*CKING NOW! YOU HEAR ME, FROSTY? I SHOULDA LEFT YOU ALL OVER THAT GREENHOUSE FLOOR! THIS TIME NEXT YEAR, I’LL HAVE YOUR ASS IN A FRYING PAN! NOWHERE TO FLY, RUDOPH! I’LL KICK YOU IN THE FACE SO HARD YOUR ASS WILL GLOW!”
To all my friends from Torrington High School…here’s to Christmas specials that are older than we are. And to knowing that no matter what kind of new-age cinematic technology comes our way, it just doesn’t get any better than this.
The thing I love most about Thanksgiving at my parents’, besides my dad’s amazing 15-dish feast, is the conversation around the table. One of this year’s topics was ex-boyfriends, and my mom chimed in that 95% of mine were clinically insane. (To be fair, she is basing this on my own cynical diagnoses from the past.)
“I’m not surprised,” came Doug’s two cents, mouth crammed with stuffing. “You’ve always been a magnet for psychos.”
I believe this is one of those jokes that write themselves, no?