|THE BLACK LIST: LAST CALL FOR ALKY-HOL.|
|By The Black Table|
We've obviously been thinking a lot about the end of days these parts lately -- we think we've mentioned that we're closing up shop in, like, a week-and-a-half -- and it got us to musing on how we, personally, might like to go, when it's time to shuffle off this mortal coil.
There were the usual suspects -- being ripped apart by wolves, suffering a heart attack while in some sort of combination of Carolina Panthers cheerleaders -- but we think we'd like to die by being hit by an Amtrak train. Not just because it would be quick and painless, and not just because we'd inevitably end up on Rotten.com, but because in 30 years no one will ever remember we had trains, and legend will have it that we were attacked by a giant metal monster. That's not a bad epitaph.
This is last time we're going to do this, because, much to the sadness of our soul, next week's Black List is the final one. So if you ever wanted to do a submission but didn't have time this is your last chance. Use the form on the right. Last call!
REPUBLICANS WHO SUDDENLY DON'T HAVE HEALTH INSURANCE: The Borg/Warner company in my town just decided to vacate their agreement with retirees and jack their insurance up to the moon. Their prescriptions are no longer paid for, and their co-pay is now 50 percent. I watch these well-fed rednecks waving signs urging passing motorists to honk in protest against the capitalist pigs that are giving it to them hard and fast with no lube and I wonder: Did you scoff at health care reform? Did you delight in every Clinton humiliation? Did you have fun looking down your nose at welfare moms at the free clinic? Well, now you know what it feels like. Watching Repubs reaping what they sow: A+. Knowing it's my turn next: F -- Deanna
LIVING WITH MORMONS: I'm not saying I'm an atypical college student in any way -- I lived in the dorms, for God's sake, and drank with my friends quite a bit. Of course this isn't a problem for the collegiates who invite their roommates along, but what am I supposed to do when my roommates are devout Mormons with a harsher zero tolerance policy than the school board itself? I can't get away with it outdoors, and if I host any of it in my own room, I get turned into the police. It really isn't hard to approach me (I'm far from a menacing little girl) and simply explain your discomfort with a habit of your roommate's that is freaking you out. Like a bottle of beer. Their preferred form of
communication is limited to eerily scrawled messages on our bathroom mirror in what could be common paint, saying snidely bitchy things like Galatians 5:19-21. When that doesn't work, they inform me that Officer Burrows is here to ask me some questions. HEY-- if I wanted to be punished for debauchery, I would have asked my mom to do it when I was living with her. I don't have anything against religious zealots, but it would be great if they could chill out. F -- Tracie
MYSPACE: Never one to be an early adopter when it comes to the Internet, I only just got around to signing up for MySpace. (Yes, post Rupert. Fuck off.) "It's the new Friendster," my ex-boyfriend said. "And you can check out cool new music!" Fine. So finally, one Saturday, I relented. I posted a few pictures, listed my favorite bands, wrote a spectacularly weird "About Me" entry and asked my friends on the site-all eleven of them-to add me to their buddy lists. So far, so good. But at around 6 the following Friday, it suddenly became apparent that something was very, very wrong. I logged onto my hotmail account for the second time in two hours only to discover that I suddenly had hundreds of new messages from people with names like Tupac, KittyMuncher and MyCock, all of whom wanted to be buds. Panicked, I sent an email to "Tom," asking him to please take my picture off whatever virtual men's room wall he'd posted it to. And then I logged off and logged on again and saw my own face shining back at me from the homepage: I'd been featured as a "Cool New Person." Over the course of the next 48 hours, the number of people who'd viewed my profile went from 17 to 17,000, and I got upwards of 600 emails, mostly from men, praising my talent and my beauty and offering me friendship, love and, yes, rides on their cocks. Having your hotmail inbox hopelessly clogged with icky "friend requests": D. An ego boost profound enough to render me (at least virtually) rejection-proof for months: B+ -- Lauren
FUCKING MEDICINE: Recently I acquired insurance through my job, something I have not experienced for six years. Upon receipt of my insurance card I quickly became hacking, wheezing sick. Once the doctor seeing me figured out the extent of my wilderness time, he proceeded to put me through an x-raying, blood-taking, testicle-prodding decathlon of medical joy. The results came in, and aside from my being overweight, asthmatic and a smoker, I was golden... except for my liver. But what was wrong? What shade of hep did I have? Was it tainted salad? My new "hooker-a-week" plan? At our next sit down he tells me he thinks it's fatty liver. Once again folks, FATTY LIVER. It's as if on the schoolyard of my body, poor Mr. Liver has been singled out, wrapped in bacon and hit in the nuts with a tetherball. The doctor informs me that apparently it's not a big risk, but in some rare cases it can progress to the next stage. "Fatty fatty two by four?" I ask. Silence. "No," he says. More silence. Unamused Doctors & Obese Organs: F -- Adam Witthuhn
SUPREME COURT GROUPIES: Today at work I turned on the Alito confirmation hearings on CNN to provide a nice drone of senatorial bullshit to soundtrack my day. Fortunately, I turned it on early enough to catch the footage of Alito walking to the hearings and heard the shrill screams of a horde of supporters outside the Senate building. Signs waving, voices straining, arms flailing. Whether you love him, hate him or don't actually care, it was cute to see this pasty, dorky, bespectacled conservative greeted like a rock star. He grinned a bit, like the science geek who finally impresses the jocks with his science fair robot that can open beer bottles, and I found myself willing him to enjoy the moment. That's probably the only time in his life he has been, or ever will be, treated like Mick Jagger. Unless, of course, the Supreme Court clerks are as much the slutty groupies as we all secretly suspect they are. My liberal and rawk-loving heart rules this a B. -- Megan G.
