Every couple of days I get an email from a woman in Indiana named Nancy W. Kappes and it is the highlight of my entire fucking week. Basically it’s like we’re having a really long weird conversation except I’m not actually talking. Also in my head she sounds exactly like the drag queen from Midnight in the Garden of Good And Evil. She is the standard upon which all other emails are judged and I honestly feel guilty that I’m the only person who gets to read them so I’m reprinting some of her emails here. You’re welcome:
From Nancy W. Kappes:
My thank-you-jesus-EX MIL was a complete psycho. When her little sonny boy (Oedipal much? Don’t let me commence), finally passed his architectural boards (after the fourth try) she had a dinner party, but explained that I couldn’t come because she “didn’t have enough chairs.”
Well, it’s been 16 glorious years since those days, and I enjoy nothing more than watching my two girls leave to go to a bat-shit-crazy-screaming match; “family function” sacrificing a goat in thanksgiving that I no longer have to go. “Bye, guys! Have a great time!” (middle finger from the 20 year-old and a tender “Bite me, Mom” from the 19 year old.) Plus? SHE WILL NEVER EVER DIE just to keep torturing my grrlz. So I sit back with a trashy book, a tumbler of Grey Goose (when I’m flush-Seagram’s when I’m not) and my huge bottle of assorted pharmaceuticals. (My “Judy Garland Trail Mix.”)
p.s. oh, and crazy ex-husband? Used to get the valium with his lemonade at dinner. Crush those suckers up and it’s all “Oh you motherfucking asshole sweetie, here’s a little Crystal Light.” It was the only way I got through those 5 years. He made the Baby Jesus cry.
Nancy W. Kappes
Paralegal
Jenny, I’ll trade you 3 percocet and 3 valiums for 5 xanax. Now I can’t even take my afternoon nap at work. Shit.
Nancy W. Kappes
Paralegal
RE: Tha’ Rheumatiz: Ah, fuck me running!! My index finger blowed up real good just last month. Now when I point at people, I am one scary motherfucking memaw. Age has it’s rewards? BOLLOCKS. The only good thing is you get to live on Planet I-Don’t-Give-A-Rat’s-Ass-About-Anything. My sympathies are with you, my dear. Just wait till your ass sags down on your thighs. HOWEVER, the good thing about ageing is that your croaker physician will write you script for just about anything. Yee-haw!
Nancy W. Kappes
Paralegal
JJEEEEENNNNNNNEEEEEE,
Fuck me running, but this goddamned rheumatoid arthritis shit has got to go! It’s about 22 degrees below zero with the wind chill and I am at work guzzling vodka under my desk curled up in my Strawberry Shortcake sleeping bag.
Okay, several things. I know you said you work in some religious organization, or whatever. I just bought the Ultimate Trucker Cap. It is the Trucker Cap that All Other Trucker Caps Want To Be. If I knew how to post photos, I would totally do it, but I suck ass with computer shit. Anyhatz, it is white with (are you ready?)
Jesus Christ
..on it. How Motherfucking sweet is that?? I am totally wearing it all the time, flipping people off in traffic, pretending I have Tourette’s Syndrome (have you ever done that? The Tourette’s I mean—it’s a complete blast) screaming at random strangers, “Lick your leg for a quarter, baby!” and “Wanna buy some heroin?”. The only thing is now I so have to get one for LaBloggess to wear at work or just out on the town. (I totally would have bought all they had, but it was the only one left.) Cool, n’est-ce pas?
So have you named the Wonkster yet? ‘Wonky McVincent” has a nice ring to it and instead of piercing his ear, you could cut one off. Plus, he’s named after family.
However, here is the tale of the GREATEST NAME IN THE ENTIRE FUCKING WORLD, I DON’T CARE., THIS IS IT.
So, I’m drivin home from work one summer eve and am crusin thru a funky part of town when all of a sudden this enormous, gigantic black woman comes out on her porch and bellows:
“SPATULA! SPATULA! YOU GIT YO ASS IN THIS GODDAM HOUSE RIGHT NOW! SPATULA! I’M TALKING TO YOU, GIRL! GODDAM IT, SPATULA, DON’T MAKE ME COME GIT YO ASS!”
