Because I have all the intellect of a roadkilled squirrel on a Monday...yeah, so it's Tuesday. You wanna make something of it, pally?!

My ass is tardy.

My ungracious ass had been tagged (not tapped) by Junebugg and it is one sorry tardy ass, indeed.

Therefore, I give you this meme because I can't think of a better idea today than to send you somewhere else, hopefully to someone with half a brain cell that is not currently occupied by wearing a grass skirt, shakin' it (badly) and singing "Kumbaya" (also badly).

BLOG IT FORWARD
The rules are really simple. All you have to do is pick someone (or sometwo or somethree) from your blogroll and post (on your site) just what makes them linkworthy. I mean, there's obviously a reason that you allow them to take up that valuable real estate on your site, right? But who do you pick?

I pick these guys because a) they make me smile and/or snort derisively, b) they do not make me puke (always a bonus!) and c) I think they are deserving of more love.

If I did not pick you, it's because a) your delinquent ass never posts, or b) you have enough love. Cram it in your toaster, butter butt.

THE ENTITY FORMERLY KNOWN AS BOZ - The fourth incarnation of Boz, to be exact. He is funny. He is cranky. He hates feminine hygiene products, yet he posts girly pics. Also, he reminds me of Dylan, and of this song by Terry S. Taylor:

Tomatoes and potatoes and peas...
I put 'em in my hat, and I eat 'em just like that.
I put 'em in my ears and in my soup.
I put 'em in my pants, and I do a little dance
It always seems to take away my blues.

I don't know why. But seriously.
What more do you people want?! You make me sick.

AVATAR - yeah, I know, she gets enough (ha) but The Avatar is a most gracious provider of free ass. FREE ASS-! WARNING: ASS AREA! Need I say "free ass" some more...? No, I think not.

At times, so NSFW you will experience whiplash as you scramble in vain to get away, but alas, you cannot - the ass is mesmerizing you. Fortunately she has provided one of those nifty "Run Away! Run Away-!" buttons. Also, she can write. There are many hilarious anecdotes as well, if you're not a fan of ass. (Personally, I'm trying to cut down a little.)

Also, just because she provides free ass? Does not mean you should send her photos of your meat and two veg. Just because she likes her meat and two veg doesn't mean she wants to see YOUR peas 'n baby carrot. That is just uncalled for, unnecessary and very uncouth, not to mention...well, just gross. What the hell is wrong with you people...?

KAT'S STUFF - Kat is in the process of moving, so like, don't hassle her too much. However, she f---ing KILLS me. A Texas girl, who, like myself, wonders what the hell with our bass-ackwards state...eh. It's not nearly as bass-ackwards as CA, but isn't there a happy medium?! We do not know. Kat has a real way with words and I find myself repeating humdingers like, "freaked me right the (censored) out" and "hot as all damnit." I will miss her accounts of her good 'ol boy (sexually harassing) boss, but I'm sure she'll have many wonderful new adventures when she relocates to a state farther east (such as attempting to buy canned chili beans without some sort of disgusting spaghetti innit.)

JOE MCPUPPET - Dirty Dan introduced me to this boy wonder. I still don't know quite what to make of him, but what I do know is...his name JoE! He used to have a puppet show for Jesus! Then, something bad happened, Joe almost died, and CHRIST DIDN'T SHOW UP! How rude.

Fortunately JoE has GIRL! Girl go to methadone clinic, but she fine now. Go! GO! Go and see JOE!! Even though sometimes, he scares me.

ALL ANNE, ALL THE TIME - This woman has a quirky way with words. She also has a (deceased) hamster and the lovely Janet, who has a deviant, cross-dressing ex called "The Tapeworm." Also a car named Spot who craps out a lot. Again, I repeat - what more do you people want?! Jizzmus Creeps Almighty.

Go on, now. Shoo.
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So I'm the only sucka-fool in my position in the entire company who is stuck here while the rest got to go home early for the holiday weekend and are probably happily boinking away and getting paid to do it.

Meanwhile, I am being screwed in a different way. Let's just say it's just a good thing I don't have access to a blowtorch right about now.

Thinking I was going to get home early today (ha ha, snort), as I was under the misconception that I would be given equal and fair treatment, I didn't change the cat box this morning.

Now I shall return home at my regularly scheduled time to find a new and exciting article of my clothing decoratively peed on by Katina, no doubt.

Last time this happened, she peed my pants (no, I was not in them.) The time before, she went into the closet and peed in my shoe.

Now it squishes when I walk.

Well, shit on fire.

If you would like to attempt to relieve the wrath of One Pee-Shoe (my Indian name), please leave your least favorite song title in the comments of the previous post (below). I am starting a collection for Music To Slit Your Wrists By II. ™.

