The Comment of the Week: “Should you really post such disgusting things on your weblog?” Response: Yes, I really should.  In fact, I really should post it again:

I regret to inform you that this will be the final installment of the Stone Cold Kidnapping Saga.  *sobs*

THE PLAN: Extort money from Bryan.  I thought it was only fair because Bryan and his henchman (a.k.a. Owen) made me think, albeit momentarily, that I lost the doll.   As I posted in my last entry, I sent an email to my co-workers informing them that the only replacement doll I could find was $75 on eBay.  Bryan wasn’t sure if he should believe me, but I showed him the eBay site with “previously visited” links, and that increased my credibility.  He was THIS close *gestures with two fingers* to coughing up some cash to assuage his guilt.  My intent was to use the money to pay for a happy hour for my co-workers, revealing the scam to Bryan only after the bill was paid. 

Later that day, I received this email, purportedly from the Stone Cold doll himself:  

TO:        Danielle

FROM:   Stone Cold Steve Austin

RE:        Stone Cold Fund

 

Listen here, little missy! What?  You got some nerve trying to extort money from these folks after what you did to me.  What?  First you kidnap me.  What?  And then you dress me up like a little princess.  What?  And then you let your little Ken doll have his way with me.  What?  Not to mention the things you did with me that you didn’t post on the internet.  I mean, c’mon Danielle, I’m sure you could find a real person to have sex with.  You don’t need to molest some poor little defenseless action figure.  What? 

Anyhoo, your little charade has cost me my dignity and humanity.  I mean, how am I gonna explain all this to my wife beater buddies?  Although I am pleased to know that I am a collectors’ item, the action figure napping has assuredly diminished my value.  What kind of self-respecting Stone Cold junkie would buy me, now that a picture of me getting raped by Ken is all over the internet.  Look at what happened to Ned Beatty’s career after Deliverance. 

Quit hittin’ these poor folks up for money.  You’re lucky I don’t whip your hide like I did my wife.

Soon after, the Ken Doll replied to Stone Cold:  

I assure you that no animals (fictional or otherwise) were hurt in the making of my blog. 

Which brings me to an important point: nothing in my blog ought to be taken seriously.  It is difficult to convey sarcasm through this medium, but I hoped that using CAPITALS, italics, emoticons and action descriptions (like, *eye roll*) would help. Apparently, that doesn’t work for everyone.  So let me make it clear:  I didn’t really go to Disney World last week just to seek revenge on the Duck, my dream isn’t really to become a wrestling ho, and I haven’t really accidentally flashed strangers on the Metro.  Oh wait . . . that last one is true.  

I tried to find the Duck. Really.  But I wasn’t really going to kick his pantless, kiddie porn lovin’ arse – that would have been too traumatic for the little kids to see.  Instead, I was hoping to get a picture of the Duck on his knees (no dirty remarks, please), begging me for forgiveness.  I had pictures of me posing with every other Disney character except for the Duck.  He was nowhere to be found.  On the last day, I asked Guest Services where I could find him. They told me his last appearance would be after the 4:40 show at Cinderella’s Castle.  When I asked one Disney employee about Donald’s whereabouts, she gave me a confused look and asked, “Donald?” I guess it was presumptuous of me to think the Duck and I were on a first-name basis.  Well, the Duck was in the show, but unlike all the other characters that gave autographs afterwards, I guess the Duck had better things to do than pose for pictures.  Oh well, maybe in another twenty-three years . . .

Of course, no vacation is complete without an unintentional flashing episode.  

I wore pants to the park one day, but after less than an hour in the 90-degree heat, I realized that was a huge mistake. Oddly, while the Disney stores were bursting with t-shirts, they didn’t have any shorts.  I managed to find a pair of men’s cotton boxers that didn’t look too much like underwear (no bubble butt).  I was much cooler in the boxers, but more self-conscious.  The “peephole” of the boxers had one tiny button that did little to keep them closed. While I walked around the park, I tried to use my hand to keep the flap closed until my sister accused me of playing with myself in public.  

I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the cab driver that picked me up at the airport on Monday.  He was rather chatty.  Initially, the conversation consisted of typical stuff – the weather, my vacation, blah, blah, blah.  Then he handed me two sheets of paper.  “Read my poems, yes?”  he asked.  There were two typewritten poems — one about love, the other about death.  The first line of the love poem was, “My eyes was only love you.”  I remember this because he asked me to read his poems OUTLOUD.  Heck, I did Forensics in high school, so I did the best dramatic reading of Mr. Weirdo Cab Driver’s poetry that I could.  He seemed pleased.  “What do you think of my poems?” he asked. I never know how to evaluate poetry.  There are so many different styles, how can one judge whether a poem is good or not?  “They’re great!” I said.  I hated to point out the grammatical errors because he seemed so proud of his work. 

“Ah!” he replied excitedly, “So now I say I have a fan of my poems in DC!” I asked him how many other people he’s let read his poems and he said I was the only one so far.  “To what do I owe this honor?” I asked.  He said that he didn’t know really, but that he just felt the need to share them with me.  Ohhhhhkaaay.  That was the weirdest cab ride I’ve ever had.  Thankfully, I only live a few minutes from the airport. 

I suppose you are wondering what happened with the Stone Cold doll.  Following the suggestions of many of you, I attached – er, I mean, the Dollnapperz attached – the following picture to their third demand letter: