BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

I read an article a while back. Yes, don’t choke on your cornflakes, I actually do take time to read every now and then. It sort of comes with the whole being a writer thing. But, anyway, this particular article presented a study which ostensibly showed that the gene for red hair is being bred out of the world population at a significant rate. Theoretically, this makes E K kinda rare, what with her being the Queen of the Redheads and all that.

But, I’m not entirely sure I buy their story…

All you have to do is turn on the TV, and there they are. For instance, Lauren from the HP and Windows commercial. Heartthrob of every electronics geek on the face of the planet.

Never mind the fact that she’s actually a card carrying actress for hire, and not just some random, ginger hottie off the street shopping for a computer. That’s another story in and of itself. The point here is, REDHEAD.

There’s another commercial for some manner of portable moving and storage company, or maybe it was even broadband internet – I forget which. At any rate, they show a redhead who is packing a box at a snail’s pace, apparently to prove you don’t need to be in a rush.

Then you have the Target ad. I don’t think they are running it at the moment, but it depicted an entire family of redheads. It was kind of creepy, actually. Almost like the episodes of Millennium dealing with the army of blondes.

Unfortunately, I was unable to locate pictures of those last two, so you’ll just have to take my word for it… Even so, all you need to do is keep flipping through the channels.

Have a look at Desperate Housewives and there you have what? A REDHEAD. I don’t actually watch the show myself, but if I was going to, it would probably be because of the femme fatale on the right. I mean, after all, she’s a redhead, so she attracts quite a bit of attention. Kinda like a stoplight or a firetruck, know what I mean?

Thumb the clicker again and you happen across a rerun of Will and Grace. Voila! REDHEAD.

I actually watched this show. As funny as the two guys were, and even that secretary gal with the voice, I was looking at Debra Messing. Arguably the best reason for watching the show in the first place, in my opinion at least.

As we continue our tour around the dial – back in my day we actually had dials, so count yourself lucky that I’m letting you use the remote – click click and whaddya get? A movie starring a redhead. You can pretty much take your pick here. It could be Reba McEntire – the late Senior Sellars favorite, or maybe Holly Hunter – counted among the not-as-yet-late Junior Sellars faves.

Or what the hell, it could even be Julianne Moore.

So… You can’t escape them. They are everywhere… But, you have an idea. You’ll just pop in a DVD and that will take care of the problem.

Well, maybe not so much…

You snag your Firefly DVD’s off the shelf, select one at random because all of the episodes are more than worth re-watching an infinite number of times, and what do you get? Our Mrs. Reynolds plays across your toob and you end up coming face to face with Christina Hendricks.

Don’t get me wrong. Bumping into Christina Hendricks is not something I would complain about. Hell, I’d probably back up and bump into her again. But remember, right now we are on a mission to escape these supposed rare redheads. These individuals of fiery hair and dubious intent.

Now, obviously, I am leaving out far too many to count. Gillian Anderson, for one. Although I liked her better when she was cute instead of sophisticated. She made the innocent girl next door thing work really well. Tina Louise, anyone? As fond as I am of redheads, I wasn’t much of a Ginger guy. I was all about Mary Ann… Now, make Mary Ann a redhead and… Well… We won’t go there…

Hell, there’s even David Caruso, but I’m not really a fan. Although, I did like it when Ike on Southpark did his impression of Caruso’s career and dove out of the UFO into the snow, but that was pre CSI Miami. Not a big fan of that either.

So… in a last ditch effort to escape this redheaded menace we turn to animated features. Surely with red hair being so rare it shouldn’t show up in cartoons, would it?

Let’s see… Flintstones. Nope, Wilma and Pebbles…

Penelope Pitstop? Nope. Another Redhead…

Scooby Doo? Nope. Daphne. Redhead…

Let’s move on…

Jetsons? Nope. Jane.

How about something with Bugs and the gang? WTF? Yosemite Sam…

Strawberry Shortcake, Jessica Rabbit, The Little Mermaid… Well Crap!

