In which I dabble in cyberterrorism

My sister collects black and white posters of little kids in formalwear giving each other roses and kissing goodbye at train stations, stickers of kittens with captions like "Purrrfectly Meow-velous!" and "What a cat-astophe!" and hanging teddybear angels.

"Fuck this shit," says teddybear angel.

I, by contrast, have two aspiring actor wasps performing post-mortem improv in my living room, 25lbs of concentrated Astrolube that I'm saving for a ladies wrestling-slash-cancer survivor party, and a "don't ask don't tell" pile of termite dust developing in the corner of my bathroom.

A typical birthday card from my sister contains festive balloon-shaped confetti. Not to be outdone, a typical birthday card from me generally contains the phrase, "I'm so thankful your dad shot you out of his pisshole."

My sister displays framed glamour portraits of her daughter, unironically.

I, however, find these portraits offensive. In an effort to communicate my feelings about these glamour shots, I convinced a fellow guest at my sister's last dinner party to drape his testicles over one of them.

Then I stole my brother-in-law's phone and took a photo.

And texted the photo to their daughter, away at college.

With a *winky face!* emoticon.

Daddy misses you sweetie! ;)

Butterflyyyy kisses, after bedtime prayer,

stickin' liiiittle white flowers, aaaaall up in her hairrrr...

Two minutes later, my sister's phone rang, and after a brief conversation with her daughter, punctuated by shushes and reassurances, she got off the phone and turned to her husband:

Sister: Do you honestly think people want to see your balls, Dave?

Dave: Interesting question, honey. I honestly don't know whether people want to see my balls or not.

Sister: Well, let me tell you exactly who wants to see your balls. NOBODY WANTS TO SEE YOUR BALLS, DAVE!! NOBODY!!

Dave: That's kind of hurtful, but alright.

Sister: Especially not your DAUGHTER!!

Dave: Well, yeah. I agree. If there were a list of people who wanted to see my balls, she would be last on that list. For sure.

Sister: So why would you send her a picture of your testicles?!

Dave: Excuse me?

Sister: You know what? Stop drinking right now! Gimme your drink. You always get weird when you drink.

Dave: Okay just stop. Listen, I've made some bad decisions in my life, and I've done some questionable things, but never in my life have I thought to myself, "Hey you know what Dave? Go ahead and take a photo of your nuts, send it to your daughter. Show her you care." Not me, babe. Not this time. Move along.

Sister: It came from your phone, Dave. Your phone.

Dave: No it didn't, because my phone is right over... here. Okay, no it isn't. Someone took my phone. Who has my phone?

Sister: She's very upset, Dave!

Dave: Well, yeah. Your dad sends you a photo of his nuts, you're going to feel bad things, that's understandable!

Sister: She thought we were all taken hostage!

Dave: Taken hostage? By whom?

Sister: I don't know, terrorists?

Dave: Scrotum-texting terrorists? Seriously. That girl watches too much Special Victims Unit.

Sister: Well, she was terrified. She felt a lot of terror.

Dave: Well, she'll be okay. I'm sure there's a support group or something.

Sister: I don't know. 9/11 survivors maybe.

***

10pm in the quiet blufftop community of Pacific Palisades, California. A wispy tendril of a cloud slinks across the face of the full moon, but it's enough to diffuse the light, creating a few seconds of complete darkness. They seize their opportunity. The armed men file noiselessly from the back of a van and within seconds, they're inside.

Moments later, the sound of dishes crashing to the ground and startled screams reverberate through the warm summer night.

:::several minutes later:::

Why Jeff Bridges is not helpful during an anal leakage crisis

Do you know that, to this day, I've never seen The Big Lebowski in its entirety? I know, I know, you guys are all like WHAT?? SACRILEGE!!

I did intend to see it once. I even saw the beginning of it when it was out in theaters, on a date with a boy a few years back. But I had to leave 20 minutes into it when warm yellow oil started pouring out of my asshole.

Hahaha! *Shakes head* Classic Becky. *Sigh.*

So I'm sitting there next to my date in the theater, holding his penis his hand, when I lean forward to adjust myself in my seat and I feel a cold draft against my tush, and OMG do you love how I said tush just then? POW! Fancy manners explosion IN YOUR FACE!! *jerking off motion, throws pretend ejaculate in your eyes*

So I feel a draft, and reach back to check it out, performing that whole "smoothing out your butt" routine that girls do when they're actually checking for their period, and I feel wetness, but SO much wetness that I know it couldn't possibly have come from me, because I hardly ever pee my pants while I'm conscious.

"Hey, you know what?" I whisper to my date. "I sat in something, I think."

"Oh, shit, really? Lemme feel your seat." He reaches down and brushes his palm over my seat cushion. "Yeah, it's wet. *sniff, sniff* I think it's popcorn butter."

"I'll be back in a sec," I whisper, and run to the bathroom.

