Bleep Year

You do realize, don’t you, that today is pretty much a free day to do all sorts of horrifying, loathesome, and thoroughly inexcusable things that, one year from now, will have no actual anniversary date and thus not truly be “of record”? And that by 2012, anyone holding a grudge over the hideous violations and indiscretions and pecadilloes and wanting to memorialize them by regurgitating their details on the anniversary day, will just come off as bitter? You do recognize this, yes?
Feel free to confess your intentions here, but please be advised that in doing so, you will be making it a lot easier for those offended to find documented evidence to use against you in 2012. (Because, yes, “BISS” will be here forever.)
So, go on. Get outta here. And start taking advantage of this opportunity now. If you’re in my time zone, that means you have only eight and a half hours to devise, enact, and revel in your chosen offense.

Didn’t she give us the same advice last leap year? Why, yes. Yes, she did. But it was so long ago that she thought you had forgotten. See? See how that works?

Be sure, too, to cuddle up to Big Babies, another nod to leap year.

0 thoughts on “Bleep Year

  1. we don’t have trains here. we have busses, but really those are just trains with a glorified sense of independence. I’ve never been on one. Public transportation scares me. Not the people on it, although they are an ecclectic mix of paroled cons and rejects from a Jerry Springer casting call.
    No, I don’t like public transportation because I can never find a tie that goes well with the ever present billboard of the leering whiplash attorney on and/or inside the bus.
    You see, I’m very image conscious…

  2. Ms. Train Seat? This is your therapist calling. Tampons and Toilet Paper called and will be unable to make the group session, so it would be you and Bowling Shoes only tonight. We can reschedule for Saturday afternoon and maybe get Gym Towel to be our guest speaker. Let me know how you feel*. Thanks.
    (*Of course, the seat feels hard and rigid after all the cracks it’s received.)

  3. I don’t like public transportation either. The one time I rode a bus was when I was 18, on the way to a Jimi Hendrix concert downtown. A vomit covered old drunk patted my thigh as he departed.
    Public transportation is awful, unless it’s in Tokyo, where they put starchy white doilies on the headrests and the seats are padded velveteen. Nobody’s allowed to make a mess, talk or play music. No gum chewing or smoking allowed, either.

  4. I don’t feel sorry for you a bit, plastic subway seat! You’re union, and I know you make more money than me, even though you only have a GED and I have a Masters Degree. How much to you pay for your health insurance, plastic boy? Nothing? I have to pay hundreds a month! And you get free pop spilled on you? I have to pay 65 cents a can from the vending machine at work! Stop whining! *starts to stomp off*
    (Pssst… text me when there’s a job opening where you work. Go union!)

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