Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Serious Social Issues

I'm going to talk about a serious social issue today, because yesterday was all just weird random stuff that didn't really help anyone and if I don't step it up my "Hero to All Mankind Lifetime Achievement Award" might be in jeopardy and I heard that the award comes with a jet ski. I've always wanted a jet ski. You can start some serious shit at the community pool if you have one. And while I don't want the "Hero to All Mankind Lifetime Achievement Award" selection committee to think I would ever do that, I think we can all agree I would.

So, in trying to pick the right social issue I had a bit of trouble because my first immediate thought was herpes, because it's fun to say and it's a funny disease that gives your mouth and/or wang and/or girl junk sores and it last forever so it's pretty much the Gandalf the White of diseases, and so I checked to see if anyone has ever died from it and it turns out it maybe killed a baby, a puppy, and an elephant. I don't know about you, but I'm super-fired up against herpes now, because what kind of disease only targets babies and puppies? An asshole disease, that's who.

I'm guessing the elephant was a fluke because if you put them all in silhouette on the Electric Company and sang the "One of these things is not like the other." song, only that one kid who sits in the corner and sings to himself all day and then gets explosively angry and starts swearing at nap time would pick the puppy*. Everyone else knows it's the elephant. But I don't know if the Electric Company ever did a "Killed by Herpes" song, so this is all conjecture. My point is "Herpes is Bad." and definitely a mean asshole and I sure am glad I don't have it, and maybe you're thinking "That's not a very selfless thing to say , Mr. I-Want-To-Win-An-Award." but I have to respectful disagree**, because if this handsome face gets the herpes, we all lose.

And then I thought about it some more, and I wondered if there were any social issues that went along with not having enough cupcakes or Skittles©, because that would be a project I could really get behind. But I don't mean for like starving kids or anything, because I bet sugar would really make them wound up and hard to deal with after everyone is so used to them just sitting around in the corner with flies on them all day. I'm more of a humanitarian than THAT. No, I was thinking maybe a "Cupcake across America" kind of charity where I go to every state and eat a delicious cupcake and rate them on a scale of 1 to 10 and then, when it's over I could waddle over to the podium and announce the winner. That maybe doesn't sound like a good charity to you at first, but think of all the people I would help know where to get the best cupcake. Also I'm going to think about what a delicious adventure that would be. Sponsors interested can contact me here.

Turns out that "One of These Things" song was on Sesame Street, but Eff them. Here's a song about dying (although not a "Killed by Herpes" song) from the Electric Company.

* This kid would also grow up to be super-handsome, and a genius, and sure maybe he's unemployed right now and taking expired cat antidepressants because he can't afford his co-pay, but guess what else? He still sings. He still sings...

**My methodology for respectfully disagreeing changes with each instance, but usually it involves a shovel and your head. Although sometimes it's one of those tiny gherkin pickles stuffed into your ear really far and then snapped off and you have to go to the hospital and explain why you have a pickle stuck in your ear. My point is, you've learned a valuable lesson

Monday, June 29, 2009

Random Bits

I don't have any good ideas to write about this morning but just knowing that's not enough to stop me ought to be enough to win me some kind of courage award, because I am totally smiling in the face of adversity and probably overcoming incredible odds like when a crippled person walks again or like when John Wayne Bobbit got his penis sewed back on! Zing! I'm so current and topical, I'm like the Wayne Newton of Pedophilia. Shit. That's twice today I couldn't think up a leader of a given field and just threw in the first name that came to mind. I'm like the Brett Favre of non-sensical not-field-leading references.

I had a dream that someone mailed me a ziplock bag filled with cereal and milk and when I woke the first thing I thought was "Wow! That'll make a great blog post!" because I am both delusional and cruel and that is an awesome combo. Just ask Hitler. And then, as I was trying to piece together what I would say about this dream another thought came to me and that thought was "How IS it that you are so handsome?" and that, my friends, is a great mystery.

