Maria was usually extremely prompt with her responses to my emails, so much so that I thought she was one of those Crackberry addicts who can’t walk five steps without checking it for messages. So I was a little dismayed when I hadn’t received an email response to my last several emails to her.
The Crackberry was actually developed in 1847 but due to a majority of the “Turn 10 Paces And Draw” contests being decided by one of the parties taking a bullet in the back of his head because he was checking his email, they outlawed Crackberries and destroyed the technology.
There was even one case of two feuding parties that both didn’t turn around, as they had both received an influx of emails at the “10 Pace” count and really felt an urgency to check them; they agreed to resume the shoot-out on the next day but in the interim one of the parties had murdered Cecil Hopthorn, the greatest creative mind at the time, and it was concluded that because of the Crackberry, American technological progress had taken a backslide that would take at least a century from which to recover. From that day forward, the Crackberry was banned from use and anyone seen using one would be dragged behind a horse by their testicles.
When Old “Straw Hat” Crawford was asked, “What should we do if women are caught using a Crackberry?” he let out a big laugh, as only Straw Hat could do, and said, “Now you’s know that women ain’t allowed to do nothin’ but cook and clean and please their men!” I don’t know when the woman’s role in society changed but as far as I am concerned, that was a darker day then when Cecil Hopthorn became worm food by the gun of a Crackhead.
Rumor has it that Cecil Hopthorn had come up with a cure for cancer but when he brought it to “Straw Hat” Crawford he was ridiculed with, “Now boy, surely you know that until they start inventing pharmaceutical drugs and artificial hormones and pesticides and other untested chemicals that are put into our food and cleaning and body products, we ain’t gonna have no cancer problem!” It is said that Old “Straw Hat” let out a laugh so loud that not only did he soil himself but Cecil Hopthorn went deaf in one ear, resulting in his wife leaving him after whispering, “I love you,” in his newly-deaf ear and receiving no response.
When Maria is not being paid as an actress, she whores herself In the paralegal world. As a paralegal, apparently when not working non-stop into the wee hours of the night for no purpose that benefits society in any way other than to help stuff money into the law firm’s already bulging pockets, the females occupy their time answering emails while the males occupy their time on Internet porn. But Maria hadn’t returned my last few emails and I was worried that she may have had a sex change and was instead wacking-off to some “Girls Who Fuck Horses” website instead of her rightful preoccupation of answering emails. (Incidentally, those websites are interesting for the first 5-minutes but get a little boring until the horse shoots a load that would make even Peter “Buckets” North proud.)
I called Maria, going back to that outdated mode of communication that was once used before Al Gore invented the Internet and Sammy Clemitis invented the text message.
“Hello?” she answered.
“Yo dog, what’s up? Why haven’t you emailed me back?”
“Is this Randy from ‘American Idol’?”
“No, it’s me, Swami X.” You see, this is one of the reasons I have forgone direct voice-to-voice communication–I mean, what is clearer than typing in “LOL” on your cel phone?
She went on to tell me that she hadn’t received any recent emails from me and in anger I immediately took down the picture of Al Gore I had on my wall next to my Jesus Being Tortured wall piece. She asked me if I had put an “EF” in between her name on the email address.
You see, unlike all of us clever email name creators who make addresses like, “bigschlong@hotmale.com,” Maria is pretty straight-laced and has just used her name, let us say: “mariasmith@gmail.com.” But since that movie “Mr. and Mrs. Smith” starring Brad Pitte and Angelina Jolie, you have to know someone or blow someone in order to get that name for your email address without the addition of some random numbers or letters. Maria added the two letters in between her name; I think may stand for “Extra Foxy” but that may be me just pulling a “Fred G. Sanford.” So her email address is: “mariaEFsmith@gmail.com.”
I told her I would resend the last few emails I had sent her and clicked off of the Horse Sex webpage I had running in the background and went to my “bigschlong” hotmale account. I went to one of her last responses to one of my emails which read:
“I consider this stalking. Continue and I will report you to the police.”
And then it hit me like a ton of bricks–which I’m not sure how anyone would know what this would feel like as there are probably no trucks big enough to actually carry a “ton” of bricks. I mean, that’s like 2000 pounds! Now that I think of it, there probably are, but I doubt anyone who has actually been “hit” by this ton of bricks would be able to report afterwards what it felt like–THIS WAS A DIFFERENT MARIA SMITH!
I went to check out my reply to her “stalking” comment and I was even more horrified:
You should know by now that the police don’t scare me…By the way, I’m outside your apartment and I’m noticing that your panties don’t match your bra. Just thought you ought to know.
I mean, being it wasn’t my friend, Maria “EF” Smith–I sounded like a complete psycho! That would explain all the emails I was receiving that said, “PLEASE BE ADVISED THAT WE ARE MONITORING EVERY EMAIL YOU WRITE AND EVERY WEBPAGE YOU VISIT. –FROM THE INTERNET POLICE.” I kept thinking it was spam–like that email I get every week from some jackass in “Algeria” who has $12 million dollars that he wants to share with a random person that he’s never met or even heard of but somehow found your email address and is willing to send it to you, that is, if you’ll give him some private information like your bank account number–when it was really only the Big Brother Gestapo doing their job and spying on Internet users, a privacy protection that was long removed with the destruction of that outdated Constitutional protection, the 4th Amendment.
After my realization, I sent Maria “no EF” Smith an email and explained the mistake and offered my apologies. I’m also laying off of the Horse Porn sites until this cools down a bit.
REFLECTION:
When you receive an email from someone, or if you still use the old technology of actually talking, and someone writes or says something to you and you interpret it is a pretty shitty thing to say, do you ASSUME you know what the person meant by their comment and immediately go on to tell them what a piece of Horse Porn-watching scum they are, or do you perhaps say something like, “What did you mean by ‘My ass looks fat in those jeans,’ because the way I interpreted it, it seemed like a bit of an insult”? You may be surprised that the true meaning of their statement may be different than how you interpreted it.
MEDITATION:
Imagine a conversation, whether in email or in person, that you have had where the other person wrote or said something that you found offensive and remember your reaction. Really stew in that cesspool of anger. Now imagine the same situation where before you rip them a new one you ask them, “What exactly did you mean by your comment, you prick?” (you might want to leave out the “you prick.”) Now imagine them saying something that you totally didn’t expect.
For example: “Your ass looks fat in those jeans.”
Former response: “Fuck you, jerk. At least my face doesn’t look like someone threw-up on it after eating a pizza with squid and clams and drinking a Big Gulp size of UGLY!”
New response: “What exactly did you mean by your comment?” (keeping the “you prick” silent.)
Reply to your response: “I meant as in P-H-A-T. Damn girl, your ass looks slammin’!”
Now imagine yourself feeling totally elated. Let that feeling fill your being. Notice how your previous anger was self-created and a waste of your energy.
Now if in real life the person responds to your query with, “What about ‘FAT’ don’t you understand–you look like a hippo with those jeans!” the proper response is to take a pointy body part, such as a knee or elbow, and slam it into the prick’s balls.
Fee fi fo fum
I had Swami X drink my cum
Fee fi fo fay
It would be better if I was gay
Fee fi fo foo
When I was little I played with poo
Fee fi fo faquee
Should have taken the left at Albequerque