As some of you may know, I am a huge fan of Jessica Alba. Meaning that, compared to her, I am huge.

But seriously, this is a very unfortunate picture, despite the fact that the Albass appears to be floating up and out of her pants (this is for you, Dirty Dan. xo.)

And furthermore...

...who farted?

I'm sorry. That was a cheap shot. I am obviously just jealous of her buoyant, floating ass and her enormous dumb bovine eyes and her ripe, firm, yet pliant...nevermind.

Plus, the trailer for her dumbass movie, which promises an "outstanding", stellar performance by Miss Alba - if there were any truth in advertising whatsoever - would say, Coming Soon: another excuse to ogle Jessica Alba half-nekkid.* And this time, UNDERWATER-! Boobies + water = fun!

*she won't do The Full Monty, according to this month's Jane "I'm a Hoor" Magazine, unless it's "artistic". What a crock.

But nnooo.

Avatar and I discussed this vapidness, and she suggested I formulate a theory as to why movies containing the word "blue" seem to suck (blue) balls.

Consider the following:
Blue Crush (2002)
Blue Thunder (1983)
Blue Hawaii (1961)
Blue Juice (1995)
Blue City Slammers (1988)
Attention Shoppers (2000) aka "Blue Light Special" - USA
Blue Suede Shoes: Ballet Rocks! (1997) (TV)
Pokémon (1998) (VG)
aka "Pokemon: Red/Blue Version" - USA (dubbed version)
Pluto's Blue Note (1947)
Wild Orchid II: Two Shades of Blue (1992) aka "Wild Orchid 2: Blue Movie Blue"
Courage of Lassie (1946) aka "Blue Sierra"
"Blue Gender" (1999)
Perché quelle strane gocce di sangue sul corpo di Jennifer? (1972) aka "Erotic Blue"
Lenny Minute 1: Lenny Meets the Giant Blue Sheila Doll (1993)
Ao no hono-o (2003) aka "The Blue Light"
The Blue Iguana (1988)
The Blue Lagoon (1980)
Return to the Blue Lagoon (1991)
"La Blue Girl Live 2: Live Birth of the Demon Child"
The Happy Hooker Goes Hollywood (1980) aka "Hollywood Blue"
Injû gakuen 3: Kunoichi-gari (1996) (V)
aka "La Blue Girl Live Action 3: The Hunt for the Ninja Girls"
La Blue Girl Live 1: Revenge of the Sex Demon King - USA
Into the Blue (1950) - is this shit a remake?!
Zhuo niu zi ku de zhong kui (1991)
aka "The Blue Jean Monster"
Blue Demon contra el poder satánico (1966)
Blue Demon y las seductoras
Blue Demon contra los cerebros infernales (1968) aka "Blue Demon Versus the Infernal Brains"
The Blue Hermaphrodite (1996)
The Blue Peter (1954) (??!!)
Extreme Blue (1995) (TV)
Hillbilly Blue (1995)
Into the Blue: Dolphin Rescue (1991) (TV)
Electric Blue Special: Girls in Uniform 5 (1995) (V)
Jeux pour couples infidèles (1972) aka "Hot and Blue"
Langosta azul, La (1954) aka "The Blue Lobster" - Canada
Electric Blue 43: The Big Bust Issue (1993) (V)
Bayou of the Blue Behemoth (1993) (V)
Cockroach Blue (2003)
Pickaninny Blue (1932)
Poketto monsutaa Ao (1996) (VG)
aka "Pocket Monsters Blue" - Japan (English title)
Riffdancer: Chillout in Deep Blue (2003) (V)
Cerebro de Hitler!, El (2001) aka "Intoxico y Blue Bastard Contra Cerebro de Hitler!, El"
Score More Points Nintendo Blue (1989) (V)
Danish and Blue (1970)
Blue Bathroom (1979)
Tarzan's Jungle Rebellion (1967)
aka "Tarzan and the Blue Stone of Heaven" - USA
Cristo en blue jeans (1970)
Mad Boy, I'll Blow Your Blues Away. Be Mine (1997)

Is it just me, or are most of these either a) All About Ass, or b) just sucktastic in general...? There are, of course, many more I haven't seen.