I think I'll send one to our corporate office.

Thank you.
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Ever wanted to get all of your least favorite songs together into one rockin' collection, so that you could physically burn them all at once - but that would cost you hundreds of dollars!?

Well, now you can have the world's most annoying songs all in one great CD set for only $19.95!

You can't buy this in stores!

The Pissed Kitty™, together with Time-Life® Records, bring you the The Bipolar Collection: Music to Slit Your Wrists By - ass seen on TV's American Idol!

Including:
1. Free Bird by Leh-Nerd Skin-Nerd on endless loop! This song still makes me want to off myself every time.

2. Bidi Bidi Bom Bom by the dead Selena! If she wasn't already dead, wouldn't you would want to find out where she lives, and wring her tiny Latina neck with a concho belt...?

3. Do You (YOU!) Feel Like I Do? by Peter "Look at My Pants Bulge" Frampton! When it gets to the part with the devil-voice harmonizer, you'll want to die all over again...! Just like back in the good ol' days!

4. Afternoon Delight - my friend, in her impressionable childhood, loved this song. She used to pretend like she was a "sky-rocket in flight." Little did she know, it was referring to nasty, smelly, hairy man-parts. It ruined her innocence and for that, I hate this song.

5. That Dog by Dangerous Toys. Chances are, you do not know who this is. Good. But let me assure you, it is the worst song ever: That dog-!/He's in a fog-!/But in the dark/he's a hungry shark. That dog/that dog/that dog! Watch his eyes turn whii-yi-yiiite, GET FUNKY! ...see? Can't you just hear the longhairdeded stoner dude sitting around, counting on his fingers, "uh...dog...fog...(bong gurgling)...frog...uh...clog..."?

5.5. Footloose by Kenny Loggins. He is in the Paul Stanley/Bob Seger Hair Club for Men of Over-enthusiastic Singers. Also, I hate feet, and the last thing I want to think about is Kevin Bacon. Therefore, I hate Footloose. Stupid word.

6. Anything by Bob Seger. God, I hate him. He just sounds like a hairy guy in a white polyester suit with a puffy beard and mustache, spraying spittle in the air with his over-enthusiastic "singing". His "Katmandu", which is sadly inferior to Cat Steven's, has that dumb stoner rhyming thing: I think I'm going to Katmandu/That's really, really where I'm going to/If I ever get out of here/That's what I'm gonna do/K-K-K-K-K Katmandu...ugh. This is so bad, it gives me the shit shivers. I especially loathe "Hollywood Nights." And those Hollywood nights/In those Hollywood Hills/she was lookin' so right/in her diamonds and frills! Uh, no. I have news for you, Bob. Women in Hollywood wear ultrasuede Juicy Couture sweatpants and Ugg boots. Now go rinse the spittle out of your mustache.

7. Can't Get You Out of My Head - Kylie Minogue. Sorry, Mange, I agree, her ass is hypnotic - but I can't handle the "la la la's". Also, this ran during a Bally's commercial, which gives me bad flashbacks from when I used to frequent their Hollywood location, which smelled like rotten egg and featured naked, Asian women with cellulite who did everything naked (even weighing themselves), illegal nudity in the sulfurous sauna, lecherous Russian men, and "No Spitting" signs everywhere.

8. You Make Me Wanna La-La by The Dread Butt Pirate, Ashlee Simpson - what a fucking stupid song. I've never actually heard it, but if and when I do, I will start biting people and will have to be put down. You know I can't handle alien-looking chicks singing "la-la." And that effing Teletubby makes me homicidal, too.

9. The entirety of Paris Hilton's yet-to-be-released album is featured in this collection, because it will make you want to pick up your homicidal, axe-wielding self and dance, until you mercifully slip and axe your own head.

10. Anything by No Doubt's Gwen Stefani - Sorry. I generally like her songs the first 9600 times I hear them, but that affected, faux Hispanic thing she does with her voice (jou wewee wuv me) makes me mental. I think she got it from Madonna, who used to do the same thing.

11. (This one goes to eleven!") Mystery bonus track ca. 1988! Bad sexist metal lyrics galore! The likes of Geoff Tate and Yngwie Malmsteen's vocalists are guaranteed to make your head explode!

12. It Must Have Been Love - but it's over now. Because I found out who sings this, and mangled her for causing my bipolar disorder to kick in every time I hear this in the grocery store, and am not carrying my lithium.