I mean, see above in red letter, oh, jesus christ, I am driving all over the fucking sidewalk, over curbs, wetting my pants, diet coke coming out of my nose, choking on cigarette smoke,crying and thinking I was going to have a heart attack. She named her child after, so help me God, a motherfucking COOKING UTENSIL I mean holy fucking shit, what is up with that? There you have it. The tale of the Best Name Ever.
Nancy W. Kappes
Paralegal
Ah, shit, Dude! Larry LaPrise, the man who wrote “The Hokey Pokey” died yesterday at age 93. When they put him in the coffin, they put his left leg in. That’s when the trouble started.
Nancy W. Kappes
Paralegal Tranny Mess
What the fucking hell? Maybe the goddamned cat WANTED to be all goth and shit….I send this as a warning, so when Mr. Pickles or whatever the hell you decided to call him, gets his shit done, close the curtains. I want to get a teany weany dog, shave its back and tattoo BAD MOTHERFUCKER on it.
Nancy W. Kappes
Paralegal
JJJeeeeennnnnnnneeeeeeeeeee.
Whoa! That happened to a friend of mine when we were all hallucinating our fucking asses off on some—er….well, I read this story where some guy I never knew was on DRUGS which we know are BAD, but he was on some blotter acid and was driving his car. Okay, so we know DRUGS are BAD and I TOTALLY NEVER DID ANY but this guy in the story saw a “donkey” in the middle of the road (this was in I read it was in New York where you would never see a fucking donkey in the road) so he thought he was hallucinating and shit, and just kept driving. Into the motherfucking donkey that was totally standing in the middle of the road. In New York. At least that’s what it said. Sorta.
Nancy W. Kappes
Paralegal The Acid Queeen I Never Done No Drugs,Officer, I swear, But Why Does Your Head Look Like a Cockatoo
Jennnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn (my head hit the keyboard—we had a big-ass lunch party and my head is lolling around like a bladder on a stick.
Fuckity fuck fuck fuck! What the fuck? What is going on with your feet? Jesus Christ, it sounds like you have Hilary Clinton cankles. EWWW! DRUGS FOR LA BLOGGESS, STAT, MOTHERFUCKERS!
Now, see if you lived near me, you would totally not have this problem, because I am always PREPARED for emergencies, biatch! Like a hangnail, and you need just 25cc of Chinese black tar heroin, hey! It’s all good! I don’t know about high school, but as I told my grrlz when they were of age: Mommy is going to know:
1. What you’re on
2. How much you have done
3. Whether you are liking it or not
4. If you have any for mommy
So, my sweet little 20 year old comes home the other night and I’m all, “Fuck! Who’s been smoking fucking Thai Stick? I haven’t seen that shit in years!!!” Well, after I told her as I said before that DRUGS are BAD and you shouldn’t do them, unless you don’t have a choice, and maybe your mother needs to make sure you are smoking only the Very Best Weed, but OKAY CHILD PROTECTIVE SERVICES, I SO DID NOT SMOKE WEED WITH MY KID. GOT IT? Thankyouverymuch
p.s. bite me
okay so, jens, I totally know wh…shit! THEY’RE HERE! BASTARDS!
Nancy W. Kappes
Paralegal Totally Needing Bail Money
JJEEEEENNNNNNNNEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
DO NOT TAKE THAT SHIT! What the fuck kind of a goddamned doctor do you fucking have anyway??? You need one like mine where I’ll call up and be all, “Hmm. Yes it’s Ms.Kappes and I need refills on my vicodin, valium, dexadrine and dilaudid. Oh, and throw in some more syringes. And some morphine suppositories* Of course I want them delivered you bitch! Who do you think you are talking to? DO NOT make me come in their with my
Jesus Christ
hat on an get all the fuck up in yo’ grille.”
See if you can get Lyrica-it’s usually for nerve pain, but it’ll give you a decent buzz. Wash them down with brandy.
