Today, I’m seeing life through the Saturday Night Live lens again. Some people (read: Tina Fey) get paid big money to see things that way and write about them. Me? I just do it for fun.
Wait. Bonafide services that I do for free. Can I write that off on my taxes?
I have a friend. Well, I have a few, but I have a particular one who lives north. Way, north. He loves the outdoors, even in the freezing cold temperatures. He was born to be frozen.
Bully for him.
Recently, though, the United States military, for whom he works, has, um, reassigned him to a more tropical location. Any, normal human would be thrilled to thaw a bit. Not him.
Here’s the exchange I recently had with him.
Him: Put one of the snowmachines [I think that’s a snowmobile, to the already thawed.] up for sale…VERY sad day…
Me: You can replace it with a surfboard…
Him: Hard to go 100mph on a surfboard…
Me: I get that. There’s always a threat of a shark attack to keep you moving, though. A Great White ate a guy’s leg off near where you’re being relocated to not too long ago. Something to look forward to.
This is the house of one of those writers, the writings of whom your American literature teacher made you read in high school.
The writer lived in this house with his wife and children. He had a special, optical talent. Apparently, while one of his eyes was on his wife, the other eye had the ability to roam around looking at other women. A lazy eye, of sorts. Not an actual, biological talent so much as a testosterone-driven skill.
One day, while he was out of town, um, working with another female writer, his wife had a swimming pool installed. When he returned from his, ah, business trip, he found that, not only had his boxing ring been replaced by a pool, but also the pool’s price was more than twice the original price paid for the entire property.
I’m assuming the pool guy said, “Yes, ma’am. That’ll be $8,000 for the pool installation,” to which the wife replied, “Would you take $20,000 for it?”
Then, she went up to the second-story porch with a glass of sweet tea and laughed throughout the entire installation process.
These are just assumptions, though. I could be wrong.
Anyway, that night, the writer went to his favorite watering hole to drown his sorrows. When he found out the owner of the bar was moving it down the street because of a rent hike, the writer volunteered to help him move. During the move, the writer got a little ambitious and pulled the fixtures off the walls, one of which he installed in his backyard, right next to the new pool.
Bet your American literature teacher didn’t teach you that!
Living Saturday Night Live,