13. Ironically named Sublime's "Caress Me Down", with World's Most Disgusting Lyrics: so she told me to come over and I took that trip/and then she pulled out my mushroom tip/and when it came out it went drip drip drip (BARF!)/y su hermana si me quiere y ahorita tenemos un bebé (English translation: nice to meet ya my name's Bradley I'm hornier than Ron Jeremy/on the other side is where I used to live/with my girlfriend named Mixie/and her sister if she wants me/and now we have a baby)?! YUK.

Plus, wel'll throw in an additional volume of Mexican Rap, the most annoying music in the WORLD!

Only $19.95 (payable in four easy installments), for the entire contents of four albums - WHAT A BARGAIN! Buy one for your parole officer, your dentist, your ex-wife - anyone you want to kick off - today-! Quantities are limited because the people on the production line keep snuffing themselves out!!!

Next time on Infomercial Planet, we bring you Songs That Make Pisser Jump Up and Down.
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I think this guy said it best.
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JUST NOW, a woman I work with chewed me out because her mail was two weeks late and she couldn't take her evil spawn to some premiere or the other.

Look here, Little Miss WIC-in-Waiting:

a) I do not get the mail. Our driver was on jury duty.
b) If you really wanted it, you should have had it sent to your home.
c) Do not be trying to shaft your personal bullcrap on me.
d) You spread for some nose-honking clown, and spawned several mini-assclowns. It is your own fault. SUFFER.

Normally I am nicer to her because her kids look like The Devil. I am serious. They have squinty eyes and red hair like Malachai from Children of the Corn (no offense to Courtney Gains, who is a sweetheart.)

The Devil-ettes are on that jr. high pep squad dealie you don't have to try out for, they just let any mini-cow who wants to cheer, cheer. Which I figure they should enjoy while they can, before they get to high school and find out they are butt-ugly.

I hate people who act like you should feel obligated to help raise their village idiots.
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You know those stupid fake Indian dreamcatchers, that are supposed to filter out your bad dreams or some crap...?

Yeah, well, around here, I'm the shitcatcher.

Even though I have absolutely nothing to do with these things, I have to hear people bitch about them.

Can't find parking? I catch shit.
In a bad mood with your boss? I catch shit.
Your printer isn't working? I catch shit.
The IT department sucks? I catch shit.
Your pad is riding up in a wad? I catch shit.
The phones are down? I catch shit.
Your kid is a teenage fuckhead with an attitude problem? I catch shit.
Your dog took a big, steaming dump on the floor because you didn't walk him in time? I catch (and smell) shit.
You got a bad haircut? I catch shit. Then, I have to look at you.
An actor wants a ham sandwich? I catch shit.
They are running late on set because the anorexic actress is M.I.A. and is snorting coke off a toilet seat in a trailer somewhere? I catch shit.
Got a problem with the drinky-drinky? I catch shit.
You don't like the weather? I catch shit.
Couldn't get laid if you stapled Brad Pitt to your schlong? I catch shit.
A stitch in time saves nine? I catch shit.
The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plane? I catch shit.
Somewhere it Utah, a gnat queefed in some Mormon's soup? I catch shit.

You get the idea.

Got a problem? Try not to bitch at the person who is tethered to her desk, so she can't do anything about it even if she did give a hot (or even a lukewarm) damn.

Thank you.
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This morning, my slow a.m. brain had an amazing revelation:

ME: Why does it smell like cat pee in here...?
BRAIN: ...
...
...
...maybe...it's cat pee.

Brilliant. I worry me.

Then, our office can of Lysol® died.
Now what am I supposed to hose myself down with in the morning?!

Sheesh.

So the dark lords of television cursed me last night for mentioning that Paris Hilton, Jr. commercial - I actually saw it. Twice. Oi, me eyeball-!

First of all, she is washing a car. WHY would Paris "Useless" Hilton be WASHING A CAR?!

Next, to add insult to injury, it abuses the song I Love Paris, which I previously enjoyed in the film French Kiss, as Meg Ryan sang:

I love Paris in the springtime
I love Paris in the fall
I love Paris in the summer
because my love is there...with his SLUT GIRLFRIEND!

Which is how they should have modified it here, as well.

Never again, with the Carl's, Jr. Not that I ever have, but if some day I get I wild hair, I will yank that sucker with Brazilian wax. And I will not think about Pee-ris' foul hole, which they practically show, while I'm doing it.

Now, please allow me to share this darling poem from Los Angeles Magazine's comedy issue, which I must say is otherwise mierda pura (it kisses old school SNL ass and claims Bob Saget is funny, if it's any indication):

From GIVE 'EM THE BOOT: LA's Ten Unfunniest People by Ed Leibowitz w/ drawerings by Drew Friedman - xo!

[Lovely illustration of Paris staring dejectedly at a large hourglass which is about to run out of sand. Her chihuahua is saying, "time's almost up, señorita."]

