Hey, I'm Spankbelly.
My tanks are small and amateurish. My fish are common and boring. Blah blah blah.
How about my personality?
I don't have any real stories or anything on file to share.
Just this tattered old goldy I sent to an American E-pal of brief acquaintance.
Shortly after this...blocked.
He did not appreciate Spankbelly sarcasm on life’s many issues.
This has been heavily edited. To remove the lowbrow, dockworkers language I usually use to express the life and times of Spankbelly.
So it might seem a little choppy.
Date: Mon, 2 Apr 2007 20:55:11 -0800
From: spankbelly@yahoo.ca
Subject: Former Miss Crazy Crazy.
To: CENSORED
The Tale of No Tail
This Friday I'm sick as heaven. I mean bad. I'm 33 and NEVER have I taken a sick day. But at noon I'm just about dead so I tells’em "Forget the overtime today Sir, I've taken ill." I hang in like a trooper, but have to clock out 2 hours early. Punk Girl. Blew my perfect attendance record.
I really work in a warehouse BTW. No stolen fire trucks. But I could you know. Maybe tomorrow.
So I crawl over to my woman's pad for some TLC and pass my butt out. By the time I recover some foggy consciousness, there is a bowl of fresh chicken soup steaming on my chest. And I think "Yep, she’s a sweetie. Think I'll keep her."
But I wake up early the next day 'cause she’s stripping the bed for washing. Early man. She sleeps about 8pm to 4am. Early. On a Saturday. An early sick Saturday. Guess she’s disgusted by all the mucous I've coughed up. It dried white on the red sheets and looks like a C.S.I/ Exorcist episode. But hey, I bought the sheets right? So forget it and let me be sick.
Nope, time to get up. At least she has breakfast ready.
I watch reruns of "Who wants to be the next Pussy Cat Doll?" with the sound off 'cause Jell-O Girls are nice, but none o'dem can sing. And there's no adult station on her basic cable.
She makes her daily phone calls to her 6 sisters and 2 bestfriendsforever scattered over Columbia, Canada, U.S.A and for some reason Germany. It's like Little House on the Prairie 2007.
She keeps switching phones to recharge the 2 wireless and 1 cell.
This makes me suspicious sometimes. All WE talk about is this weekends Blockbuster rental. What else does she have going on that's so exciting she needs 3 phones to cover it?
The whole time I'm thankful for two things. I'm not paying for it. And its all in Spanish, so I'm not too distracted from the Shaky Shake Dolls.
Wait a minute! It's all in Spanish! What is she talking about? Hmmm.
Monday I'm checking the community college for bilingual lessons. Or a secret decoder ring or something.
So, 3-4 hours of jaw boning has worked up an appetite in my little lady. Now she needs to go out for a burger.
Not a burger cooked on the BBQ I bought last week. The BBQ that took 3hrs to put together because Canadian Tire sold me Chinese instructions. The BBQ I bought so she could enjoy the summer sun she misses from Columbia. Not the meat bought and paid for, rotting in the fridge for a week...No.
See, she has a slight addiction to salt. All she really wants is the fries. So that's why I have to go out sick, and buy us both burgers. At a place expensive enough to not have a drive-through.
Cause drive-through fries aren't good enough right? Of course not. They have to be wedge cut $10 a plate fries. And we cant just get the fries. That would make us look cheap, God forbid.
I would look like a guy who just bought a $120 BBQ $28 propane tank $15 propane $20 accessories $20 BBQ cover $10 locking cable $40 food, most of which is still in the fridge and should be eaten soon, really soon. Like NOW!
So we go to a place with air conditioning. Who would want to sit in the sun after a long winter and eat home cooked BBQ?
We get burgers and fries and cokes.
Usually I'm not that cheap. But I have $250 worth of stuff at home, that I bought just so we don't have to do this.
Now I'm a JERK because I mention there isn't any beef in the burger. Only ground up bread. I'm paying $30 for meatloaf burgers! And this kid expects a tip, so he can download a funky new ring tone.
I can't even finish mine. I've been there before and liked it. But now I'm thinking how much better it would have been if I did it myself.
And it wouldn't cost $30 dollars for bread burgers.
And I never spit in my own food, if I think I'm not going to leave a gargantuan gratuity for telling myself to sit at the empty table.
And I can refill my own coke, thankyouverymuch.
When it comes time to settle up, she insist on paying half. I know I'm DEAD.
See, if she’s feeling romantic she likes "her man" to pay for things. And open the door. No matter how many times I tell her that's really a sign of ownership, and degrading to women.
But when her coin purse opens up, her ‘mind’ is closed tight. Suddenly she can open the door herself. And she can actually leave or enter a room without my permission.
And I can romance myself too.
We drive home without talking about the fact we are not talking.
I'm still sick and just want to relax. I pour a rye and coke and warm up the T.V. in time to get a lecture on how I'm drinking to much.
She made me a cup of hot lemon tea, which is some kind of Colombian home cure. But I'm not drinking it and she’s offended.
I say "Yeah, maybe lemon tea actually works. After all, the chicken soup myth might be true. Because there is antibacterial properties in it that don't affect viruses, but might help with food poisoning. Maybe real lemon tea helps in some way I don't know about. But seriously, you didn't use lemons to make this. You used fake lemon juice from a little plastic yellow container. I have doubts that much of Mother Natures Magic comes out of a lab that packages 5 chemical markers that make our tongues THINK we are eating a lemon, while leaving out the other 60,000 chemicals God and evolution put in a real plant. So thanks for the flavoured water, but I'll stick to the whiskey. At least it has alcohol in it."...My bad.
Now I have a very serious drinking problem. Even though I actually don't drink because alcohol + diabetes X stupid = death. And the only reason I have it in the house is because we stopped to pick up the wine she drinks daily.
While I was there I thought “Hey, I haven't had rye in about 20yrs. I'll try that.” Turns out its pretty darn good. And helps me go to sleep at 8pm when she turns out the lights.
But she has a very low tolerance and gets looped on one small glass. I can drink half a bottle without feeling much, another reason I don't bother to drink.
But anyway, now I'm a lush. Even though she takes a dose large enough to become intoxicated every night after work. And I don't drink anything all week, but have 5 on the weekend.
So in a week she has 5 and I have 5. Shouldn't she shut up and refill the ice tray?
No. Whisky is low rent, trailer trash, white bread, hillbilly, evil moonshine.
Wine is just wine. Wine is grape juice. Wine is Churchy.
Yuppie hypocrite. Maybe she has some baggage from her beer drinking wife beating ex.
What does that have to do with me?
She says she’s walking down to the 7/11 to mail a letter. I ask if that's an invitation or if she wants some alone time. She says that's a good idea.
She leaves and I think great, finally some peace and quiet.
I go upstairs to sleep off the illness. The sheets are still in the dryer so I use the guest room. I wake up 2hrs later. I don't hear her in the house so I patrol the sector.
Nobodies home. Poke my head out the back door, yep that's my neglected BBQ. Go inside. Purse, shoes, keys, where is she? Whatever. Take a pit stop.
Kids playing street hockey outside, too loud to sleep. Turn on the T.V. Door bell. Oops, remember the back door was not locked when I opened it but was when I closed it.
Guess what happened? A simple mistake? An everyday common occurrence of someone getting locked out of their house?
No. Somehow the planets aligned with the fates of old and conjured the devil herself on the back porch.
I opened the door and she came rolling in, surfing a wave of blue Spanish so pure of hate it need no translation. "Why did you lock me out?"
"Sorry, didn't mean to. Just checked the house, looked outside, didn't see you."
"You see my purse, my shoes, my keys and you lock the door?"
"Sorry, that's become instinctive. Where I'm from houses don't even have locks. But your a paranoid Colombian. The remote access garage door is dead bolted from the inside and alarmed. The car is locked and alarmed inside a locked and alarmed garage. The house door to the garage is locked and alarmed, even though the garage is locked and alarmed.
So while I don't even close my ghetto door when I go out, and often find the neighbors dog sleeping on my couch, I naturally lock your yuppie suburb doors even when I'm inside. Sorry sorry sorry. Stupid me sorry. I should have realized. But I just woke up and I guess my brain was a little slow putting the facts together."
"I've been ringing the bell and knocking for half an hour" (She says, while checking her watch for benefit of the jury. Though this is clearly an exaggeration a seasoned judge wouldn't buy)
"I didn't hear you, sorry."
"YOU DIDN'T HEAR ME? YOU hear EVERYTHING! When we're outside you can here my cell going dead in the car! You hear that through the back door, through the garage door, through the car.(Its true. I am a product of fine German engineering.) YOU didn't hear me? I rang the bell, banged on the door, yelled at you through the window, and YOU didn't hear me?"
"Well, no I didn't. There are kids playing hockey, the T.V. was on, the toilet was running, the door bell is so quiet you asked the contractor to replace it, I was in the back room, I was asleep half the time and I woke up with a head full of snot. And you are too shy to make much noise and attract the neighbors attention. So no, I didn't here you, sorry."
It continued with more volume and less English. After careful deliberation, the jury concluded I intentionally locked her out of her own house. In some sort of alcohol fueled bout of adolescent prankster-ism. And I was sentenced to leave immediately or face execution.
On my way out, I put my whiskey and her wine bottles side by side in the kitchen. Both had exactly the same amount left.
I bet she pretends to miss the point.
