Open Letter To The Random Message Lady

Hello Random Message Lady,

I open my damn inbox, and it says to me I got a message from Lola. The subject is "Hi." So, my throat leaps into mah' heart with excitement. Is Erika around? Because...aw yeah...it's time for a little sweet, sweet, internet lovin' and romancin'.

Before I even read your letter, baby, I hit up yo' profile, girl. Aw yeah...that's some good stuff right there, baby...you looking mighty fine in that out-of-focus shot of yo'self standing in a doorway. You got yourself in a little tank top, and you're looking at me like...aw yeah...what's up, baby?

But you ain't got no friends, gurrl. You look like you new to the neighba'hood. Let ol' papa Tyler teach you some lessons, lady-girl. Let me slowly take you hand and slowly show you 'round the dark, scary world of MySpace, real slow-like. Aw yeah. I am here to take care'a you, girly baby sweet girl.

Mmmm...you ain't got no Blog yet, baby? That's awww good...only damn nerds keep blogs...'most you see in a pretty lady's blog is a hot, sexy survey, or maybe a hot sexy apology that you don't write in your blog. But you know what, girlie? You don't need no blog. You too sexy for a blog anyhow. But you do need ya' some friends...and I got that medicine right here in my lil' home-page window, baby. Just let me get one more look at that sweetness befo' I addz ya', girl.

Aw yeah...that is sooome beauty right there, baby. Hey, you even got yo' web site in the coe'nuh...that's hot. "www.4evermodels.com"? I dig that, girl...so...what, you a model or somethin'? Damn that sexy. Let me check out that web site.

Oh...damn...that is some boobies right there. I mean...daaaamn...you got you a hot-ass chest there, baby. Damn...I...well...I gotta' override them parental controls first, girl...but I be right wif' you.

Hellz yeah...mah' parents ain't got nuthin' fo' they password. Damn girl, there you is. Oh. Uh...says you named Natasha. So, that like a strippah name, or somethin'? Damn. So...uh...hold up, let me hit up that letter real quick...

"Have you heard about Doulike? It is very cool site.The thing is,
they show you a pic of a girl and ask if u like her.
You answer Yes or No. If you do they send her your pic and ask the same. If u both like eachother you can get in-touch and meet up.

Do you like me? ;-)
My photo:
http://www.doulike.com/affid26/2227.html"


Um...woman, I got the feeling that you aren't the only...er...ain't the only...ah what the hell. So, this is just a web site ad, then? Crap. You're not really saying "Hi," you're saying "Come to my web site for naked ladies." You're probably not even actually a woman, are you? You're some dude in a office by a strip mall...probably in the "Marketing" department of your porn site that you set up with some friends of yours. Damn...I ain't mad atchoo, girl...I just gotta' be alone for a while.

Hm...uh...let's see...well, I guess I've got nothing better to do. So...www.model-hotties.com huh...? Aw yeah...

Post a Nude Blog?

Well, I didn't want to...but now I gotta'...because the sweet release of sleep is not anywhere near me. However, the sweet release of rubber cement is sitting next to my keyboard (as always), so if you dont mind, I'm going to get high as hell, then proceed to tell you all about what I'm thinking. If you want a glimpse into my inner soul, then go to www.innersoul.com, and purchase a t-shirt. You won't be sorry. If you want to waste 30 seconds of your day, keep reading...and think about this little dude as you do: Anyhow, on with the stupidity:

[huff]

[cough]

[sputter]

[Smurfs eating cranberry sauce off of a yellow ceramic plate]

[clouds are just look...so...like...beautiful when you're making love to them in front of their children]

[I've never actually punched someone in the face...but I've done my fair share of body blows...which I don't think hurt nearly as much]

["business trips" just aren't really that interesting]

[remember Ferdinand the Bull? I feel like that sometimes...only more human-shaped...and covered in sores]

[I think I use ellipses far too often...]

[Dr. Phil having intercourse with his wife]

["Cookie Duster" is the best nickname for a moustache]

["Gravy Catcher" is an awful nickname for a beard]

[rubber glue just doesn't get me as high as it used to...plus my brain not work as goodly as used to since start]

[that Jenna Elfman sure is talented]

[brackets]

{brackets}

(brackets? NO!)

[this is bordering on pretension, and I will need a few good poopie jokes to save this concept]

[David Hasselhoff pooping]

[ahh...much better............thats what he said]

[greater than]

]less than[

[I think the image of "alligator" is far too violent for our children. I suggest "stork" be used to

memorize the greater than/less than signs]

["random" quips quickly turn into sentences the longer you type. Things start getting more coherent as time goes by. Thoughts start to form into paragraphs, paragraphs turn into pages, and pages turn into a carrot, and that carrot tastes like grapefruit (because I was storing it inside of a grapefruit to keep the flies away)]

[my favorite punctuation = ;]

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand...............I'm crashing. Damn. Whelp....this is usually where the tears start, along the realization that getting high off of rubber glue just isn't as cool as it was when I was......younger....than now I am....now....before.... Aw, fuck it

[huff]

[wheeze]

[baroque?]

