My ears were burning. Generally this portends another hot flash, but occasionally it signals something even more hilarious: someone in Blogville has invoked me.
I was moved to act.
“Phile,” I said (Phil is my secretary). “Check the internet! And bring me another tub of Cool Whip!”
Phil checked the internet. Sure enough, “Twisty” was the subject of a sentence on a blog. Phil and I shared a hearty lip-curl over the following fruity send-up of what belledame222, writing in the comments at the always-entertaining PunkAssBlog, calls “snide Twisty mode”:
“Dump him! And take off those shoes; anyone who would wear those things voluntarily belongs in a home. Sexbot! Breeder! Illiterate mouth-breathing moron! Really I’m only telling you this for your own good. Oh, good, the dinner bell.”
“Hyuk,” said Phil, ringing an imaginary dinner bell and making oinking sounds. “Good one.”
I gathered the impression that, for some unfathomable reason, (a) Phil had no intention of bringing me any Cool Whip and (b) belledame222 is not entirely convinced that “snide Twisty mode” does all that much to ennoble the human spirit.
So I went in search of enchiladas. What else could I do?