The only possible exceptions I can think of, personally, are Blue Velvet, and maybe Trois couleurs: Bleu from that snooty French trilogy.

Discuss.
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Yes, I sat on the f***ing tomato.

I was just sitting here, working, minding my own affairs and munching on some veggies when it happened. Probably two hours ago.

The guy that came to break me didn't say anything even though there was a dead, squashed (150% flat, I think it was actually concave) one right on the seat, a run-over one on the floor near my chair, and an actually intact one near the printer cord. Which I ate.

There was also a bunch of tomato guts, seeds, etc. all over the damn hell ass place from the ill-fated fruit. Luckily, it was only a cherry tomato.

I'm pretty sure I looked at my ass in the mirror when I went to the bathroom but I didn't see no tomato spooge on there. Not on either asscheek, anyway, although the deep crevasse in my pants is somewhat suspect. There's no tellin' what might be lurking in there - it's like the f***ing couch cushions.

These pants smell like squirrel pee, anyway.

Of course, my boss overheard me leaving a message for the caterer (evil provider of stuff for me to miss my mouth with & sit on) and had to get all involved. He wanted to know who sat on a tomato? and when? and where? And what I used to clean it up with. (Uhhh. Can you say "micro-managing"?) Fortunately, he didn't ask why.

If you must know, it was because I was too busy laughing and reading this.

Fine. So you never sat on a tomato, at least, not on purpose. You probably think I'm dense, or forgetful, or just plain stupid. Oh yeah? Well, never fear, my pretties. Your time will come.

At least what I sat on? Was soft.
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Isn't that an oxymoron...?

I got this in the mail. I don't mean to belittle receptionists...I have been one. I sort of am...a somewhat glorified one. Hell, the managing director of one of our facilities still answers the phones.

I just don't think that anyone with this job exclusively should take themselves seriously enough to go around giving a seminar about it.

Okay, so I'd go if my company would shell out the $99. Which it won't. It won't even let us order office supplies right now. But hey, free tampons.*

*I'm sure they just haven't thought of cutting back on those yet. Sssh. Don't give 'em any idears.

At least I have this brochure to laugh and point at and chuckle and snort derisively. Can't nuthin' beat free entertainment. But then, according to Humorless Sandra, I should be FIRED.

Aherm. Some excerpts from said glossy brochure**:

Perfect your telephone skills: learn how to convey a smile over the telephone. They think I'm wasting a smile on a soiled receiver, they got another thing comin'.

Project an image that commands respect HA-! *snort*

...avoid some of the common mistakes that can sabotage your credibility.
I HAVE CREDIBILITY?!?!

Become more than "just a receptionist": expand your role within the company and gain more recognition.
Lisshen, shister...somethin' may be gainin' and expandin' here, but it ain't my role.

You are one of the most important people in your organization. HA, HA! *snort* *snort* That is rich. Almost as rich as a former HR manager of mine was when she said I needed to dress better than anyone else there, when I actually made less than anyone else there, because "you are the face of the company." BWAHAHAHAHAHHA!!! It is to laugh.

Ways to stay fresh, alert, and sincere
I wasn't sincere to begin with, and I have "that not-so-fresh feeling". They're going to help me with feminine hygiene?!

The best ways to greet, interrupt, or transfer people on the telephone
Oh, I think I know how to interrupt. By shouting MOO!, for instance...

Positive phrasing techniques to calm irate callers
Um...please shut up? Bitch...? Or Sir?

(What they should have? Which would actually be useful? Is How to Identify Gender by Voice section, because it is extremely embarrassing when you call a female "Sir" or vice versa.)

How to make sure you always have coverage for breaks, holidays, training, and sick leave
Yeah, right. I can't even get a break to pee. #2's out of the question.

How to deal with people who demand too much, ramble on, are confused, or seem too aggressive
Uh...that would be all of them.

