Wednesday, June 29, 2005
DISCO PANTS AND HELP ME, XENU
Sorry I've been remiss. The power went out again.
This resulted in another edition of Get to Know Your Co-Workers.
I have since learned the following:
*At the Playboy Jazz Festival, an unknown couple might just drive up on the hill, strip down, and proceed to go at it, resulting in much applause (which the band erroneously thinks is for them). Then, they get up, bow, and drive away. Personally, I'd throw rocks.
*Scientologists will run out of strip malls and coerce you to be hooked up to "two tin cans" so they can "test your personality". Fortunately, I do not need to do this as I already know my personality is crap.
*People used to wear white polyester (excellent for retaining odor) pants called "angel wings" with wide legs that were both low-rise and so tight, you only had room for your money and one (1) key (and a coke spoon, I'm sure). The ass was rather...revealing as there were no pockets on the butt, it was just...bare. There were no g-strings then. Enjoy that visual.
*Then, they would do a dance called "The Bump", which involved not only butts bumping, but...other things.
Now picture the pasty, mustachioed geekboy elder pre-vert who was describing much of the above. Now, look in the mirror. Notice the horrified expression on your face. That is what I saw on many of my co-workers yesterday. Now, file your sexual harassment suit accordingly.
Enjoy.
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DISCO PANTS AND HELP ME, XENUThis resulted in another edition of Get to Know Your Co-Workers.
I have since learned the following:
*At the Playboy Jazz Festival, an unknown couple might just drive up on the hill, strip down, and proceed to go at it, resulting in much applause (which the band erroneously thinks is for them). Then, they get up, bow, and drive away. Personally, I'd throw rocks.
*Scientologists will run out of strip malls and coerce you to be hooked up to "two tin cans" so they can "test your personality". Fortunately, I do not need to do this as I already know my personality is crap.
*People used to wear white polyester (excellent for retaining odor) pants called "angel wings" with wide legs that were both low-rise and so tight, you only had room for your money and one (1) key (and a coke spoon, I'm sure). The ass was rather...revealing as there were no pockets on the butt, it was just...bare. There were no g-strings then. Enjoy that visual.
*Then, they would do a dance called "The Bump", which involved not only butts bumping, but...other things.
Now picture the pasty, mustachioed geekboy elder pre-vert who was describing much of the above. Now, look in the mirror. Notice the horrified expression on your face. That is what I saw on many of my co-workers yesterday. Now, file your sexual harassment suit accordingly.
Enjoy.
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Monday, June 27, 2005
I HATE MY WRITING CLASS
Really, I do. I love my teacher but hate her class.
Almost all of the women, save for one or two, are amoral little (sounds like...) twits who are either sleeping with married men and rationalizing like hell, or doing something else really ill-advised, like being involved with a notoriously crusty C-list celebrity and then wondering why she only sees him on alternate Tuesdays; or living with a man who also has a girlfriend somewhere in South America and says it is an "open relationship." Yeah, right, Braniac. I'm sure.
They all remind me of Autumn's angels-flew-up-my-vagina woman.
Here is just a little sampling of what goes on in there:
"I need as much cushioning as possible...herpes flare-up."
"Me, too...!"
"We are in love." Much smug grinning, spacey look.
The next week - "Things with me and Jiminez are just not working!" Huh! Why could that be...? Could it be because, as a large black man named Jiminez, he is confused much of the time...?
My teacher - "I want to f---k Mickey Mouse! I have the whole outfit. I wanted my ex to wear the hands, and...like you know, I was the only one he would cheat on Minnie with, but he wouldn't do it."
Little twit (replace the letter "i" with "a") who is f---ing very ill-advised musician and C-list actor - "the smell of jasmine reminds me of my LOVAH. I could almost have an ORGASM just by smelling it." Errr...
"We've 'traveled' together during sex." Yes, she thinks they time-traveled, past life regressions, etc. Uhhhkay.
"He doesn't believe in chakras...I don't know if this is going to work out."
"I read twenty horoscopes a day!"
"My life has been SO changed since I had my numerology done...!"
"He was angry. The feng shui was bad."
It is not so much a writing class as abig herpes flare-up estrogen-induced hippie bullshit love-fest.
Blah.
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I HATE MY WRITING CLASSAlmost all of the women, save for one or two, are amoral little (sounds like...) twits who are either sleeping with married men and rationalizing like hell, or doing something else really ill-advised, like being involved with a notoriously crusty C-list celebrity and then wondering why she only sees him on alternate Tuesdays; or living with a man who also has a girlfriend somewhere in South America and says it is an "open relationship." Yeah, right, Braniac. I'm sure.
They all remind me of Autumn's angels-flew-up-my-vagina woman.
Here is just a little sampling of what goes on in there:
"I need as much cushioning as possible...herpes flare-up."
"Me, too...!"
"We are in love." Much smug grinning, spacey look.
The next week - "Things with me and Jiminez are just not working!" Huh! Why could that be...? Could it be because, as a large black man named Jiminez, he is confused much of the time...?
My teacher - "I want to f---k Mickey Mouse! I have the whole outfit. I wanted my ex to wear the hands, and...like you know, I was the only one he would cheat on Minnie with, but he wouldn't do it."
Little twit (replace the letter "i" with "a") who is f---ing very ill-advised musician and C-list actor - "the smell of jasmine reminds me of my LOVAH. I could almost have an ORGASM just by smelling it." Errr...
"We've 'traveled' together during sex." Yes, she thinks they time-traveled, past life regressions, etc. Uhhhkay.
"He doesn't believe in chakras...I don't know if this is going to work out."
"I read twenty horoscopes a day!"
"My life has been SO changed since I had my numerology done...!"
"He was angry. The feng shui was bad."
It is not so much a writing class as a
Blah.
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Thursday, June 23, 2005
BLOCKBUSTER, CROCKBUSTER
I don't get these summer blockbusters. It may be I'm none too swift; it may be I just don't care, but either way, I don't get it.
Sure, I'm very impressed by the special effects. I didn't fall asleep, that's for sure. I mean, FOUR LIGHT SABERS, EXPLOSIONS GALORE, and FIGHTS SO FRANTIC I CAN'T TELL WHO IS HITTING WHO?!? But there are some other points of confusion I would just like to mention. Is it just me, or:
(Star Wars)
Why are there giant hamster wheel-mobiles in space...?
Who is that clunky-walking guy? Where did he come from? Do you fanboys even care, or are you just like, "cooOOOOooool"?
Why are they fighting in HELL? Was that really such a good place to build a place, what with the spewing molten lava, etc.?
Why won't that giant yawping lizard shut up?! Don't you know there will be a video game with a giant, yawping lizard, if there isn't already?! Do you think you will be able to turn the sound on and off so that the yawping is optional...?!
(Batman Begins)
Why is it not okay to kill one criminal, but it is okay to blow up a place containing three dozen people...? Is it because he didn't kill them, he just didn't save them...?
What's with the mask? Wouldn't that compromise his peripheral vision? And is it just me, or do the ears keep getting pointier?
What's with Katie Holmes' head? I think the doctor pinched her too hard with the forceps when she was coming out, and kind of squished her skull and one of her eyes. Which would also explain a lot of things.