How was your day?
My tanks are small and amateurish. My fish are common and boring. Blah blah blah.
How about my personality?
I don't have any real stories or anything on file to share.
Just this tattered old goldy I sent to an American E-pal of brief acquaintance.
Shortly after this...blocked.
He did not appreciate Spankbelly sarcasm on life’s many issues.
This has been heavily edited. To remove the lowbrow, dockworkers language I usually use to express the life and times of Spankbelly.
So it might seem a little choppy.
Date: Mon, 2 Apr 2007 20:55:11 -0800
From: spankbelly@yahoo.ca
Subject: Former Miss Crazy Crazy.
To: CENSORED
The Tale of No Tail
This Friday I'm sick as heaven. I mean bad. I'm 33 and NEVER have I taken a sick day. But at noon I'm just about dead so I tells’em "Forget the overtime today Sir, I've taken ill." I hang in like a trooper, but have to clock out 2 hours early. Punk Girl. Blew my perfect attendance record.
I really work in a warehouse BTW. No stolen fire trucks. But I could you know. Maybe tomorrow.
So I crawl over to my woman's pad for some TLC and pass my butt out. By the time I recover some foggy consciousness, there is a bowl of fresh chicken soup steaming on my chest. And I think "Yep, she’s a sweetie. Think I'll keep her."
But I wake up early the next day 'cause she’s stripping the bed for washing. Early man. She sleeps about 8pm to 4am. Early. On a Saturday. An early sick Saturday. Guess she’s disgusted by all the mucous I've coughed up. It dried white on the red sheets and looks like a C.S.I/ Exorcist episode. But hey, I bought the sheets right? So forget it and let me be sick.
Nope, time to get up. At least she has breakfast ready.
I watch reruns of "Who wants to be the next Pussy Cat Doll?" with the sound off 'cause Jell-O Girls are nice, but none o'dem can sing. And there's no adult station on her basic cable.
She makes her daily phone calls to her 6 sisters and 2 bestfriendsforever scattered over Columbia, Canada, U.S.A and for some reason Germany. It's like Little House on the Prairie 2007.
She keeps switching phones to recharge the 2 wireless and 1 cell.
This makes me suspicious sometimes. All WE talk about is this weekends Blockbuster rental. What else does she have going on that's so exciting she needs 3 phones to cover it?
The whole time I'm thankful for two things. I'm not paying for it. And its all in Spanish, so I'm not too distracted from the Shaky Shake Dolls.
Wait a minute! It's all in Spanish! What is she talking about? Hmmm.
Monday I'm checking the community college for bilingual lessons. Or a secret decoder ring or something.
So, 3-4 hours of jaw boning has worked up an appetite in my little lady. Now she needs to go out for a burger.
Not a burger cooked on the BBQ I bought last week. The BBQ that took 3hrs to put together because Canadian Tire sold me Chinese instructions. The BBQ I bought so she could enjoy the summer sun she misses from Columbia. Not the meat bought and paid for, rotting in the fridge for a week...No.
See, she has a slight addiction to salt. All she really wants is the fries. So that's why I have to go out sick, and buy us both burgers. At a place expensive enough to not have a drive-through.
Cause drive-through fries aren't good enough right? Of course not. They have to be wedge cut $10 a plate fries. And we cant just get the fries. That would make us look cheap, God forbid.
I would look like a guy who just bought a $120 BBQ $28 propane tank $15 propane $20 accessories $20 BBQ cover $10 locking cable $40 food, most of which is still in the fridge and should be eaten soon, really soon. Like NOW!
So we go to a place with air conditioning. Who would want to sit in the sun after a long winter and eat home cooked BBQ?
We get burgers and fries and cokes.
Usually I'm not that cheap. But I have $250 worth of stuff at home, that I bought just so we don't have to do this.
Now I'm a JERK because I mention there isn't any beef in the burger. Only ground up bread. I'm paying $30 for meatloaf burgers! And this kid expects a tip, so he can download a funky new ring tone.
I can't even finish mine. I've been there before and liked it. But now I'm thinking how much better it would have been if I did it myself.
And it wouldn't cost $30 dollars for bread burgers.
And I never spit in my own food, if I think I'm not going to leave a gargantuan gratuity for telling myself to sit at the empty table.
And I can refill my own coke, thankyouverymuch.
When it comes time to settle up, she insist on paying half. I know I'm DEAD.
See, if she’s feeling romantic she likes "her man" to pay for things. And open the door. No matter how many times I tell her that's really a sign of ownership, and degrading to women.
But when her coin purse opens up, her ‘mind’ is closed tight. Suddenly she can open the door herself. And she can actually leave or enter a room without my permission.
And I can romance myself too.
We drive home without talking about the fact we are not talking.