You will also learn how to manage the stress that comes naturally with your hectic schedule (huh?! As my friend Keren says, ME ANWSER FONE-!!!)

**By the way? I am highly offended that they have this listed on their website under Women's Seminars. I know several excellent male losers...I mean, receptionists.

Hmph.
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I will not bore you with the mundane trivialities of how everyone in my orifice seems to be making a horse's arsepain of themselves today, so here are some thoughts on bad advertising, or badvertising.

1) A talking, dancing, or otherwise computer-generated baby is never a good idea. The real ones are creepy enough as it is.

2) Women creaming themselves over yogurt? Or other "diet" foods, for that matter? Never happens. Unless it's the kind of Middle Eastern yogurt cheese which I have in my fridge, which contains at least 5g of fat per teensy tiny spoonful. Suck on that, Yoplait.

3) Kitty litter commercials are delightful; diaper commercials featuring children plonked into fairy-tale settings with glitter-peeing glow bugs and such, squealing delightedly while crapping their pants = not good.

4) Scratch-n-sniff feminine hygiene products - also
very undesirable. I have noticed now they have taken it one step further, and are putting those scent-tabby things inside magazines, like they do for perfume. STOP IT NOW, Tambrands. No one wants to sniff your lady problems.

5) A sleeping pill with a side-effect of diarrhea? Also a very bad idea.
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I was going to write about the horror, the horror, but I don't think you need any more of that this morning.

As astute comedian Dana Gould said in regard to New Orleans, these disaster-type scenarios are horribly bizarre. Levy breeches and gas leaks, he says, have led to sharks swimming in the streets and the water catching on fire. People dying in "shark-infested firewater" is just beyond surreal.

Likewise this report. Holy...was it not bad enough they were: (1) elderly, (2) having to evacuate, leaving their homes and everything they own, and (3) on oxygen? They have to go and die a (4) fiery death in a horrid, stinking (5) bus, caught in (6) traffic, for fuck's sake?! If that's not hell, I don't know what is.

Nobody deserves that. Nobody.

Okay, maybe Paris Hilton. That was inappropriate. But I'm not sorry, that's the way I feel.

I'm off to busy myself worrying about relatives in Texas (fortunately, those in Galveston have been evacuated, and those in Houston are in extreme hunker-down mode, thanks for asking.)

For now, I'll just continue to make light of inappropriate things, such as my hole. YES. I have a hole...some girls have three; I just have one big one, like a platypus. Unfortunately, I think it is showing. It is starting to extend down my leg. I'm just lucky I wore a long shirt today, because I think it is getting bigger by the minute. I need to be sewn up - anyone got a safety pin?!

Remind me next time an attractive co-worker comes in not to peer wonderingly under my hem and inform him, "hi! I have a huge, gaping hole-!"

Speaking of fire(d)...I'm going to hell on about five levels right now, so g'bye.

God Bless.
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Not really. I flunked out.

Very very slow day, mentally. I think, while in general, heat makes people stupid, overcast weather makes Southern Californickans even more stoopider.

Yeah, I talk dumb only because I thunk it.

Some shit I intuited today, together with others, in our sloth-like geniusness:

-Water is falling from the sky-!

-Hey! My pants are wet. And for once, I didn't do it-!

-I hate it when people are out and I have to answer the phones. It sucks.

-Hee hee, durr me dee ree-ceeptionist. I reeceept fer a living! OK! Me aswer fone-!

-Air conditioner repair man + ceiling tile = fall down, go boom. Almost on my head.

-Birdie + electrical wire + rain = no more birdie. :(

-From Maine's: cat pee is forever. Diamonds, not so much. When people get married, they should pour cat pee on each other. It is much more economical, plus people would be less inclined to cheat.

And I could make a killing.

-Humidity causes my hair to resemble that of an Afghan hound.

-Skinny bitches ain't friendly. They should eat something. Might improve their personality a bit.

-Some men don't enjoy having their buttocks taped together.

Go figure.
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I can't believe I finally let the insulting biatch who works here get to me.

