take the easy way and give in
"I'm not losing a daughter -- I'm gaining an accountant!"
If that doesn't say it all, I don't know what does.
Worst. Wedding. Ever.
You fellow Prisoners of Foob know what I’m talking about. This horrible fucking teal-and-violet shake-n-bake death-march nightmare of a wedding – telegraphed by our Dear Leader five years ago and adhered to with grim mayonnaise-covered tenacity despite the frenzied thrashing-about of a thousand red herrings (some as recently as LAST WEEK, with the sudden turn for the boxcar by Grampa Jim) – has finally reached its conclusion, its corpseflower stench in full bloom, while we can only hope for the kind of crackerjack storytelling twist that brought Bobby Ewing back to life: maybe the past few years have only been a dream! Maybe Liz is still up North, having a particularly weird nightmare after a long afternoon of banging Canada’s Finest, and he’ll wake her up for round six pretty soon and we’ll all get to pretend we never saw the entire Pornstachio storyline, Prince Michael never got his scabies-in-print-form “novel” sold, the whole bullshit house swap never happened …
I know, I know. FAIL.
If that doesn't say it all, I don't know what does.
Worst. Wedding. Ever.
You fellow Prisoners of Foob know what I’m talking about. This horrible fucking teal-and-violet shake-n-bake death-march nightmare of a wedding – telegraphed by our Dear Leader five years ago and adhered to with grim mayonnaise-covered tenacity despite the frenzied thrashing-about of a thousand red herrings (some as recently as LAST WEEK, with the sudden turn for the boxcar by Grampa Jim) – has finally reached its conclusion, its corpseflower stench in full bloom, while we can only hope for the kind of crackerjack storytelling twist that brought Bobby Ewing back to life: maybe the past few years have only been a dream! Maybe Liz is still up North, having a particularly weird nightmare after a long afternoon of banging Canada’s Finest, and he’ll wake her up for round six pretty soon and we’ll all get to pretend we never saw the entire Pornstachio storyline, Prince Michael never got his scabies-in-print-form “novel” sold, the whole bullshit house swap never happened …
I know, I know. FAIL.
Labels: unholy obsessions
posted by Gleemonex at 4:05 PM
4 Comments:
It simply BOGGLES MY MIND that you "read" this drivel.
Long time blog reader (love it!), first time commenter. I think it's awesome that you hate this FOOB storyline too! I can't stand boring Anthony. My mother thinks otherwise. Guess I'm drawn to the bad boys - although I wish Liz had chosen "me" and dropped all the idiots vying for her attention. I told myself I would stop reading FOOB when Liz and Anthony got together, but it's like a car wreck - you can't help but read it!
Twice this week, I've had to bite my lip from bringing this storyline up in conversation.
Panda: Me too. You have NO IDEA.
Bonnjill: Howdy! [waves] You have won my everlasting love for suggesting Liz "choose me." From Kelly Taylor's mouth to all of our ears ...
sarah b: I know - You're just dying to talk about it (from sheer bogglement), but you know if you do, there's going to be all this backstory, and you'll have to defend yourself, and whatever point you were going to make is going to just die out there and everybody's trying to remember how they met you and whether they really know you at all and there'll be this odd silence while somebody else tries to think of something NOT WEIRD AND LAME to say, to erase what you just did ...
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