Sounds like you need some help out there and if I fucking show up, those motherfuckers will be SMOTE! Word.
Looking out for all Your Medical Needs,
Dr. Nanola Whitini
*oohh, morphine suppositories! You’re high before your finger is out yo’ ass! (A slogan I tried to market to them. Unsuccessfully. Stupid Bastards.
Oh, yeah. Here is a very olde tricke which I have been playing for years. Before a big party, fill your medicine cabinet with fucking marbles! Yes! Cause you know those spying little dope-fiend friends of yours are totally going to be raiding that shit, right? The fun comes when some sucker opens it up, and…let’s just say it is one of the loudest godamned noises you’ll ever hear. Over your ringing ears, scream, “BUSTED MOTHERFUCKER!” Great party game.
Now you git out there and try to score for some good shit that won’t make hair grow all over you. NO! WAIT!! SEND VICTOR OUT! Yeah, with the kids in the car seats-you ALWAYS get a better deal and better shit when you bring the kids to buy dope. (free tip from me.)
Nancy W. Kappes
Paralegal
Okay, I know! We can do like the ole college days when you sent your buddy at Cornell a letter with LTS on it (meaning lick the stamp.) However, my carrier got wind of mah little trixy and he is now in the Cayuga Penitentiary for the Criminally Insane (it’s just that they had chains strong enough to hold him down.)
What about making tracks on your arm and heading down to Ye Olde Methadone Clique? WAIT! What is wrong with this picture?? I’m tellin ya, make fucking Victor do something besides bitch like a white chick all the time. HEY! VICTOR! PUSSY-MAN! YEAH, I’M TALKIN TO YOU, ASSHOLE! YOU’RE THE GODDAMNED MAN OF THE FAMILY, NOW PUT THOSE KIDS IN THE BACKSEET AND GO GET YOUR WIFE SOME MOTHERFUCKING DRUGS ALREADY.! Jesus. Didn’t your mama tell you how to act like a MAN??
You Better Stay The Fuck Away From My Area Code,
Nancy
And before you ask, yes. I did ask Nancy for permission to publish these and I even offered to change her name or block out the law firm she works for. Her response:
Fuck, Woman, you don’t even need to block shit! My Thank-You-Baby-Jesus Ex-husband’s name was “Philip Miles” and he goes by “Big Fat Fucking Dumb Ass-Hat Motherfucker” I mean “P. Miles” and he actually got a letter from someone addressed to “Piles Krappes.” As God is my witness, baby; don’t make me do that goddamned Scarlett O’Hara Turnip Scene. I’d send you the actual envelope (hells, yes, I kept it!) but it has snot all over it where I was laughing my guts out. What the fuck, post it. Everyone at works knows I am an alcoholic drug addict with a big, fat smart-ass fucking mouth who will put a cap in yo ass if y’all fuck about with me. Besides, how much do you think a skanky ho with a “Jesus Christ” trucker cap could get an hour? Fucking tons! “Hey Buddy! You want Jesus to suc….oops. I better have a nice tall glass of shut the hell up right now. See? Even for me some things are untouchable.
Nancy W. Kappes
Paralegal Unemployed Drunken Slut Junkie
Comment of the day: I think she’s real. And also a Rage Against the Machine fan. I found this review she wrote…
Grandmother-to-be-Gets-Wish Fulfilled
By Nancy the Oldest Rage Fan in the World from Indianapolis, Indiana on 8/27/2007
“Yes, this old soon-to-be (next week) Grandmother, fulfilled a long-time dream to be able to experience a Rage Against the Machine Concert. “D***!” said Nancy W. Kappes, who drove from Indianapolis with her daughter (19 yrs-not the pregnant one) “If we had Rage Against the Machine in the 60’s we would have blown up even more stuff! Viva Zapata” The 53 year-old (who only looks 29!) now just needs to hold her grandbaby and she can die in peace! Thank you, Rage Against the Machine! The very old woman also suggested it would be a good thing for the band to stay together or she would, “Come back and haunt the you-knnow-what out of you! And it won’tbe pretty!” ~ delia