For some reason, the women here are very cool, laid back, casual, non-superficial, etc. with the exception of this only hosebeast.

She picks a Monday, of all days, to give me an accurate assessment of my hair color (which, by the way, is safety orange. I know that, you horrid beastie. No one could fail to observe its Day-Glo splendor unless they were blind. Duck hunters in Maine can see my hair right now.)

Instead of using my veritable holster-o-insults (a) oh, yeah? Well YOU look pretty good...for 1986. (b) Uh, I was trying to cover the gray and I made a mistake. Surely you know all about that, being so much OLDER than me, and all. (c) by the way, your boyfriend will never marry you.

But I'm not like that, y'see.

Instead, I just gave her a very sarcasm-laden, "thanks, Maria," which went completely over her head, as she replied, "well. It is [stripper orange]."

Ugggh. Cannot stand people with no tact. Plus it's no fun when they don't even realize they've contracted hoof-and-mouth disease from putting their foot in there so much.

Don't you hate it when you let these types get to you...? She is worse than the older, paunchy guy who always inquires about my weight while shoveling 3,200 lbs. of bean dip down his piehole with tortilla chips.

Apparently, her mother never told her, "if you can't say something nice...always carry Anal-EZE because..."

Excuse me. My foot is late for a meeting.
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I think Working World is just about the most depressing magazine ever, don't you...? I found this one on the street (which is probably just about where you are if you've ever read this publication).

Anyway, not all over the uh..."vocational" schools they advertise look quite...sanitary.

Not to mention that I picked them up off the street. The mag ads, not the girls. Although...

Uh. Hands on something...perhaps instead of a medical assistant? She should have gone to the Vampy School of Learning to Apply Your Makeup with a Brush, Not a Shovel.


Here, we see that it is possible to learn to become a small Asian woman hypnotizing the Afro-American equivalent of André the Giant. Or trying to hold him down, I'm not sure. Or perhaps checking for a pulse, while using her other hand to look for his wallet. Clever girl.

I think the choice is clear.

Ladies: drop 'em.

Your copies of Working World, that is.
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I have fallen and got a bad booboo. I went down like a ton of brick shithouses, 10,000 tins of Fancy Feast and all.

(I had a coupon.)

Laugh all you want on account of my delicate softball-sized ankle. Now I have sexy elephantiasis* leg. This is what happens when you have the thighs and ass of Godzilla balanced on the ankles of Tinkerbell. Fuck you, "Intelligent" Design.

I will now parade around upstairs with my mouth open like a brain-damaged Pomeranian in my semi-corporate office with my beige ACE bandage (hotness itself), because no one can resist* Sexy Elephantiasis Leg.

You so wish you were me right now. Someone came in here looking for "brush thees monkey."

I never did this stuff when I was a kid. No broken bones, no cavities. Therefore, I must make up for lost time right now. In the past 48 hrs., I have:

-fallen down; went boom
-skinned my petite Clydesdale knee
-said, "I meant to do that" a la Pee Wee Herman
-purchased a weirdo birdie keyboard brush/ballpoint pen thingy my friend has named "One-Legged Mr. Purple".
-stuck its suction cup to my forehead; gave myself a hickie
-been pinched by a boy, and by "boy" I mean a thirtysomething balding guy, and by "guy" I mean Director. WTF?
-barely suppressed the urge to say, "Mooom...HE started it-!"
-started throwing things at people in a retaliatory manner (I never had a baby brudder)
-got beaned in the boob with a peanut, which I picked up and ate off the floor
-I'm sure this is someone's fetish. Sick fuck(s).
-put my hair in pigtails and rode down the street on my widdle red wagon bike
-had some neighbor guy say, "hi, cutie."
-been called "kid" repeatedly by my boss

I'm THIRTY (3-0). IT'S NOT CUTE. If I start snapping bra straps and sucking lollipops, please slap them all away from me. Thank you.

