Wednesday, June 3, 2009

I Shouldn't Write When I'm This Tired

I didn't sleep again last night and I know what you're thinking...you're all "That Kurt! Always with the naked, gymnast, ballerina nymphomaniacs! Scamp!" but that isn't the case at all because they have a new ballet /sex show opening off-Broadway next month and the rehearsal times have cut way into our naked gymnastics schedule. You can catch the show if you like. It's called "My Vagina!" and features the song "Boobies Done Made Me Bad". It's quality entertainment for the whole family provided your family is a bunch of horny, deaf, perverts with a penchant for naked show tunes.  

But I digress...and I'm never sure what "digress" even means and for a long time I thought it meant to  flex your biceps at someone, so I would say "But I digress..." and then I would flex and kiss my biceps and then  usually try to do some Irish dancing real quick because the person I was talking to would  look all confused. And nothing cures confusion faster than Irish dancing. Except what I did wasn't really Irish dancing because I found out later Irish Dancing doesn't involve lassos and saying "Hi-YA!" and then punching people in the throat and then running away. 

But I digress...

So I didn't sleep last night and I'm not sure why because I don't have any worries really, and if I need to, I can hide in my pillow fort all day in case the landlord tries to stop by and also I set that trap for him in case he gets too nosy about where his rent money is.  The trap is ingenious. It's a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in a rat trap. I've seen enough cartoons to know that it is going to work for sure. And the other trap I have for him is that Whoosh! I'm going to jail for assault when he falls for the first trap. Jail = No rent! Take that fascist! 

And then I have this elaborate fantasy where the cops are dragging me out in handcuffs and he is standing in the doorway as I am pulled past with this sad look on his face and his hand covered in peanut butter and broken fingers. And the cops stop so he can say a clever catch phrase at me like the greatest actor of our generation, David Caruso, on CSI:Miami, would do. Only my landlord is smart enough to think of a catch-phrase so I jump in with "You've been de-Kaffa-nated!" which doesn't make sense because I am not an oppressed, black South African in 1989 and he is not a member of the ruling Apartheid party, but I have to assume he's seen Lethal Weapon 2 because you know who hasn't seen that movie? Socialists. And obviously he's not a socialist because he was trying to take either my rent money or a peanut butter and jelly sandwich as a form of payment, that capitalist swine.

I wish I could pay rent in sandwiches. That would be awesome.

The End.

17 comments:

TrodoMcCracken said...

If I followed your tactics and punched my landlord in the throat while Irish Dancing I'm pretty sure my father would write me out of his will. But it'd be one heck of a christmas!

That Girl Suicide said...

Sleep is for suckers!

Mona Lott said...

The punch to the throat is a dead give away, obviously it's Scottish dancing!

Shit. Now I'm thinking about Rollins in a kilt again.

Sass Pizzazz said...

I bet a good roast beef sandwich would cover your rent for at least 3 months, because roast beef is effing delicious. But I'm not talking about Arby's roast beef - that shit is made out of cured sasquatch ass.

Wow, that was awkward said...

Throat punching is an awesome way to conclude any potentially uncomfortable situation. Irish dancing - not so much. But then what do I know? You seem like an expert, plus I laugh non stop at your words. So you should get the benny of the doubt.

Steam Me Up, Kid said...

I like how the onomatopoeia for going to jail is Whoosh!!

Do more!! Do more!! What's the sound of passing a kidney stone?

Char said...

so when they come take my jeep...I should throat punch them? I need practice.

Soda and Candy said...

I wish I could pay my mortgage in sandwiches, but they'd probably have to be fancy-ass ones like triple decker club sandwiches or smoked salmon on organic rye or some bullshit.

Stupid elitist bank.

Random Chick said...

You're right. You should never write when you're tired. Please.

Pop and Ice said...

Would you make me a sandwich? I'm too tired to make one because I slept with the cat last night. Sounds all nice and cozy but the cat is recovering from declawing and is kept in guest bedroom now for ANOTHER FREAKIN WEEK because he busted open some of his surgical stitches. And he cries because he is lonely. So, yeah, some of us aren't sleepin well, either.

Captain Dumbass said...

I'm eating a sandwich right now, but I don't think it's going to make my next mortgage payment.

Miss Yvonne said...

Too bad you are handcuffed in your fantasy, otherwise you could have turned sideways, squinted and slowly slid your sunglasses on after you yelled your catch phrase while The Who screamed in the background.

Yeah, I watch too much CSI. So sue me.

Boob Honk!

Kurt said...

@Trodo: Christmas is a magical throat-punching opportunity.

@That Girl Suicide: Yeah! Well-rested suckers!

@Mona: Cold Shower. Now.

@Sass: That's also what's in the Secret Sauce at McDonald's I bet. Except it's jizz.

@Wow: Another good way to wrap up an awkward encounter is to fake a seizure.

@SMU,Kid: You always challenge me. "pwwoooot!Ping!"

@Char: Definately. Fuckers.

@Soda: I know, right? Oh! Heaven forbid you see a non frilly pickle! Fascists.

@Random Chick:


(get it? I didn't write. Wakka-wakka!)

@Pop and Ice: A great cure for that: Dog.

@Cap'n D: Mail it anyway(s)...who knows, right?

@Miss Yvonne: Roger Daltry = Excellence in Police work. ps: nice cans.

Vic said...

Your landlord sounds like a pimento loaf kind of guy.

Mmmm.

miss. chief said...

i pay rent in sandwiches. money sandwiches. and sexual favors.

Prosy said...

you know what would be a better landlord trap? a tiger pit

Belle said...

Was David wearing his sunglasses? I only ask because he never is when I'm having my fanasty about him....
and I wish he was.