How about something a little more current? Damn… The Family Guy DVD’s won’t work… There’s Lois Griffin decked out in Dominatrix Gear beating the crap out of Peter. Typical for a redhead, of course, but still, there’s the operative issue again. R E D H E A D…

Hmmm… Maybe something Pixarish…

Bang! Elastigirl…

Quick, next movie…

Bang! Beth the Park Ranger…

Swap it out again…

I know, a holiday short… Something Christmasy…

BANG! A redheaded Elf babe…

And guess what? SHE’s the one in charge of Flight Ops for the bearded dude who delivers the presents. Of course. She’s a redhead. She would be in charge now wouldn’t she?

Now, before you start objecting, I know some of you are going to say, “But, Debra Messing was the voice for Beth the Park Ranger and Holly Hunter was the voice for Elastigirl, so that doesn’t count.”

Well, guess what? I’ve seen Martin Lawrence and he looks nothing like a Grizzly Bear, so they were under no obligation to make the animated character a redhead like Messing. Same goes for Hunter.

But they did… Why? Because redheads are everywhere, no matter what they try to tell you with falsified genetic diversity reports from shady scientists. How much would you like to bet those supposed “scientists” who conducted the study are all redheads? Yeah, you’ll want to let it all ride on red, because if they aren’t redheads themselves then they are definitely in the employ of the gingers, guaranteed.

Of course, even when I turn off the TV, throw away the magazines, and burn all the copies of The Red Sonja comic books I can find, I’m not safe, because I have a redhead right here with me.

What’s worse, she is their leader…

So there you have it. Concrete proof that this is all a conspiracy cooked up by my wife and “her kind” to create an even larger “Evil Ginger Army” bent on taking over the world.

If all that’s not enough for you, then how about this little tidbit of intel – It just so happens the ERC (Evil Redhead Coalition) has their meetings right here at my house the third Friday of every month. Of course, E K locks me in the basement so I won’t discover their plans, but I eavesdrop through the air ducts, and what I’ve been hearing is pretty scary…

Evil Redheads… They’re everywhere I tell you… Everywhere…

More to come…

Murv

Literally.

Why would I lie about something like that?

… And yes, I do realize that right now you are all sitting there chanting, “Murv’s gonna get it… Murv’s gonna get it…”

Normally, I would agree with you, but go back to the beginning and read again what I wrote… I’m fairly certain I typed in the word, literally. As in, E K is a literal pain in my ass. Not figurative. Not metaphorical. Nope. None of that dancing about and implied torture. No husbandly lamenting about a wife’s wifeliness. We are talking about the real deal here…

I mean to say, the woman literally caused pain and physical damage to my Gluteus Maximus.

Uh-huh… I know… Now all of you are sitting there saying, “So what? You’re talking about E K. Since you say she’s so evil then she probably just tied you up and spanked you or something like that. Big deal. Just roll with it you big baby.” (On that note – The cartoon on the right is just for you “perverted types,” BTW… )

Well, though it is apparently titillating for all of you to imagine such a scenario, otherwise you probably wouldn’t be imagining it… Hey…. Hey! Yeah, you. Stop staring at the cartoon and pay attention.

Okay… so where was I? Oh yeah… As I was saying, such graphic details might be a little too much info for a relatively PG rated blog like Brainpan Leakage… And, for the record, I am now firmly convinced that y’all have dirtier minds than I do… Especially you… Yeah, you in the back row. The one that keeps staring and drooling at the cartoon… It’s a friggin’  PG rated cartoon for Gods sake… Sheesh… For shame… For shame…

So, anyway, let’s set the record straight right here and now… E K did not spank me. Well… Not in this particular case anyway. (There, did that little bit of innuendo satisfy your prurient curiosity, or just pique it? Yeah… I thought as much, ya’ bunch of sickos… When you’re all done drooling over the silly cartoon, we can continue…)

(Jeopardy thinking music)

Okay, are we all done? Finally… Good…

So now that we’ve dispensed with the mental foreplay, we’ll move on already…

We’ve established that no spankings were had. The simple fact is that this is an entirely different kind of literal pain in the ass. And, it is also one that reaches far back into history. So, since the whole nostalgia approach of the “marriage blog” mini-series seemed to go over so well, I figured y’all might like to hear this story too. So, let’s all jump into the wayback machine and have a look at this particular, and annoyingly painful, slice of my past… (Yeah, you too… Yeah you… I don’t care… You can page back up and look at the cartoon again when we’ve finished the story… Sheesh… You don’t get out much, do you?)