*Note to Self: never do an image search for "elephantiasis".
**Mr. Winkle's mom is kind of hot. Disturbed, yet hot.
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It's time to make fun of my family again, since I've got nothing else for you but a pantsful of rabid gerbils (as usual).

Check out my aunts ca. 1970-ish. Dig the pink and orange polyester.

I can dig it. I can dig it so hard.

Sadly, 20 years later, my aunt's hair was the unfortunate victim of a raging wind tunnel.


...or maybe that was just her blow dryer.

(Why did Sears leave so much space at the top of the portrait? Was it for her hair...?)

Like I should talk. I cannot publish photos of my follicular uh...misjudgments here, for there are far too many, far too hideous for viewing with the naked eye alone.

But to be fair, there's this:

Shut up. I was totally misquoted. But the Pac-Man sticker still totally smells like cherries.

You're just totally jealous of my sticker and yellow off-brand Izod.
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I have more scans today but I am not gonna do them. Nuh-uh. I'm just gonna crawl under my desk, regress 25 yrs and suck my thumb until some well-meaning manager comes and lets me curl into his lap in the fetal position while he strokes my hair and I sink my teeth deeply into his thigh while sobbing. Yeah, I have killer cramps, what's it to you.

Bad mood. Hair not behaving. Chocolate on face.

Don't come near me.

Especially if you are a toothpick-thin actress, whose delivery is wooden, talking loudly on your cell phone about Emmy crap (as if I'm really impressed) while smoking, because they all smoke, even though they are probably barely legal.

"Simmer down, Fattie." - rude-assed commenter over at Conversations About Famous People. Dang, they make you guys all look like Miss Manners-!

Ask me if I give a shit if they die young. Where are all their mothers, is all I wanna know.

Oh yeah, spurring them on while posing for Playboy, that's where.

She'd better not get to close to me, either, or I will use her skinny, non-toned legs as toothpicks and her napkin-sized doll clothes to wipe the chocolate muffin off my face. Then, I will make a lampshade out of her bad weave.

I am sick of these skankoid, tanorexic, unhealthy girls; mean, shitty club kids who would pseudo-starfuck them (male or female) given a hair of a chance, terrorist threats, power outages, and L.A. in general. I don't wanna live here no more. This is a sick freak of a town. The air is brown. It's going down. Like a stripper clown.

It's a real place, folks.

Carry on.
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This morning, my little blind cat ran over my face. Then he ran into Katina, who hissed at him, so he backed up and ran over my face again, in reverse-!

Bunch of crap always slings off the fan and hits me in the face with a generous "ker-splat!" first thing Monday morning, no matter how I might try to prevent the splattage on Friday. And I can't seem to find my scissors, so ending it all isn't even an option.

So I'm dealing with that now, but does anyone know of a reputable all-cat charity for the victims of Katrina (not Katina - that's my cat)...? I'm sick of seeing this bias towards dog rescue on televison. Love their smelly, dumb, waggly asses and all, but the gatos need help, too. According to my friend, there was NO cat food being sent to New Orleans, just dog food. Cats need taurine in their food, or they will go blind.

Thank you.
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First of all, someone came here searching for "Bitsy twat".

Bitsy is my dog. Sicko dogfucker(s).

Secondly, (speaking of bitsy twats), I am creating a profile for someone on MySpace. I hate Myspace. They are also sicko dogfuckers and juvenile delinquents and wannabe jailbait teenage crackwhore Future Porn Stars of America trying to get knocked up by their sweet sixteen/quincinera.

The templates I'm perusing have names like "Hello Kitty Kamono" [sic], "Skankerton", and "Mac Daddy Vampire." One particular charmer is called "Haterz" and is described, "this is profile with a boy peeing on the word haterz its very cool borders and stuff check it out." Kool, dudz. U R so boss. <--Does everyone on Myspace type like this?!

"Vida Guerra" promises, "if you like red, Vida, and ass, you'll like this." How quaint...! Another real gem reads, "love happy people that realize computers are just a toy...the real thing is behind the toy, lol." HUH?! I certainly hope English is their second language. And a third, apparently designed by an incarcerated Dominican gangbanger, says it is "all bout blaze, was poppin Pimps. Dominican Papichulo aka Daddy right here, chea. check out my 'Pubic' profile."

