Totes Rando

Dear Boyfriend,

I realize that in recent weeks I may have mentioned - repeatedly mentioned - that our sex life leaves something to be desired. “Robot-like” is a word I recall using. “Unbearable” may have been another descriptive I threw out there. I also realize that the other night when you went to grab my boob, I did, in fact, slap your hand away and call it an “awful alien tendril,” which, I’m willing to admit, may not bode well for us in the long run. However, despite my actions of late, I don’t exactly know what possessed you to invite this lovely new accessory into our lives:

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This weekend I happened to be in Memphis, and stopped by Graceland.

If you’re anything like me, you approach an activity like this with the wry shit-eating smile of someone who’s about to ironically enjoy other people’s enjoyment of something ridiculous. I can get really into this, and was even looking forward to having conversations about how amazing Elvis was; perhaps with some lady who I imagined would be wearing a sequined American flag t-shirt. Or maybe I would raise my hand and ask the tour guide a question like: “Would you say Elvis was the greatest performer to ever live?” and then nod seriously while she answered.

But something strange happened to me in Graceland. Something I don’t understand and am still grappling with. I will describe the experience, and maybe you can better help me come to grips…
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Hey, Rando.

FUCK YOU! This is a ludicrous request. I mean, seriously, I am up to my armpits in a shitstorm at work, and now you ask this of me!

Hey, hey, while you’re at it, maybe you want me to babysit your three kids for the weekend too… Oh wait, I’ve been babysitting them all fucking week, because you dropped them off on Saturday, and you forgot to pick them up. Don’t worry, I haven’t been letting them watch porn and drink beer and teaching them about anal sex.

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Now that I’ve been effectively outed as a retarded terrorist, and my patriotic pride battered and bruised, I feel slightly inclined to clear my name around here by offering my two cents on how best to spend your 600 dollar economic stimulus check. Best for yourself, but more importantly – best for the country who’s failing economy wrote the check. There’s nothing American at all about getting free money, unless you’re like Mr. Rando eagerly awaiting being first in the queue in the unemployment line several times a year. For those of us that work for our scrilla, having this added cushion may prove to be confounding. True, fuel costs are rising. The price of rice is skyrocketing to the point that you can only buy two fifty pound bags at Sam’s and Costco. These indicators of inflation will continue faster than Lou Dobbs could blame it on Mexicans. But, how should we pump this money back into our economy? I offer you my most American-istic suggestions.

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In a pathetic attempt to bring some order to my life I’ve started to read “7 Habits of Highly Effective People”. Apparently the book is supposed to focus your desires, whatever they may be, and help you organize your life in a way that brings you as close to your goals as possible. One of the steps is to visualize the end result in order to steer your life in that direction. I’ve put some serious thought into these questions - here’s a quick list of my desires:

1) I don’t want to feel bad for animals any more. I’m sick of thinking that dolphins are emotionally superior to humans. I’m tired of feeling like my parent’s dogs are “part of the family.” I just want to believe that animals are here on earth for humans to eat.

2) I want to be a womanizer. I’m tired of being held down by “loyalty” and “commitment.” I want to see woman as objects.

3) I want to care about money. I’m tired of feeling confused when I check my bank account and it’s empty. Screw enjoying what I do for work, I want to be able to afford enjoying my life outside the office (side note: I don’t actually work in an office, I work in someone’s living room).

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I think it’s safe to say that this has gone on long enough.

Hurricanes in Myanmar.

Earthquakes in China.

Christian American soldiers dying in Iraq.

And why? All because you didn’t get your dog circumcised. God kills to punish you and your dog’s nasty pink unclean dong.

Is doggie circumcision expensive? Yes. Most veterinarians won’t perform such an operation, so to have it done properly and cleanly can lead to some expense.

Is doggie circumcision painful for the dog? Yes, and permanently so. Due to the anatomy of dog-penis, the dog will break any healing that has occurred around the circumcision with each new doggie erection for the rest of its life.

Are these excuses to ignore God’s will? No.

In his wisdom, God confined an Austrian woman in her father’s fuck-dungeon to bear the fruit of his incestual loins because your dog parades about creation uncircumcised.

In his divine holiness, God gave a bunch of people outside of Pinkberry parking tickets today because your dog rolls on his back, waving his unshorn member in mockery of the heavens.

Every day you slap God in the face with your dog’s dick. How can he not punish us?

Do the right thing.

Friends, things have gotten a little dark here at totesrando.com, with a full 92% of posts mentioning any or all of the following: abortion, child rape, cinderblock murder, severe mental disabilities, economic despair, and/or substance abuse. I think it’s time we lighten things up a bit.

On that note, I’d like to present to you my recipe for The Rando Family’s Perfect Chunky Chicken Chopped Salad! It’s starting to get warm outside and there’s truly nothing tastier or more refreshing on a hot summer day. This is an old family recipe that I’m sure Mama Rando would be none too happy about me posting for the world to see, but she’s been dead (to me) since I was seven!

Here’s what you’re gonna need:

• 1/2 lb uncooked chicken, cubed
• 2 cloves garlic
• 2 tbsp olive oil
• 1/2 head iceberg lettuce, chopped into 1/8 inch wide strips
• 1/2 head romaine lettuce, chopped into 1/8 inch wide strips
• 12 leaves basil, chopped into fine strips
• 3 cups mozzarella cheese, shredded
• 1 cup garbanzo beans
• 4 cups tomato, seeded and diced
• 2 slit wrists
• 1/2 cup salami, cut into thin strips
• 2 tablespoons scallion, chopped

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    Apparently, some employees have been carrying on with the water cooler talk a little too much lately.  I’ve heard from anonymous sources that some of you have a problem with my managing technique.  Let me start by saying, you are entitled to your opinion, but you are not entitled to deriding my adeptness as general manager.  That is unprofessional and grounds for termination.
I would like to address the sexist remarks I have heard about.  Yes, it is true that I am a woman, accept it.  I went to the Tuck School of Business; I’ve earned my six-figure salary.  What did you do exactly?  Sorry I can’t be a divorced mother of three like you, Cindy.  I wanted to DO something with my life. Enjoy your Assistant to the Director of Sales position. You’re a disgrace to the whole feminist movement.

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Verbatim, were the words I saw on the license plate frame of a Ford Explorer driving eastbound on Olympic Boulevard today in lovely Los Angeles. When I say verbatim, I mean word for word. No misspelled word untouched above, no inappropriate punctuation corrected. That, my friends, is the genius of the mind of the person who operates said vehicular device. That wise, sage wisdom got me thinking…it got me thinking about the shitheads that write stupid stuff and then have the audacity to brazenly display their ridiculousness for the rest of the world to see in a public forum. I was having a perfectly pleasant day and then I drove up behind Explorer guy. I never got a chance to see what philanthropically humane Gandhi of a human being was driving this Explorer, but I have a few choice words for the person in question:

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