Okay… On with the sordid tale…

The year was nineteen and eighty six…  E K and I had met by this point, and were more or less in the midst of doing that coy, flirty thing that accompanies the first three months of dating. You know what I mean…

For men it’s crap like: Getting a haircut. Making sure your shirt isn’t wrinkled. Actually tying your necktie in a Full Windsor instead of a Half, but only after making doubly sure it actually matches your shirt and slacks. Using aftershave and maybe even a bit of cologne… Holding your farts in until you are in the next county and downwind so that the object of your affection will never know…

For women it’s crap like: Shaving your legs regularly. Wearing a shorter skirt and higher heels than you normally would on your average workday.  A push up bra. Fancy jewelry… Holding your farts in until you are in the next county and downwind so that the object of your affection will never know…

Y’all know the drill… Typical, flirty – datey stuff.

On the particular day in question, E K arrived at our place of employment, all decked out in a nice blouse, blazer, shape hugging slacks, and the high heels that were a bit too high for your average work day… The pumps were a dead giveaway that she was being flirty, because:

1. She had service calls to take and was going to be on her feet, digging around behind printers, kneeling, bending over, and all of the other gyrations that come along with taking a service call. (For the record, it’s actually pretty good exercise.)
2. She had VERY RECENTLY uncovered my particular affinity for shapely female legs and high heels. (It bears mentioning that being the absolutely brilliant femme fatale she is, The Evil Redhead has used this information to her benefit on countless occasions, ever since making the discovery.)

The only thing missing from the overall package was the shorter than normal skirt, but see #1. She had to compromise somewhere along the line, and like I said, the slacks were definitely figure flattering…

Okay… I need some alone time now…

Just kidding. Well, not really, but I have too much to do and I need to finish this story…

In keeping with the flirty stuff, E K had some tasteful jewelry on to accentuate here and there. Of course, being incredibly practical as well, one of the jewelry items was a fancy little diskette lapel pin. I mean, after all, she’s a technician, so she needed to have herself some technician jewelry, right? And, yes, the picture here is of the actual pin in question. As amazing as it may seem, she still has it after all these years. Granted, it may look a bit odd to you youngsters who have never seen a 5 1/4 inch floppy diskette in real life, but that is exactly what it was patterned after. BTW, Sorcim / IUS was a software company. They were the “publisher” of a widely used, DOS Based program called SuperCalc. If I remember correctly, the lapel pin itself was a gimme type perk she received for attending a Sorcim seminar.

So, anyway, enough rambling on about ancient technology being transformed into jewelry. Let’s get back to this particular day in history…

E Kay’s truck… Yes, my dear and lovely used to drive a truck…  Anyway, her truck was going to be in the shop for some routine maintenance, which effectively left her without wheels, but she still needed to take service calls. Unfortunately, the outfit we were working for at the time, TC Service, didn’t have company vehicles for us to use. So, in order that my lovely be able to take her scheduled service calls, I loaned her my car. As it happened, said vehicle was the Mustang LX I was desperately trying to pay off… Yeah, that’s one of those, “another stories,” but if you read the “Mahwage” series of entries, you know what I mean.

So, after a bit of flirting and lustful stirrings brought about by E K in high heels purposely reaching for things behind her desk while standing in front of it, if you know what I’m saying, I sent her on the road with parts, tools, and my car. After that, the day continued in a relatively uneventful fashion. I configured a few Leading Edge PC’s, fixed a printer or two, answered some tech support calls… The usual crap… The Evil One completed her service calls and returned, both she and my car completely unscathed. Life was good.

