Adverts make the heart grow fungus

I've been lucky this Valentine's season. Not in the way humans hope to, but in finding ideas for carrying Derick William Dalton's blog for him, the bum.

In this case, it's a letter he wrote which I found in C:\Desktop\Letters\Angry\To manipulative corporate sycophantic s***heads. It's not a mushy one to his wife, obviously. Those are under C:Desktop\Letters\Seductive\My Bitsy Pookums Snoogy Woogy Wips.

Yes, I puked also.

The letter in question today is filled with the angst of a man crushed between the pressures of being romantic and the lack of time and creativity to do so. Then having his inadequacies repeatedly tossed in his face by popular culture.

The poor sap. He writes:


Dear Kay Jewelers and Hallmark Greetings,

I write to express my opinion regarding your advertising campaigns and products. I'm not concerned with cards contributing to rainforest destruction by lack of pre- or post-consumer recycling. I could care less if you purchase your uncut diamonds from militant tyrant regimes in Africa.

I'm disturbed by the misanthropic view of males which you project, and subsequent attempts to capitalize on perceived inadequacies.

"To My Valentine..." open card, "words can't express my love for you."

Really. Then why did you write those? To practice your calligraphy?

"To my dearest love..." open card again, this time with trepidation, "I wish you a sudden rush of whatever brain chemicals make you experience lust."

At least this one had real information, but you are insulting men blatantly instead of covertly. Are you suggesting Valentine's Day is really about men giving themselves a gift by bribing their partners? Okay, maybe to some guys, but be subtle! If that works, it's because the guy already accomplished the necessary seduction. Do you see the fine, blurry line between bribery and payment for services rendered?

To the jeweler, relationships exist for a different end. Judging by your advertisements, you gained a comprehension of women by watching fiances fawn over rocks while you were supposed to be polishing ancient crushed coal - no firsthand experience. The excitement is the man, the moment, not the sparkly ice. Sure, some guys wish they could skip the romantic dates, commitment, learning of first names, and get right to the sex. They have alcohol, and it's much cheaper than diamonds. Women see your commercials, obviously aimed at insecure single guys, and are repulsed. Not just at the guys exhibited, but their girlfriends who become neurotically ecstatic when on one knee he offers a bit of jewelry. Real men want to give you a wedgie and a swirly, real women want to change the channel.

Continue to remake romance in your own image. Associate your products with happiness and ecstasy. The world needs more hollow products to fill our emotional voids.

Leave me the hell alone,

Derick William Dalton


A chill pill. Double dose. Or a day off, that's what DWD needs. Personally, I'm grateful male turtles are the alcohol and no-commitment types, sans alcohol. So much less complicated.

I could go for something chocolate, though.

Be my Valentine's Day marketing demographic

The season seems to be softening me like a deficiency in vitamins A, C, and D. This post is therefore dedicated to all who read it. Free of charge, I'm offering full reproductive permission.

Whoa, that came out wrong. Please don't ever ask me what you can and can't do with your jeans and genes. And to that Russian tortoise who keeps emailing me, that certainly was NOT the invitation you've been hoping for.

Do you see why I stick to cynicism? So much less confusion.

Many people need pre-made Valentine's Day cards. I'm not above associating myself with popular culture in the name of self promotion. So print and use to your heart's content, and may St. Valentine bring you whatever it was you asked when you sat on his lap.

Two-for-one special

I was asked a question recently. "Why are you so sarcastic?"

I'm more sardonic in my verbiage, I think. But more important a correction is the fact that this is a two part question. Let's take the first.

Why? The source of philosphy, that question, dating back to ancient Greece. It's the seed of scientific inquiry which has carried the world to new levels of achievement. Psychology has tried to answer it as it's emanated from the psyche of humans and others. Mountain climbers address it with off-hand reference to a summit's presence, writers to the absence of written word. Biologists provide my favorite approach - food and sex.

I, in a rare moment of humility, will admit I don't have the capacity to add to the tomes of discourse attempting to delve the question of "Why?". So on to part two.

Am I so sarcastic? No-o-o-o. Not at all.

What bwings us togevah today

Since my escape attempt, whenever I'm turned loose in the house I have to wear this harness Derick William Dalton made for me. I think it's out of an old material sample for a couch. He's so cheap. He sewed velcro on to secure it around my shell and and tied a long string to it so I can't hide anymore. I do get to run around outside more often though, so I suppose the trade-off is alright. I just wish it was a sexy lizard-skin green instead of davenport blue.

Last time I was free in the house, he left a copy of The Atlantic on the floor. Well, to be fair, his kids probably kicked it off the end table while jumping repeatedly onto the couch. Luckily I had all day to peruse it, as it's tough to turn pages without opposable digits. I'll give you primates that one. So, one article was on marriage, that it's an outdated institution and is pointless. I completely agree with Ms. Sandra Tsing Loh, of course. But then I read the article.

http://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2009/07/let-8217-s-call-the-whole-thing-off/7488/4/

I had to check the title again. Marriage? That's not what the article was about. Listen to this and decide if my title is more accurate: To Thine Own Selfish Be True.