I'm still sick and just want to relax. I pour a rye and coke and warm up the T.V. in time to get a lecture on how I'm drinking to much.
She made me a cup of hot lemon tea, which is some kind of Colombian home cure. But I'm not drinking it and she’s offended.
I say "Yeah, maybe lemon tea actually works. After all, the chicken soup myth might be true. Because there is antibacterial properties in it that don't affect viruses, but might help with food poisoning. Maybe real lemon tea helps in some way I don't know about. But seriously, you didn't use lemons to make this. You used fake lemon juice from a little plastic yellow container. I have doubts that much of Mother Natures Magic comes out of a lab that packages 5 chemical markers that make our tongues THINK we are eating a lemon, while leaving out the other 60,000 chemicals God and evolution put in a real plant. So thanks for the flavoured water, but I'll stick to the whiskey. At least it has alcohol in it."...My bad.
Now I have a very serious drinking problem. Even though I actually don't drink because alcohol + diabetes X stupid = death. And the only reason I have it in the house is because we stopped to pick up the wine she drinks daily.
While I was there I thought “Hey, I haven't had rye in about 20yrs. I'll try that.” Turns out its pretty darn good. And helps me go to sleep at 8pm when she turns out the lights.
But she has a very low tolerance and gets looped on one small glass. I can drink half a bottle without feeling much, another reason I don't bother to drink.
But anyway, now I'm a lush. Even though she takes a dose large enough to become intoxicated every night after work. And I don't drink anything all week, but have 5 on the weekend.
So in a week she has 5 and I have 5. Shouldn't she shut up and refill the ice tray?
No. Whisky is low rent, trailer trash, white bread, hillbilly, evil moonshine.
Wine is just wine. Wine is grape juice. Wine is Churchy.
Yuppie hypocrite. Maybe she has some baggage from her beer drinking wife beating ex.
What does that have to do with me?
She says she’s walking down to the 7/11 to mail a letter. I ask if that's an invitation or if she wants some alone time. She says that's a good idea.
She leaves and I think great, finally some peace and quiet.
I go upstairs to sleep off the illness. The sheets are still in the dryer so I use the guest room. I wake up 2hrs later. I don't hear her in the house so I patrol the sector.
Nobodies home. Poke my head out the back door, yep that's my neglected BBQ. Go inside. Purse, shoes, keys, where is she? Whatever. Take a pit stop.
Kids playing street hockey outside, too loud to sleep. Turn on the T.V. Door bell. Oops, remember the back door was not locked when I opened it but was when I closed it.
Guess what happened? A simple mistake? An everyday common occurrence of someone getting locked out of their house?
No. Somehow the planets aligned with the fates of old and conjured the devil herself on the back porch.
I opened the door and she came rolling in, surfing a wave of blue Spanish so pure of hate it need no translation. "Why did you lock me out?"
"Sorry, didn't mean to. Just checked the house, looked outside, didn't see you."
"You see my purse, my shoes, my keys and you lock the door?"
"Sorry, that's become instinctive. Where I'm from houses don't even have locks. But your a paranoid Colombian. The remote access garage door is dead bolted from the inside and alarmed. The car is locked and alarmed inside a locked and alarmed garage. The house door to the garage is locked and alarmed, even though the garage is locked and alarmed.
So while I don't even close my ghetto door when I go out, and often find the neighbors dog sleeping on my couch, I naturally lock your yuppie suburb doors even when I'm inside. Sorry sorry sorry. Stupid me sorry. I should have realized. But I just woke up and I guess my brain was a little slow putting the facts together."
"I've been ringing the bell and knocking for half an hour" (She says, while checking her watch for benefit of the jury. Though this is clearly an exaggeration a seasoned judge wouldn't buy)
"I didn't hear you, sorry."
"YOU DIDN'T HEAR ME? YOU hear EVERYTHING! When we're outside you can here my cell going dead in the car! You hear that through the back door, through the garage door, through the car.(Its true. I am a product of fine German engineering.) YOU didn't hear me? I rang the bell, banged on the door, yelled at you through the window, and YOU didn't hear me?"
"Well, no I didn't. There are kids playing hockey, the T.V. was on, the toilet was running, the door bell is so quiet you asked the contractor to replace it, I was in the back room, I was asleep half the time and I woke up with a head full of snot. And you are too shy to make much noise and attract the neighbors attention. So no, I didn't here you, sorry."
It continued with more volume and less English. After careful deliberation, the jury concluded I intentionally locked her out of her own house. In some sort of alcohol fueled bout of adolescent prankster-ism. And I was sentenced to leave immediately or face execution.
On my way out, I put my whiskey and her wine bottles side by side in the kitchen. Both had exactly the same amount left.
I bet she pretends to miss the point.
How was your day?
