Thom: What do you want?
Me: Call your mother, Dicko.
Thom: Oh – the birthday thing?
[Moments pass. The phone rings.]
Mom: Why did your brother just call me Dicko?
Me: Oh jeez. Did he sing?
Mom: He just called and said “Happy birthday, Dicko.” He said you told him to.
Welcome to my world, Interwebz. There’s no winning.
That’s a damn lie. There IS winning. More on that in a moment…
Fortunately, Mom is still speaking to me after Wednesday’s post. PHEW! Though we decided that if she were a drag queen, her stage name would be Miss. Represented. You KNOW you would buy tickets for that show.
Speaking of birthdays, in exactly 7 days, BugginWord turns one! (If that doesn’t explain the maturity level around here, nothing ever will.) I was going to tally up just how many times I’ve typed the word vagina here, but I just don’t have that kind of attention span. I can hardly focus long enough to count my cat. (Let’s see, um there’s wah…YAWN.)
I could ramble on about my favorite posts from the last year, but I’ve got an appointment with a bride and her butt bow so I’m pressed for time. (If you’re really curious, you can see my New Year’s wrap-up.) What I really want to do is say thanks. Thanks to all four of you precious readers. (No, I still haven’t figured out what’s happening with my stats. The hell.) I made you a little something for our anniversary.
Yes folks, it’s a concrete mushroom. His name is Flournoy. And he could be YOURS.
I don’t think I’ve told you about my thing for mushrooms yet. Maybe I’ll tell you next week. Maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll just video an interpretive dance instead. All you really need to know is I’m obsessed with the things and I make them compulsively. And I made this one just for you, dear readers!
Thing is (there’s always a thing – that’s what she said), these things take time to make and I’m really busy what with whoring myself out for free tickets and lobbying congress to outlaw any future Rod Stewart recordings. I couldn’t possibly make enough of these things (four) so each and every one of you could have your very own.
You bitches are going to have to fight for it.
All you have to do is comment on this post. (Say any old thing. Maybe just type one measly little old letter or number. Maybe tell us your favorite color. If you could only eat one condiment for the rest of your life, what would it be?) Then I’ll chop up all your bodies names, throw them in a bowl, and pick one at random. Easy, breezy, right? If you include something mushroom related in your comment, you get two entries! If you use iambic pentameter, you get three entries. If you comment while wearing a tiara, you get four entries. If you…oh fuck it – this is getting way to complicated. One entry per comment. The end.
Now for you quiet little lurkers, assuming there are still one or two of you out there. If you’d like to enter, but are completely creeped out at the thought of having the Interwebz know that you read the ramblings of a girl of questionable morals, never fear! You can post anonymously, or say your name is George, or randomly list inanimate objects in the name field. No one will EVER know. Just be sure to include a working email address (I’m the only one who will ever see it) so that I can contact you to send you your fantastic, hand-made, one-of-a-kind, Elly-original, FUNGUS AMOUNGUS.
I’ll give you until Thursday (3/25) at Midnight to enter. Then I’ll announce a winner on Friday, my blogiversary. Look out Interwebz, BugginWord is headed for the terrible twos.