OK, so given that I’ve spent the past 3 years gleefully engulfed in ‘net culture only to have the door slammed in my face the last few months, I’m kind of going through withdrawals. I used to spend my vocational downtime (of which there is an embarrassing lot) shooting the shit with my pals on Facebook, playin’ a little Scrabulous, and obsessively reading blogs and commenting on Jezebel. Well, frenz, those days are DONE (until I get a new job), and now I’m left with next-to-nothing to do to fill my time. Seriously, there are only so many times one can clean their keyboard, polish their desk, and scrub the interior and exterior of their file cabinet with heady Stoner industrial cleaning products before brain cells start to drop away like witnesses in an organized crime trial. In short, I’m kind of losing it. I need stimulation. Like Johnny 5 needs INPUT, I require stuff to keep my brain occupied, and I much appreciate communication from the outside world. Because without it, it’s just me quietly internalizing everything while the all James Taylor (shitty fucking Marvin Gaye covers, the man has NO shame), Joni Mitchell, Cat Stevens, Carly Simon (the extended 10-minute version of ‘Jazz Man’ plays at least twice a day- shoot me), Paul Simon (but not that song with Chevy Chase that I inexplicably like), Bob Dylan (‘I’m convinced ‘Tangled up in Blue’ is the most annoying song ever written) adult contemporary radio station slowly robs me of my sanity. Next you hear from me, I may permanently be in a New York State of Mind. Take me Home, Country Roads.

Anyway, my fragile condition tends to get taken out on my pals, who dare to contact me in my hermetic cube. Any savory morsel of human interaction that wanders into my email box gets POUNCED upon and devoured. I tend to send lengthy and overzealous tomes in reply. In short, any simple correspondence thrown my way turns into a panda E-MAUL. To my fellow Buttercup writers, I’m sorry. But you just Keep Me Hangin’ on, as I’m Running on Empty. Goin’ where the weather suit my cloooothes, bankin’ offa the Northeast wind, sailin’ on summer breeze, and skippin’ over the ocean, like a stone. What follows after the jump, is an actual email exchange as it took place yesterday in Buttercup HQ. Enjoy, and, you know, send help. I work in the Cat’s Cradle district, turn left at the silver spoon, I’m right there behind the You’re So Vain Tire & Lube Express.

Panda: NO SHIT!! I made the top 100 wordpress posties (for ‘Moist’), wooooooot!!!

Tailfeather: ALRIGHT!!!!!!!!!!!!! Fist-pumping, tit-flashing, keg-standing awesome!!

I have some minor news of my own – I am threadjacking because I have to share with the only people who will understand. Guess who I just spent two hours on the phone with!

Panda: Ummmm… FOREIGNER?

Blake Lively? Blake Lively’s less attractive cousin?

Yoko Ono? Yoko Ono’s masseuse?

Fuckingggg… Liza Minnelli!

David Cross?

Fozzy Bear?

Dick Cheney?

The cast of Reno 911?

Ooh! Ooh! Martha Stewart?

PeTA?

Mary Kate Olsen?

Charlton Heston’s cold, dead hands?

Um…. Vincent Price’s disembodied voice from beyond the grave?

Kadinsky: Fozzy Bear – BWAHAHAHAHAHA

first good laugh all day – tanks

Panda: WAKKA WAKKA WAKKA!

Tailfeather: LOL. ‘Foreigner’ is on the right track.

Panda: Hmm. You were talkiinnnnggg toooo…

Rick Springfield?

Um, RATT?

Jon BonJovi?

Steve Perry the ugmo from Journey?

Dana Carvey (he spoofed ‘Cold as Ice’ once)?

Ooooh! Mike Meyers (Scottish)?

Halp! I needs cluuues!

Tailfeather: Think coffee and cocaine.

Panda: Ummm… Rachel Ray?

Ooooh!!! Kelly Ripa?

Umm, George Jung?

No… I’ve got it! JUAN VALDEZ?!

Juan Valdez’s burro?

Tailfeather: Are you trying to torture me here???? FLIPPANT, Ms. Panda.

Panda: Naw, I’m just trying to make you laugh b/c I loves you. I know you’re talking about your Angelic Colombian mancandy.

There, the cat(penis) is out of the bag, now DISH!

There you have it! I’m not going to tell you the rest of Tailfeather’s hot dish, because that’s her story to tell, and I just love the way she weaves a tale, don’t you? It’s like Midnight at the Oasis, send your camel to bed. Please just know that You’ve Got a Friend, strung out on another man, California I’m coming home in the comments.

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