Snow Job

13 Jan

"I was gonna make love to you... but then I got high...and made you a snow penis."

As is common on nights when I’m home alone, I was just sitting here eating Chinese food in an old hockey jersey and a pair of panties and getting ready to have an internet TV marathon, during which I would watch 8 episodes of The Vice Guide to Everything and simultaneously imagine how racy I would think it was if I lived in Iowa, and how badass it would be if they hired me to infiltrate high-end escort services for politicians, when disaster struck. I was deep into my planned evening, leg thrown over the back of the sofa, cat momentarily not sitting on the Dell netbook I use as a television, thinking neither of Sarah Palin nor the phrase “blood libel,” when it became clear that the usual MTV mind-fuckery was afoot.

Because of some high-minded financial strategy to which I am not privy, only one episode of this show will be uploaded to the interwebs per week. So I have to watch it like an ACTUAL TELEVISION SHOW. BAH!

Immediately I came unmoored, eating a stale cookie, putting on my coat, lighting a candle and then washing a dish and a half before calming down enough to sit down and reconsider my evening. What in god’s name was I to do with the next half hour?

I figured I could make a snowman with ziti fangs and beady kitten food eyes and take a picture to mail to MTV to express my displeasure, but I couldn’t find the camera. Then I thought about reading a book, but I’m still a little unnerved by a sentence (“He released a hot fart of horror”) I read recently and I need a day or so to get over it.

Then it occurred to me that there was a bottle of lube on my coffee table, and for some time now, I have been curious about what would happen if you put lube on snow. So I put on all my winter clothes and stashed the bottle of lube in my pocket and creeped surreptitiously out of my basement apartment and to the empty sidewalk across the street, figuring that if anyone saw me lubing up the sidewalk over there they wouldn’t immediately think I lived on this block and come looking for the crazy lady on weekends and holidays.

Anyway, I waited for a pause in the foot traffic and poured some ID glide straight out of the bottle onto the driven snow. Would the lube form a spidery pattern of melt? Would this experiment lead to a land-speed sled record? Would I make a discovery akin to the microwaving of peeps?

Well, no, actually. The lube melted a tiny little snow hole in the drift and when I put my finger in there it was all slippery. It was kind of a disappointment. However, the sidewalk in front of my house is totally down for some anal now. If you’re into that kind of thing.


One Response to “Snow Job”

  1. Bee January 14, 2011 at 11:52 pm #

    Note to self: Do not read this blog while eating or drinking, or run the very real risk of ending up with diet Coke and half-chewed salted cashews all over the keyboard from laughing so hard. (Lovely image, I know. But YOU were the one who said about the the snowman with ziti fangs and beady kitten food eyes, so I don’t feel so bad.)

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