Gosh, make a few jokes about boozing and wearing no pants, and you get a reputation. Who knew? Recently, I’ve been getting every news item including a pantsless man sent to me by helpful fans. Just this morning, I’m enjoying my coffee and Damaso sends me a link to this:
http://www.news.com.au/couriermail/story/0,23739,25008189-5013016,00.html, “Red face, blue undies – man stuck up tree with no pants”
Along with this note: “If this had been in Jersey I would know it was you.”
Laugh it up, Internets, laugh it up. My fame as the Pantsless Writer is cemented!
Jeff, if it helps, your reputation is even more established. Every time I get an “Inner Swine” in my mailbox, my wife asks me “Has the Duchess finally killed him yet?”
Speaking of which, she almost got me the other day. A while back, I feared the day that the Duchess and the Czarina finally met, because I pictured their becoming the best of friends. After a while, after the nukes fell and the entire planet was overrun with Australian motorcycle punks in bondage pants, they’d be working together as “DuchessCzarina”, making Tina Turner answer the question “Who run Bartertown?” The Czarina just nodded and smiled, and I survived because she didn’t get the reference.
Well, that was until last month, when she finally got the chance to see Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome. Halfway through, she sat upright as she remembered my earlier comment, and screamed “Wait a minute! Which one of us is the retard?”
Keep this in mind. The Duchess has tiny, deadly fists, but the Czarina stands a full six feet tall and has elbows of Doom. You only think you get beatings. When I hear the elbows slide out of their sheaths and start to drool venom onto the floor, burning holes in the carpet in the process, I know that blessed unconsciousness won’t be arriving for at least another hour. That’s one hell of a long hour, let me tell you.