As it happened, that evening was filled with “other obligations,” so E K and I were not going to be able to spend it together. Not exactly the best situation, given the fact that she had purposely lit my fuse, so to speak, but hey, stuff happens. Of course, we did the flirty-flirty thing through the afternoon, and retrieved her truck from the shop, then when quitting time rolled around, stole a few kisses before going our separate directions for the evening.

I hopped into my car, and at a point somewhere around halfway home, I felt a very sudden, very sharp, very intense pain in my right butt cheek. If I remember correctly, I even let out a yelp.  It was reminiscent of being nailed by a bee. Since it happened to be late summer, I assumed this was a real possibility.  Something else I considered was a cherry from a cigarette. At the time I was a smoker, so I had to wonder if I had inadvertently knocked the fire from the end of a smoke while shifting gears or some such.

Well, of course, I reached down and felt about in the seat while hiking myself up onto my left hip and dancing around in a circle, all while trying to keep the car in between the dashed lines dividing the lanes on I-170. However, no matter how much feeling about in the seat, or on my own ass I did, I found nothing.

Still, the pain continued.

Well… I have to admit, I have a fairly high pain tolerance. I’m not at all sure from whence it originates, but I can actually take a lot of abuse… Just ask E K… But, let’s not go there again… Seriously, though, I really do have a fairly high tolerance for pain, so since I couldn’t find the source I decided my best bet was to just ignore it. Besides, at this point, the initial shock of the pain was fading and it had settled down to a dull ache. The ache was making its way into the background as well, so I figured I’d be all good. Eventually, it would just go away.

And it did. For the most part, anyway. I mean, there remained a minor ache and soreness throughout the rest of the evening, but nothing anywhere near as intense as the initial stab of pain.

Life rocked on, I met my various obligations, and even had a quick chat or two with E K on the phone, just because I couldn’t stand to be away from her for more than an hour at a stretch unless I was unconscious. The evening grew late and eventually it was time to hit the sack. Following my regular routine, I emptied my pockets, then started getting undressed so I could go to bed. About the time I undid my pants and went to pull them off, I discovered that they seemed to be hung up somewhere around the right side of my ass. As in, they wouldn’t come off. At about the exact instant I started to tug on them a bit, the pain that had earlier ravaged my butt cheek exploded forth once more.

Now I was hopping about on one leg, cussing, and about to trip over my half-removed britches. Fearing that I was going to perform a flawless face plant on the floor, I twisted around and perched myself on the corner of my waterbed side rails, and rolled up onto my left hip. Reaching back and feeling around, through the fabric of the pants, my fingers now came into contact with a small lump on my rear, right about where my wallet had been residing earlier. Perplexed, I slipped my hand into my hip pocket and felt around some more. Within seconds I had hold of the offending object and pulled, much like the whole mouse yanking the thorn out of the lion’s paw scenario. Except, it was just me doing the yanking, and the paw in this case was my ass.

When I brought my hand up into the light, besides a bit of blood, I also found a gold, diskette shaped, lapel pin pinched between my fingers.

The next morning, when E K strolled into work, I waited for her to park herself at her desk, which was nearby and facing mine. After exchanging some flirty good mornings, I raised an eyebrow and asked, “So, were you trying to make sure I didn’t forget you last night?”

She furrowed her brow and cocked her head to the side. “What do you mean?”

I pushed back from my desk, stood, took the few steps in her direction, and then dropped the lapel pin on the desk blotter in front of her.

“Oh, I was wondering where I lost that!” she exclaimed. “Where did you find it?”

I shook my head. “You probably don’t want to know.”

I did eventually tell her, of course. A few minutes later, in fact. However, looking back on it now, that was probably a mistake in and of itself. You see,  it was at that point in our relationship that she became aware of my higher than normal tolerance for pain, and she has been trying to find my breaking point ever since…

But seriously… All joking and silliness aside, I think you can now see why I can truthfully say that, “E K is a real pain in my ass…”

More to come…

Murv