Ahem.
I think that from these two fine films we can draw several conclusions about our future in space.
1) In THE FUTURE, everything is shiny. Preferably silver, black, or white.
2) In THE FUTURE, people will get knocked up even though war is waging in their damn house. Perhaps space contraceptives are hard to come by. Can't you just have a douchedroid suck out the spooge...?
3) In THE FUTURE, there will be black and white, but few Asian people, that I can tell. And apparently, the Mexicans have not taken over the Earth, as I had previously envisioned. I'm just talking numbers here.
4) In THE FUTURE, your droid's ass will make strange whistling noises that humans, for some reason, can understand even though it just sounds like a deranged budgerigar to me.
5) In the FUTURE, Dick Cheney will have cryogenically suspended his head and torso, so he is still around and more of a Dick than ever.
6) In THE FUTURE, there are still plenty of sluts who dress like Xtina Aguileralalalala, even though it is very cold.
7) In the FUTURE, people will talk to each other in weird, affected voices with obviously faked sincerity.
8) In the FUTURE, people will wear unflattering headgear, and women will have giant heads they will emphasize with bizarre hairdos. (Apparently, in the FUTURE, having a weird head and/or a wonky eye is considered a mark of great beauty.)
Count me out unless I get a giant, yawping lizard and a bouncy rubber Bat butt and a lollipop and a pony and that crazy guy with the sack on his head and...and...a vibrating droid with six "light sabers" that can also be used to perform partial electrolysis on Chewbacca. He is hot and he never gives you any crap except, "whuuuuuuugh." I like dumb boys.
Together, we will take out all the weird-headed, funky hairdo'ed women and rule over Gotham with an iron hairball.
Whoops, wrong movie.
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BLOCKBUSTER, CROCKBUSTERSure, I'm very impressed by the special effects. I didn't fall asleep, that's for sure. I mean, FOUR LIGHT SABERS, EXPLOSIONS GALORE, and FIGHTS SO FRANTIC I CAN'T TELL WHO IS HITTING WHO?!? But there are some other points of confusion I would just like to mention. Is it just me, or:
(Star Wars)
Why are there giant hamster wheel-mobiles in space...?
Who is that clunky-walking guy? Where did he come from? Do you fanboys even care, or are you just like, "cooOOOOooool"?
Why are they fighting in HELL? Was that really such a good place to build a place, what with the spewing molten lava, etc.?
Why won't that giant yawping lizard shut up?! Don't you know there will be a video game with a giant, yawping lizard, if there isn't already?! Do you think you will be able to turn the sound on and off so that the yawping is optional...?!
(Batman Begins)
Why is it not okay to kill one criminal, but it is okay to blow up a place containing three dozen people...? Is it because he didn't kill them, he just didn't save them...?
What's with the mask? Wouldn't that compromise his peripheral vision? And is it just me, or do the ears keep getting pointier?
What's with Katie Holmes' head? I think the doctor pinched her too hard with the forceps when she was coming out, and kind of squished her skull and one of her eyes. Which would also explain a lot of things.
Ahem.
I think that from these two fine films we can draw several conclusions about our future in space.
1) In THE FUTURE, everything is shiny. Preferably silver, black, or white.
2) In THE FUTURE, people will get knocked up even though war is waging in their damn house. Perhaps space contraceptives are hard to come by. Can't you just have a douchedroid suck out the spooge...?
3) In THE FUTURE, there will be black and white, but few Asian people, that I can tell. And apparently, the Mexicans have not taken over the Earth, as I had previously envisioned. I'm just talking numbers here.
4) In THE FUTURE, your droid's ass will make strange whistling noises that humans, for some reason, can understand even though it just sounds like a deranged budgerigar to me.
5) In the FUTURE, Dick Cheney will have cryogenically suspended his head and torso, so he is still around and more of a Dick than ever.
6) In THE FUTURE, there are still plenty of sluts who dress like Xtina Aguileralalalala, even though it is very cold.
7) In the FUTURE, people will talk to each other in weird, affected voices with obviously faked sincerity.
8) In the FUTURE, people will wear unflattering headgear, and women will have giant heads they will emphasize with bizarre hairdos. (Apparently, in the FUTURE, having a weird head and/or a wonky eye is considered a mark of great beauty.)
Count me out unless I get a giant, yawping lizard and a bouncy rubber Bat butt and a lollipop and a pony and that crazy guy with the sack on his head and...and...a vibrating droid with six "light sabers" that can also be used to perform partial electrolysis on Chewbacca. He is hot and he never gives you any crap except, "whuuuuuuugh." I like dumb boys.
Together, we will take out all the weird-headed, funky hairdo'ed women and rule over Gotham with an iron hairball.
Whoops, wrong movie.
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Tuesday, June 21, 2005
BAT ASS MADE IN MACAU
I hate it when my underwear are more well-traveled than I am.
In other news, I recently purchased a Batman Commemorative Sugar Cookie™ from my esteemed neighborhood 7-11.
When said purchase came up on the card slider dealie, it was listed as "Batman Ass."
I am sad to say that when the receipt printed out, they threw the "t" on there.
Well, bat dicks to them. Anyway, I am sure Batman Ass is very firm, black, and rubbery and resilient, and I will think about it with lust while lovingly breaking a tooth on their rock-hard bat spooge-frosted sugar cookie.
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SFU
That's Six Feet Under, not Shut the Fuck Up, in case anyone was offended. Although I'm beginning to think that they should be one and the same.
If you do not watch, then I apologize. Consider this your validation.
Cranky hates this show. I think it's because, unlike Deadwood, no one is usually telling anyone they have seven kinds of cockbreath while simultaneously shooting them in the head and stealing their husband. Or like The Sopranos, where people are cheating on their wife while snorting cocaine and bashing someone's face into the bar at the same time. It's just not exciting enough for him.
I prefer less as opposed to more killings in my disturbing television experience, even though this is a show about death.
What I don't like is all the sex between ugly people. I've gone blind nine times already. And they do it with no warning, as they nearly never show the foreplay. They just abruptly cut to...BAM, bumping uglies. Agh...!
The writers of SFU especially like to depict intercourse between Brenda, who looks like the large-nosed offspring of a mule and an ostrich, and Nate, who is just, uh. Nate. With or without Nate's toddler watching, this is just gross and uncalled for.
Then there is Claire. I like Claire. She is very attractive when she doesn't open her mouth. But she has very bad taste in men. When she wasn't fucking some schizoid tattooed junkie; slimy, spineless, girly Russell, or an actual girl (Mena "Giant, Bulbous Forehead" Suvari), she was bitching and moaning and being a big honking potheaded baby. Shut the Fuck Up, Claire. Yeah, that should be the title of the impending spin-off.
But now she is buggering Brenda's Brother Billy. Which means we get to enjoy his sexy armpit hair, which is long and luxurious, tidy whities, and pasty ass. Wonderful.
At least I get to see gay men having sex on occasion. HOORAY FOR TWO GUYS KISSING...! Fuck you, Paris Hilton, if you don't like it. You insecure skeezoid attention-whoring hammer-toed crotch-flasher...! Cranky is yelling "no, NO!" while I am cheering them on, "yes, YES...!" David and Keith are #1! HOTTT...!
