Tuesday, April 11, 2006

Dear Evil Discussor... Are you available?

This pressing question was posted by a swooning young fan of mine named e.g. She wants to know what, I'm sure, all my adoring fans want to know. Am I taken at the moment. Unless of course, she's the receptionist at my dentist's, and she's just wondering if April the 17th at 3:30 works for me. If so, yes, that's fine, Wendy. Or, maybe e.g. is just asking if I'm available to do kid's birthday parties. After all, I am astonishingly hilarious, and the kids can't get enough of me. But still, I don't think that's what she's wondering about. I'm pretty sure she's curious about my love status. As any hot-blooded american woman would be. And c'mon, as we all know, this question should pique not only her interest, but the interest of most of my readership. Which, by the way, happens to be mainly young, spring break going, Daytona beach hopping, wet t-shirt wearing, body shot shooting, pillow fight fighting co-eds looking for a #1 blog lover man. Like these two. Who look like they went a-spring breaking this year in Mesopotamia.



Look, I know that I'm desirable. That each word that pours out of me and onto the screen can't help but tantalize and tease. That I tug and pull at your heartstrings like a tasty piece of Poly-O. But am I free to romp around with you, party-style?


Well, if one were to take a magical journey through the past, nostalgically drifting back through the illustrious and always mind-expandingly captivating history of this here formidable blog, from awesome post to even awesomer post, one would find a few nods to this person I refer to as "wife." Now, sure, it sounds like when I say "wife" what I'd be referring to is "wife." But, I suppose, one could read this many ways. Maybe I'm referring not to my wife, but to someone else's wife. Or maybe even I meant to say "life" or "wizard" but mistyped. Maybe I have a friend who after a bizzare and experimental high school boating weekend was given the nickname "Wife" and it just stuck. Perhaps what I call a "wife" is really just a cardboard cut out of Soledad O'Brien I prop up on the couch. Or, better yet, was I making all that stuff up about a wife just to appear wiser and more husband-like to my adoring fans? Just to make my words and opinions seem more worldier? Or is it possibly true? Would someone marry me? IS THERE REALLY A MRS. DISCUSSOR?

No. I'm not married.

I just choose to spend most of my weekends at Crate & Barrel, deliberating over whether to get the Twin Coverlet in aloe, aqua or azure.

And wait a fucking minute. Aren't those all the same color?

Yours as always,
E.D.

P.S. Yes, of course we went with azure.

2 Comments:

Anonymous E.G. said...

Evil, this is a good blog. Thanks for answering my silly question. I now see that you referred to a "wife" in a previous post about farting in bed, and perhaps this is the wise person who told you the unpopular truth about brazilians as well. I retreat. But if she ever kicks you out, let me know.

7:55 PM  
Blogger Evil Discussor said...

E.G. I will, of course, let you know.

10:44 AM  

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