What to do with the boorish Hilton
Who can't tell Velveeta
from royal blue Stilton?
Great-grandad knew hospitality
But Paris is all banality
And Tinkerbell's tail is a-wiltin'

Thank you, E.L, and D.F., for making my day/Steal yourself an issue of Los Angeles Magazine today...!

And pick me up a can of Lysol Fresh Pants® Scent while you're at it.
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*Pisser actually has no idea what she thinks about these movies, because she hasn't had time to see an actual movie since South Pacific came out. She is just making shit up again. We apologize. Please disregard. - Ed.

1. Kingdom of Heaven - wha...?

2. Monster-In-Law - Uh, no. Just...no.

3. Crash - Jaysus, cripes. I worked on this back in 2003 (?) Is it still not out? Wait...is that Matt Dillon? Well, then! Holy fuck almighty, I've wet myself. I've had a massive, throbbing crush on Matt ever since I pubertated to Little Darlings (1980). Two thumbs up...never mind what they're up.

4. House of Wax - As much as I'd enjoy seeing Paris Hilton die, H-to-the-El NO. Isn't it bad enough that we'll have to be seeing her skanky ass in a Carl's Jr. (King of Bad Ideas) commercial, saying "that's hot" (is this the only line she can ever memorize?) Die, Paris, die. You are about as sexy as Molluscum contagiosum. What-? No, I'm not going to tell you! You have it - YOU go look it up. I did not come here to discuss your venereal diseases. Now please go away. Far, far away. Like, Poland.

5. Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. Some of my esteemed colleagues worked on this, and from listening to the soundtrack over and over, I can tell you...it will make you laugh. It will make you cry. But mostly cry. What did you really expect from a screenplay written by one of the Ephron sisters? There is so much estrogen in this film, you will spontaneously start to menstruate even if you are a guy.

You were warned.

Stay tuned for more! Or, not.
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Dear Mr. Flight Captain Person,

It is not necessary to tell me how many feet about ground we are currently located. I really do not want to know as I'm quite phobic of heights (and airline stewardesses. I hate suntan pantyhose.)

It would also be nice if the "fasten seatbelts" warning chime sounded more like "ding dong" and less like an ominous "uh-oh."

And please put more than one barf bag in the seat back behind my upright tray table.

Also, I would really appreciate not being seated next to a morbidly obese couple from Arizona who are flying for the very first time, to see their momma (yes, they have the same momma) in Texarkana. They will only order six miniature Jack Daniels and proceed to pass out, and then, in his sleep, between sawing logs, the husband will cough up approximately six (6) phlegm globbers, which he will spew like Old Faithful into the air. One will hit my tray table in its upright locked position and begin its slow and insidious descent towards my naked knee.

And your stewardess won't be able to do anything about it because you have overbooked the flight and I cannot escape or move, not even to cower in the blue water of the flying, metal robot crapper, which would be preferable to Captain Horky, but there is no standing allowed outside the restroom because I just might be a toilet-bombing terrorist.

Which is why I am asking for the barf bags. To cram onto Horky's head - I promise to cut out the eye holes, but no mouth hole, okay? Or else, please provide a button which will cause the oxygen masks to descend so that passengers plagued with a seatmate's b.o. can continue to breathe, or alternatively, strangle them with the tubing.

I will be sure to thank you next time I decide to hurtle through the air at 500 mph in a souped-up can of Pabst Blue Ribbon.
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I was going to write about this Newsweek bullshit, and how I don't think one journalist's mistake, or allegations about an alleged Koran being flushed down an alleged toilet anywhere, anytime is an excuse for a bunch of fanatics to kill people; and how religious convictions are in your head and in your heart, NOT in a fucking book (or in a toilet, for that matter, unless you're a total amoral bullshit artist), but I was getting too angry and hateful towards hypocrites and religious extremists, so here are some cat pictures instead.

This is my Katina. She is helping me cat-sit The StoOpid Kitty and she isn't exactly thrilled about this, hence her nasty expression:

Or maybe she is mad about the Koran b.s., too.

This is The StoOpid Kitty. She isn't too ecstatic about this whole cat-sitting thing, either:


Now, c'mon, girls. Tell me how you really feel.


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Is at the corner of Western and Slauson.

Do not ever go there. Especially at night.

It is at the junction of a Food 4 Less, a McDonald's, a Big Lots, and Home Depot. This produces the ideal climate for a cockroach breeding ground.

I was standing there last night, late. Too late. The cockroaches were running wild in the street, wild in the city. I was wearing backless shoes, and had to keep shifting my weight just to keep one from running up my pants leg. There was nothing to do except keep changing feet like a dog on hot pavement because the bench was full of gangbangers. And the timetable for the bus warned that it might take up to an hour to actually show up and rescue me from the roach equivalent of DisneyLand.

