Cruella's Fauxject
What's a fauxject? Cruella's reader asks (I think I only have one).
A fauxject, says Cruella, is a kind of dream project. Please note how it sort of rhymes with pro-ject if you mispronounce pro-ject as a verb and not a - shut up Cruella, no one wants to hear you ramble about language.
Say I was not up to my neck in law crap and incomprehensible Business Tax which- seriously, is it written in Klingon? I need to provide samples of this- but if I had money, and time, what would I do since I temporarily have been deprived of the Cadillac? Ideally. What would I do if I were permanently deprived of the Cadillac- which I am not going to allow, but, just in case. Someday I will have lots of money and time and probably be dead and then maybe I can come back from the grave and accomplish several of the things I should have done in life and never got round to.
Also I think that this whole working along the learning curve thing and a new toolbox have gotten me overconfident in my car-repair abilities. Maybe if I started from 0, then things would be easier.
But I think you know what would be kickass? Well you all know how Lady Thatcher (the car) is kick ass. So wouldn't an SBC with a twin turbo kit be - whole new dimensions in kickass? And suppose you installed it in an 80's b-body wagon. That would be- awesomeness cubed. Especially a plushy model, like the Buick or Olds, with the little turn signal repeaters, and woodgrain trim, it would be so kickass, no one would be able to stand it. You could go eat every little Honda with the fart-can muffler in Atlanta and still have room for ugly body-kitted Mitsubishis.
That's what I think. Watch me spend a whole bunch of money doing this, and soon.
Anyway another thing I have been doing is that - one of my professors won't let us use the internet in class, which would be good if we could because she kinda. Rambles. I am forced to think of pre-internet ways to waste time, like writing uncomplimentary songs about - some of my classmates.
I tell "Robin" about this (o yes, we are speaking again). He wrote a poem excoriating lemons, about "that nasty yellow thing." Actual line: "Why it that nasty bitter lemon."
I feel this gives me license to write a song about a big fat toad shaped person in class.
"Robin" does not agree. "Is it nice to make fun of fat people?" he asks.
"No-oh," I say, "but- I can't help it!"
This is true. I absolutely cannot help it. Y'all know I am absolutely hypnotised by fat people. I have to stop and stare when I see someone who is fat like most guys would stare if Megan Fox suddenly appeared covered in whipped cream but otherwise nude in their midst. (Congratulate me, I just used a current pop-culture reference. That was harder than it looked.) They just fascinate me, how you can be all completely round and larger in diameter than I am tall? And why didn't you stop stuffing your fat face when you started not to fit through doors? How did this happen to you? I am trying to figure out why that is and have come up with a few possibilities.
A) there is a fat person inside me struggling to get out
B) I have an unconscious fear that they will eat me, nom nom nom and I will be gone
C) I have a very conscious fear that they will want to have sex with me and this could happen, if enough gin were involved and I would feel shame again.
D) I feel vicarious shame through them, being largely incapable of feeling shame directly
"Robin" disagrees with all these reasons. "You shouldn't do that," he insists. "It's not nice."
As though I look like Rainbow Brite or something! It's an entirely involuntary reaction, is what I say.
I still don't know why I can't parlay this into a career, as in Personal Services Consultant. Makeover artist. I am thinking, Businesses often hire people to tell them what's wrong with them, so here I am offering this valuable service for free.
I would be good at this because A) I have lots of experience and B) I'm right all the time (ask Alex, who will deny this but it's true) and I have impeccable taste!
Someday, I will think of a way to make money doing this.
O and Alex criticised my use of the phrase, "Hoisted with his own petard."
"Why do you talk like that," He complained, "no one says that."
Again, just because YOU don't say it doesn't mean NO ONE says it. He claimed it was all archaic and I was apparently doing this on purpose to annoy him.
If I were going to do that I would talk like one of those (fat) Renaissance Faire twits and say things like, "Prithee, wherefore forsooth is thine bodkin on the morrow, fair wench?"
