Dear Evil Discussor... Is it blog-love at first sight?
The following is the email exchange between me and a Jessica so and so, under her subject heading "Forward and entirely inappropriate" :
Dear Evil Discussor,
I think I'm in love with you. Will you marry me?
P.S. Does it bother you that "discussor" is not a real word? That's gotta hurt.
Jessica, I will answer your entirely inappropriate questions in a future post. But let me ask you this, are you above the legal marrying/consensual-sexing age? Because, I've been in trouble like this before, and honestly, I'm not going back to the fucking big house. Ever. The Evil has done his time and sworn off crime.
I am twenty-seven years of age. I don't know if that constitutes the consensual-sexing age (and I have not, in fact, consented to having sex with you) but it's definitely the legal marrying age. I have consented to marrying you, if you'll have me.
Check the blog next week, sweet Jessica. And I will answer your query.
Please enjoy the weekend. And please be sure to think of me wherever you may go.
R-A-D. I'll be picking out china patterns and sending out invitations.
Just like that. Out of the blue. A marriage proposal. Followed by china patterns and invitations. Just like they said it would be. Who'd a thunk it would happen like this? Now? At the prime of my blogging career? You can tell in the email that, like usual, I was just trying to be funny, even resorting to rhyme at one point, when, in actuality, I was rather nervous. Wouldn't you be? I mean, she just popped the fucking question for fucksakes. This is some serious fucking business. One of the biggest decisions of my ever loving life probably. I'm understandably flustered. I am very much into effing, but when it comes to marriage, I get a little squirrelly. Squirrelly like a squirrel, munching on a faceful of nuts. That didn't come out right.
Am I ready for this? For this commitment? A lifetime union? A one way ticket to monogamy town? A weekly schedule on the fridge detailing on which days I will and will not receive blowjobs? Plus, she recoiled at even the mention of consensual sex at this point. What the fuck does that mean? That's crazy talk. Also, she ribbed me a bit on my "Discussor" name. (Which is something I'll have to deal with in an entirely other post altogether.) But tell me, was it the playfully flirtatious ribbing between two would-be lovers I sensed? Or the animosity of a cornered cat, of a woman scorned one too many times, of a no doubt about it soon-to-be axe murderer?
Though, there definitely are things I like about her. Like, mainly, the fact that she likes me. What's not to like about that? She's obviously got a good head on her shoulders. But speaking of "good head," there's so much about her I don't know. She's obviously smart and funny, bold and confident. Her spelling and grammar, perfect and effortless. Her tone, warm and charming. But is she into bringing her friends home for all night crystal meth threeway fuck sessiones? (Yes, with a Mexican emphasis.) And wait a minute. Hold the phones. Could it possibly be? No way. It couldn't. Or, could it? Is this Jessica, perhaps, Jessica Coen, Esq. of Gawkerhood fame? Might be. She's certainly got the wit and intelligence. Not to mention, the panache. I don't even know what "panache" is, but I do know it's French, and that she has it. In spades. So, could be. Who can say?
I really don't know what to do. But I do know, that when it comes to immense, life-altering, history-changing decisions, it's always good to leave it in the hands of anonymous blog commenters and other sadsacks, don't you think? So, should I say "yes"? "I'll think about it"? Or "no fucking way"? I know, the tables are turned. The high and mighty Evil has stepped off of his high and mighty pedestal for a moment and stooped down to your extremely lowly pleebish level. But he needs your advice now. Will you help him? Please cast your vote. My future, and the future of my fucking, depend on it.