Uh...no.

Besides being 14 and illiterate, are they all colorblind, or wha...? There are pink hearts, yellow moons, orange stars, green clovers, and purple horseshoes flashing and dripping from everything. It is enough to cause an epileptic fit and/or nausea due to motion sickness. Plus you may well go deaf if you forget to turn down your speakers - the little punks have the option to add obnoxious music to their profiles. It's like a rave for your PC, and your monitor has just taken ecstasy and is rubbing up against some gross, sweaty, Glo-Stick-twirling dumb guy it would normally never be caught dead with. Ugh.

Thirdly, there is no thirdly.

I have a headache.
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I am such a train wreck, all I can do is laugh. Consider the following:

1) I over-donated to The Red Cross in error
2) Someone cleaned out most of my rent $ with my debit card # on shopping sprees to Wal-Mart, which I loathe, and Target
3) Now my rent check may not clear
4) I have to find a notary public just to "prove" I didn't rob myself blind
5) Something bit me in the face while I was sleeping; now I have a sexy red welt on my temple
6) and an attractive zit on my chin, and weird bumpies on my arm (stress over maternal visit?)
7) Plus an ingrown hair; you don't want to know where
8) This morning, I lunged at and ate two rancid blueberries I found in the sink at work
9) I'm having a pissing contest with an upper-level executive and I think I'm winning; he blew his cool and actually flipped me off yesterday. Maybe I'll get shitcanned for this bad behavior, but I will still have WON.
10) An unknown yellowish substance is adhered to my right boob and shirt sleeve
11) Who wrote this? The girl who, when I explained I don't get paid often enough to pay my bills on time, suggested - get this - that I get a Costco card?! I don't think (#4) buying a joke-of-the-day desk calendar and downloading a new screen saver is going to help any more than her "solution" would.
12) My leftover lunch leaked all over my bag and now I smell like clam linguini
13) My cat has a hairball for a brain.

In the meantime, there are a whole buttload of people with much worse problems, so I'll continue to consume this discarded blueberry muffin remnant while feeling sorry for myself. Later, I can watch the season premiere of The O.C., eat elderly goat cheese pizza from Trader Joe's, and cry while fondling myself.

Life is good.
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I never take pictures of the right things, such as my adorable great-uncle flirting from his wheelchair, or the mother-daughter tattoos I saw this weekend. Or my uncle's friend complaining about the unattractiveness of said tattoos within inches (and earshot) of said tattooed persons on Mission Beach. Or my mother and I screaming at each other on the I-5. Or the unidentified flying object that hit my windshield. So it looks deadly dull, but I assure you, it wasn't.

This struck me, and no one else, as funny. Being hit over the head with it did not much improve their sense of humor, either. Oh well.




Here is the "sickroom" wallpaper which Unc picked out and then decided that he does not like.





Self-explanatory. It's hip to be square, at least, if you're a sign. Except that I don't think that's how He meant it. Also, is this an evangelical, free church, or an evangelical FREE church? As in "no evangelists allowed?"

I am confused, but maybe it's just the wallpaper. Also, the hot wood is v. distracting.

God help us all.
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I accidentally made a mistake, or the Red Cross website did, and ended up donating triple the amount I intended to.

Since my mom is coming out and I will have muchos expenses over the holiday weekend, I can't possibly to afford to over-donate (as if this is even humanly possible). Now I am trying to get through to them on their incredibly overburdened line since there is nothing on the website describing what to do in case of error.

Now I feel like the suckiest of pond scum for asking for some of the $ back even though it was a retarded glitch. Give away, but don't get too clickety on there, folks. Maybe just send them a check.

On the other hand, I had no trouble at all with this one (thank you, Avatar).

Not to mention that some scumbag company called myphotofiler.com has apparently gotten ahold of my bank account info, and I should probably clean my account out anyway, before they do.