But I don't.
A fauxject, says Cruella, is a kind of dream project. Please note how it sort of rhymes with pro-ject if you mispronounce pro-ject as a verb and not a - shut up Cruella, no one wants to hear you ramble about language.
Say I was not up to my neck in law crap and incomprehensible Business Tax which- seriously, is it written in Klingon? I need to provide samples of this- but if I had money, and time, what would I do since I temporarily have been deprived of the Cadillac? Ideally. What would I do if I were permanently deprived of the Cadillac- which I am not going to allow, but, just in case. Someday I will have lots of money and time and probably be dead and then maybe I can come back from the grave and accomplish several of the things I should have done in life and never got round to.
Also I think that this whole working along the learning curve thing and a new toolbox have gotten me overconfident in my car-repair abilities. Maybe if I started from 0, then things would be easier.
But I think you know what would be kickass? Well you all know how Lady Thatcher (the car) is kick ass. So wouldn't an SBC with a twin turbo kit be - whole new dimensions in kickass? And suppose you installed it in an 80's b-body wagon. That would be- awesomeness cubed. Especially a plushy model, like the Buick or Olds, with the little turn signal repeaters, and woodgrain trim, it would be so kickass, no one would be able to stand it. You could go eat every little Honda with the fart-can muffler in Atlanta and still have room for ugly body-kitted Mitsubishis.
That's what I think. Watch me spend a whole bunch of money doing this, and soon.
Anyway another thing I have been doing is that - one of my professors won't let us use the internet in class, which would be good if we could because she kinda. Rambles. I am forced to think of pre-internet ways to waste time, like writing uncomplimentary songs about - some of my classmates.
I tell "Robin" about this (o yes, we are speaking again). He wrote a poem excoriating lemons, about "that nasty yellow thing." Actual line: "Why it that nasty bitter lemon."
I feel this gives me license to write a song about a big fat toad shaped person in class.
"Robin" does not agree. "Is it nice to make fun of fat people?" he asks.
"No-oh," I say, "but- I can't help it!"
This is true. I absolutely cannot help it. Y'all know I am absolutely hypnotised by fat people. I have to stop and stare when I see someone who is fat like most guys would stare if Megan Fox suddenly appeared covered in whipped cream but otherwise nude in their midst. (Congratulate me, I just used a current pop-culture reference. That was harder than it looked.) They just fascinate me, how you can be all completely round and larger in diameter than I am tall? And why didn't you stop stuffing your fat face when you started not to fit through doors? How did this happen to you? I am trying to figure out why that is and have come up with a few possibilities.
A) there is a fat person inside me struggling to get out
B) I have an unconscious fear that they will eat me, nom nom nom and I will be gone
C) I have a very conscious fear that they will want to have sex with me and this could happen, if enough gin were involved and I would feel shame again.
D) I feel vicarious shame through them, being largely incapable of feeling shame directly
"Robin" disagrees with all these reasons. "You shouldn't do that," he insists. "It's not nice."
As though I look like Rainbow Brite or something! It's an entirely involuntary reaction, is what I say.
I still don't know why I can't parlay this into a career, as in Personal Services Consultant. Makeover artist. I am thinking, Businesses often hire people to tell them what's wrong with them, so here I am offering this valuable service for free.
I would be good at this because A) I have lots of experience and B) I'm right all the time (ask Alex, who will deny this but it's true) and I have impeccable taste!
Someday, I will think of a way to make money doing this.
O and Alex criticised my use of the phrase, "Hoisted with his own petard."
"Why do you talk like that," He complained, "no one says that."
Again, just because YOU don't say it doesn't mean NO ONE says it. He claimed it was all archaic and I was apparently doing this on purpose to annoy him.
If I were going to do that I would talk like one of those (fat) Renaissance Faire twits and say things like, "Prithee, wherefore forsooth is thine bodkin on the morrow, fair wench?"
But I don't.
posted by SavageATL at 5:10 PM
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