Thursday, June 09, 2005

Good News for People who Love Bad News

As I just explained in an e-mail to Brad, I thought this job was pretty much rock bottom for me. Then, last night, I recieved some news. After hearing it, my sneakers sprouted drills.

This morning, I recieved some more news. Fuck rock bottom.

This is Kathy Cacace, reporting live from six feet below the surface of the earth, and still tunnelling straight into bedrock.

Seriously. If my life were a movie screenplay, recieving this unbelieveably bad news would be the point at which the big studio executives forwarded the script on to LifeTime (Television for Women), because it was written too heavy-handedly to be anything but a Movie of the Week. That's how unbelievable it is. This news was so incredibly, astoundingly, heart-stoppingly bad that the word "unbelievable" ceases to have any meaning whatsoever. We use the word "unbelievable" to describe very good chocolate cake. The degree of non-believability of the bad news I received was such that a whole new word needs to be invented for the situation.

Brainsplodingly bad. Titsquashedly terrible. Assforafacedly awful. Splinterinyercornealy shitty.

That's how bad this news is. Unbelievably, incredibly, impossibly bad.

If my bad news were to enter a three-legged race with all the other bad news I possibly could've received, it would've won. But the race would've been delayed because none of the other contestants would've wanted to be its partner. When someone finally took pity on my bad news and strapped their legs together, my bad news would've cheated by jumping the gun. When its partner tripped halfway to the finish line, it would've kept running. My bad news is the kind of bad news that would've crossed the finish line dragging a grass-stained, bloody, bruised partner by the ankle.

If my bad news were a Spice Girl, it would be Posh Spice. You would think it would be Ginger Spice, who ruined the Spice Girl zeitgeist by leaving during the height of their popularity, but my bad news wouldn't just rain on the parade. My bad news would stick around. It would sing hopelessly off key, then marry a stultifyingly hot man just to make you feel inadequate.

What is my bad news?

I'm not telling.

Unless I already told you what it is*, I'm not going to reveal the news because doing so would take twenty hours (pages?) of back story to explain how unbelievably bad it is. But, more importantly, I believe keeping my bad news to myself may prove therapeutic.

Why?

I want you to guess what it is.

No one outside the five individuals who know it already will guess correctly. But I'm hoping that people come up with a bunch of other horrible things that my news could be, and leave them in the comments. That way when I read them, I'll hopefully realize that there are way worse things that could've befallen me besides my terrible, horrible, no good, very bad news.

That's right! Guess! It's a game! Virtually ruin Kathy's Life! Pretend Whack-a-Mole with Kathy's will to live! A prize to the person who comes up with the thing that would've made my job the very, very worst had it actually occurred.

For real, I'll send you a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad prize in the mail.

That's it from the Miserable News Desk. On behalf of all of us here at Rotten Horrible Channel 13, I bid you a good night.






*Or else you really want to know. I'm a gossipy whore.

12 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

OH MY GOD. Okay, so you told me the bad news from yesterday, so I assume that today's bad news expounds upon that. I will guess, then, that the bad news involves you

1) working on a project with Crazy Stalker Woman,

AND/OR

2) having a desk right next to Crazy Stalker Woman.

Am I close?
-Clare

12:23 PM  
Blogger What'sHerFace said...

A little bit o' number two, but the bulk of it is way worse, given the track record.

Now SSSSSH before you give it away! I want people to guess terrible things!

12:25 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

(and as far as the "fantasy worst bad news ever" could go, I will say the following scenario: your immediate supervisor, who in this fantasy is an elderly woman of formidable stature, has informed you that you will be fired, and never get another job in the literary world for as long as her grandchildren can avenge it, if you do not allow yourself to be anally raped with a vodka bottle on stage as the preshow entertainment at a Coldplay concert, which you would have to *GASP* ATTEND and write a glowing review of, which would then be pissed on by Hot Dad, who runs off with Crazy Stalker Woman and lives happily ever after.)
-Clare

12:27 PM  
Blogger What'sHerFace said...

Great. But, also, add:

Apple just told me that it will cost 274.00 to fix my 299.00 iPod. Which means I just have to buy a new one.

Except I didn't even make that up! HA HA HA! So funny!

12:55 PM  
Anonymous mombi said...

the bad news is... you can't take your vacation as planned. no, the bad news is you can take your vacation as planned, but your brothers are bringing 4 of their friends. no, the bad news is you have extra vacation, but you'll have to spend it in Rob's "other / guest" room which smells like a gym locker. no, the bad news is you've met another hot dad. no, the bad news is hot dad's wife is your new office mate. um, the bad news is the office is putting the copier on top of your desk.

i won't even talk about the things that could be really, really, not at all humorous, bad news.

1:25 PM  
Anonymous Andy said...

I got gonorrhea this week TOO!

2:33 PM  
Blogger Kunaxa said...

The bad news is:

You have to use the (bless its heart)photocopying maching to copy ALL those manuals that (nutbag) lady was inquiring about the other day. Not only will you have to use the STAPLER ... of DEATH to staple them all together (during your vacation and weekends - because you're too busy with knee surgery photos otherwise), but you then have to send it to her along with an apology letter AND you're being forced to include your favorite pair of underwear as a consolation present.

BTW, She also lives in Ohio, exactly where you can't be for Brad's birthday.

4:47 PM  
Blogger Kunaxa said...

(Also where 'LEAKY' gets to crash Brad's party).

4:50 PM  
Anonymous brad said...

don't even mention leaky at my birthday, nutbag. you don't know how serious that is.

so, so far, pretty much all of these farces are way more bearable than the nasty, creepy truth. i would have to say that only thing that would be worse than what's going on right now is if you were subjected to me getting a hangnail. the pain and worry you'd go through thinking about my minor health malfeasance might be too much for you to handle; i would assume and expect you to commit suicide.

11:55 PM  
Anonymous brad said...

and god dammit, clare! coldplay may be the most overrated band of the new millennium, but i like some of their songs! chris martin's got a beautiful voice and an even more beautiful face.

11:57 PM  
Blogger What'sHerFace said...

Okay, I deCLARE the winner. Brad: fuck your hangnail. Mombi: I'd take a vacation in Rob's smelly room any day.
Andy: antibiotics'll clear that right up.
N-Squared: manuals do not actually exist, so photocopying for the nutcase would be easy. Also, being so crazy, I could probably just put a phone book in an envelope and have her be very pleased.

So, Clare, even though I like "Clocks" (though that's the only song of theirs I like), and I wouldn't mind sucking face with Chris Martin at all, I have to say that you win by virtue of that thing about the vodka bottle going where no vodka bottle should go. That would be worse, I think.

Maybe.

Anyway, you'll get a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad prize.

7:24 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

WOOHOO!

-Clare

9:03 AM  

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