I swear, sometimes I just want to move my account to The First National Bank of Mattress. As my friend Jim pointed out, at least there are no ATM surcharges. And the only checks I'll be bouncing are the ones I'm writing while jumping up and/or down.

Mattress, I love you.
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Bulimics: use this! That was horrible and wrong and bad of me, that. Maybe I should have said, "To Induce Vomiting, in Case of Emergency".

In fact, the reason I haven't posted for the last two days is that I've been busy. Busy retching repeatedly and dry heaving off and on since reading an article called "Playing Footsie" by Bart Blasengame in this month's Details.

Seriously hwarf-inducing. Good journalism, perhaps. It was certainly...uh, thorough.

This is worse than pee, folks. I don't care what you say. I would rather let it fly at some guy any day. Pinky swear.

Actually, not. You will never think of the word "pinky/ies" the same way, nor will you ever again be able to enjoy shrimp, if you read any further. So stop if you hate feet, as I do.

I almost sent the article to a girlfriend who is thinking of throwing her own "foot parties," but I didn't. It would only encourage her to become a toe slut. I guess it's better than being a stripper, but still. It's exploitative, and it teaches women that men are disgusting creatures to be used and manipulated for their money. And these freaks are willing to part with large sums in order to indulge their weird (YES, I said it, weirdoes) kink. One guy gave my girlfriend, who he just met, free reign with his credit card just so she would buy some stripper shoes and send him pictures of her feet in them.

Huh?!?

I don't like feet. They are gross. Not all ugly, but gross. I draw the line at a nice foot massage (and wash your hands afterwards); no toe-sucking for me. And yes, I've been told that I have nice feet. High arches. Whatever. One guy didn't try anything smart, but he kind of was...concerned about where my feet were located...during. KnowwhatImean, Vern? And yes, people have attempted that foot-slobbering thing with me before, and all I thought was, "what in the hell is he doing?!" So, no.

But, hell. If you really want to play with my feet, you sick, warped foot-monkey, then gimmie a goddamn pedicure. Get bent. And NONE OF THIS, describing the foot-licker(s) in question:

...jam a ripe, writhing toe in his mouth.

...his tongue squirts between the toes, sucking on the tiny knuckles...saliva trickles down his chin.

They can pick a foot (washed, unwashed, or slightly funky) and stomp, suck, and shrimp to their hearts' content.

...prefers paws that are lived-in and slightly piquant.

The dank, salty funk of feet hangs over it all.

YOU ARE ONE SICK FUCK, TED-!

And the worst...

...an Indian man inches toward Nirvana, his face buried in a pair of pink, wrinkly feet as he chants, "Shangri-la."

In the words of Charlie Brown, AUGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH....!

The article just goes above and beyond...sure, it's responsible journalism. I don't think the reporter tried anything funny at Club Foot (ha). However, I think what he's trying to convey is that these people aren't perverts; they're mainstream. I beg to fucking differ. These guys are sick fucks. Mostly harmless, perhaps, but sick. Witness the following statement by Toe-Suckerfish Ted:

To me the vagina is just a hairy flap of skin. I think the foot is a lot prettier.

Now that just pisses me off. That is not "harmless", that is twisted, stunted, and misogynistic. The writer claims,"if the world's sexual underbelly of scat throwers, piss swallowers, nipple clampers, and pedos were a high school, the foot fetishist would be the kid in the corner picking his nose." But he is not a woman, and I'll bet he has never been ignored for a smelly foot.

At least one of his interviewees strikes back at all this pussy hatred:

If you want to get Freudian abut it, a foot is a phallic symbol: Large. Bony. Always hard. They're really fixating on the two things they don't have in their sex life: a woman and a reliable penis. -Dr. Michael DeMarco

Great. You know the next freak you pick up is going to neglect and ignore your "special place" and make a beeline to sniff your sneakers.

In that case, ladies, please take the opportunity to use your pretty, pretty foot...to kick him. Right in the 'nads.

But be careful...he might like it.
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