Okay, so I have a stimulating job. As long as we’re agreed on that, I’ll continue.
Every morning, we chew the fat in my office. Gary has a reserved seat my desk. He brings me my grande skim, no whipped, toffee nut latte. Usually, we wrap about how he tied one on a bit too tight last night and what should he have for greasfast. Next comes what outfit did I convince Meredith not to wear out with me last night, or he asks who is up for the night and how’s my lineup looking. Ultimately David chimes in about what his sumbitching mother-in-law is up to now. Today though, as I write this, actually, the team is huddled around my computer watching “Are You Hot?” auditions on my second monitor. One might wonder how I stumbled upon such exciting web footage considering I seldom watch TV.
Joan, my boss, interrupted our dishing session, saying that we “must see this show. It is the worst show ever. You have to see it.”
(This reminds me of people who tell me to “taste this. I think it’s gone bad.”) “Lorenzo Lamas hosted last night, and he was checking out this girl, and he said ‘Baby, you might not be all that, but I gotta tell ya, I’ve got a taco cooking down south, and it’s almost done.'” Joan lets out a peal of laughter. Joan is a beautiful 40ish petite woman with silver hair, childlike features, and has a laugh that lights her up from the inside like candles in a pumpkin.
We proceed to the site as Joan impersonates Lamas; I am the driver. Auditions load. We scan through photos of contestants who’ve appeared on the show. The comments pour:
“He might be hot, but he looks like he’s trying to take a dump.”
“She is NOT ugly.”
“ Hot, without a doubt, but so Joe Lunchbucket.”
“All the chicks have fake boobs.”
“Man, I can’t tell when they’re fake or not.”
“Get out, how can you not tell? They look like they’ve got two saucers of milk under there.”
“He’s alright at best. The guy has eyes like pissholes in the snow.”
“She’s cute, sure. But you can tell just by looking at her that her name ends in a vowel.”
“What did he mean he had a taco down south? Why a taco? Oh, maybe because he’s Spanish?”
“Yeah, I don’t really get the taco reference.”
“Well maybe he’s uncircumcised.”
“Still, why wouldn’t he say burrito then?”
“I like the word butt taco, don’t you?”
“I like vertical taco myself.”
“What’s a vertical taco?”
Ah, I have to say, I’m not at all nostalgic for the days of political correctness.
