A modern wage slave, a monkey-bark horker, and a polygrah test
Monday, March 13, 2006, 4:44 PM
With all of the you lied in your memoirs! hoopla going around, I thought I'd get in on it, too.
Sort of. Because writing here is like my memoir--albeit loosely. Still, things are as I say they are, at least here. Unless I lie, embellish, or fudge like memoir writers are wont to do. Who'd know, except those who know me? Muahaha.
Time for the polygraph.
Almost anyone can seem more convincing in a lie than I can in the truth.
True. Why the hell am I doing this again?
(The needle scribbles furiously.)
I am allergic to the pill patch thing.
True. If anyone wanted to kill me, all they'd have to do is to slap one of these puppies on me. My body will be decaying inside of a month.
My laugh embarrasses friends and family.
False. My laugh, which sounds like a monkey-bark hork, usually makes others jump a foot, then laugh with me. It's a glorius thing, laughter. And sometimes surprising as hell.
I lie to myself often.
50% True. I only lie to myself about how my butt looks in the mirror.
I am a true redhead.
False. But I should have been, oh, I should have been.
I would rather shirk responsibility than take it on.
False. I love being relied on 24/7.
(Buzzer. No, wait. The sound of a gong.)
Others underestimate me moreso than I do myself.
False. Damn it to hell. But at least I'm aware of this, no?
There is nothing wrong with that pair of brown slacks I wear to work.
True--as long as I'm wearing a long shirt.
This is all my fault.
True. Ain't anybody freaking else's.
I sat next to someone who farted through the first 15 minutes of a flight from Fort Wayne to Los Angeles.
True. I am a lucky, lucky girl.
There isn't enough coffee in the world.
Crunchy peanut butter is better than smooth.
Uh-uh. Not by half a bush of peanuts.
I'm just a lowly modern wage slave.
True. But it's a living.
(And the needle is silent.)
This entry inspired by a Newsweek article