Salmon, you disgust me.

Dear Salmon,

Hey there, pal. How are ya?

Not too good I hear. I'm doing well though, but I'll save that for another time. I wanted to bring up something very important, and I hope you're willing to hear me out. Remember how we used to be really good friends and hang out all the time? Well, this has caused me to question my loyalty. And quite frankly, I'm not sorry. My own well-being could be at risk, and it would be all your fault!

Please explain to me how some dude in Chicago ate one of you and got a 9-foot long tapeworm. That is just plain guh-ross. Can't you keep it together, Salmon? I'd hate to stop ordering the raw version of you every time I go for sushi. Seriously, my selection will become extremely limited. You're one of the few raw fish I enjoy, so please stay clean.

Also, they say that tapeworm resonates in your muscles, so maybe if you worked out a little more they wouldn't be able to burrow deep inside? They also say that tapeworm comes from dog shit, but I don't even want to go there with you right now.

Please get your act together, Salmon, or else I don't think we can be friends anymore.

I hope you understand.

Regards,
Mel

Fantasy Friday

Cue dream sequence.

It's near sunset. I'm sitting on a purple and white striped beach chair, 20 feet from the shoreline of Waikiki Beach. The beach is deserted. I'm staring out at the water, sipping on a really strong cocktail that barely tastes like it contains any alcohol. I dig my toes into the sand, until the cold, damp particles envelope both my feet. In the distance I see a figure walking towards me. I can't really tell who it is. He looks strangely familiar, wearing a fedora-type hat, sunglasses, a brown t-shirt, and plaid shorts; he's carrying a brown messenger bag and a green beach chair. When he gets about 30 feet from my chair, I gasp. It's Jason Mraz!

"H..hi," I stammer tipsily.

He comes closer and extends his hand.

"I'm Jason," he says softly.

We shake hands.

"Mel, my name is Melanie. Well, Mel. Or whatever you want." I nervously giggle.

"Cool," he says. "Okay if I set up my beach chair right here, Mel?" he points to the space right next to mine.

"Sure!!!! I mean suuuurrreeee," I say.

He sets down his messenger bag, unfolds his chair, and casually sits down. He removes his fedora and places it on top of his messenger bag. He turns towards me, removes his sunglasses, and says, "So whatcha drinking?"

"Oh, it's nothing," I say. "Just 'Sex on the Beach'."

You idiot, Melanie!! That's awkward!! Why would you say that!! Stupid, stupid, stupid!

But Jason just looks over at me and says, "That's cool. My favorite drink is actually 'Sex on the Beach' with you."

I spit out my mouthful of 'Sex' in a hose-like spray.

"W..what did you just say?" I stammer.

"You heard me," Jason says.

And he grabs my hand and...

SNORE!

THEN I WAKE UP.

Oh, shit!!!!! I just dozed off at my desk again. Damn it, Melanie! Damn it! I hope no one noticed.

I look around just to make sure and luck for me everyone seems to be immersed in their work. Close one. Phew!

That's what I get for sleeping on the job. TGIF.

WTF Wednesday: Music to My (F)ears

Watch, listen, enjoy (?), and learn a valuable lesson: frogs are not born singers. And this guy's not even a frog. Ponder that.

Finally! A practical and OCD-friendly bathroom accessory!

Are you obsessed with Purell? Hate dealing with your personal hygiene day in and day out? Do you wish that you had a bidet? Ever have that not-so-fresh feeling? Well Comfort Wipe has come along to assuage* your worries. Finally, a solution!

If you'd prefer a stick up your ass to your own hand, this product is for you.

Do you think that, in the "olden days" people used a stick with leaves wrapped around it? NO. They probably just used a leaf because no one had thought of using a stick! The Comfort Wipe inventor is going to totally strike it rich. Lucky bastard. Wish I'd thought of it myself. I can't even comprehend the mind-boggling-ness! To put it simply: it took thousands of years for someone to finally invent a tool that makes ass-wiping easier, cleaner, and more-efficient. This is one for the books, kids! A HISTORICAL BREAKTHROUGH!

It's official. My mind is blown.

I am so excited I could pee. Actually, I have to pee. Wish I had my very own Comfort Wipe at the office, stowed away in my desk drawer, alongside my paperclips. If I had my very own Ass-Wipe (for short), I'd take it right out of my drawer, carry it the 200 feet to the bathroom, whilst beaming with pride. "That's right, assholes," I'd think to myself. "I have a 'Comfort Wipe' and you don't!" Then I would cackle to myself, walk past my coworkers, down the hall, and all the way to the last stall. "Chumps!"



[*Assuage: one of my high school vocabulary words. My friends and I used a very special mnemonic to remember its meaning. "Assuage. Kind of sounds like 'sewage'. Sewage is soothing. Assuage." I kid you not. So it was only fitting for this word to be used in such a circumstance.]