Public Service Announcements

You read it right. It is not a spelling error. It is plural.

I have several announcements to make and I would like to list them as the consummate professional I am. As such, I am volunteering my time and energy to sponsor--to publish these very important public announcements.

Public Service Announcement One:

I have found the remedy for the 10-day flu/illness/swine flu/sickness from hell. It is Stella.

Tested, double-blind placebo, done.

Note: I don't know the chemistry, I don't care. For all you naysayers, the lager either drowns the fluttering bird or coats the stomach lining. Maybe it numbs the pain. All I know is that it provides sweet relief. Those Belgiums really nailed it. Again. Neanderthals? Hardly!

Public Service Announcement Two:

Please note, this announcement is ONLY for single, chaste people over the age of 30.

Now is no time to abstain. Copulation is REALLY good. Like, THE BEST.

Note: You're not getting any younger and shooting up heroin is still illegal. And what if...what if, there is no celestial kingdom?

Public Service Announcement Three:

Today is Friday, January 15. I have made only good decisions today:

1. I verbally declared: "I will never work another day in my life."

2. I wrote on the wall above my bed: "I will read Don Quixote."

3. I made the decision that I must do something that is going to be very difficult. Now.

Note: Only number three will actually happen.

Public Service Announcement Four:

Skinny Jeans on Guys: Fashion or Fate?

Remember the controversy surrounding male bikers who couldn't knock up their wives? Excessive biking caused impotence and a low sperm count. Yea, in summary, pressure from the bike seat on the area surrounding the scrotum was the culprit. Too tight. Toight as a tiger. Just like the painted-on jeans that all the hipsters are wearing. T i g h t. So leave the boys in skinny jeans alone. Artificial Selection is often unintentional. Natural Selection is unavoidable.

Note: I would be very depressed if my boyfriend wore smaller jeans than me. I would secretly try to squeeze into them and cry. And then I would tell him, "It's not you ... it's your genes--I mean jeans!"

Public Service Announcement Five:

I had a pang of missing the friends I used to work with at the frankfurter food processing plant. For example, Erin, whose eyes reveal what she is thinking in less than two seconds but her dry wit remains unsurpassed. And Jocey (who lets me call her Jocey even though no one else does) who demands respect by her wardrobe alone, who is ambitious, smart, honest, persistent, and totally unappreciated. And Courtney and Amber with their humor and sarcasm and the legendary soy latte that saved my life. I miss other people too. Actually, not really.

Note: I don't want to be a man. Ever. Being a woman in the workforce may be demeaning, but being a man is even worse. Grown men giving other grown men blow jobs is much more pathetic than never being promoted to upper management.

That is all.