CO-WORKER TMI: I hear "Hey chickadee" behind me, and that's when I know I am in for it. Another round of TMI from my co-worker who always waddles in my cube for Storytime Starring Her, either before I've had my first sip of crappy office coffee or when I am too busy to even breathe. And despite my arsenal of weapons -- code cough warning from my co-worker one cube over, meetings I am supposedly running late for, and even the suggestion that some things are just a little much -- the spewing commences. Last week it's that her husband's mad she won't have sex with him. Today it was that she "messed herself" because of her new medicine. Please dear God find a freaking friend, a diary, a wall - anything - to spew your shit to. No pun intended. Hearing about a co-worker's bedroom and bathroom blunders and almost throwing up in my mouth on a weekly basis? F -- Sarah
IPOD EARBUDS: I've had my iPod almost three years, but never used the headphones. When I got it, I had these Sonys that I liked well enough, and then about a year ago, I bought a set of Shure e2c's, which are easily the best phones I've ever heard. Life is good. This week, I had to send my Shure's back for a warranty replacement. The Sony's are long gone, so I had to dig out those shiny white iPod earbuds. The verdict? Total suckitude. They won't stay in my ears, don't block out external noise and make all music sound like its being played through a half foot of sludge. Not even the EQ settings help. Two things that were once enjoyable with music -- the gym and riding metro -- have been reduced to their former drudgery. I'm so counting the days until my Shure's come back. F -- Adam Brecher
HIGH SCHOOL TEACHERS: To start off, let me ask you a question: Would you be interested in a low paying job with little or no benefits, no hope of advancement and no appreciation whatsoever from those you seek to help? No? Well, then let me ask you this: What sane, well adjusted human would? It boggles the mind that there are enough people out there to fill these positions. Sure, there are a number of people who do it out of a sense of altruism, but the majority of them are power hungry control freaks who are to incompetent to gain any sort of power over an adult. D- -- David Belknap
PARTYING WITH THE SUBORDINATES: One of my employees transferred to the West Coast, which resulted in the planning of a night of drunken debauchery. Believe me, I am not a prude, but partying with my subordinates didn't seem like a good idea since I (as a late 20-something manager) had to work extremely hard to earn their respect. Nonetheless, I ended up at said party where I was fed a steady diet of shots of Jag, tequila, whiskey and beer by my adoring employees. Yes, I held my liquor and didn't act like an ass, and my reputation as "fun" has risen to an all-time high which has resulted in more social event invites. Being the boss and still considered cool enough to party with: a big flaming "A." Having to be the boss the next morning still hung over on the shots bought for you: F -- K
ABORTED BLACK LIST TOPICS: Now that the Black List is retiring, soon to join the Pantheon of Literary Giants, these topics-in-waiting may never see the light of day, unless I print them up and stand on the street corner yelling Extra!!!: Old guys who wear their gray hair in pompadours and look more like their wives' sisters: short, round and sweat-suited with a big pile of fluffy white hair ... Check engine light: If it's run by a computer, how come it can't tell me what's wrong too? Why are people who don't really like coffee always in front of me in coffee shops, taking 10 minutes to order enough stuff thrown in their coffee so they can no longer taste it? Fantasy football: just not the combination of words I like to see Double standards at work for hotties, family members, parents of small children, etc. should be grounds for justifiable homicide by the people who get there on time and have to stay late How you can't go anywhere without being sold something: Your shopping cart has an ad in the basket. I am already shopping! Leave me alone Jay Leno's success People who just heard the loving Word of God then won't let you out in line in the church parking lot Tiger Woods acting all on-the-mean-streets-badass. Eldrick, you are on a private country club golf course. You don't scare anybody and finally, all of us that think Andy Rooney's spot on 60 Minutes is for old farts and here we are, doing the same thing....for free. Still, an A with plus's. Lots of them. -- Roy Felipe
Each and every week, Black Table readers like you write the Black List and get absolutely nothing in return. Ain't that some shit.