May 6th, 2006
|12:34 pm - There's Gold Amongst the Dross: Part Deux|
For those of you who didn't read the previous entry about accidentally finding Penpal Gold, you should brush up on that first or this entry won't make much sense.
At any rate, after blogging about this amazing discovery, I felt it was only fair to warn the poor fellow that an influx of correspondence may, or may not follow. And so, I returned to the penpal site, and penned (well, typed actually) the following email:
Subject: Your Pen Pal Request
On 2006-05-01 Vcount posted, "The kind of penpal I'd like is":
> The kind who says words at me. And not just ANY words,
> by god, but good ones! None of this half-assed almost-words
> stuff for me, no sir. NOR ANY NUMBERS. Okay, you can use some
> numbers. But not that many! I'm warning you, if I get any more
> of these emails full of just ones and zeroes, I shall be
> quite cross! We need words so big they frighten the children.
> Words arranged so cleverly that god himself weeps with envy!
> As you may guess, I have a wicked word jones. Somebody
> needs to feed my addiction here.
Words. Hm. How about "icthyosaur?" That's a dandy. Or "ankylosing spondylitis?" And you did say "no numbers," but what about words that are also numbers, like "pi?" How exactly does "pi" or "googol" or even "fibonacci" fall into your anti-number bias? Hey, it's totally cool that you're anti-numbers (dare we say, "arithmophobic?" That's definitely at least a 50-cent word.): I think we all have our little prejudices. Just trying to see what the boundaries are, you know.
So, every so often I wander by penpal sites. Not quite sure why: I'm not particularly looking for a penpal. I think I just find it fascinating the different insights into the human condition. I happened upon your profile, and it was just one of those things that immediately jumped out from the screen, grabbed me around the neck, and beat me over the head several times with a rubber chicken whilst shrieking "WOOBA WOOBA WOOBA" in a phony French accent reminiscent of old Peter Sellers Pink Panther movies.
I had to blog about it.
And, of course, in blogging about it, I had to link to your profile here. I think this site should have a Hall of Fame such that, when a profile like yours gets deleted due to a sufficiency of penpals, it can still be read and admired, offering inspiration to thousands of "i lyk Hary Pottor" profile composers worldwide.
But I digress. (I do that quite a bit, actually. It's part of my charm. Or a negative personality trait. I always get those two mixed up.)
The point of this whole thing is, if you suddenly get a bunch of emails stating simply, "Dude. Best. Profile. EVER!!!" it's very likely my fault.
Because of the whole blog thing.
Just so you know.
If you'd like to see said blog entry, let me know. Otherwise, I won't trouble you with it.
Oh, before I forget: in accordance with the stated rules of the site, I apparently need to tell you my age, country, and whether I am male or female. I'm female, from the US, and am thirty-*cough*-*choke*-*gag*-something.
Now, I will simply close with this final word: pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcaniconiosis.
I sent the mail off and thought no more about it.
Suddenly, I received an email reply.
Subject: So it's come to blogs between us, has it?
This is unforgivable! Pistols at dawn! I shall have my second contact you regarding the location.
(second whispers in ear) Eh? Oh...oh!
Ah, yes. Your forgiveness, please. I'm afraid I misheard, and have since been corrected. I am, in fact, pleased with this whole "blog" arrangement. And I'd love to see it! I would show you mine, but it is woefully sparse and neglected. And hasn't been nourished in a year or so. And I was getting rather lazy the last few entries, and just opted for easy cutting and pasting of ongoing emails. Nevertheless! Who am I to deny somebody the unmitigated pleasure of a word fix? If you swing that way, of course.
The email went on to say that, indeed, my message had been found to be "suitably wordiful," and asked insightful questions such as if God were to turn me into a breakfast tomorrow, what would it be, and what was my position on the legitimacy of the Hanoverian succession.
Now, I ask you. How could I, how could anyone, fail to respond to that? And so, against all odds, I seem to have acquired myself an Internet penpal.
And they all lived happily ever after.
Or ... is it?
Oh yes, what are the odds of that happening.
After reading through tens of thousands of profiles over the last several years and not finding even one of interest, I'd say the odds were pretty low.
My response was:
That's easy: I'd be a bowl of "Cocoa Blasts." They're like generic Cocoa Puffs(tm). You put milk on them, and they're so sweet and crunchy and tasty that you find yourself having a second bowl. Then, when you're done, you realize that the "stays crispy in milk" bit has resulted in the Cocoa Blasts ripping the roof of your mouth to veritable shreds to that you can't eat anything but mush and oatmeal for three days.
Well, except for the shredding part, because I'm actually quite a nice person really, and don't do much rending these days.
But you CAN shred, when necessary. That is most important.
I read a bit of this entry to my brother, and he looked totally shocked and stepped back a bit and then said, "Is that guy Dave Barry?"