Read Online I Love Everybody (and Other Atrocious Lies) by Laurie Notaro - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Laurie Notaro
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murderer. When her crafty, nosy mother discovers this and tries to break up the relationship instead of simply telling her daughter, her plan backfires and the boyfriend kidnaps Tori Spelling and takes her to a cabin in the woods in the cinematic magnum opus
Mother, May I Sleep with Danger?
Forty-five minutes later, I was still sitting on the couch and had watched Tori spiral into a dangerous, blind sinkhole of denial, I was still watching as her boyfriend chopped down a log door with an ax to get to his beloved, and I was still watching as she then engineered her brilliant escape by hopping into a curiously and advantageously placed canoe and paddled down a river like Lewis and Clark, although Tori’s river looked suspiciously like it was located in an amusement park in Anaheim.
It is worth noting that Tori Spelling completes the physical equivalent of a triathlon in this movie, although her boobs have about as much movement as a set of gravestones.
“God,” even my Nana commented. “Her lentils look like they’re bolted to her rib cage. No wonder she was paddling so fast. She’s not afraid of tipping over. She’ll never drown with those lifeboats under her chin!”
“I don’t know how you can watch this stuff,” I said blankly. “There must be something better on TV than this. You have almost a thousand stations!”
“This story wasn’t too good, I agree,” Nana relented. “Tori Spelling was much better in
Coed Call Girl,
even though she was a real slut then. She’d go with anybody, she wasn’t picky. She should get together with that Partridge Family girl. Slut, meet slut!”
“I mean this station, Lifetime,” I said, getting a little frustrated. “It’s like the Wounded Woman’s Channel. Everyone gets chased, stalked, hit, becomes pregnant mysteriously, chased with an ax, or gets lured into a ring of prostitution. This isn’t real. Just how many prostitutes have you known?”
“Um,” Nana thought. “One.”
“You have not,” I replied. “You’re talking about that one girl who dated your brother Frank before World War Two. She wasn’t a hooker, she just wore red lipstick!”
“He met her in a bar,” Nana said adamantly. “Pop Pop didn’t meet
me
in a bar!”
“She was a
singer with the band,
” I said. “That didn’t make her a midnight cowgirl! What I’m trying to tell you is that this channel is crap. Can’t you watch something else, like on the History Channel or Discovery?”
“Listen,” Nana said sharply. “I’m eighty-six years old. I
am
the History Channel, and if there’s anything on the Discovery Channel that I haven’t already found out, I’ve been doing just fine without it. Believe me. Lifetime is television for women. They say it’s empowering!”
“You’re watching Tori Spelling paddling down a river with traffic pylons for knockers in
Mother, May I Sleep with Danger?,
Nana,” I had no choice but to say. “If these women were empowered, they’d be making better movies!”
But really, there was no talking to Nana about upgrading her viewing choices to something palatable, or at least something that didn’t have a “Chinese menu title,” one choice from Group A (Deadly, Dangerous, or Betrayed) teamed with one choice from Group B (Lies, Kisses, or Love), for a name. I simply could not change her mind.
And now, as I stood in Nana’s living room after getting her panicked message, I listened when she explained that her channel was gone.
“I tried to turn the TV on after the electricity came back, but all I get is this fuzzy stuff,” she said as she pushed random buttons on her remote control as the screen went from one color of fuzzy to the next. “It’s gone! It’s gone! All of it is gone! Now I’ll never know what happened to Marty Graw’s party or if the mayor told James Garner he’s sorry!”
“Oh,” I said, understanding what happened. “Your cable has to be reprogrammed. I think all we need to do is turn your actual
Mother, May I Sleep with Danger?
Forty-five minutes later, I was still sitting on the couch and had watched Tori spiral into a dangerous, blind sinkhole of denial, I was still watching as her boyfriend chopped down a log door with an ax to get to his beloved, and I was still watching as she then engineered her brilliant escape by hopping into a curiously and advantageously placed canoe and paddled down a river like Lewis and Clark, although Tori’s river looked suspiciously like it was located in an amusement park in Anaheim.
It is worth noting that Tori Spelling completes the physical equivalent of a triathlon in this movie, although her boobs have about as much movement as a set of gravestones.
“God,” even my Nana commented. “Her lentils look like they’re bolted to her rib cage. No wonder she was paddling so fast. She’s not afraid of tipping over. She’ll never drown with those lifeboats under her chin!”
“I don’t know how you can watch this stuff,” I said blankly. “There must be something better on TV than this. You have almost a thousand stations!”
“This story wasn’t too good, I agree,” Nana relented. “Tori Spelling was much better in
Coed Call Girl,
even though she was a real slut then. She’d go with anybody, she wasn’t picky. She should get together with that Partridge Family girl. Slut, meet slut!”
“I mean this station, Lifetime,” I said, getting a little frustrated. “It’s like the Wounded Woman’s Channel. Everyone gets chased, stalked, hit, becomes pregnant mysteriously, chased with an ax, or gets lured into a ring of prostitution. This isn’t real. Just how many prostitutes have you known?”
“Um,” Nana thought. “One.”
“You have not,” I replied. “You’re talking about that one girl who dated your brother Frank before World War Two. She wasn’t a hooker, she just wore red lipstick!”
“He met her in a bar,” Nana said adamantly. “Pop Pop didn’t meet
me
in a bar!”
“She was a
singer with the band,
” I said. “That didn’t make her a midnight cowgirl! What I’m trying to tell you is that this channel is crap. Can’t you watch something else, like on the History Channel or Discovery?”
“Listen,” Nana said sharply. “I’m eighty-six years old. I
am
the History Channel, and if there’s anything on the Discovery Channel that I haven’t already found out, I’ve been doing just fine without it. Believe me. Lifetime is television for women. They say it’s empowering!”
“You’re watching Tori Spelling paddling down a river with traffic pylons for knockers in
Mother, May I Sleep with Danger?,
Nana,” I had no choice but to say. “If these women were empowered, they’d be making better movies!”
But really, there was no talking to Nana about upgrading her viewing choices to something palatable, or at least something that didn’t have a “Chinese menu title,” one choice from Group A (Deadly, Dangerous, or Betrayed) teamed with one choice from Group B (Lies, Kisses, or Love), for a name. I simply could not change her mind.
And now, as I stood in Nana’s living room after getting her panicked message, I listened when she explained that her channel was gone.
“I tried to turn the TV on after the electricity came back, but all I get is this fuzzy stuff,” she said as she pushed random buttons on her remote control as the screen went from one color of fuzzy to the next. “It’s gone! It’s gone! All of it is gone! Now I’ll never know what happened to Marty Graw’s party or if the mayor told James Garner he’s sorry!”
“Oh,” I said, understanding what happened. “Your cable has to be reprogrammed. I think all we need to do is turn your actual
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