Only in My Dreams

Here's one for gentlemen of a certain age:  I woke up this morning from a dream in which Al Parker was going to be coming to lunch today.  What on earth can it mean?  More importantly, what on earth would one serve?

I'm It! Part III: The Reckoning

Peenee strikes again! And with a far more devilish task than ever seen before: The Mrpeenee Auto Haiku Tag Meme:

• In five syllables, no more, no less, describe the worst movie you can think of.


• In seven syllables, no more, no less, describe your worst date. Bonus points if it was sordid.


• In five syllables, no more, no less, describe the worst job you ever had.
  Put it all together and you have a haiku of life’s low points.

So:


Sextette. You can really consider it a laff-riot campfest only as long as you can keep out of your mind the knowedge that Mae took it very, very seriously. I suppose you can admire the old girl for carrying on, but in the end no one ever participated so thoroughly in the trashing of her own reputation.

Grandma goes berserk.

I never really was, as grandmother would have put it, Fast, but even I was young once, and out and about in the bars. One night, as the Pointer Sisters wailed in the background and the friends and I lounged around in only slightly dated Wham!-wear (yes, it was a long time ago), I was approached by a rather dashing figure. The jeans and flannel struck a piquant note, as did the more than passing resemblance to Al Parker (sigh).

We got friendly; we got friendlier; we got into his pickup; we got into my apartment; we got into, not to be indelicate, each other's pants.

Then:

Hot trucker reveals lace thong.

And a predilection for spanking, but that's another story.

My nastiest and shortest-tenure job was as assistant at an academic non-profit of vague purpose. The director was a shambling old queen whose primary functions seemed to be fudging the numbers on grant applications and enraging the members. It paid nothing, my desk was actually in a hall closet, and he treated me like dirt.

Lackey to a sot.

And thus:

Grandma goes berserk;
Hot trucker reveals lace thong.
Lackey to a sot.

Yup, that's just about as bad as my what-passes-for-a-life has gotten. What a cheerful way to start our weekend (for in these parts, Thursday is Saturday, and if that doesn't keep you good and confused, not much will).

Now I'll have to mull over the tagging victim. Hmm.....