I just hope they don't show Ruth humping Geriatric George again, but I wouldn't put it past them.
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SFUIf you do not watch, then I apologize. Consider this your validation.
Cranky hates this show. I think it's because, unlike Deadwood, no one is usually telling anyone they have seven kinds of cockbreath while simultaneously shooting them in the head and stealing their husband. Or like The Sopranos, where people are cheating on their wife while snorting cocaine and bashing someone's face into the bar at the same time. It's just not exciting enough for him.
I prefer less as opposed to more killings in my disturbing television experience, even though this is a show about death.
What I don't like is all the sex between ugly people. I've gone blind nine times already. And they do it with no warning, as they nearly never show the foreplay. They just abruptly cut to...BAM, bumping uglies. Agh...!
The writers of SFU especially like to depict intercourse between Brenda, who looks like the large-nosed offspring of a mule and an ostrich, and Nate, who is just, uh. Nate. With or without Nate's toddler watching, this is just gross and uncalled for.
Then there is Claire. I like Claire. She is very attractive when she doesn't open her mouth. But she has very bad taste in men. When she wasn't fucking some schizoid tattooed junkie; slimy, spineless, girly Russell, or an actual girl (Mena "Giant, Bulbous Forehead" Suvari), she was bitching and moaning and being a big honking potheaded baby. Shut the Fuck Up, Claire. Yeah, that should be the title of the impending spin-off.
But now she is buggering Brenda's Brother Billy. Which means we get to enjoy his sexy armpit hair, which is long and luxurious, tidy whities, and pasty ass. Wonderful.
At least I get to see gay men having sex on occasion. HOORAY FOR TWO GUYS KISSING...! Fuck you, Paris Hilton, if you don't like it. You insecure skeezoid attention-whoring hammer-toed crotch-flasher...! Cranky is yelling "no, NO!" while I am cheering them on, "yes, YES...!" David and Keith are #1! HOTTT...!
I just hope they don't show Ruth humping Geriatric George again, but I wouldn't put it past them.
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Monday, June 20, 2005
LOST IN YOUR AYSS
Sorry, didn't mean to quote Debbie Gibson.
I lost my phone this weekend. Looked all over. Couldn't find it anywhere. Called it. No ring. Nothing. _______.
Went a whole day without it. Didn't think about it. Went back to Cranky's and he said: it was on the car seat, under your butt the whole time.
I've gone into a shame spiral. Agh! The numb, unfeeling meat of my rump roast-! Am I really big enough to be losing things in my ass?! I'm like that woman from The Far Side with the small dog wedged in her crack. I didn't even feel that. And it's not the smallest phone ever made. What's next...the cat?!
I am so humiliated. Horrors.
I'm thinking of writing a horror movie about my ass, called THE ASSBYSS.
But then again, no.
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LOST IN YOUR AYSSI lost my phone this weekend. Looked all over. Couldn't find it anywhere. Called it. No ring. Nothing. _______.
Went a whole day without it. Didn't think about it. Went back to Cranky's and he said: it was on the car seat, under your butt the whole time.
I've gone into a shame spiral. Agh! The numb, unfeeling meat of my rump roast-! Am I really big enough to be losing things in my ass?! I'm like that woman from The Far Side with the small dog wedged in her crack. I didn't even feel that. And it's not the smallest phone ever made. What's next...the cat?!
I am so humiliated. Horrors.
I'm thinking of writing a horror movie about my ass, called THE ASSBYSS.
But then again, no.
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Saturday, June 18, 2005
FATHER'S DURRR, OR I SUCK AT DRAWING
I've always hated Father's Day, because it makes you feel like crap if your father is:
a) dead
b) AWOL
c) an asshole
d) all of the above.
Mine is only b) and c), but needless to say, I have never found any of the typical, "You're a Great Dad! Here, Have Some Golf Balls-!" cards very appropriate. So I've had to make my own.
Here is one I made this year depicting some of his dislikes, which are many.
I don't expect you to understand it in any way, but other than that, do you think it's too harsh...?
Heh.
Happy F.D. to those of you who are the happy recipients of sperm cells, and who are not a,b, or c. Your daughter will thank you someday, hopefully by not being such a skank.
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FATHER'S DURRR, OR I SUCK AT DRAWINGa) dead
b) AWOL
c) an asshole
d) all of the above.
Mine is only b) and c), but needless to say, I have never found any of the typical, "You're a Great Dad! Here, Have Some Golf Balls-!" cards very appropriate. So I've had to make my own.
Here is one I made this year depicting some of his dislikes, which are many.
I don't expect you to understand it in any way, but other than that, do you think it's too harsh...?
Heh.
Happy F.D. to those of you who are the happy recipients of sperm cells, and who are not a,b, or c. Your daughter will thank you someday, hopefully by not being such a skank.
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Friday, June 17, 2005
AND THE CAT GOES...MOO?!
This is my last cat entry for a while, lest you think I'm turning into a ca...a ca...a cat blogger. Gah...!
Actually, dogs are welcome to participate in this one, too. Also iguanas, if they make any noise. I'm not sure.
Animals have different voices. I've been noticing this, especially since cat-sitting up to four extra cats at a time (excess pussy).
Most people think cats just say, "meow". This is not the case. For example...
My cats
ZIPPY: Mrowr...wrrowr...OWR! Loud, booming. This is extremely annoying.
KATINA: Meep. ...eep! Eh...?
IDDY BIDDY: Prrrp...prrrp? PrrrMEEEYOW-! Causes ringing in ears. Jeez.
JOE: Meeeeeeeeeeeeh. Whiny.
Cranky's cats (not their real names)
FATTIE: Mrowr...? Meow-wow...?
SPARKY: Meeew. Mewrr. Yeehhh...! Bratty.
Neighbor cats
ZELDA, THE STOOPID KITTY: Me-! Me-! ME!!! (at 7:00 a.m., in my ear, every. goddamned. morning.) She's my little alarm clock. That shits.
BOOTS: MREH-!!!
SIMON: Mawr! Mawr-! Bill Maher...! Just kidding.
MONTY: __________. *mwhawk*...________. *pukes*
DEPO: rrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRROOOOOOWWWWWRRRR! Someone should really record him for stock sound fx.
What about yours...?
And don't go telling me your dog says, "Mama" or, "I love you, now please scoop my massive, throbbing poop."
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AND THE CAT GOES...MOO?!Actually, dogs are welcome to participate in this one, too. Also iguanas, if they make any noise. I'm not sure.
Animals have different voices. I've been noticing this, especially since cat-sitting up to four extra cats at a time (excess pussy).
Most people think cats just say, "meow". This is not the case. For example...
My cats
ZIPPY: Mrowr...wrrowr...OWR! Loud, booming. This is extremely annoying.
KATINA: Meep. ...eep! Eh...?
IDDY BIDDY: Prrrp...prrrp? PrrrMEEEYOW-! Causes ringing in ears. Jeez.
JOE: Meeeeeeeeeeeeh. Whiny.
Cranky's cats (not their real names)
FATTIE: Mrowr...? Meow-wow...?
