We at ZDs are happy to welcome our newest member, the Bouncer. The Bouncer is pursuing a Ph.D. in Auto Body and Creative Negotiations. As a child he received an Iron Sewer Rat for being the first Boy Scout ever to swim a mile through industrial sludge. He applied to law school hoping to become intimately acquainted with torts, but when he discovered no cake was involved, he instead graduated at the top of his class from the renowned perjury program at the University of Cosa Nostra (or so he says).
The Bouncer is the guardian of a secret family cement recipe that goes back to fourteenth-century Palermo. He maintains interests in handcrafted weapons of self-destruction, such as the remote-control atlatl; childrearing practices among Viking chieftans; and the significance of fingernail dirt in cross-cultural analysis. His professional background includes extensive experience as a crash-test dummy, and he is certified to operate hydraulic log-splitters with the safety mechanisms shut off. He can be heard before he can be seen driving a convertible garbage truck at speeds in excess of 20 miles per hour and selling Whooppee cushions to neighborhood children.
Plagued by a sense that something was missing from his life, the Bouncer recently began to get in touch with his feminine side. His parlor, newly redecorated in soft “blush” and “bashful” tones (two very different shades of pink), now features an elaborate display of My Little Ponies, a collection lacking only the rare vintage 1983 edition Starlight Dancer with purple ribbon accessories (which he ardently seeks). The Bouncer is frequently seen attending society balls and masquerades and has won numerous awards for his acclaimed merman costume, complete with a tail boasting an astonishing 6000 green-and-silver sequins as well as an imitation seaweed wig. Other fresh developments include his blossoming interest in quilting bees, spurring him to undertake an ambitious project to represent abstractly, using scraps of incandescent unitards, Strawberry Shortcake’s continuing struggle against senility through the application of Oil of Olay and the consumption of pickled pigs’ feet. He hopes to one day start a small business as a seamster decorating and mending parasols and corsets.
Anyone who thinks a corset requires decoration should be . . .
THUMP!!
Bouncer, could you please refrain from driving that abomination of a vehicle until after 10:oo a.m.? And must you drench yourself in eau de skunk?
Unfortunately, your barechested merman costume is inciting lustful thoughts in vulnerable young women. Could you be prevailed upon to glue a few of those 6000 sequins to your nipples?
[Eve escorted to local pillory wearing nothing but a sequin-encrusted unitard.]
Bouncer, I am appalled that you sell whooppee cushions to the neighborhood kids. What kind of a man are you, anyway?
Whooppee cushions should be purchased wholesale and distributed around the neighborhood gratis. Shape up, brothah!
(Only kidding a little bit. Robert Kirby suggested that all LDS folk should be required to sit on a whooppee cushion once a day, just so we would quit taking ourselves so seriously.)
But 15% of my proceeds are donated to the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Clowns (and that’s after tithing!). Besides which, an undisclosed portion of my sales is to misheivous RS sisters on the condition that Whooppee cushions be smuggled regularly into Home Family and Personal Enrichment gatherings, surely a worthy cause . . .
Gee, I’m out of it a for a little while, and everyone gets delusions of Bouncers . . .
I want a bare chested Merman outfit. Do you do trades?
Pedicure set with powertools – LOL!
Bouncer, so far we know this about you:
1. You have a highly developed ability and instinct to look out for No. 1.
2. Your personal habits are disgusting and your personal hygiene is revolting.
3. You are crudely insensitive to others.
4. You are, no doubt, a man who scratches where it itches, even in public.
In short, you are pretty much my kinda guy. So what’s with all the pink stuff? And what is your function around here? Are you going to be the Heavy who throws people out of here, like the security guys at Hooters? Somehow, editing comments and sending people to outer blog darkness by banning them doesn’t seem quite as fulfilling.
A final word to the wise – if anybody suggests you undergo anything containing the words “estrogen” or “therapy”, run the other way. Fast.
fmhLisa, my very fine line of merman costumes features a selection of green, blue, blush, bashful, and–my personal favorite–dancing starlight sparkle seaweed wigs. Each wig is tastefully coordinated to all 6,000 handsewn sequins on the accompanying costume. (A trident with optional flyswatter attachment can be included for a nominal fee.)
I would be delighted to trade one of these fine merman customes for some toenail polish and a collection of quality powertools, preferably with pink decoration tollpainted on by hand, to complete my pedicure set. (I ask only that you make no reference to me in the event that the Bloggernacle Modesty Inquisition contacts your local bishop.)
Mark, pal, ordinarily I’d feel compelled to escort you from this blog for a comment treading (sniff) dangerously close to personal attack. It’s true I regularly belch in public with enough force to peel wallpaper, but at least I cover my mouth with a lace doily. Furthermore, I was fired from my position at Hooters for operating a front-end loader to dump unruly patrons in the parking lot; I’m finding blogs much more amenable to my personal quirks.
But I have such tender, delicate feelings for those who have not yet learned to celebrate the rich and rewarding world of the Feminine. I would invite you with all the deep concern of a former public bum-scratcher to bask in the sparkling pink aura that is sap. Hose your house down with Pepto Bismal, dear; you’ll never regret it. (Unless, well, you do.)
Please peruse the forthcoming copy of Fascinating Hermaphroditehood with an open heart.
It’s a deal! And I’ll throw in a complimentary bucket ‘o ponies circa 1984, recently relocated in ‘the shed’ (sligtly infused with the smell of chicken and rat).
Done! (I wavered a bit there, I admit, in the face of the fearsome Bloggernacle Modesty Inquisition, but the eau-de-rat bucket ‘o ponies was the clincher.)
Bouncer, I think that ours might not be the only blog in need of your services. Click here (see comments #10 and #11) to see some of the wild things that can happen when a blog doesn’t have a good Bouncer in place. 😉
Lynnette, truly, here we witness the horrifying consequences of going Bouncerless (not to be confused with going braless). Let this be a lesson to anyone who might feel tempted to question my ontological credentials. (Aren’t people with two genders twice as real as people with one?) 😉
When I read “swim a mile through industrial sludge”, I just KNEW that his next interest would be law. 😎
Is the Bouncer still here?
Depends on how inflammatory your comment is.