Does This Stress Make Me Look Fat? (Chapter Eleven: Margarine of Error)

More from Anthony Rhody’s book serial: “Does This Stress Make Me Look Fat?”

Remind me to go file this when I’m done.

I love words, though at times it feels like an unrequited love.

I try not to be bitter.

I like to repurpose the occasional word or phrase, such as…

“Folgery”: the act of trying to pass off cheap coffee as high-end coffee.

“Folgery”: the act of trying to pass off cheap coffee as high-end coffee.

“Inversion therapy” is when you put your head lower than the rest of your body to try and get the nasal passages decongested.

It is not recommended this be done simultaneously with the sexual version of inversion therapy (against the law in severe southern states).

“Taco fest” is…


The less said about one of these, the better.

“Yicker tape” is what they used to use back in the day to mend a broken heart.

“Shrink wrap” is when a session with one’s therapist finishes up.

Before there were therapists “shrink wrap” was what a man kept handy to put around himself when he got out of a cold bath or pool.

“Obitchuary” is an obituary for the sort of woman who was not at all well-liked.

“Together, Martin and I made a martini.” This is based on an actual incident.

Actual newspaper (remember those?) headline from way back:


The Germans have a word, “schadenfreude” – which is the enjoyment obtained from the troubles of others.

Interestingly, there’s another word, “Deutschadenfreude” – which is the enjoyment obtained from knowing Germany lost both World Wars.

As for my list of favorite words, “ass fault” is way up there, though I have yet to work it into a sentence.

Same goes for “ass burgers”; Oh, wait: “I love assburgers with cheese.”

S.W.A.T. stickers are memorabilia left over from the 70’s TV series S.W.A.T.

Probably worth some money by now.

I’m never sure when I hear “bar fly” if it’s not actually “barf lie” or maybe “barf fly”; maybe a barf fly is related to the dung beetle, but hopefully they cannot breed.

They probably have hot, filthy sex with each other when no one is looking. But seriously: a group of crows is called a “murder.”

A Russell Crowe family reunion is called a “massacre”.

Wasn’t sure “malarkey” was an actual word until I misspelled it just now; left out the “e”.

Same goes for “snot”, both the nasal mucus and the type of person.

So when someone tries to tell you “snot” is not a word, tell them “snot is a
word, and then they’ll probably say, “Snot.”

And then somebody hands somebody a kleenex.

My favorite swear word has always been “motherfucker”.

How long the word has been around or who first coined it is hard to say.

We know little of its origin; we’re just happy and proud to have it at our disposal.

I think its legendary and enduring status is because it works on several levels:

It implies that the individual has a sexual relationship with his Mom and makes the judgement that this is a bad thing.

Also, “motherfucker” suggests that this relationship is strictly sexual, that it’s only sex.

“Making love” would mean something else, perhaps even more disturbing.

Or, perhaps, this individual likes to have sex with various, perhaps

any and all women who happen to be mothers; maybe that’s why “mother” is not capitalized. “Motherfucker” never seems to be used on women, and there is no “fatherfucker” equivalent.

More on this as data becomes available.

Stay tuned, motherfuckers!

My love of words also includes pointing out common grammatical mistakes to people when I do get the chance – though most of the time I’m left just
worrying in vain about the state of our educational system in this country.

Here are some of the most bewildering ones:

Me, myself and I.

A lot of people are so insecure about their usage that they will say “I” or “myself” when it should be “me”.

“Me” has become almost extinct, as if it no longer has a function.

Once, I even heard a Jeopardy contestant in her little interview, say “…me and my husband…”.

I have actually heard “I” made possessive a few times on reality shows:

“I’s…” instead of my or mine.

Then, not long after that, someone on that same show made mine possessive:


Then blood started running out of my ears.

“Do you mind…?” is often answered with “yes” or “go ahead” as if what is
being asked is “May I…?”.

“No, I don’t mind” or “not at all” would be the intended response, the same as “Yes, you may…”

“Bemused” is used as a synonym for “amused” even by so-called writers.

It is not.

On porn sites, “buck naked” is more often than not referred to as “butt naked” –

I mean, so I’ve heard.

This is like saying “start naked” instead of “stark naked”.

Maybe these same people do that too.

Don’t know.

Oh, and if/when you go to any sort of Internet site that isn’t meant for children, you might be forewarned with an on-screen notice that reads

something like:




Golly, what are the chances that CONTENT is something that is CONTAINED?

Our American educational system says the chances are very good.

The “literally” epidemic goes on and on.

The worst thing about it is it’s usually some idiot on TV, a reality show or such, who needs to be asked to stop using the word she/he thinks means something it doesn’t.

But no once around does so, or knows to do so.

If we taxed those who misused/over-used “literally” we could wipe out the deficit inside of a year!

When I hear, “It was literally like…” is the moment when I tune out or flip the channel or flip out.


The exclamation “I could care less” when what is meant is “I couldn’t care less” involves a little bit of dyslexia, it seems.

Sort of like with double- negatives.

Maybe it’s the time and energy that are saved over decades and decades of
leaving out the word “not” – maybe that really does add up.

Good for them!


This reminds me of the dyslexic woman who brought what she calls her famous “cundt bake” over to our new neighbor’s house-warming.

So if you don’t want to be humiliated by these awful grammar police, be sure to always make sure your i’s are crossed and your t’s are dotted and nobody needs to get hurt.

(Doctors recommend that one does not keep one’s eyes crossed for extended periods.)

Author: Anthony Rhody

My name is Anthony Rhody. I was born in a small midwestern town when I was very young. I am a recovering Catholic and lapsed homosexual. Henceforth I spend a lot less time on my knees. I was a film major at Columbia in Chicago after my career in high school ended in scandal and must-deserved notoriety, plus a diploma. After two years of life in a seventeen-story dorm I was told I should go to the west coast (true story). Since then I have been a screenwriter primarily and a playwright on rare occasion. When I realized a couple years ago I had too many notes on humor and funny schtick to ever use in screenplays I decided to try to see how many of them I could throw together as a book of humor. "Does This Stress Make Me Look Fat?" is that book, not a medical journal on over-eating. I don't have any children and as far as I know, no sexual partners. I have lived in San Francisco since before there was a homeless problem - sorry, before so many folks were home free.