C.T. Thomas @ GurgleSlurp.com


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The old magic isn’t working anymore!!
January 31, 2013

“How could this happen to me! I’m a good person!”

“Obviously you’re not,” I shrugged.


“Good peoples’ cars don’t break down, and they don’t get the flu, and their banks cards are never eaten by ATM machines. Clearly, you’re a terrible person.”

“You know I fucking hate you right now, right?”

“Maybe if you didn’t use such bad language, your car would still be running.”

And no, we’re not actually friends anymore. 🙂


OCD or just plain crazy!
October 13, 2012

Sometimes shitty things happen that are totally a surprise. You start the day thinking everything’s going to go great and then BAM! you get groped on the subway, causing you to spill your coffee on your brand new suede boots, and then you’re yelled at by a passenger for splashing them. And you’re stunned all the while because you thought it was going to be a perfectly normal day.

Sometimes shitty things happen and they’re not a surprise at all, even though nothing suggested that anything should have gone awry. You get groped on the subway, spill your coffee, ruin your boots, and get yelled at by a passenger – and you’re not surprised at all because you knew you shouldn’t have got on the subway that day. You knew it, you did it anyway, and now you’ve been groped and your day sucks.

I hate that. I hate the knowing and the subsequent ignoring and the resulting shitty day that maybe could have been avoided if I just didn’t do the thing I didn’t think I should be doing.

So today, instead of going into the city with The Princess, I stayed home because it felt like a really really bad idea for me to go.

Crazy, right? Which is the reason I would normally just plow ahead, and do whatever it is anyway. Except, if I keep having instances where after shit happens I’m left thinking to myself ‘I knew I shouldn’t have done that/gone there/etc.,’ and I don’t do anything differently – well that’s crazy too.

Besides the letter P, what could popcorn and pantyhose possibly have in common?
September 10, 2012

You know how that one time, for funsies, you thought it would be a good idea to write your list? Sorry, your List. You know, the list of everyone in your current or past on whom you wish unbearable physical harm/humiliation/financial ruin etc? And then for whatever reason, instead of throwing it away, you put it somewhere for safe keeping, maybe because you thought it was kind of funny, or maybe because it was on paper and you felt Go-Green guilt for putting it in the garbage – and even if you tore it up it would still be too intact to go in the recycling – because people can be unethical snoops and you never did get around to investing in a shredder. And then out of the blue, one of the people on your list actually dies. And then part of you has a really terrible urge to dig up that old list and cross the name out, or put a check mark beside it – because that’s the sort of thing you do when maintaining a list. Except that would be crazy so you can’t. And if it was ever found it would be weird enough to explain on its own, and even weirder to explain with one of the names crossed out and dated.

So what I’m saying is: Goodbye Aunt Jane, your popcorn always smelled like pantyhose and the possible explanations for that still frighten me.

Joking joking – Aunt Jane and her pantyhose popcorn died years ago!


We’re not desperate for heroes, so cool it already!
June 1, 2012

I hate – absolutely detest (detest is worse than hate, right?) how overused hero references have become. I’ve been watching the French open and what’s the headline after Andy Murray wins his match? Heroic Murray overcomes painful back injury to win. Heroic? Seriously? How about determined, or tenacious, or persevering? There’s a huge list of complementary yet more appropriate words available. But heroic? What a low bar we’ve set.

Heroic C.T. Thomas overcomes painful unseasonal flu to bake cookies.

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A breathless return from Paris
September 21, 2011

Moments into the return flight from Paris, I began to worry. I had a middle seat, the Princess to my right, and some guy on my left. The guy on my left had the worst – no, THE WORST breath I can recall ever smelling. It was going to be a 467 minute flight and I couldn’t envision any scenario which would result in his breath improving any. Only a drunken optimist would hope that he might brush his teeth during the flight. I’m a realist, I knew he would probably sleep and have airplane/’morning breath’ on top of his already decayed natural state.

Maybe they would serve mint toothpaste sandwiches for lunch? Do airlines ever do that? Has that ever been on a menu? Anywhere? Maybe one of those molecular gastronomy restaurants?

I swear his breath was so bad, I spent the first half hour of the flight wishing he had severe, medical calibre B.O. Or that we’d have engine trouble and have to turn back.

And frankly, the Princess’ prosciutto and port salut sandwich, and au revoir cigar wasn’t making matters all that much more pleasant on my right. Tolerable, but not a true respite.

This makes me have much greater sympathy for customs/immigration agents. They must deal with so much bad breath everyday, that it’s a wonder that they can be even remotely friendly with anyone ever. And what can they do about it? Insist that everyone brush their teeth after getting off a plane? Wear masks? Use that stuff that forensic scientists rub under their noses when they work with decomposing bodies?

The saving grace? As soon as the flight reached our cruising altitude the flight attendants brought drinks and bags of those weird nacho bbq Chex Mex’ish crunchie things only found on airplanes. They masked his breath completely!

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