MUI

I’ve come up with a great idea for a new invention: the MUI Prevention Modulator. What is it? Well, it’s a device that attaches to one’s computer, kind of like a Breathalyzer, that checks your blood alcohol level if you’re attempting to send email after, say, midnight. And locks up the keyboard as necessary. Because otherwise you’re thinking you’re totally fine, sit down to write something oh-so-profound, and come up with this:

“Especially since these (us) whoever we were procab;l don't have an appropriate appointment.

Thanks shouln not on somethingt that is not yet whatever.

Seriously - in spite af bethonghoose tha at the tihe.

O
, sotr whatever you ferl haffflne bitle, ahatlebe,e.”

What I like about this the fact that there are seemingly coherent moments – “don’t have an appropriate appointment” – that still make no sense. It’s also great that I use actual sentences of gobbledygook, complete with (punctuation) and the like. Yeah, that makes all the difference. Thank god I apparently got distracted and padded off to bed before actually sending anything. With the MUI (Mailing Under the Influence) Prevention Modulator I wouldn’t have to worry about such things. On the other hand, perhaps the above is just a sign, yes, a sign – that I could make my living writing instructions for, say, the Thighmaster people. I had to order a new one since my old one fell apart after being in the pool too much, and here’s part of the helpful instructions provided: “With one hand on each handle hokl your Thigh Shaper out in tront of you in a go degree angle rlexing the Thing Shaper loward your body.”

“Thing Shaper”? Hey, I may not be the most fit person on the block, but that’s going a bit too far.

I now also understand why I’m still single. Behold, just one of the scintillating conversations I had with a random guy at the bar on Friday night:

Guy: Hey, why don’t you join my cousins and I as we ruggedly play some football at my vast palatial estate this weekend? At my palatial EMPTY estate, that is, sigh. I’m just looking for the perfect woman to go through life with. You’re stunning, by the way.
Tasha: The only sport I pay attention to is hockey. Do you play hockey?

Guy: Well, I did play until a devastating knee injury that I sustained while rescuing a puppy from a burning building. But I occasionally still get out there on the ice.
Tasha: Hmph. My team needs people for the summer. Think you can handle it? After all, we did win our CII division last summer. We’re that good.
Guy: Whatever you want, gorgeous. I’ll make it work, I will.
Tasha: Hmm. Give me your number, I’ll let you know. About the hockey, that is. I’m not trying to pick you up, you know.
Guy: Why not? Hey, so how about this weekend?
Tasha: (walking away muttering) Things to do, things to do……..

And this:

Another Guy, looking at Tasha with a hopeful expression on his face: Can I buy you a drink?
Tasha: Do you play hockey?
AG: Well, no, technically no, but I’ll learn, fast. I’ll get lessons from a pro, and I….I……
(sound of his voice fades away, as Tasha walks away muttering)


In the meantime, Annette had already honed in on one guy, chatted, danced, dazzled, and gotten engaged with a wedding date all set, while I was still looking around the bar for more likely prospects. By the way, Tim or Tom or whatever the hell your name was, whose name and number I wrote on a tissue…….umm, don’t expect that call anytime soon. I woke up Saturday morning with the sniffles, and couldn’t get up for fear my head would go rolling across the floor so, well……