I pull down my pants and sit down on the toilet. Yep, whatever it was had soaked through my pants and onto my panties. And yep, it's bright yellow. Popcorn butter. Great.

I reach back with some toilet paper to see if there's any still on me, and the toilet paper comes back bright yellow. I'm soaked. When I stand up to collect paper towels to wring out my pants, I notice that the toilet water is also bright yellow. "That's strange," I wonder. "It was clear when I sat down." Something is not right.

I bend down to check out the yellow toilet water, and notice that the light is not reflecting off the surface of the water normally. The surface of the toilet water seems dull and matte, rather than glassy.

I toss my wadded up toilet paper into the bowl, expecting ripples. What happens instead is that the tissue lands on the surface of the toilet water, and within seconds, what I thought was yellow toilet water begins to crack and fissure like an iceberg, revealing clear water underneath.

I sit there, staring at the yellow shards of waxy yellow substance bobbing in the toilet water, and decide that whoever had used the toilet before me had better get herself checked out quick, poor thing!

I look down at my underwear. Bright yellow.

I look at the toilet paper. Bright yellow.

The waxy shards of cooled, solidified oil floating in the toilet bowl. Heh. Gross. Not mine.

The smell of stale popcorn butter. Heh. Some people are gross. Not me though. Heh.

Can you believe the nerve of some people, pouring popcorn butter on movie theater seats, for other people to go sit on? Haha, real funny, guys. Nice job! Time slows down. Flashing montage of images...the toilet paper...my underwear...the toilet bowl...Jeff Bridges slow-motion laughing in my face... Nice job, pouring it in my underpants and all over my lady parts. Ha! Oh my God it's starting to make sense now. Nice work, strangers who aren't me, pouring popcorn butter all down my thighs! Oh mother of God, no. Oh, look, you're still at it, pranksters, aren't you? Because it's still dripping down my legs! I'm dying. Liquified organs leaking out my fufu. You people and your hijinks! Denial denial denial...

*pants up, zipped*
*sweatshirt around waist*
*flush broken waxy shards down the toilet*
*dry heave...dry heave...*
*wet paper towel on forehead*
*pay phone call to roommate*
*shaky shaky hands, please come get me*

"Psst," I tap my date on the shoulder. "I'm gonna go. You stay here though."

"What? Why? Where you going?"

"I'm gonna go to the doctor. I broke something, my lady parts exploded. I think my uterus ruptured, or my eggs cracked. I don't know. I'm in trouble though. Please don't follow me."

"The Dude abides," says movie screen Jeff Bridges, all relaxed on account of his not having any hot waxy oil pouring out any of his orifices.

*middle finger* says my hand to Jeff Bridges, because I fear hippie types in times of crisis.

Twenty minutes later, I've got my legs up in stirrups and a gynecologist's head between my thighs.

Gyno: I can't find anything. I can't imagine what that was! Hot waxy oil, you say?

Me: I think I had a miscarriage. *starts to cry*

Gyno: But...was there blood? Was there any pain?

Me: No, it must have been pretty early along. *sniffle* It must have been, like, at the yolk stage still.

Gyno: Um...yes, the yolk stage. Remind me to give you some educational pamphlets before you leave.

Me: Maybe it was my placenta. My water broke. My hot sack of baby wax.

Gyno: Seriously. Did you not take health in high school?

Me: My embryonic butter baby.

Gyno: Have you considered that it may have come from your anus? Not your vagina?

Me: Um, no, I didn't consider that, because nothing exits that hole without permits. That hole is my bitch. I've got that hole wrapped around my finger, so to speak. It's the other hole that gives me all the grief, doing whatever it wants all the damn time.

Gyno: What did you eat yesterday?

Me: *sigh* I dunno. Oatmeal, sandwich, fruit salad, veggie juice, fish, wine, the usual.

Gyno: The fish! It could have been keriorrhea, or anal leakage caused by certain types of butterfish. Was the fish oily?

Me: I guess, a little. Not, like, 10 gallons of ass oil kind of oily.

Gyno: Well, how much of it did you eat?

Me: *thinky face* All...of it? *smile*

Gyno: All of it? What do you mean? The whole fish? You ate an entire fish?

Me: It's good for you. It was escolar. Protein. Somethin somethin omega mu oil.

Gyno: Remember when we talked about portion size?

Me: Palm of your hand.

Gyno: Palm of your hand.

Me: It did fit in the palm of my hand. We didn't discuss height of the portion though. It was a tall portion. Like Jenga, but with fish.

Gyno: Okay, go ahead and play fish Jenga, but you now know that, the next day, you will leak hot waxy oil out of your anus. So...

Me: So...wear a diaper?

Gyno: Yeah, or a different choice that's not that.

Me: *thinky face* Wear...an adult diaper?

Gyno: Okay. We're done here.

Fin.