The author's marriage got boring and so she did that weird thing humans do (you know, trying to reproduce but blocking the biological outcome?) only it was with some other guy. Then her friend complained about her marriage: her husband cooks like a French master and keeps in great shape and takes care of the kids but gives her grief about her weight and shows no affection. (I'm with him, but apparently mammals are supposed to show affection. Must be your squishy-soft skin and silky-fine hair. I have to see DWD and his wife cuddle frequently. Blech.) Another friend's hubby also keeps his hands and other things totally to himself but spends his free time watching other people pretend to reproduce. A third friend goes through men faster than I do.

I can see how that all relates to marriage, but as an expert on self-centeredness thanks to personal practice and millions of years of evolution, I can tell you that the civil joining of two Homo sapiens was not the central theme.

I'm all for free love, especially if he has a nicely indented plastron with a glistening coat of wax (ooh, that gave me chills!). But promising monogamy to a spouse and a community then backing out is colder than me in January under three feet of snow and one of dirt. And selfish. Too fat? That's why the author's friend isn't getting any? There's something else going on. Her Chef Boyar-bicyclist is either getting it on the side or has other issues he won't talk about. Selfish and selfish. Friend number two's hubby found another way to be selfish but pretend he's not. As for love-machine girl, maybe I'd better not comment, but I know how human males take a dumping. They only think they are tough.

So, she says, stick around the kids to keep parental relationships with them, but don't bother with the initial marriage part. I say go a step further and skip the parenting, too. Bury the kids in the sand with some food nearby and let them fend for themselves until they are strong enough to dig themselves out. Parenting is a waste of time.

Just don't mis-label your article in a highbrow-even-for-snobby-primates magazine. It's selfish to make readers retitle it for you.

The difference between psychiatry and dermatology? Lipstick.

I'm often fascinated by the facial features of humans. Specifically, how much more they can communicate than a reptile. See, here's what I can say: eyes open, eyes closed. That's I'm watching you, I'm not. I can't say I'm watching you because I think you are a good-for-nothing crook. Well, I could be saying that, but it looks identical to when I say the curve of your plastron is a total turn-on and I want you to fertilize my eggs. Do you see the problem? And do you see why male box turtles have had to evolve long rear claws to hold open the female's shell in the back? You hairless pink monkey girls think you have a hard time commuicating with your mates. Did I say pink? I meant pink and brown and tan and olive and - well, you get the idea.

Binocular vision seems like an interesting concept. If you don't mind people sneaking up behind you. I see Derick William Dalton's kids try this on each other once in a while. The problem is, they always giggle before they pounce. I suppose it's kind of cute, but how does he expect them to survive in the wild like that? One little giggle, zero point eight seconds, that's all I need to close up shop. Then who's giggling? Me. From inside my fortress. Of course, eyes on the side, of which I'm very fond I'll have you know, would be more efficient without the bulk of the rest of my turtleness. I'm not complaining about my figure. I am quite comfortable with my body shape, and Animal Planet with all those half-starved zoo models will not injure my self-image. Does that Russian tortoise really think she's attractive with glistening mango juice on her face? And the way she sticks her back legs out of the shell much farther than is comfortable? That's not biology, that's just a floozy show. Besides, the size of my shell doesn't matter. My neck is long and flexible, and I can easily peek around behind it.

Here's what I wish I did have, though. Lips and a dimple. Then I could smile, the dimple would dent into my right cheek, and I would be adorable. More adorable, I mean. The lips, on the other hand, aren't for what you think. It has nothing to do with food or affection, only communication. Picture this: eyes open, red lipstick. That means hello. Eyes open, red lipstick, and dimple: let's be friends. With the eyes closed, there are so many possibilities. With a hiss or two thrown in, I have an anthropologically recognized language.

Blue lipstick? Interesting possibilities for meanings. I'll have to read up on my Mary Kay and Sigmund Freud and get back to you.

A Political Runt. Or is it rant?

I was trying to concentrate on an escaping worm yesterday. Don't you dare laugh at my lack of speed. Have you ever eaten one the size of your leg with no hands? My hard time was exacerbated as DWD was on another political tirade on the phone. Something about hating fancy felosi. Sounds like an Italian dressing, which is weird, because DWD loves salad. So do I for that matter, as he gives me the leftovers. He has started these rants a few times a day over some apparent change in a health fair. I think he must have attended one. If I were a betting girl, I'd say his cholesterol was checked and too high. DWD doesn't handling aging or lack of fitness very well.

I thought he was done so I started to nod off under my heat lamp, tummy full of earthy, wormy, goodness. Then he started in on trying to get money from some Irish guy. He wanted to bill O'Reilly or O'Malley or O'Someone. He had a lot of mean things to say about this person, too. This also made no sense as DWD does no work overseas. In fact, I suspect he simply does no work.

My point is though, why do you all stress out so much? Too much on your plate at work? Not enough on your plate at the table? Just hibernate. Take a break. It's a good rest. Then have sex when you wake up and pass on your genes. Nothing matters after that. Homo sapiens of the world, chill out.

Wait, what? You have to raise your young? Wow. That sucks.