|Blogs > rm_freeb33 > All The Answers|
You've seen it. Any self-disrespecting owl of the night, as you should be if you're on this site or blog (you should be female to be on this site, blog, or earth), has seen him. The old man panhandling every night. The knock-off Wilford Brimley character demanding your donations for the Christian Children's Fund. He's got a long, late-night commercial where he stomps around asking 'So - why not now?', throws a phone number at you while a train rumbles through the surround system in your living room (perfect for late night, yeah), and finishes the commercial with the climactic assertive command 'Call now.' You know the guy. You know the commercial. You're too damn busy in your life if you don't. I've decided that this is the 2nd best commercial on the air these days (next to Capital One Home Loan's 'Um... 80 bajillion?'.)
Now, don't get the wrong idea - I don't actually watch alot of tv, but I do my thing here on the computer with it rambling in the background. Like I have to defend myself to you, you're reading the admittedly worthless online diary of a complete stranger. TV would do you some good!
Back to my tale...
So FakeWilford is telling you about the conditions these kids live in: the lack of schools to go to, the lack of fresh drinking water, the flies pecking at the corners of their eyeballs for a snack, the clouds of dust from the Mercedes' their oil rich uncles drive from dune to dusty dune right in front of them. You know, the sort of things we in America take for granted until we see it in a really good movie. So we're all feeling really sorry for the children when the good captain whips out a scrawny boy with big round eyeballs. I mean, these sad cow eyes are actually filmed in 3D to extend out of your TV and push directly up against your face. You can feel the steam waft over you as the hot sun bakes the gathering moisture of his heartbroken eyes, that extend from chin to brow in their great guilt-projecting disappointment at a lost and hopeless lot in life.
From Mr. Bromley (or whatever), we get 'I know you meant to call, put it on a nice to-do list. Maybe it just gets lost in how busy you are. Maybe you just haven't gotten around to it...', he says. 'Well, Freder (or some such word)... and his friends... don't have til the 12th of Never; they need your help now.' At those late hours, the mind works in strange ways. That was a phrase that really stuck with me, got to me. I laughed my damn ass off.
Not to be insensitive, but this is the sort of careless writing that catch phrases and pop references are waiting in line to be made of. It has now become my most favorite expression of impatience... beyond the foot tapping, beyond the "AHEM, I'm waiting patiently.", beyond even the tapping of an imaginary watch about my wrist. Now, it is 'Fritter and his friends don't have til the 12th of Never!', and you can expect this one to sweep the country. You heard it here first.
You'll hear it at the DMV, you'll say it when those bastards - oh my fucking god - still want to write a an archaic 'check' at the express line, totally unprepared as if they had no idea it was the express line, no idea they were going to write a check, no idea what a check is or how they got to the store or where they've left the cat, their pen, or their knickers. The cashiers even dutifully ask these people for an ID and go through the obligatory empty glance looking for, I presume, nothing at all; just to give the clueless turd a chance to remind themselves of their own name as they pull the ID slowly out looking at it the whole time as if it were some surprise miracle that appeared in their wallet overnight. And watching it safely back to its nest as they carefully tuck it away again. It gives them just enough time to remember what letters and words are, and decode the mysterious plain distinct text of their own name. This whole ceremony is for the cashier and store to verify the relative sanity of the person purchasing so many pretentious impulse items, thereby avoiding later litigation over taking advantage of the handicapped. And yes, oh yes, you will hear it when it comes to food. Everyone is so eternally impatient about food - 'Where the hell is my food?', 'When is my food getting here?', 'Bring me food while I wait for my food', 'Food food the fooding food!' 'Fritter and his friends don't have til the 12th of Never!' - but you can attribute that impatience, also, to the fact that nobody in the foodservice business gives a rat's ass about you, your food, your schedule, or their own obviously crappy job. People's inability to do their jobs with any skill or integrity anymore is a topic for an entirely other, ridiculously long, progressionally useless blog entry; but I should stress that it is just food, people. If you want it faster, make some time and get there sooner. No time? Drop something less important and bloody get there sooner - and if you can't find anything less important than a chopped, powdered, watered, formed hunk of some certain questionably healthy substance (which is then spiced with all sort of minerals, plants, and other wet-powder mixtures until it is completely taste-unrecognizable from the original version, rendered version, or any version in between anyway) - then don't bitch about the least significant (you just admitted it) thing in your life! So... you'll hear about Fritter. You will.
But I am the one who properly stole Fritter and his friends, and they're mine. As such, I'm naming The Package after it (fitting, as you ladies know, since a fritter is a tasty treat, filled with a surprising delight, meant for sliding into your eager mouth and down into your velvety throat where, by virtue of vigorous applied friction and suction, it's deepest mysteries and wonders are set loose... did I get carried away there?). It's not just a general expression of impatience, now. When I say 'Fritter and his friends don't have til the 12th of Never' it means that you should have your skirt already up, your panties off, your hair let down, and your hands and knees ready to soften whatever landing I'm about to toss, bend, or crumble you to.
Seize the day, time is all you really get. And stuff. ~
11/8/2005 9:42 am