Wednesday, July 2, 2008

A Diva day; the agony of de-feet; what's in a name?

First, a quick warning:

The Front Page team is highjacking the Murphy show from 5-7 p.m. Central on Thursday. Catch the stream at This is our drive time debut, so watch out world. I promise we will have our A-list material.


I had lunch with a dear friend today. Not really news, I know, until you read who it is. Well, just go to her blog. ( You will find out all you need to know about her. She is a superstar, she is doing well, and we had lost touch the past couple months. That won't happen again.

She made it past the 24 months, and I predict she is going to make some people look stupid. I'm going public that I am calling her every Sunday from now on and we're having lunch as often as she is up for it. (My goal it to get her so drunk she throws up on Bev, not because she is cancer sick, but because Freddy got her drunk. That's just how I roll.)

I love Terry very much. She is one of the few things I miss about that hell hole where we used to work. Please go to her blog. I wouldn't put it past some of the soulless scum I used to work with that her blog is probably in jeopardy. (Go shoot a puppy in the head while you are at it, jerks. You know who you are).

Anyway, it was a good day. She looks great and was acting like herself again.

If you are feeling down about something stupid....just read it. You'll love her too.


(Memo: This one has the Virtual Val seal of approval).

If you have been around me enough, you know I hate feet.

I consider them God's greatest mistake. (Well, not crazy about exes, either, but that is somewhat self-inflicted).

I HATE men's feet especially. If you are wearing sandals and your grubby, scuzzy toes are sticking out, expect me to go all Exorcist on your ass and spew in multicolor.

And if you wear sandals with socks...well, you are frankly the dork of the century.

Oh yeah, back to feet.

They stink. They are ugly. Decorate them all you want, ladies. I won't love you for your feet. And if you want a toe sucker, well...Freddy don't roll that way.

I mean, I am down with God. God is my man. But what was he thinking with feet? Was that the last thing he made and he was just tired?

Why not hooves? Hooves would work. Some nice, well painted hooves, ladies? How about paws? Paws would be nice. Cuddly on a cold night?

I hate feet as much as I love bald women. I need a bald, alien woman with paws.

No wonder I live alone.


If you listen to the show, you know I give everybody nicknames. They always stick. There's Matt "The Superstar" Dean, aka "Matty D," aka "El Deano." (I actually like El Deano, but he gave that to himself. Freddy don't allow that). There's also Adrian "Picachu" Santana, aka "the Grenade." (We just dropped this on him, because we say something funny, and it takes him 10 seconds to respond). We also have the Phone god and the Phone dog.

I am in the process of giving all my HR buddies nicknames and naming fake horses after them. There's Virtual Val, Little Sister Em, Perfect Kelly, Double D, Nate the Snake...Trust me, these are all perfect. I will have everybody named before you know it.
Regardless, I got an email from a listener who wanted to know a) how I determined nicknames, and b) what mine was.

I'll answer b first. I am sometimes "Uncle Freddy." My man C-squared gave me that one at poker. It's OK. I also like Evil Freddy, but that is more of a persona. I honestly need a good one.

I am still debating, but I have to approve it. Sorry, that's just how I roll. You guys are welcome to try.

As far as where nicknames come from...

I wish there was an ABC...They just pop into my head. (Cancer Diva was mine, too). Then my inner conscious tells me it's perfect. It's a gift. Sorry.

But my rough guidelines are it should a) be true but sarcastic, funny but flattering, tied to something obscure that will haunt that person forever in a good or bad way.

(After the elephant woman experience I almost made myself the Elephant Man, but it didn't quite work).

All this is a long way of saying I need a new nickname.

And nothing about feet.

1 comment:

Patricia D'Licia said...

Your name shall be: F-Bomb

And you shall call your suburban friends and invite them to karaoke with you. . . yayyyyy.