The Ramblings of Ridiculicious

International Humorist

I found this love letter on the street awhile ago.

Obscene Caller
So it seems that I'm being investigated for the murder of some dude named Tommy W.  According to the voice mail left by the Gwinnette County Police Department yesterday.

I got the message when  I got out of an important client meeting. They called my business phone and left a message that said:  "This is Marcia BlahBlah (incoherent last name) calling from the Gwinnette County Police Department. You are being investigated for the murder of Tommy W. Please call us back at" 

The woman left the message in this monotone annoyed voice as if she was checking off her "to do" items for the day.

Hearing this message, after a long meeting with a surly client where I was wearing a suit that made the sweat run down my bra because they didn't have the air on...well you can only imagine my reaction: What the fuck? When did I murder someone? God! How fucking annoying!

So, I got in the car and dialed the number. I tried it three times. Listened to the message again  three times. And all three times, I got an old Hispanic lady, who by the third time was irate that I kept calling her.

Marcia, the police chick, left the wrong fucking number.

I'm sure I don't need to tell you how wrong this shit is on so many levels. But let me address them one by one.  First of all, what kind of detective work is that, to leave a message to call the police department back because they have pegged you for the murder of someone?  I mean any intelligent criminal would really appreciate the "heads up" and get the fuck on out of the country.  "Gee thanks Gwinnette Police Department! God, I thought I had gotten away with it, but thanks to you, I have some time to get the fuck out of town."

Secondly, if they are going to leave a message like that they should hear that my voice mail was a business number and doesn't really say my name. So basically, the entire business is being investigated. "Just all you motherfuckers. All you all are being investigated. You bitches. Now call me back."

Thirdly, I would at least like to know how and why I murdered someone. I mean if I'm being investigated, please at least let me know the evidence so I can cover that up too. I mean how did I kill this guy? I hope it was with a big frozen leg of lamb that I then baked to get rid of the evidence. Bludgeoned. Yes. That's how I would do it. Mwahahaha. But yeah, leave some motherfucking details would you?

Fourthly, try to leave the right number for me to call you back, or at least an address so I can turn myself in. Jesus Christ.

Fifthly, I have not been to Gwinnette County in my entire life except to drive through to go somewhere else. I'm not even sure how the hell to spell Gwinette? So at least give me some idea where I was when I murdered this dude. Was it at the Conoco? At my lover's house? The street corner? Jesus, leave the whereabouts would you?

Frankly, this type of incredibly intelligent police work, has me amazed that anyone is allowed to get away with murder. I mean those criminals must be hyper-intelligent to outsmart the Gwinnette County Police Department. I mean how do they do it? They must be in MENSA-- the fucking PoPo from Gwinette. Fucking smart ass detectives.

So I let my friend listen to the message while we're at dinner and he says, "So you gonna turn yourself in?"
"Of course," I say. We eat. We pay. And then 10 minutes later he calls me to say that he was pulled over in his neighborhood because they were investigating a murder.  I'm like, did they mention my company?" 
He's like, "No, but they did ask to see my ID."

Again, another piece of brilliant detective work. Pull over everyone, check their ID on the of chance that on your driver's license you might have underneath your birthday: I murdered Tommy W.  I mean, the murderer is bound to show up in the same place he committed the murder. I mean who doesn't just go back to the place of the crime and hang out? God. Again. FUCKING BRILLIANT DETECTIVE WORK.

So yeah, I'm not calling them back.

Should I apply?
Do you like parties, conversation, and costumes? Ouroboros Multimedia, Incorporated is an upstart entertainment company in search of attractive women that are witty and engaging. Our ladies dress up in alluring attire (which we provide) and are paid for their company and conversation. We provide parties with ladies that can provide thought provoking conversation and good company, NOT SEX. Ladies can make $110-200 a party, as well as whatever they make in tips. Once again we DO NOT want you to have sex at the parties. Feel free to send us any pictures for us to use for promotional, record making, or for whatever use for consideration.

No fucking Jamaicans!
 No picture, no profile...just this email.

Hello, would you date a Jamaican guy?

Sure, if you're hung well and you don't talk with an accent...and you look like Johnny Depp.

Amazing Race? Is that like an Eskimo?
New emailed profile:

My name is Carlos. Three words to decribe myself determine, motivated and optimistic. I love working out, sightseeing, traveling, cooking, dancing, movies and much more. An ideal mate for me is someone that I am able to win the amazing race with because it requires team work and a support structure. If you feel that you could win the amazing race with me then E-mail me and let see if things flow because it have to flow.:)

I've never watched Amazing Race, but I'm quite flattered that he would pick me out of millions to win that shit.  And he's goddamn right...I would win that shit.

