I've been planning to write a post examining The Culture of Narcissism by Christopher Lasch, but since the basic conclusion of my analysis is that I'm a narcissist, you're a narcissist, and your little dog is too, I was happy to be distracted by the random question widget-bob on my profile. Unfortunately, the widget-bob has succumbed to the peer pressure of Twatter [sic] and limits your answers to a ridiculously short number of characters, so I'll have to post it here.
Question: The children are waiting! Tell the story of the bald frog and the wig.
One day, the bald frog looked in the mirror and realized that he had lost all his hair. "Oh, dear!" he cried in his croaky falsetto, "I must get a wig!" So he went to the local hairpiece store and asked to purchase a toupee. They promptly called the police, who admitted the frog to a shady private mental hospital. There after many traumatic years of straightjackets and sadistic nurses, our hero finally remembered that he was a frog and had never had any hair to lose. However, he had become so fond of the sixty-year old, 350 pound head nurse and their little daily ritual with the thermometer and the vaseline that he faked insanity and lived happily in the asylum forever afterward.
THE END
...well, you try and write a story about a bald frog and a wig.
I'm serious. Post in the comments section.
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2 comments:
You could have made him one of the dying race of furred frogs from Tibet, and explored his angst at suffering male pattern baldness.
Or maybe I'm more qualified to write that one... :/
I think that males have more angst sometimes than females about their sexual virility. Yet they make fun of us for it. Not fair, really.
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