On rage, passion and the contacting of books

It’s just an ornery Sunday. No birds singing because the dog has tried to eat a couple of them and they have fled. (Flewd?) I am looking at my pile of homework for school, the pile of lovingly drawn upon exercise books x 13, and the Contact (I believe a registered TM shoud be inserted here, but I’m not doing Mr Contact any favours in this post so I’m taking the ballsy rage-filled move of leaving it OUT).

Not only am I filled with rage, but I’m also filled with the remnants of 2 magheritas, a caipiroska and an unquantified amount of French champagne from a hen’s bash last night. I could tell you I’m hungover, but my mother reads this blog, and a hangover happened the other weekend. Since I’m grown up now and Ive got responsibles, this time let’s just say I’m tired and thirsty. Come on. It was French!! It was important I compared and contrasted the nuances of Mumm vs Mo√ęt vs Salmon-billecart. Guess who wins? They ALL do! The French are the winners! Yay for the French!

I suspect Mr Contact, the inventor of The Stuff What One Uses to Stick Stuff On Books, does not come from a country as pleasurable as France. I think he comes from somewhere cold, where they like to stick things to other things, like tongues to telegraph poles, and hands to frozen taps, just for shits and giggles. I wrote him a letter since I don’t know how to whistle and I had to do something in my head while Tinkerbell was on and I contacted my day away.

In my madness, I discovered the stupid stuff is actually useful for non-surgical facelifts.

Check me out. No forehead wrinkles, and cheaper than Botox.

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Dear Mr Contact,

I hate you. Your product fills me with a degree of angry passion I reserve generally for things I feel passionate about in a positive way. You have made it on to my passion see saw. On one end, live men, words, beaches, wine, and cheese, and on the other end lives your stupid sticking on books product, and all the cold places in the world. Oh, and tinea.

Your product presents like a test. Why is there a grid? This isn’t help. It looks like some massive freaky maths test. Ugh. And why do all the hairs stick to your product? My daughter tells me she doesn’t like having hairy books. You and Mr Velcro need to sit down and have a little brainstorm about your shortfalls in this particular follicular area. I CAN’T KEEP FAILiNg LiKe THiS! I can’t keep feeling like an inadequate mother every time I put more bubbles on the surface that no amount of skewer-bursting will remove. My tears just roll off your uncaring plastic surfaces like they mean nothing.

It’s possible I’m feeling so intense about you today because of serious cheese withdrawal. Cheese is my crack. If I saw a cow right now there’s a chance I’d roll her for a good bit of milk. Going Dairy free is BULLSHIT Mr Contact. Did you know ice cream and chocolate is dairy? My life is basically over.
Freight now my luft hand and my faughter’s ice cream wrapper are stuck to the front of the book I’m covering in your product. What’s your remedy? How will you help me face a world with you stuck to me but no cheese in it??? Well??????

Hostilely yours,
Dairy-free Kim.

The dear Contact man has made it all ok. He sent me back this completely gratuitous photo to take my focus away from all the ice cream I’m not eating.

Dear hungry Kim,
I hope you like Beagles.
Sincerely,
Mr Contact

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I remain on the fence. I understand his existence is a necessary evil, but I’m going to have to outsource all the contact work to That Man next year. He’s gone to China, AGAIN. He must pay.