Something tells me that "spanding" time is not like a time-space continuum thing
The simplicity of this emailed profile makes me want to cry a little.

 i am just anice man that is looking for a nice girl to spand time with and go out to have some fun, but the most importannt thing is to be able to open your hart to me, couse i would like to find my soulmate.

 for fun:
 i do any thing to have fun to me place don't matter, what is inportant to me is the person i am going to be with. it can be just a simple thing like takin a wolk outside of the city. 

favorite hot spots:
 don't have one
favorite things:
 i love stake, and my favorite colors are black and blue

Go Fuck Walt Disney Then
Put my profile back up to get some more material. Got this today with a picture of a 6 foot 5 man hugging Goofy.

In society today there are so many issues and challenges that we all face on a daily basis that it is frustrating and disappointing to see people be mean and cruel to each other. Walt Disney endured this struggle. I believe that it is very important to never let anyone tell you that you can do not something. You should always follow your dreams and make them happen. Walt Disney is one of my heroes and role models. Walt Disney was such a visionary for his time and his dreams and goals that he set into motion have brought and will continue to bring much happiness and joy for generations to come.

And P.S. Disney movies suck!

Darrell Roy Nice Guy

Darrell Roy was the first person I met when I moved to Atlanta. Really. I litterally met him the first hour I spent in Atlanta. He was at the Yacht Club having a beer and I went there to have dinner.

The Yacht Club is a dingy little bar in the middle of an arts and hippie district in Atlanta called Little Five Points. It’s smoky and full of bikers and it’s the kind of place where the bartender has a fuck-you look on his face. My friend and I were sitting at the large table in the front. A dark man with a PBR in his hand came up to our table to ask if he could sit with us. We said sure and motioned to a chair.

We ordered another pitcher to share with the guy who introduced himself as Darrell and our stories were shared. Turned out he knew everyone and every band in Atlanta. We knew no one and had strange tales to tell about Myrtle Beach. It was my story about my car buying experience with a backwoods broker named Harris Tweed that gave us the immediate free pass into a friendship with Darrell.  Seven years later, he still introduces me as the girl with the most hilarious stories ever.

It was Darrell who helped integrate me into society. In fact, we had a Halloween party a month after we met him and he brought all of the 30 to 40 people who showed up. It was him who introduced me to girl who ended up being best friend for a long time. My mother and I even had Thanksgiving Marshall’s house -- another friend of Darrell's.

Marshall is the guy responsible for everything I’m about to tell you. I would describe Marshall in detail too, but it would take me forever and I’d never get to the point of my story. Let’s just say that he’s a character and that during the event I'm about to describe, he chose to sport braids, mutton chops and mirrored CHIPS’ sunglasses.

So this past weekend was the Inman Park Festival and my friend and I were watching the parade from the sidelines when we saw the Darrell Roy float stop in front of us. I don’t know how to describe it any better than to say that the entire float was made up of Darrell Roys. A giant paper mache Darrell head covered the hood of the truck.  A group of about 15 people donned Darrell masks and mimicked his high-pitched girly goat laugh to the crowd. Everyone carried Darrell Roy signs and wore Darrell Roy T-shirts that said D-RHROID. And Marshall was right there in the middle of it --  throwing out packets of sugar to the crowd and telling everyone it was cheaper than candy. Darrell Roy Ladies and Gentlemen, Darrell Roy! he was shouting.

Marshall,” I yelled from the sidelines, “What the hell is this? Where’s Darrell?”
“Hey! You need to get up here too! Come on,” he yelled.
There was no way I could pass up a ride on the Darrell Roy float. My friend and I jumped on the back of the truck and grabbed a Darrell Roy sign.  Darrell Roy!  Darrell Roy. Great Guy. “Where’s Darrell Marshall?” I asked again.
“He’s not here. He doesn’t know about this float. It took me a year! Darrell Roy Ladies and Gentlemen, Darrell Roy! Nice Guy.”

His mother was on the float, so was his father...and his girlfriend, but Darrell was not.

The float mades its way down the street. People in the crowd shouted out "Who the hell is Darrell Roy?"
"A nice guy. Doesn't know he has a float!" we'd shout back.

Someone yelled out that it was time to call Darrell. It was in the midst of the call that Darrell discovered his float.  I imagine the conversation went something like this: “I’m on the corner of Edgewood and blah blah blah. Where are…OH MY GOD!”