SPARKY: Meeew. Mewrr. Yeehhh...! Bratty.
Neighbor cats
ZELDA, THE STOOPID KITTY: Me-! Me-! ME!!! (at 7:00 a.m., in my ear, every. goddamned. morning.) She's my little alarm clock. That shits.
BOOTS: MREH-!!!
SIMON: Mawr! Mawr-! Bill Maher...! Just kidding.
MONTY: __________. *mwhawk*...________. *pukes*
DEPO: rrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRROOOOOOWWWWWRRRR! Someone should really record him for stock sound fx.
What about yours...?
And don't go telling me your dog says, "Mama" or, "I love you, now please scoop my massive, throbbing poop."
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Thursday, June 16, 2005
FOR THOSE ABOUT TO CALL...
We salute you, but I'm fine.
Yes, I felt the earthquake. It went a little something like this:
BOSSMAN: Blah de blah, seminar, blah de blah, edit blah...
DOOR: Rattle, rattle, rattle.
BM: Is that an earthquake...?
ME: Looking at coffee sloshing Uh, yep.
BM: Huh...
ME: Huh?
BM: Huh.
ME: Huh.
And that was the end of that.
I don't want to be smug, or tempt fate, or have the television fall over on my cat (though how much damage could a 12" TV/VCR combo do...?) but I kind of enjoy 'em.
Honestly, the only other one I noticed was back in the SuperCrap Bowl year of 2001-ish. It happened like this:
BED: Shake, shake, shake.
ME: Huh?! It's 3 AM. Why is my bed on the ocean...?
EARTH: (...)
ME: Zzzzzzz.
EARTH: Shakitty shaky shake. Shake your booty. Shake your BOOTY-!
ME: Huh?! It's 3:22 AM! FINE! I'll go stand in the doorway.
EARTH: (...)
ME: Zzzzzzing standing up.
EARTH: Boogie on down, down, boogie on down.
ME:*...why am I on a surfboard...?
God: dude. Okay, I get it. I feel You. Your awesome power, etc. etc. Now please. Knock it off. You're freaking out the cat.
Thank You. And you can stop calling now, Mom.
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FOR THOSE ABOUT TO CALL...Yes, I felt the earthquake. It went a little something like this:
BOSSMAN: Blah de blah, seminar, blah de blah, edit blah...
DOOR: Rattle, rattle, rattle.
BM: Is that an earthquake...?
ME: Looking at coffee sloshing Uh, yep.
BM: Huh...
ME: Huh?
BM: Huh.
ME: Huh.
And that was the end of that.
I don't want to be smug, or tempt fate, or have the television fall over on my cat (though how much damage could a 12" TV/VCR combo do...?) but I kind of enjoy 'em.
Honestly, the only other one I noticed was back in the SuperCrap Bowl year of 2001-ish. It happened like this:
BED: Shake, shake, shake.
ME: Huh?! It's 3 AM. Why is my bed on the ocean...?
EARTH: (...)
ME: Zzzzzzz.
EARTH: Shakitty shaky shake. Shake your booty. Shake your BOOTY-!
ME: Huh?! It's 3:22 AM! FINE! I'll go stand in the doorway.
EARTH: (...)
ME: Zzzzzzing standing up.
EARTH: Boogie on down, down, boogie on down.
ME:*...why am I on a surfboard...?
God: dude. Okay, I get it. I feel You. Your awesome power, etc. etc. Now please. Knock it off. You're freaking out the cat.
Thank You. And you can stop calling now, Mom.
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Wednesday, June 15, 2005
YOU PUT THE FUNK IN SKUNK
So I was going to do a play on skunkafunkaskinkadinkydoo today, but instead, the skunk showed up on my doorstep.
(That's what I get for giving shout-outs to animal totems, right Vamp and Mange?)
This morning, I was running late already because of Zippy and The Squirts. This is not a band; it is my cat's old man problem.
I was late due to scrubbing cat diarrhea off all four cat boxes. (By the way, the hardest substance known to man is NOT diamonds, but cat diarrhea. Soon, people will start giving each other engagement rings made out of it, just you wait. It will be all the rage.) I had to wash Katina's little blue box because it is the only one she will go in. If the little blue box is befouled or unavailable, she resorts to using the curtains. Nice.
So I was ready to rocket out the front door when...SHIT!
Homeless guy on my stoop.
I slammed the door closed and locked all the locks. Then I realized that I couldn't lock the deadbolts because then I wouldn't be able to get back in. So I unlocked 2 of the locks, but didn't want to re-open the door to check because the smell was already wafting in. GREAT. I pay $808/mo. for this kind of crap.
After standing there, fiddling with the locks for another five minutes, I started feeling bad. He looked all pathetic. Maybe I should have given him something. But then, he might start knocking on my door at all hours because HE KNOWS WHERE I LIVE. F---ing great. I should have put him in a box and shipped him to Nancy Reagan.
Instead, I crept out the back window and shimmied down the drainpipe.
Then I had to run only to catch the WRONG! bus to work. I got off as soon as I could (Highland) but there are NO buses on Highland, at least not from Wilshire to Fountain, so I had to walk. On the way, I stepped on a snail (I love snails!) almost got run off the sidewalk by a painting crew, and got soaked by someone's sprinkler system.
You'd think I would take the hint and get the F. out of Los Angeles.
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YOU PUT THE FUNK IN SKUNK(That's what I get for giving shout-outs to animal totems, right Vamp and Mange?)
This morning, I was running late already because of Zippy and The Squirts. This is not a band; it is my cat's old man problem.
I was late due to scrubbing cat diarrhea off all four cat boxes. (By the way, the hardest substance known to man is NOT diamonds, but cat diarrhea. Soon, people will start giving each other engagement rings made out of it, just you wait. It will be all the rage.) I had to wash Katina's little blue box because it is the only one she will go in. If the little blue box is befouled or unavailable, she resorts to using the curtains. Nice.
So I was ready to rocket out the front door when...SHIT!
Homeless guy on my stoop.
I slammed the door closed and locked all the locks. Then I realized that I couldn't lock the deadbolts because then I wouldn't be able to get back in. So I unlocked 2 of the locks, but didn't want to re-open the door to check because the smell was already wafting in. GREAT. I pay $808/mo. for this kind of crap.
After standing there, fiddling with the locks for another five minutes, I started feeling bad. He looked all pathetic. Maybe I should have given him something. But then, he might start knocking on my door at all hours because HE KNOWS WHERE I LIVE. F---ing great. I should have put him in a box and shipped him to Nancy Reagan.
Instead, I crept out the back window and shimmied down the drainpipe.
Then I had to run only to catch the WRONG! bus to work. I got off as soon as I could (Highland) but there are NO buses on Highland, at least not from Wilshire to Fountain, so I had to walk. On the way, I stepped on a snail (I love snails!) almost got run off the sidewalk by a painting crew, and got soaked by someone's sprinkler system.
You'd think I would take the hint and get the F. out of Los Angeles.
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Tuesday, June 14, 2005
BIOLOGY LESSON
BIOLOGY LESSON
Monday, June 13, 2005
DR. CHANG, CAT OPTOMETRIST
This weekend, I went to see DR. CHANG, CAT OPTOMETRIST! But not before I saw BARRY CRIMMINS, POLITICAL SATIRIST-!