Then, it got worse.

The roaches started gathering into clumps, fanning their wings, and backing up to one another like semis (they were THAT LARGE). I think I faintly heard "bleep...bleep...bleep" noises as they went into reverse. It was then that I realized, to my horror, that I was about to see ROACH FUCKING.

I did not ever want to witness this particular miracle of nature.

But just in case you were wondering, roaches are very promiscuous. They basically all pile onto each other until the pile gets so large that some of them fall off and run, skittering, STRAIGHT FOR MY PANTS LEG. That's right, flying, possibly PREGNANT roaches were HEADED RIGHT FOR US! None of the gangbangers seemed to care. I think even las cucarachas knew I was a stupid honky and a huge, white, squishy target way the hell out of her element, and apparently this made them horny.

The cockroach orgy I was watching - I did not want to be watching, but I had to keep tabs on them at all times lest they decide the crotch of my pants was a much cushier sexual Romper Room. GAH! - well, some of the roaches must have gotten their rocks off, because the roachpile eventually petered out to a threesome. Great. The two mating back to back were intercepted by the third, who kept shoving his roach penis...I CAN NOT BELIEVE I SAW ROACH PENIS...into their clutch.

Okay, so roaches don't have penises, per se, but still...GROSS.

Eventually the bus came. Unfortunately, this was not much of an improvement.

A man with a wheelchair got into a screaming argument with the bus driver. Apparently, he felt slighted in some way, perhaps by the bus driver ignoring him. Which I don't quite understand how he could tell, condsidering the nature of his supposed ailment. Anyway their charming discourse went something like this:

CRAZY CRIP: I'm in a WHEELCHAIR!
BUS DRIVER: I DON'T CARE-!
CC: I'm BLIND...!
BUS DRIVER: I DON'T CARE-!
CC: You wouldn't STOP for me!
BD: You on the bus NOW, aint'cha?
CC: I have PAPERS right here! Sayin' I'm BLIND-!
BD: I DON'T CARE!!!
CC: BUT I GOT THE PAPERWORK HERE-!
BD: I DON'T CARE TO KNOW!
CC: You were talkin' about me-!
BD: I WASN'T TALKIN' ABOUT YOU!
CC: You WERE talkin' 'bout me not bein' BLIND!
BD: I SAY WHATEVER I CARE TO SAY! IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT WHY DON'T YOU GET OFF MY BUS?!
CC: YOU WAS TALKIN' ABOUT ME! I'M BLIND! You shoulda known due to the nature of my...
BD: That's IT! EVERYBODY OFF!
ME: Wha?! Praying...please don't leave me in this godforsaken hole of a cockroach-infested...
BD: Gets off and smokes a cigarette. I'm not gonna listen to that all the way to Hollywood.
CC: Gets off. Thank G*#d.
ME: To driver, at my stop Thank you. RESPECKT!
BD: Shht. Stupid honky.

Wonderful. I don't think he was really blind, but he was craaaayzay. The bus driver was also craaaaayzay - occupational hazard, I'm sure. Even the cockroaches had stopped happily clusterfucking and were in shock (they were hitching a ride to the Sunset 5 because they wanted to see Layer Cake.)

And that was seriously my worst night ever in L.A. It was almost enough to send me running, screaming for Flatonia, TX where I'd have 3.5 kids (one would be a half-wit), a double wide, and a dog with worms that'd drag its mangey ass around the dirt yard. Anything but crazy people and rampant cockroach sex.

Never again. Never.
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It is against my religion to make life hard for "the little people*", considering I have been one of them - and except in the physical sense, still am.

*No, I do not mean Verne "Mini Me" Troyer.

I mean people like your waitress, butcher, baker, candlestick maker, hooker, and grocery store checker-outer person (GSCOP).

But sometimes, I fall short of my noble goal because I suck at organizing myself. You are lucky if I am even wearing pants.

