A Day in the Life
So, I'm just sitting around, having a beer or three with Irony, and listening to her sob story about her lack of name recognition when there's a knock at the door.
Me: Who is it?
Person Outside: Ohmigod! Like, let me in! I am totally exhausted beyond the ability to tell it! My world is ending in a fiery cataclysm! You've got to DO something! I'm at my wit's end!
Me and Irony: It's Hyperbole!
Irony: Don't let her in, okay? I am just not in the mood. Really.
Me: Oh, come on, Irony. She's obviously distressed.
Irony: So she says. She's HYPERBOLE, for crying out loud. It's not outside the realm of possibility that she could be, oh, I don't know, exaggerating.
Me: (sigh). Come on in, Hyperbole!
Irony: (rolling eyes) Gimme another beer.
Hyperbole: Ohmigod! It's a total jungle out there! Have you HEARD?
Me: Sit. Have a beer. Breathe in, hold it, release.
Irony: Or, you could just continue holding it. That might be fun.
Me: What's up, H?
Hyperbole: It's this whole free speech dissent thing! I mean, I've done some big jobs in my time, but I usually have time to prepare! Presidential elections give me at least a couple of years off--but this! Everyone in the whole world is speaking at once, and they are totally wearing me out--like, to a frazzle! I'm mostly dead!
Irony: We could only hope.
Hyperbole: You know, bitterness is not your best feature, Irony. Look, it's this whole McCarthyism thing all over again. Chill winds, crushing of dissent--and the whole bicoastal aspect is just wearing me out. What time zone am I even in?
Me: Yeah, we know you're working hard, H. Why don't you sit down and take a load off?
Hyperbole: I can't! I have to apply duct tape to Martin Sheen and buff his cross at noon! Then I've got to sit in with the Dixie Chicks, I've got a 2:30 with Daschle to prep for his press conference and--dammit! I hate pagers!
Hyperbole: Oh, for the love of God! WHO gave Tim Robbins my beeper number? He's such a freaking hack--chill wind, indeed. I told him grandiose imagery needs to be original, but nooooo! He wanted to go classic "chill wind." What. Ever. Why even call me if you aren't going to take my advice? I'm a professional, and I don't have to put up with this crap!
Irony: Oh, cry me a river, you vapid tramp. I've been working the same jobs you have, and not only am I tired, I'm not even getting any credit. Subtlety is never appreciated.
Hyperbole: Subtlety is soooo 19th century. Maybe if you actually got OUT more, you know, combed your hair or bathed or something...
Irony: Bring it.
Hyperbole: I am so gonna kick your ass!
Me: HEY! There will be no figurative or literal ass-kickings in my living room! Sit. Drink. Then go out there and do your jobs. Irony? You're appreciated. See? Look at all the pretty bloggers out there--they recognize your worth, and I have it on good authority that all bloggers are not only intelligent, they're also thin, good looking, and way superior to everyone else in the world. Hyperbole? You're just gonna have to grit your teeth and bear it a while longer. I have a feeling the majority of your abusers are about to hit critical mass, implode, and vanish.
Hyperbole: Then can I go to San Cristobal?
Me: Yeah, whatever. Look, this has been fun, but I have a life to get back to.
Irony and Hyperbole: Okay, fine, we can take a hint.
Me: Good. Now go. And if I hear that you've been fighting again...
Irony and Hyperbole: What?
Me: I'll sick Metaphor and Similie on your asses.
Hyperbole: I can never tell those two apart.
Irony: Color me surprised.