I almost didn't go see BARRY CRIMMINS, POLITICAL SATIRIST because I also - and I am ashamed to admit this - wanted to watch "The O.C.". And I was going to watch it in the dressing room, which BARRY CRIMMINS, POLITICAL SATIRIST would be using. I did not think BARRY CRIMMINS, POLITICAL SATIRIST would want to watch "The O.C.".
So I taped it.
BARRY CR...ah, Barry, was great. I find him quite hilarious despite the fact that he reminds me that George W. Bush is, in fact, President. Here is my favorite quote:
An angry audience member asked, "if you don't love this country, why don't you get out?" Barry replied, "Because I don't want to be victimized by its foreign policy."
Great show, B.C.P.S.! Even a certain gay sponge and a comedian who, in the 80's, ran around in a Godzilla suit screaming, "AARGH! ARRGH! AAARGH...!" showed up! I highly recommend! Also, buy his book...!
Then it was time to see DR. CHANG, CAT OPTOMETRIST! He also sees dogs, maybe turtles for all I know, but that just doesn't sound as funny as CAT OPTOMETRIST!
I almost couldn't find D.C., C.O. because do you have any idea how many optometrists named Chang are in the L.A. area?!
But I did. I did see DR. CHANG, CAT OPTOMETRIST! I loved him but hated his receptionist, who treated me like the lowest common denominator just 'cuz my cat wasn't wearing a Prada Arompatherapy Semi-Precious Gemstone-Encrusted collar, but fuck her. See, Keith, this is why I hate West L.A. I don't belong there. I'm not allowed. There's no parking, and you get treated like crap just 'cuz you don't have pet insurance and you have to valet it just to go to the 711.
The vet had a valet but I parked at the meter because I'm ghetto like that.
My cat, Iddy, was singing "Take Me to the Specialist" by the Dead Milkmen ("I hear weasels...! I hear weasels...! I...HEAR...WEASELS!") but the actual reason we were at the vet was to see if he had gone blind and had hairy paws from too much masturbating or if I was just a bad mom because I hadn't noticed my cat was blind and kept running into things; I just thought he was stoopid. And funny-looking. (See? I'm a good mom.)
So DR. CHANG, CAT OPTOMETRIST took Iddy's blood pressure (on his tail!) and turned the lights on and off and waved his hands around in front of Iddy's face while making stupid noises and Iddy went, "prrp?" The good doctor then put a tiny condom on a little monitor and gave Id some anesthetic so he could take his eye pressure....hooray! No glaucoma! No kitty hypertension, either - the problem was simply genetic. Possibly, Iddy's kitty father had fucked his sister or something. That would also essplain why he is so estoopid-! Thank you, Dr. Chang, for absolving me of guilt, and for taking precautions to protect my cat from eye herpes...!
Now my mom thinks I'm an idiot for taking my cats for eye and dental appointments, but the guilt is so not worth the money I would save if I didn't do anything. Plus I would rather shell out dough on cats any day than spend it on evil spawn, plus I don't have to have my vag torn open in the process. Hooray...!
Two thumbs up for un-torn vaginas, BARRY CRIMMINS, POLITICAL SATIRIST and DR. CHANG, CAT OPTOMETRIST (except not from Iddy. He doesn't have thumbs.)
-THE PISSED KITTY, BULLSHIT ARTISTE!
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DR. CHANG, CAT OPTOMETRISTI almost didn't go see BARRY CRIMMINS, POLITICAL SATIRIST because I also - and I am ashamed to admit this - wanted to watch "The O.C.". And I was going to watch it in the dressing room, which BARRY CRIMMINS, POLITICAL SATIRIST would be using. I did not think BARRY CRIMMINS, POLITICAL SATIRIST would want to watch "The O.C.".
So I taped it.
BARRY CR...ah, Barry, was great. I find him quite hilarious despite the fact that he reminds me that George W. Bush is, in fact, President. Here is my favorite quote:
An angry audience member asked, "if you don't love this country, why don't you get out?" Barry replied, "Because I don't want to be victimized by its foreign policy."
Great show, B.C.P.S.! Even a certain gay sponge and a comedian who, in the 80's, ran around in a Godzilla suit screaming, "AARGH! ARRGH! AAARGH...!" showed up! I highly recommend! Also, buy his book...!
Then it was time to see DR. CHANG, CAT OPTOMETRIST! He also sees dogs, maybe turtles for all I know, but that just doesn't sound as funny as CAT OPTOMETRIST!
I almost couldn't find D.C., C.O. because do you have any idea how many optometrists named Chang are in the L.A. area?!
But I did. I did see DR. CHANG, CAT OPTOMETRIST! I loved him but hated his receptionist, who treated me like the lowest common denominator just 'cuz my cat wasn't wearing a Prada Arompatherapy Semi-Precious Gemstone-Encrusted collar, but fuck her. See, Keith, this is why I hate West L.A. I don't belong there. I'm not allowed. There's no parking, and you get treated like crap just 'cuz you don't have pet insurance and you have to valet it just to go to the 711.
The vet had a valet but I parked at the meter because I'm ghetto like that.
My cat, Iddy, was singing "Take Me to the Specialist" by the Dead Milkmen ("I hear weasels...! I hear weasels...! I...HEAR...WEASELS!") but the actual reason we were at the vet was to see if he had gone blind and had hairy paws from too much masturbating or if I was just a bad mom because I hadn't noticed my cat was blind and kept running into things; I just thought he was stoopid. And funny-looking. (See? I'm a good mom.)
So DR. CHANG, CAT OPTOMETRIST took Iddy's blood pressure (on his tail!) and turned the lights on and off and waved his hands around in front of Iddy's face while making stupid noises and Iddy went, "prrp?" The good doctor then put a tiny condom on a little monitor and gave Id some anesthetic so he could take his eye pressure....hooray! No glaucoma! No kitty hypertension, either - the problem was simply genetic. Possibly, Iddy's kitty father had fucked his sister or something. That would also essplain why he is so estoopid-! Thank you, Dr. Chang, for absolving me of guilt, and for taking precautions to protect my cat from eye herpes...!
Now my mom thinks I'm an idiot for taking my cats for eye and dental appointments, but the guilt is so not worth the money I would save if I didn't do anything. Plus I would rather shell out dough on cats any day than spend it on evil spawn, plus I don't have to have my vag torn open in the process. Hooray...!
Two thumbs up for un-torn vaginas, BARRY CRIMMINS, POLITICAL SATIRIST and DR. CHANG, CAT OPTOMETRIST (except not from Iddy. He doesn't have thumbs.)
-THE PISSED KITTY, BULLSHIT ARTISTE!
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Friday, June 10, 2005
MRS. BATSHIT CRAZY
I don't know about you guys, but I've noticed a running theme here.
I'm not just talking about the Runaway Bride, though I can't imagine why anyone would want to marry that beady-eyed, squirrel-lookin' nut job, either.
It's just all the women I know who are getting married are insane in the (mucous) membrane. Not to mention that several of them are downright homely, but that's beside the point.