Darrell Roy ran out into the street with his hands on his face screaming: “OH MY GOD.”   He was so overwhelmed I thought Darrell Roy was going to pass out right in front of his own float. He had tears in his eyes and I don’t think they were necessarily tears of joy.  We finally got him on the float though. It took awhile of convincing him it was done with the best of intentions. And pretty soon Darrell was waving to the crowd and shouting his own name. 

Without further ado, here are the pictures of the Inman Park festival and the Darrell Roy Float. Sorry I couldn’t get the float in its entirety, but I managed to capture a bunch of shots of Darrell in shock.





Corey Feldman Does Rock
The other night my friend Genene and I went to TV on the Radio at the Variety Playhouse and I donned my favorite shirt ever-- a pink tank top that says in big black lettering: COREY FELDMAN ROCKS.

I bring out this gem on special occasions and when I do, it always brings back that fateful day, some five or six years ago, when I saw Corey play live.

It was a Wednesday night in the middle of the summer and my friend Katie and I were bored and having a beer at the Yacht Club. She picked up our local alternative press and was thumbing through it when she saw, buried in the events section, that Corey was playing that night. "No fucking way," she said, "We have to go see him." I made up a barrage of excuses: I had to work the next day, and there was no way I wanted to pay to see Mr. Feldman perform. So she made an agreement with me that we would not pay more than 8 bucks to see him and if it sucked we could leave immediately.

So we made our way there. At the door, the price to see Corey play was advertised at $15. "No way," said Katie to the doorman, "You don't actually think people are going to pay that do you?" The guy told us it was practically a sold-out show.
"Fuck it. Let's go," I said to Katie.

As we started walking back to our car, a white mini-van with purple-tinted windows pulled up and stopped in front of us. And who should step out of it, but Corey himself.  Let me repeat that, Corey Feldman arrived to his gig in a white mini-van. Yes indeed. He was with a group of sexy black women and the rest of his band. He was naked from the waist up and he was wearing a big black Amish hat and a pink feather boa. "Holee shit," I turned to say to Katie. She didn’t hear me though because she had fallen in line behind all the people from the mini van. We ended up following Corey and his entourage right into the Star Bar. The doorman blocking the backstage didn't even blink an eye. But Corey did. I think the exact wording he used was: "Hey, you can't do that you bitches." Katie, who was a cute blond, just smiled and waved and climbed the stairs to the front of the house.

It was as if the Universe wanted us to see Corey. I mean how else would something like that occur unless it was a divine moment?

The place was packed. After an hour delay, a machine started pumping smoke into the room. The crowed started stomping and screaming for him. Then, in one of the most dramatic stage entries I have ever seen, Corey came out...rocking.  He was in his Amish hat and boa, but he had switched his pants to leopard print David Lee Roth pants.  

For the next hour, he played Michael Jackson covers, Stand by Me, and a barrage of shitty originals. The crowd was ecstatic.  After every song, he'd give a shout-out to his wife who was working the merch table.  She was wearing the same "Corey Feldman Rocks" shirt, but her fake tits were bursting out  of the side of the shirt. "I met her in rehab," he told the crowd.  "I fucking love that woman! I love you baby!" he'd yell out to her. She'd blow him a kiss and wave back.

Thirty minutes into the set, I had made friends with a dude who was standing next to me.  We shared a good many laughs. We even wiped each other's tears of joy at being part of such a spectacle. The dude and I came up with the International Sign for Ambivalence that night. It is to be used when you don’t know whether to flip someone off or give them the thumb’s Up. Much like in the case of Corey Feldman. Use it wisely.

It was one of the best shows I’ve ever seen. In fact, Katie and I ended up shelling out 20 bucks each on that t-shirt which I still wear proudly on occasion.  Usually when I wear it, someone stops me in the street to tell me their own personal Corey Feldman story.  Recently, some gay gentlemen told me about the time when they stayed at a Hedonist resort and Corey was on the balcony of his hotel room doing his wife doggie-style and waving to the crowd at the pool below yelling:"Yeah, it's fucking good. Yeah baby."
"That guy is such an asshole," said the guy when he told the story.

Later at a party after the TV on the Radio show, I told my friend the amazing story behind the shirt. He thought I had purchased it from the internet. "Oh no..." I told him, "This is the real shit." 

So now ladies and gentlemen, you too can feast your eyes on the shirt which is being modeled by one of the hottest guys in Cabbagetown.  

Springtime Stroll through Cabbagetown
If you want to see where I live, click here.


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