This is why you do not want to be my grocery store checker-outer person:

GSCOP: Hello.
TPK: Grumble, grrbl, grumblydoo.
GSCOP: Uh. I can check you out, there's no waiting on this aisle.
TPK: I'm not ready. I was deliberately standing behind the senior citizen with the full cart and the 32 coupons because I need time to get organized. But ok.
GSCOP: ???
TPK: Rummages in purse for checkbook, because she is a broke-ass skank. Rummages in purse for driver's license, because she needs it for checkbook and she intends to purchase alcoholic beverages, even though in the morning, she will be a tardy, fatter, even broker-assed, dehydrated skank.
GSCOP: Do you have a Von's Card?
TPK: Waitaminute...do you have a pen?
GSCOP: Your total is $32.06 (Tampax, 20 cans of cat food, pear cider, and one lonely Lean Cuisine.)
TPK: Wait! Wait...I have a card! I have a card-! Rummages more, until contents of purse, including a tampon and thong underwear stuck to Velcro Jesus wallet plop out onto counter.
GSCOP: Pretending not to notice...what's your phone number?
TPK: It's _ _ _ - _ _ _ _.
GSCOP: Punches it into computer...nope.
TPK: !@#$%! _ _ _ - _ _fukkin' _ _?!
GSCOP: Nope!
TPK: !@#@$ing _ _ _ - _ _ _ _, or _ _ _ - _ _ _ _ !@#$?!
GSCOP: No, no. No.
TPK: I HATE THOSE CARDS - I HATE THOSE !@#$ ing THINGS!!!
GSCOP: Asking impatient guy behind me...do YOU have a Von's card...?
IMPATIENT GUY: Yeah.
SCANNER: Bloop.
GSCOP: Thank you, Miss Pisserman. You saved $0.02.
TPK: ... ¡@#$$%!

And that is why you do not want to be my grocery store checker-outer person.
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For Mangey and Killy, with evil love.

Mona brought up and interesting point in her comments of yore...er, yesterday.

Apparently, some bastard people entertainment mag, which I shall not name here, has done a Before and After type shmear on my favorite lust object, El Planto Viejo.

Is anyone else a little fed up with these stupid rags and their bullshit? I, for one, am sick and tired of those Oh, my Gawd! She looks so OLD! How could she let this HAPPEN!? pictures. Well, biology happens. Go and suck geriatric ass now before I throw a used catheter at you!

Holy shitfire. People age. Big shocker. Some of us don't feel like putting ourselves through the Slice-O-Matic and getting our tushies pumped full 'o plastic and cadaver-skin penile implants. Get the fuck over it and stop taking pictures of people's saggy asses, or your ass will someday sag twice as far down, Mr. Nikon. Karma's a real bitch.

Now don't go making fun of fat people either or I'll crack your lens with my ass.
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Does anyone else think it's weird that when I did a title search for "I Prefer Anal" (don't ask) the movie database gave me...crabs. No-!...the shits. No!:

A search for "I Prefer Anal" found the following results:
Titles (Approx Matches) (Displaying 9 jizzilion results)

1. Irgendwo hätte ich sonst hingewollt (1995)
aka "I Would've Preferred Any Other Place" (wouldn't we all...?)

2. Experience Preferred... But Not Essential (1982)(TV)
Don't they mean Assential...?

3. Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1953) Well, do the drapes match the...?
aka "Domnii prefera blondele" - Romania
aka "Homens Preferem as Loiras, Os" - Portugal
aka "Cavallers prefereixen les rosses, Els" - Spain (Catalan title)
aka "Caballeros las prefieren rubias, Los" - Argentina, Spain

Jeez.

4. Ankles Preferred (1927) Was this a dirty film in 1927...?

5. Man's Favorite Sport? (1964) It is? YIKES...! Pass the duct tape, girls!

6. Gentlemen Prefer Nature Girls (1962)
aka "Gentlemen Prefer Girls" - USA (promotional title) Oh, do they, now. This is news to me.

7. Vivi o, preferibilmente, morti (1969) aka "Alive or Preferably Dead"
You haven't really had anus until you've had dead anus.

8. The Strawberry Roan (1948)(Finland) aka "Preerian laulu"
...or horse anus.

9. Preferisco il rumore del mare (2000)
aka "I Prefer the Sound of the Sea" - (English title)
Honey...I think most of us prefer almost anything to that.

Smartass IMDb.
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The weirdness I experienced last week has apparently decided to follow me into this one.

First of all, I wrote about that little loopity-loop on a Hostess cupcake? Well, that same day, I saw one on the ground. A chunk of inexplicably rejected chocolate cupcake, along with a partial loopity-loop. Uh...God?

No, I did not pick it up and eat it, though had it been an intact cupcake and not just a discarded chunk with the loopity loop, I wouldn't put it past me.

Then, on the Metro, I saw a guy whose pants had that same white loopity-loop design on the butt of his baggy-assed jeans. And I do mean baggy-assed, or I would have probably thought that was another gift from God and taken a bite out of crime. Har. I'm kidding. I don't go around biting strangers' asses. (Unless they are chocolate ones and not Twinkies.)

Besides, it was obvious that someone else had already bitten his, hence the deflated appearance of his flaccid buttocks. I do not like flat butts, Paris "Flaccid" Hilton.