Girl who looks like The California Raisins got together and had a baby after abusing meth for about ten years? Married.
Mary Kay Letourneau (now Fualaau)? Oy vay.
Mary? Married to God. Jesus.
Former Miss Republic of Cuervo Gold, Anna Nicole Smith? Twice married.
Girl I know who would get the squirts whenever she got upset, which was often? Married.
Woman who spends most of her time listening to sappy chick music and weeping, also married.
Shannen Doherty? Married, married.
Ted Bundy? You guessed it.
A girl I know who dissects & takes Polaroid pictures of her own poo? Married.
So I'm thinking that in order to be someone's lawfully wedded wife, I need to either pull some massive stunt or else turn up the volume on my Crazyometer to eleven. Right now it's only about a 9.5.
I'm also starting to respect the honesty of personal ads. No, I've never put one out there except as a joke. But if I did, it might look something like this:
SWV SEEKS SUV (IN PANTS)
Hello. I have a vagina. Do you have a penis...?
Good.
I'm kidding.
Well, maybe not in 5 years, I'm not.
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MRS. BATSHIT CRAZYI'm not just talking about the Runaway Bride, though I can't imagine why anyone would want to marry that beady-eyed, squirrel-lookin' nut job, either.
It's just all the women I know who are getting married are insane in the (mucous) membrane. Not to mention that several of them are downright homely, but that's beside the point.
Girl who looks like The California Raisins got together and had a baby after abusing meth for about ten years? Married.
Mary Kay Letourneau (now Fualaau)? Oy vay.
Mary? Married to God. Jesus.
Former Miss Republic of Cuervo Gold, Anna Nicole Smith? Twice married.
Girl I know who would get the squirts whenever she got upset, which was often? Married.
Woman who spends most of her time listening to sappy chick music and weeping, also married.
Shannen Doherty? Married, married.
Ted Bundy? You guessed it.
A girl I know who dissects & takes Polaroid pictures of her own poo? Married.
So I'm thinking that in order to be someone's lawfully wedded wife, I need to either pull some massive stunt or else turn up the volume on my Crazyometer to eleven. Right now it's only about a 9.5.
I'm also starting to respect the honesty of personal ads. No, I've never put one out there except as a joke. But if I did, it might look something like this:
SWV SEEKS SUV (IN PANTS)
Hello. I have a vagina. Do you have a penis...?
Good.
I'm kidding.
Well, maybe not in 5 years, I'm not.
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Thursday, June 09, 2005
USE YOUR WHOREMONGER
I think the following words are sadly underused, and would be delighted to see more people employing them in polite conversation:
WHOREMONGER: as seen scrawled on a piece of paper on a cuckoo-for-Jesus-puffs manifesto stuck to the bus stop this morning. Apparently, if you mong whores, you are going to Hell. I guess I'm okay to do it though since I've already, apparently, licked the devil's labia. Sheesh.
WHOREMASTER is also acceptable.
FUNDAMENT: Not actually one of my favorites, but I could always use another word for butt.
GALUMPH: What? It's a word. Honest.
DETRITUS: I once kissed a man just for using this word. Okay, so I was drunk. But I am very fond of it. It can be used to delicately express what would otherwise be considered...distasteful. For example, instead of Paris Hilton has a lot of petrified jizz in her rancid, foul hole, you can say, Ms. Hilton has a great accumulation of detritus (or offal, debris) in her vagina.
FLANGE: As seen on the box of ass gaskets provided "courtesy of the management" in a public restroom near you (instuctions: push toward wall and let down BEHIND the guard flanges).
Now use them all in a sentence for fun and profit!
Well, fun, anyway.
For example, The whoremonger galumphed over to her screaming that she was the detritus of Los Angeles, and commanded, "shut your flange!" before whacking her in the fundament.
Now you...! What are your favorite words?
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USE YOUR WHOREMONGERWHOREMONGER: as seen scrawled on a piece of paper on a cuckoo-for-Jesus-puffs manifesto stuck to the bus stop this morning. Apparently, if you mong whores, you are going to Hell. I guess I'm okay to do it though since I've already, apparently, licked the devil's labia. Sheesh.
WHOREMASTER is also acceptable.
FUNDAMENT: Not actually one of my favorites, but I could always use another word for butt.
GALUMPH: What? It's a word. Honest.
DETRITUS: I once kissed a man just for using this word. Okay, so I was drunk. But I am very fond of it. It can be used to delicately express what would otherwise be considered...distasteful. For example, instead of Paris Hilton has a lot of petrified jizz in her rancid, foul hole, you can say, Ms. Hilton has a great accumulation of detritus (or offal, debris) in her vagina.
FLANGE: As seen on the box of ass gaskets provided "courtesy of the management" in a public restroom near you (instuctions: push toward wall and let down BEHIND the guard flanges).
Now use them all in a sentence for fun and profit!
Well, fun, anyway.
For example, The whoremonger galumphed over to her screaming that she was the detritus of Los Angeles, and commanded, "shut your flange!" before whacking her in the fundament.
Now you...! What are your favorite words?
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Wednesday, June 08, 2005
SCOOBY DOO & THE MYSTERY POO
I have just not been feeling myself lately. Actually, I felt myself twice last night...yoiks!
It's just that I've been playing a very stupid game of trying to figure out which cat has the diarrhea. I am not happy about this. If I wanted to clean up fecal matter for a living, I'd become a mom (ducking to dodge loaded diaper-bombs)!
I suspect Zippy. He is the only one who has been ingesting anything unusual lately (Clavamox). I am off now to look up the side-effects for this med but the other thing I have to do is to isolate each cat tonight in a separate room to play this stupid game of Poo Clue, but instead of with a Knife in the Kitchen, a Candlestick in the Conservatory, or a Lead Pipe in the Library, he's doing it in the Closet, with SHIT.
Alternatively, we will be playing Poop Chutes and Ladders, Crapple, Go (name unchanged), Mahdungg, Dunginoes, Poopopoly, Crappage, Crapgammon, Pissk, Wee-Weeja Board, Runny, Crappleshit, Yuckzee, Straweego, Name That Poop!, Hide and Go Pee, or possibly The Cat Shat in the Hat.
Wonderful.
If this cat ever takes a solid poo again, I will be so happy, I will go to an ice rink and play a game of hockey using the turd as a puck.
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SCOOBY DOO & THE MYSTERY POOIt's just that I've been playing a very stupid game of trying to figure out which cat has the diarrhea. I am not happy about this. If I wanted to clean up fecal matter for a living, I'd become a mom (ducking to dodge loaded diaper-bombs)!
I suspect Zippy. He is the only one who has been ingesting anything unusual lately (Clavamox). I am off now to look up the side-effects for this med but the other thing I have to do is to isolate each cat tonight in a separate room to play this stupid game of Poo Clue, but instead of with a Knife in the Kitchen, a Candlestick in the Conservatory, or a Lead Pipe in the Library, he's doing it in the Closet, with SHIT.
Alternatively, we will be playing Poop Chutes and Ladders, Crapple, Go (name unchanged), Mahdungg, Dunginoes, Poopopoly, Crappage, Crapgammon, Pissk, Wee-Weeja Board, Runny, Crappleshit, Yuckzee, Straweego, Name That Poop!, Hide and Go Pee, or possibly The Cat Shat in the Hat.
