Sometimes
I get feedback on my blog posts (which you can always do, either by leaving a
note in the comments, or by just hitting "reply" if you get the posts
via email like many of you do). And sometimes this feedback and these
replies are so funny, I want to post them as their own posts, or make those
people guest bloggers, or SOMETHING so that you can share in the funny with me.
Only sometimes the replies and feedback involve personal stories, and so I have
to not only get permission from the people to share these things, but then I
have to change them enough so that their friends (who are usually also friends
of my friends) don't recognize themselves and get mad. I also have this
problem in fiction books, which I think is why Katie Holmes never calls me back
now.
Just kidding. Katie Holmes
never called me back before either.
Anyhow, this is an edited version
of a reply I got to this post, which is all about how much I don't understand
personalized license plates. Perhaps you remember? The reply
goes a little something like this:
"My friend's 21 year old
nephew has
a personalized license plate on his sporty convertible that says (I kid
you not) “MR JONES.” First of all, the kid is 21, likes to drink,
watch sports and (did I mention) he’s TWENTY-ONE?!?! “MR JONES” is a
title reserved for someone of importance…as in “Thank you Mr. Jones, I would
love another canapé.” Not for a 21-year-old imbecile who bought a sports
car and moved into a downtown loft ‘cause “the chicks dig it.” I don’t
know of any hot 21-year old chick who would be impressed with a “MR JONES”
license plate. But wait, it gets better. Who did he snag????
An unemployed, 40-year old woman with a bunch of kids who claims she’s going
through a divorce. I honestly don’t know which one of them is getting the
short stick in this deal. Anyway, the new car payment, loft rent and
daytime cell phone charges (from having to listen to all of his new
girlfriend’s marital woes – I guess she calls him ALL day long and prevents him
from making any money at his sales job) were too much for the kid and he had to
move back in with Daddy, out of downtown and back into a failing industrial
city 90 minutes from downtown. Now his sporty convertible sits in the
driveway (MR JONES plate facing the street) as folks drive by it on the way to
the Hostess /Wonder Bread outlet next door. I hope all those people
realize how important the person is that own the MR JONES car when they pass it
on their way to saving twenty-five cents by buying last week’s Ding
Dongs. PERHAPS, if MR JONES hadn’t paid extra for the ridiculous license
plate, he’d still be chasing YOUNG tail downtown and looking cool.
See?
I told you. Sometimes the comments are better than the actual
posts. SNAP!