Business Trip.......of DOOM! Part One of One

Wow...finally...I have found it. The perfect category. Podcast...which I think is the greatest innovation since Leonardo the Turtle innovated the katanas.

But it is ironic enough that I shall use it now...so I can insert a little "fan fiction" on this bitch. Except it wasn't written by a fan...and it's not fiction. Let me start over, as I tend to "talk" too much. I'll use the handy copy/paste feature found in your typical Internet Explorer program....

But it is ironic enough that I shall use it now...so I can insert a little "memoirs." Of a Geisha. No...Of a Geico Customer....'s Boyfriend. There...there's my title. "Memoirs of a Geico Customer's Boyfriend." Excellent. Anyhow, on with the memoirs:

Memoirs of a Geico Customer's Boyfriend (part one)

With all this insanity going on right now, I mean, for reals, today I have decided to write something from the heart. Something that means a lot to me. Something I’m doing right now (not typing in a white shirt and boxers...although that is what I’m doing right NOW...but c’mon...I need you all to see the bigger picture here, Spartacus).

Now what I really need to talk about is WHERE I’m doing right now. The answer to that: A freaking nice hotel about 1 hour north of San Francisco. What follows is a story. A story of triumph, tragedy, terror, temerity, tenacity...um...turniping...turning left...and...well...I...

So I’m at work, doing what I love to do (napping) when my boss stealthily sneaks to my cubicle wall and asks, “Hey, Tyler, would you be available to go do Santa Rosa?” Now, after I heard the word “Santa,” I assumed that she was talking about Christmas and I wet my pants in excitement (if you didn’t know already, I loooove Christmas!).

But when I realized that she was talking about a city in California (not the greatest human being/spirit alive), I quickly un-wet my pants (using the “vacu-wiener” mode found on all factory-standard models), and eloquently replied, “Oh....umm....when?”

“2:00 today.”

“Oh....umm....it’s a...can I like go home and get my stuff first?”

“Sure.”

“Ok. Um....why?”

(in case you can’t tell, I use the word “Um” when I’m stalling for time. I also use parenthesis a lot…which is a waste of both your time and mine)

At this point she explained the reason behind my visit to what I like to call “Wine Country.” I was to be the department’s liaison to verify that the PVR bloobity blabbity meets the requirements of HI in the MLCS release 6.2.401.24 system update with Texas refinance update technical PDR PRF and PRVDs. BVD. Bel Biv Devoe (she was explaining that they were going to be there too, playing their hit songs…sorry…song).

At least, that’s what the reasoning sounded like…I may have drifted off there in the middle with my headphones on. It’s hard to tell, because my brain is so small.

At any rate, I was completely and utterly confused...and somewhere between of “bewildered” and “overwhelmed” (I believe I “un-un-vacuumed” that urine, for instance). But I agreed to go...probably because it let me get out of work early, but more likely because I really couldn’t think of any good excuse not to go.

So off I scoot (and I rarely ever scoot anywhere)...stopping at home to throw a pile of dirty clothes into a dirty suitcase that a dirty man sold me for 30 dirty dollars on eBay. Dirty. That, and some facial soap, because no one likes acne. Or Acme…whose rocket skates are a total goddamn rip-off. Beleee-dat.

I take a taxi cab to the airport, which (refreshingly) does not smell like body odor. Instead, it smells like “Spice,” which was the name of the tree-shaped deodorizer hanging four inches from the side of my face. I listen to the Alito hearings on the ride down. I mean…it was no “Wreckx-N-Effect ,” but it was entertaining, as one would expect from any good Supreme Court nominee judicial committee testimony...something I consider myself a huuuuuge fan of (I love them almost as much as I love Christmas).

On to the airport. Now my beloved reader (the one who actually got this far…looking at you Meaghan…) I love those e-ticket machines, but could all the fucking retards just stay away from them, and let me enter my information before they stand there poking random buttons and drooling? That’s all I ask. I know what the hell I’m doing, and I’ll be real quick too. Just get out the damn hell way, and let me do my bidnezz...and we’ll both be better for the experience. Trust me.