And speaking of flattenting butts, then, our friend Mr. T, who got rear-ended not long ago while giving me a ride home (I'm rotten luck) got rear-ended again. By a gay guy coming out of a leather bar. Hrm, with the irony.

And last but not least, I almost got brained when a Hi-Bounce ball hit the passenger side of the Crankymobile. (Which is extremely silly, and unfortunately not available as a death sentence, along with electrocution or lethal injection, because I would definitely pick the stoning by happy rubber balls.)

Yes, I was almost snuffed out by a GIANT BOUNCY BALL, right after our friend got rear-ended by rear-enders and I was hallucinating about the loopity-looped Hostess cupcake ass. What of it...?

Of all the stupid ways to die. And it's only Monday.

Weird-assed week.
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I was ordering flowers from 1-800-MOM-GILT, for Mother's Day, you know.

When it got to the part of the order where you can write a short message for the card, it gave me the option to insert some of their sentiments in case I couldn't be bothered to come up with my own. How nice of them. Only trouble is, their emoting is a bunch of bull hock which I think must have been written by a hilarious gay, Hispanic teenager somewhere.

Here, I have rewritten them for accuracy.

When someone you love becomes a memory, the memory becomes a treasure.

My god, she was a pain in the ass.

May you find peace and strength in knowing an angel has been called home.

Thankfully she is dead now.

May strength and love surround you during this difficult time.

Perhaps now you can finally get laid. Preferably by an older woman with a snug, toned vagina.

May you all find comfort and strength in the warmth and caring of family and friends.

And very, very inebriated.

Our hearts are sad that we can not be there to comfort you. Our thoughts and prayers are with you.

Here, instead, is a male stripper.

Thinking of you in this time of grief for your lost friend.

What you don't know yet is that we buried your dog in a dumpster.

Losing a beloved pet can be so difficult and painful! I hope the companionship you shared will become a warm memory in the years to come

How sad. He is gone and yet, the smell remains.

There is nothing quite like the unconditional love that comes from a special pet. I know that you are missing that, and my thoughts are with you.

Also, just because he has "passed on" does not mean that you shouldn't do something about his litter box.

Although we can't be together our hearts still beat as one. Happy Anniversary.

Hello. I am now fucking a prostitute named Kiki provided by the convention.

I love you more than any words could ever say. I love you for just being you. All the love my heart can handle. Forever and always I want to be right there by your side.

You are a horrible, awful woman. I am not sure how I am going to get away from you yet, but I am thinking...always thinking.

I never dreamed that one touch could change my life until you took my hand in yours.

I never dreamed that the condom would break.

Our love is a journey, with a beginning but no end. We will walk the path together forever

Oh, shit. I am so totally fucked.

We may not have it altogether [sic] but together we have it all!

This is me, your trapped husband-to-be, kissing 50% of his earnings goodbye.

What we have cannot be torn apart, we are one. Your love and support has made my life possible. Your love defines me. Your love sustains me. On this day, I love you now more than ever.

I really do not want to lose the house.

Another year gone by already? Feels like we just met!

I have no friends left because of you. HELP. HELP. HELP ME. WHAT HAPPENED TO MY LIFE? WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME GOD?

For my darling on our anniversary. I love you!

Thank God for the pre-nup.

Our love is a journey, with a beginning but no end. We will walk the path together forever ...

You have a horrible disease and are going to die soon. PARTAAAAAAY....!

You are my angel that was sent from the heavens above to protect me from any pain or hurt. You are all I want in this world, you're my life.

Oh, give me a fucking break. And your money. All of it.

(Divorced and Remarried)

We're making it work this time, and I thank you for making the last year such a happy time of my life.

Sorry I made you leave your last spouse and now your kids hate you.

Here and now it is our time, a new chance to love and learn, to grow together and celebrate our life together. Happy Anniversary

Did you know that the chances of a marriage working are inversely proportionate to your number of marriages? You're down to about 0.2%.

I never thought that I'd ever be here, married and happy and celebrating an anniversary already.

What the hell happened?! I got a stiffy and boom, new wife.

Baby I know I'm not there for these special moments, and it seems longer everyday it pass [sic]. But I am thinking of you everyday more. Happy Anniversary!

Shit. I really should have kept it in my pants.

(Same sex couple)

Happy anniversary to my life partner, my life friend.

Bend over, bitch!

I do swear that I will always be there. I'd give anything and everything and I will always care. For better for worse, I will love you with every beat of my heart. Happy 5 years baby :)

I am a gay Hispanic male and I loathe myself.

May your anniversary be happy and gay!

Can you believe I got this slogan off 1-800-FLOWERS.com?!

Hey beautiful.. you know who this is and you know what day this is.. I love you. Happy Anniversary!