Wonderful.
If this cat ever takes a solid poo again, I will be so happy, I will go to an ice rink and play a game of hockey using the turd as a puck.
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Monday, June 06, 2005
WORST PRINT ADS
Welcome to another brief installment of The Pisser (Addy) Awards, where we have selected the two worst print ads we have seen in a while, and by "we" I mean myself and the cats, and by "selected", I mean "peed on".
The first is this perfume (we think) ad from Moshinininnio. (Why the hell do designers have these names we can't even pronounce? Is it the snob factor? I think so.) Well, as far as I can figure, this is either a scent or an ad for an ice-cream sundae which recently fornicated with a clown. Either way, it scares me. Is this a trend? Are young girls going to start wearing "clown chic"? Am I going to have to hide out in the Alaskan tundra until this horror desists...?And what's with the Solid Gold Lee Press-On Nails? I will not buy this bizarre mishmash of crap I don't know whether to eat or wear or run from or what.
And by the way, is not "cheap and chic", it costs $55.
Whatever it is.
And the second piss, er, award, of the day goes to...this.
There are no words for this kind of blatancy except...Ew, ew, icky, icky poo.
Plus, I don't get it. If they only knew WHAT? That the woman wearing the short skirt has an open sore...? That she is really a man? That the mysterious viscous substance running down her leg is NOT Vanilla-Mango flavored Surgi-Wax?! Which, by the way, tastes terrible...?!
I did buy this, however. I am guilty. It smells okay, but you have to use an excessive amount of wax because the kit doesn't advise using muslin strips. Now I am out of wax and Hairy Connick, Jr. is running around with a half-assed half an ass-wax.
This is all your fault, Surgi-Wax®.
I have subsequently experienced emotional distress as a result of viewing these two ads, Hairy, and my phobia of clowns. To avenge my near-death, please go forth and boycott these two items.
Thank you.
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WORST PRINT ADSThe first is this perfume (we think) ad from Moshinininnio. (Why the hell do designers have these names we can't even pronounce? Is it the snob factor? I think so.) Well, as far as I can figure, this is either a scent or an ad for an ice-cream sundae which recently fornicated with a clown. Either way, it scares me. Is this a trend? Are young girls going to start wearing "clown chic"? Am I going to have to hide out in the Alaskan tundra until this horror desists...?And what's with the Solid Gold Lee Press-On Nails? I will not buy this bizarre mishmash of crap I don't know whether to eat or wear or run from or what.
And by the way, is not "cheap and chic", it costs $55.
Whatever it is.
And the second piss, er, award, of the day goes to...this.
There are no words for this kind of blatancy except...Ew, ew, icky, icky poo.
Plus, I don't get it. If they only knew WHAT? That the woman wearing the short skirt has an open sore...? That she is really a man? That the mysterious viscous substance running down her leg is NOT Vanilla-Mango flavored Surgi-Wax?! Which, by the way, tastes terrible...?!
I did buy this, however. I am guilty. It smells okay, but you have to use an excessive amount of wax because the kit doesn't advise using muslin strips. Now I am out of wax and Hairy Connick, Jr. is running around with a half-assed half an ass-wax.
This is all your fault, Surgi-Wax®.
I have subsequently experienced emotional distress as a result of viewing these two ads, Hairy, and my phobia of clowns. To avenge my near-death, please go forth and boycott these two items.
Thank you.
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Friday, June 03, 2005
YES, MABEL STILL HAS DIARRHEA.
Sorry, kids. I'm not much fun this week. My heart hurts, and my cat has the shits.
For one thing, I've been very emotional. I don't know what the hell it is. It seems my moods are getting worse as I get older, like my cat and his backdoor trots.
Ugh. You should have seen Lake Litter Box this morning. What the hell did he eat? A septic tank?!
I'm thinking there must be something in the water, because everyone suddenly has the Hershey squirts. It's not just me, because I ate Korean food again, so I thought nothing of it.
Well, the reason why my heart hurts is that last night, over dinner with a bunch of guys (if you are the lone female with a group of three or more men, and you are not going to have a gangbang, I would suggest begging off for the evening, as I should have done.) They proceeded to start recounting a bunch of stories about animals at the zoo going crazy, and hurting people - which is funny, I agree. The not-funny part is afterwards, when the animal is gunned down by a machine gun, for crissakes - just for being what it is: a wild animal. God, I hate people. Why did You make us such assholes?! Can't we leave anything well enough alone?!
Then, on the way to work, I saw a dog fight. It was a Rottweiler-type and a poodle-type, both on leashes. At the other end of the leashes were their dogs. (Yes, people do look like their pets.) Rotty A-hole's dog had Poodle's dog's ass in its mouth. A bunch of people were standing around rubbernecking, that's how I could tell something was up. It looked like they were just playing but I fear for Poodle (and her dog). Now I feel like shit. I should have stopped, honked, thrown water on them (and their dogs), anything. But I was late and I felt this would only add to the confusion. Damn. I sure hope Poodle's fat ass (and her dog's) protected her from that Rotty's evil teeth. I really wish I had at least gotten out and punched the Rottweiler owner in the face.
I hate so-called macho men who make their dogs mean, then take them out in public without a muzzle. Next time I see that guy, I am going to follow him home, put Rohypnol in his Greasy Little Prick Overcompensating Ale, and make cascarones (confetti eggs) out of his testicles. Then, I'll yell "SURPRISE!" and when he wakes up, smash them over his own head. Then, I will fill a piñata with his intestines and invite the neighborhood children over to smash it for the colon candy, blindfolded with his flaccid nut sack*, and using his cauterized dick as a stick. Then, we will play Double Dutch jump rope with his remaining digestive system.
Ah, yes. Then, I will feel better.
*what? I would totally boil it first.
By the way, the obscure title is from a note left for my neighbor by the dogwalker. I just thought I'd leave that 'til the very end, because I knew you'd find it oh-so-titillating. Er, something.
How's your die-a-rear?
Oh, no. Not you, too...
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YES, MABEL STILL HAS DIARRHEA.For one thing, I've been very emotional. I don't know what the hell it is. It seems my moods are getting worse as I get older, like my cat and his backdoor trots.
Ugh. You should have seen Lake Litter Box this morning. What the hell did he eat? A septic tank?!
I'm thinking there must be something in the water, because everyone suddenly has the Hershey squirts. It's not just me, because I ate Korean food again, so I thought nothing of it.
Well, the reason why my heart hurts is that last night, over dinner with a bunch of guys (if you are the lone female with a group of three or more men, and you are not going to have a gangbang, I would suggest begging off for the evening, as I should have done.) They proceeded to start recounting a bunch of stories about animals at the zoo going crazy, and hurting people - which is funny, I agree. The not-funny part is afterwards, when the animal is gunned down by a machine gun, for crissakes - just for being what it is: a wild animal. God, I hate people. Why did You make us such assholes?! Can't we leave anything well enough alone?!