Ate some Wendy’s at the airport, which tastes a little sadder now that founder Dave Thomas is dead. On the way to the gate, I purchased me some hand lotion (gross!), tooth paste (GROSS!), and teriyaki flavored beef jerky (as far from gross as humanly possible). Total amount of the purchase: $13.43. Frickity hell beef jerky is expensive, and between this and the cab ride, my $50 of cash has quickly shrunk to $1.40. No biggie, I think. That's why God invented poor people: so he can punish rich people when they make stupid purchases...like Teriyaki Flavored Beef Jerky. There’s a lesson in there somewhere, but it’s cloaked in mystery. Best of luck finding it...or caring about it.

Good flight with a friendly, rich older guy sitting next to me. He asks what I'm reading. "Oh, it’s a book about the Napoleonic Wars." And it was.

"Wow, that's great. Have you read 1776?"

"Um...nope."

"Well, it's great, see I didn't know that George Washington.......general…..couldn’t even………..and the British………..came close to……...." and he proceeds to tell me about that book. For a good 30 minutes.

I listen, and give the, “Huh...yeah, I should check that out,” which I was led to believe meant, “Great. Conversation over.” But not for this guy. He keeps on trucking...now he’s talking about how his dad always gives him family books, and a he packs a review with each book, and blah blibbity blah blah bloo.

Hmm…maybe I listened a little more than I care to admit. Probably because he was rich. I like rich people.

So, he was a friendly guy, but dammit, if you want to talk about your book and your own little life, don't do it by asking me about my book...as a "ruse de guerre" to flaunt your own literacy (he was reading USA Today, by the way…I suppose his copy of "War and Peace" was in his checked luggage).

So, an hour or two, and with a stunning review of 1776 in my skull, I’m in Oak-town.

Now, because I feel super bad that I made fun of both Bel and Biv (as well as their friend Devoe...but I don't feel sorry that I made fun of that bag of antelope crap), I will give you some selected lyrics from their other hit single...um...give me a second...ah, here we go. Their song "Do Me!" That's right..."Do Me" with an exclamation mark. Here we go:

The time was 6 o'clock on the Swatch watch
No time to chill, got a date, can't be late
Hey, the girl is gonna do me
Move to the Jacuzzi, ooh, that booty
Smack it up, flip it, rub it down, oh, no

Boy, whatever happened to the Swatch watch? Anyhow, join me next time for Part 2.

Blog Rhymes with Frog

That actually reminds me...I don't like how the word "Rhythm" is spelled. I will be completely honest with you; it offends me. Therefore, I offer you an alternative to rhythm: "rithum." That looks like the name of a drug. "In labortory studies, repeated use of Rithum may lead to involuntary seizures, and bleeding from the pores on your left shoulder. If you experience any of the above serious side effects, stop taking Rithum and seek emergency medical attention or contact your doctor immediately. And the Rithum is going to get you."

But I haven't blogged at y'all for a while. But now I understand...I was such a fool. I knew in my mind that I was going to be different from that other Tyler Rhoades on MySpace (not the one from Namibia, the 17 year old dude from Texas who proudly states " IF U WANNA KNOW MORE ABOUT ME JUST CALL OR TEXT ME AT 903-348-3445." You're a disgrace to all of the much cooler Tylers out there, Tyler), who hasn't even posted a single blog entry. "Tyler," I thought humbly to myself, "You're not much to look at. If you're going to have a crack at random girls sending you messages with a subject line reading: 'Hi,' you have got to get your write on."

But here I am, a failure, prostrating myself before your humble graces. I did not honor my commitment to wrote long words like "commitment" on a daily, or even weekly basis. My last entry was December 14th, and I...have...failed...you. Forgive me.

But, I did change my picture. Look! It's me getting hit by a BEAR! HA ha HA HA HA!!! Boy, if that doesn't make you double over with laughter, then you, my friend, are filled with marbles. MARBLES!!!

On a side note, for all of you high-school buddies I have out there, aren't you all pissed that no one from our class turned out gay? That just blows my freaking mind...it's all "Orientation: Straight" across the board. Disappointed, for sure...Greg Madrid, if you're out there, you need a MySpace account. Because, I've always wondered...

Gosh, that sounded mildly homophobic, didn't it? Please don't be offended...or actually, you know what, be offended. Come to my house, and egg it. I'll even give you my phone number: 903-348-3445 I dare you to come to my house, and kick my ass...or at least prank call me. I cry very easily. My God, I love those DAMN SMILY FACE THINGS! THEY MAKE WRITING SO MUCH EASIER!!! Bwahh!!!

As promised, some damn fine lyrics, compliments of the amazing David Hasslehoff...off his hit single "Du"

Du bist alles, was ich habe auf der welt,
Du bist alles, was ich will.
Du, du allein kannst mich versteh’n,
Du, du darfst nie mehr von mir geh’n.

Which means:

You are everything that I have in the world
You are everything that I want
You, you alone can understand me
You, you may never go from me

Poetry...goddamn Poetry...