No, he really doesn't! Gay men are very promiscous!

JUST KIDDING.

Here and now it is our time, a new chance to love and learn, to grow together and celebrate our life together. Happy Anniversary

We are two lesbians, both on the rag. Of all the rotten luck...

All the best days I've spent in this world are the days I've spent with you! Happy Anniversary!

Most of the crap days were your fault, too.

Friends and family, love and laughter. Hugs and kisses, Fairytales and living happily ever after. These are just a few specials things that go together and stay together. Just like you and your love.

What the f...WHO WROTE THIS SHIT?!

If I had a star for everytime you brightened my day, I'd be holding the galaxy in my hands!

If I had an anal fissure for every time we...I wouldn't be able to poop.

It's still a mystery to me, I haven't got a clue, how I got so lucky and found you!

He really hasn't got a clue
Why he puts up with you
Because you are fucking annoying
And he hates you
But wants something warm
to stick it in.
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Here we go again, with the too much TV I shouldn't be watching anyway problem, but I have several new commercials irritating the lining of my colon, which I think is starting to excrete some kind of horrible substance which will eventually explode out of my behind in an evil rage and will have such horrendous ammonia fumes, it will finally, mercifully, make me go blind, so I can't watch this shit anymore.

Take for instance this commercial for some sort of vehicle. Notice I have not even retained the name of said vehicle, such is my irritation. The song is "Molly Chambers", a song I once liked but have grown to hate. The reason is this infuriating couple who are dancing obnoxiously to said song in their apartment, and then in their new home, the premise being that they are all grown up...hence the new car.

Not only does this not make sense, as
1) they look fucking twelve, and
2) not old enough to own a home, and
3) as a SoCal resident, I have been programmed to hate anyone that young who owns a home, for as long as I stay out here I will never be able to afford one, and
4) they are ugly, and
5) they dance like total spazmos.

He doesn't bother me so much as the girl, who needs some sort of shnozzectomy immediately to fix her face. She looks like what happened when a witch had a child out-of-wedlock with a Ramone. I hate her. But not as much as I hate her dancing. Who the fuck jumps up and down as if they are trying to stomp through the floor like Rumplestiltskin when they dance? Not anyone I know. This is beyond pogoing. Calm the fuck down, Witchy Ramone. Take some Ritalin, already.

If I were her downstairs neighbor, I would definitely kill her by stepping on her neck and sucking her intestines out of her butthole with a plunger.

TOMB OF THE UNKNOWN TAMPON

The second is the commercial for an unknown tampon (you see how effective these are at brand name retention - they should go back to using jingles, honestly. But can you imagine having a tampon jingle stuck in your head? Shudder.) Unless I hallucinated this, the Unknown Tampon was shown blooming. F---ing BLOOMING.

Okay, it may look like a flower, but anything made out of absorbent material that is shoved up a menstruating vagina does NOT bloom. NO. IT DOES NOT, Mr. Weirdo Perv Advertising Person! Not even if you use those aromatherapy puss-chouli, labiander, allhole-vera floral toilet-water scented ones! Not unless you are on the brown acid-! The vagina does NOT flower, bear fruit, or become fragrant or attractive in any way during this "special" time. If you are male, or a preadolescent female, or a mighty hermaphrodite, or anyone who hasn't had their ENDOMETRIUM FALL OUT OF THEM IN TWISTED CLOTS THROUGH THEIR VAGINA lately, well...

You do not want to know what happens to it.
Thank you.
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Does anyone else really hate it when people say things like, a) "you are weird" or, b) "you have too much time on your hands"...?

a) I know that. But usually the people who tell me this are far bigger freaks than I, so they should go and kindly suck a fuck.

b) Uh...do I criticize what you do with your free time, which probably largely consists of whacking off...? No.

I think that even this geekboy pursuit of blogging is far more constructive than say, watching Will and Grace. Or shopping for shit you don't really need. Or obsessing about what your boyfriend/girlfriend is doing/thinking/not doing (not thinking). But that's just me.

And that is all I have time for today, because I do not, in reality, have that much free time.
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This morning, I saw a raven munching on a roadkilled pigeon in the middle of the street, in some danger of getting its black ass run over, itself.

Not so long ago, I saw a pigeon, also in the street, eating a discarded piece of fried chicken.

That was the freakiest thing I've seen since my friend's cannibalistic pet hot dog-eating chicken.

I just don't know what to think about all this.

Next time I walk under a ladder, trip, and break the mirror in my compact, then see a pregnant black cat with a fiddle playing "The Cotton-Eyed Joe" and dancing The Mexican Hat Dance while pooping on my grave, I am just going to have to laugh.
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