I’d Rather Not Have Swamp Thing’s Ass [Friday Thoughts With TeeCoZee]

Good mid-mid-late-early-mid-afternoon. The weather in Brooklyn is 86˚ & kill me and somewhere, somebody is putting a sugar cube in his coffee. Aint nobody around to tell him otherwise. Heh heh. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll top it off while he’s halfway through the cup. Nobody will tell the difference. The many joys of being newly single. And as for me? I think sweeteners are for assholes. I also have some things on my mind.

– I want to slap everyone that is enjoying the hot weather. That is, if I had enough energy. It’s mentally and psychically damaging to work in a frigid environment, only to be pulled out of it for days at a time. Nothing sounds appealing anymore. Everybody has swamp ass. Swamp ass makes everyone unattractive. With that in mind, sex should be theoretically impossible. If there’s no sex, then who invented “summer lovin'”? Was that a figment of Olivia Newton John’s imagination? Was Grease all just a coma dream? Are people in comas aware of their swamp ass? Is anyone cleaning that swamp ass? Do they even get swamp ass? Do Androids get electric swamp ass? Are we all aware of how bad everyone smells or are we only smelling ourselves? If it’s hot & humid but nobodies around to feel it, can it still cause swamp ass? Did Swamp Thing have an ass? I can’t find any pictures of him from behind. What did Swamp Thing even do, besides walk through the mist and carry women in nightgowns? That’s seriously the only thing I know about him. Close your eyes and picture Swamp Thing? Is he walking through fog? Check. There’s a damsel in distress? Check. Is he eating a burrito? Paying taxes? Taking down bad guys? Doing anything interesting at all? Probably not. Fuck Swamp Thing. Worst superhero ever.

– Apparently you can buy a bidet attachment for your toilet at the low, low price of $27?!?

– I can feel the steam coming off my brain. The steam is an evaporation of inspiration, humor, energy, knowledge of frozen pizza products and general business-giving abilities. The only thing that I can hope for is to capture the steam in some sort of protected vessel, so I can dose each time I can feel myself losing more. Then I can go into a sweaty manic fury, while I run down the street shouting hilarious non-sequitors at innocent bystanders. That actually sounds awful. I guess I have to deal with staring off into space while I turn into a human hamburgular.

– I don’t know what’s more satisfying: When your poop smells like Haricots Verts or when you can actually point out what your poop smells like.

– The morning commute is such bullshit. I’m so used to riding in off-peak hours that I forget the idiocy that occurs when the whole city is trying to travel at the same time. I grabbed a C Trang right away Wednesday morning. Moderately full, comfortable, air conditioned, all good. Then we get to Franklin Ave and stop. And wait. And wait. And wait. And the air conditioning suddenly turns off. Turns out, there’s a broken down train in front of us. We wait 20 minutes and finally start moving. Get to the next stop and wait. Turns out, there was a train in front of us but behind the broken down train. A person on THAT train got sick, taking it out of commission. Now everybody has Swamp Ass. Then somebody got sick on our train. Then our train turned into a Q train for no reason. We weren’t moving, why make it a Q train? It caused a bunch of confused people to get off. I think it was a scare tactic. The train started running again, but we were heading towards Queens via the G line, because Q train? Then a talking dog held a lady at gunpoint. Swamp Thing came out of the fog [presumably caused by Swamp Ass] and turned the talking dog into a Spanish Talking Dog, which actually didn’t make any difference. He carried a different woman off the train, while the Spanish Talking Dog injured 12 straphangers. So naturally, Woody Harrelson highjacked the train. We all rolled our eyes at that one. So typical. And yet, they want to INCREASE fares. So we finally got to the Logan Airport and the flight to New York was actually quite pleasant. They even gave us toilettes for our Swamp Ass. Arriving at JFK, it was to my dismay to discover that the A was running local. Ugh. Come on. Aint nobody got time for that. The morning commute is such bullshit.

– I was thinking to myself: I bet the guy that invented Spanish Fly made a decent amount of money. I did some research on the matter and it ended up being some stupid scientific jargonery that i didn’t understand. Just tell me how much the floozy-maker made from floozying floozies! So instead, I deleted the “y” and added “ea” and was much happier.

I’ve listened to this for an hour straight. It’s the ultimate feel-good jam. I want this song to play at my wedding. And my funeral. And my bar mitzvah. I can picture all of the important events in my life and set it to this song and it becomes 5 million times better. But one thing that I always forget is that there’s words to the song. How did those words go again? Oh yeah:

There was a little Spanish flea
A record star he thought he’d be
He’d heard of singers like Beatles
The Chipmunks he’d seen on TV
Why not a little Spanish flea?

Do you really think a flea would have the capacity to develop dreams and aspirations? News flash, flea brain! The Beatles were humans and the chipmunks were fictitious, created by some guy named Rostom. This story makes no sense at all and it unravels in a cookie-cutter fashion. I’d give it the full Phantom Song treatment, but I’m sure you get the idea. There’s a reason why the industry-standard version doesn’t have lyrics.

This week’s Letter From Coze was sent out 20 seconds ago to a girl that seems too perfect to be real. Pretty damn sure she’s a bot. This is more of a test. But I really hope she responds:

Do you ever have the awkward moment where you feel like you’ve sent somebody a message before, but you can’t remember when/how/why/what the persons old username was if there was an old username at all and while inspired by heat delirium and “Spanish Flea” playing on an hour loop, you decide to send that person another message while trying to cover up the fact that you probably messaged them before to deaf ears? This isn’t one of those occasions, because I just blew my cover. Whoops. Regardless, your profile made my brain explode. Congratulations. If I ever regain consciousness, I would really like to get a meatloaf burrito with you and converse about how much money you would require to write a paragraph-long synopsis of every All My Children episode ever made.

Now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure I went on a date with her already? Or maybe I dreamt it up? I’m weirded out by this digital deja vu. I really need to turn off the Spanish Flea loop. I need to get outside. Readers and girls be damned.

Try this trick over the weekend: Give Swamp Thing Swamp Ass. If that’s even possible.

Have a swampy weekend, everyone!