All I Need Now...

So the way I see it, I'm lacking one vital component. See, I realized today that there are certain words that you cannot say to certain people, or else they will just "go off." For instance, don't you dare call Marty McFly a "chicken," or he will go crazy-hoverboard all over your manure-covered convertible. Call a woman the "b-word" (rhymes with "glitch," looks identical to the word "bitch"), and physical violence of some kind will often be the result. And there are certain ethnicities that have certain words that will provoke certain physical attacks, such as the "n-word" (rhymes with "trigger"...looks identical to...okay....not going to do that one), the "c-word," the "y-word," the "la-word," and finally the un-repeatable "word-word."

But I searched my soul, and I realized something. I don't have a trigger word. Really. There is nothing that you could call me or write at me that would provoke a "Tyler-style" beat-down. And I've been called some terrible things. This one guy said I looked like turkey poop (which I had never seen before...but I imagine it was a fairly inflammatory insult for certain sections of the population). Another young man simply called me a "slime" (which, in retrospect, was a pretty classy insult for such a young man). But I can't imagine a single word that would cause me to morph from easy-going brainiac Bruce Banner to freakish green Lou Ferrigno.

Which could only mean one thing: I've got to create my own word. It's got to be common, yet caustic. Crude, yet clever. Creative, yet cliched. Carrot, yet canteloupe. Cosby, yet Crosby. Clinical, yet cyclical. Craltifilicious yet Cinifinatorianatious! And hopefully it won't start with the letter "c."

The thing is, for most of these guys, there's a long history with the trigger-word. Marty McFly must have been called a chicken quite a bit. That bitch that cut me off last Wednesday has probably been called a bitch her whole life (probably because she is a bitch...dirty bitch). But me -- I'm without much historical verbal trauma -- heck, I don't even have a good old fashioned minority trait to fall back on (unless you consider "Lutherans With Big Noses" to be a minority category). So, for now, I'll keep it simple: "I swear to God, if one more person calls me a 'bimbo,' I'm going to break something over their skull. Probably a chair...or anything else that happens to by lying around at the time."

Bimbo. Oooh, that's good. I got chills just now that was so good. And hey, I can't believe I even have the audacity to write it myself. I mean...is this blog censored by anyone? Could they bleep out the word "bimbo" from my blog? I hope so...because looking at it on the computer screen is making me so angry that I am seriously contemplating head-butting my monitor. Seriously. Bimbo. STOP IT!!! IT'S NOT FUNNY!!! WOULD YOU CALL YOU MOM A BIMBO!? HUH??!! No! No, you wouldn't. Actually...you know....YOU KNOW WHAT!? YOU'RE the bimbo, you BIMBO!! In fact, I've got a present for you. You ready for this?!

BIMBO!!!

Yeah. Yeah, that's right. Verdana font. Orange color. Was that maybe a bit harsh? Perhaps...but dammit, I just hate it when people call me that. For reals.