Then, on the way to work, I saw a dog fight. It was a Rottweiler-type and a poodle-type, both on leashes. At the other end of the leashes were their dogs. (Yes, people do look like their pets.) Rotty A-hole's dog had Poodle's dog's ass in its mouth. A bunch of people were standing around rubbernecking, that's how I could tell something was up. It looked like they were just playing but I fear for Poodle (and her dog). Now I feel like shit. I should have stopped, honked, thrown water on them (and their dogs), anything. But I was late and I felt this would only add to the confusion. Damn. I sure hope Poodle's fat ass (and her dog's) protected her from that Rotty's evil teeth. I really wish I had at least gotten out and punched the Rottweiler owner in the face.
I hate so-called macho men who make their dogs mean, then take them out in public without a muzzle. Next time I see that guy, I am going to follow him home, put Rohypnol in his Greasy Little Prick Overcompensating Ale, and make cascarones (confetti eggs) out of his testicles. Then, I'll yell "SURPRISE!" and when he wakes up, smash them over his own head. Then, I will fill a piñata with his intestines and invite the neighborhood children over to smash it for the colon candy, blindfolded with his flaccid nut sack*, and using his cauterized dick as a stick. Then, we will play Double Dutch jump rope with his remaining digestive system.
Ah, yes. Then, I will feel better.
*what? I would totally boil it first.
By the way, the obscure title is from a note left for my neighbor by the dogwalker. I just thought I'd leave that 'til the very end, because I knew you'd find it oh-so-titillating. Er, something.
How's your die-a-rear?
Oh, no. Not you, too...
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Thursday, June 02, 2005
MOVE ALONG, THERE'S NOTHING TO SAY HERE
Mutter, mutter, fuckin' stupid people. I can't stand 'em. Mumble, grumble. The world is filled with destructive idiots. Seriously. We're a nightmare as a species. Where is that blowtorch?! Ranty, panty. I wish I hadn't come into work today. I need to sleep for about a quarter century. Frick and frack.
Hump a log. Got to buy my sister a high school graduation present. Why...? Kid's got it better than I ever did. I suppose I should also send her a card. Maybe I'll make one that says something like:
Congratulations! You barely eked out of high school; now your parents are prepared to spend more than I make in a year on art school because you are too fucking dense to go to regular college! GOOD JOB-!
P.S. By the way, your mom stole my dad. Give him back.
I think she's old enough to know now, don't you...?
Fark and quark. Where the hell is my cheese? Who moved it? Fuckaduck. My boob itches.
What a bunch of whacked crap. Look at this shit. These damn kids these days, I tell ya. I'm sitting here on my rent money, like a three-year-old, going NO! You can't have it, landlady - it's mine! I need it! - can barely even keep a roof over my head, right? And these fucktard kids are getting pampered and pedicured and asswaxed for prom and sausaged into these expensive dresses and flown in by helicopter just so they can get fucked by Billy Bonerhead, the captain of the football team, knocked up, and then go on the dole so I can pay for their hellspawn fetal alcohol syndrome baby's Lunchables out of my decent, hard-working, tax-paying ass. And I don't even have money left over to buy lube.
Freak a geek, world doesn't owe me a living. Is there medication for this horse apple-spewing disorder?!
Goddamn people, calling the wrong number for the wrong person in the wrong building.
Fuck it, I'm in too bad a mood to write today. Signing off.
Oh, shti.* Did I just hit "Publish"...?
*can't even spell SHIT today. Fkuc.
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MOVE ALONG, THERE'S NOTHING TO SAY HEREHump a log. Got to buy my sister a high school graduation present. Why...? Kid's got it better than I ever did. I suppose I should also send her a card. Maybe I'll make one that says something like:
Congratulations! You barely eked out of high school; now your parents are prepared to spend more than I make in a year on art school because you are too fucking dense to go to regular college! GOOD JOB-!
P.S. By the way, your mom stole my dad. Give him back.
I think she's old enough to know now, don't you...?
Fark and quark. Where the hell is my cheese? Who moved it? Fuckaduck. My boob itches.
What a bunch of whacked crap. Look at this shit. These damn kids these days, I tell ya. I'm sitting here on my rent money, like a three-year-old, going NO! You can't have it, landlady - it's mine! I need it! - can barely even keep a roof over my head, right? And these fucktard kids are getting pampered and pedicured and asswaxed for prom and sausaged into these expensive dresses and flown in by helicopter just so they can get fucked by Billy Bonerhead, the captain of the football team, knocked up, and then go on the dole so I can pay for their hellspawn fetal alcohol syndrome baby's Lunchables out of my decent, hard-working, tax-paying ass. And I don't even have money left over to buy lube.
Freak a geek, world doesn't owe me a living. Is there medication for this horse apple-spewing disorder?!
Goddamn people, calling the wrong number for the wrong person in the wrong building.
Fuck it, I'm in too bad a mood to write today. Signing off.
Oh, shti.* Did I just hit "Publish"...?
*can't even spell SHIT today. Fkuc.
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Wednesday, June 01, 2005
PISSER CAN'T COME OUT TO PLAY
I am too mildly irritated.
After spending the weekend doing decidedly un-summery things (I didn't have ONE hot dog...not one!) my nose is still out of joint.
Somehow, I managed to get roped into taking care of not one, not two, but FOUR extra cats at two other apartments. What the...? Do I not look insane enough already?!
However, this was fun, for the most part, but the neighbor's cat bit the CRAP out of me for no apparent reason. Now I have the rabies.
Eh, well. You probably won't even notice the change in my personality.
Then, a now former friend sent me an invitation for EDiets.com. The gall of that gal...!
Do I:
a) kill her
b) just maim her...a little
c) break into her apartment and put Icy Hot® in the crotch of all her panties
d) poke holes in her diaphragm
e) perm her cat
f) put Nair® in her shampoo
g) convince the Chippendales to take her out dancing and then humiliate her by all being gay as Froot Loops on fire on Madonna on a home makeover show...? Nah, she would probably like that.
h) take unflattering photos of her ass and then e-mail them to her
Oh, wait. She does h) to me all the time. Maybe then i) should just break her camera.
It's 9:37. Has anyone pissed you off yet...?
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PISSER CAN'T COME OUT TO PLAYAfter spending the weekend doing decidedly un-summery things (I didn't have ONE hot dog...not one!) my nose is still out of joint.
Somehow, I managed to get roped into taking care of not one, not two, but FOUR extra cats at two other apartments. What the...? Do I not look insane enough already?!
However, this was fun, for the most part, but the neighbor's cat bit the CRAP out of me for no apparent reason. Now I have the rabies.
Eh, well. You probably won't even notice the change in my personality.
Then, a now former friend sent me an invitation for EDiets.com. The gall of that gal...!
Do I:
a) kill her
b) just maim her...a little
c) break into her apartment and put Icy Hot® in the crotch of all her panties
d) poke holes in her diaphragm
e) perm her cat
f) put Nair® in her shampoo
g) convince the Chippendales to take her out dancing and then humiliate her by all being gay as Froot Loops on fire on Madonna on a home makeover show...? Nah, she would probably like that.
h) take unflattering photos of her ass and then e-mail them to her
Oh, wait. She does h) to me all the time. Maybe then i) should just break her camera.
It's 9:37. Has anyone pissed you off yet...?
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