I'm older today than I was yesterday and not like the rest of you, except Baldy...I mean I'm a year older and that makes me wiser for sure and the best birthday wish I got came from my BFF who totally thanked my father for ejaculating inside my Mom, and I think it is important to respect your elders and to always eat your vegetables and to Never Surrender like Corey Hart said.. and if you are too young to get that reference than that's okay because here comes the part where I pop and lock to the Spice Girls.

I also like birthdays because they afford me the opportunity to eat cake for breakfast, lunch, and dinner and that is awesome for helping me sleep because I seem to be able to slip right into those diabetic comas like nobody's business. Coming back out is a little harder, so I have the kids set a timer.

Go read my Mama Pop Article because every time someone clicks the link 20% of the ad revenue goes to blind orphans in Indonesia. HAAHHAHA! Get it! I'm just kidding. I don't care about blind orphans. I'm a hilarious prankster.

Sunday, June 28, 2009

Sunday! Sunday! Sunday!

So Hi! Look at me! Posting on a Sunday! This is pretty much like opening a letter and a rainbow comes out and glitter shoots everywhere and Poof! now you have a sex slave! That's the best kind of letter to open and way better than all the certified ones I get saying "blah-blah-blah temporary insanity plea denied " or whatever. Another good kind of letter I don't get is the kind without big red dollars figures on them. Hey Utility Companies! I got an idea! Are you ready? Here it comes...

Go Eat Fuck!

Okay. So the reason for this super gracious Sunday morning post is that one of my articles for Mama Pop is being featured right there on the top of the page and it has a checky-line box around it so that it looks like a coupon, but it totally isn't so don't try and present it anywhere like the liquor store and say it's a "BOGO" because you think using slang for "buy one get one" is a good way to deceive them because they'll see right through that ruse and if you haven't read it, it's pretty much the funniest thing ever written and I'm not saying that to be brash and stuck up, but because I am honor-bound to always tell the truth even when it is embarrassing, like a Klingon or someone with the herpes. It's like that time I had to tell that guy that I thought his clothes made him look like a woman, even though I felt super bad for doing it and okay maybe I was pointing and laughing but that doesn't mean I didn't TOTALLY feel bad. Man, you'd think judges would have a better sense of humor because all they do all day is listen to people complain and I would think being funny would be a natural defense mechanism. That and drinking.

Friday, June 26, 2009

A Year Wiser...No. Seriously.

So I'm rolling up on another birthday and that is awesome because it means I am getting wiser and according to my calculations this should pretty much be the year I get my Force powers, because I did the math and I'm like 266 in dog years and that my friends, is ancient. I hope the first power I get is the lightning one like the Emperor had, because next time the pizza guy shows up without the two liter of Coke Zero© guess who is getting his ass lightninged? And I'll be all "And now my young friend...you WILL die." and then Darth Vader will get all up in my grill, yo* and throw me down an unexplained chasm in the middle of my office. Seriously. Who puts a dangerous precipice right in the middle of their workspace? The Death Star building team got the elevator in but not the floor? That makes no sense. Anyway(s), Darth just effed himself out of some slices of some delicious pizza, is my point.

Another benefit to getting older is that now I'll be able to... yeah I got nothin'.

It was cool there for a minute though, right? Like you were all "Yeah? Oh great and powerful ageless wizard...Tell me what else is cool about being old!" I totally had you going... like getting older when you're over 35 doesn't just allow you another opportunity to reflect on what you had wanted to do with your life. HAHAHAHAHA!* I'm kidding of course. Lucky for me it was my dream as a young boy to be an unemployed hobo-lite who shared his life on the Internet. And don't give that "But Kurt, you roguishly handsome, young, virile genius...the Internet wasn't around back then."because I'll just shout "Quid Pro Quo!" at you and try to toss the Pop Rocks© I keep in the front of my robe into your eyes so I can make a fast getaway. And then you'll say "That guy? He's just a crazy old hermit." So nice job Uncle Owen. Way to crush my dreams.

Hattori Hanzo: Stop. Stop. Stop. You're doing it again. You're making yourself all the characters in the story at once. You can't be Ben Kenobi AND Luke Skywalker at the same time.
Me: Maybe YOU can't. I have the advantage of advanced age.
Hattori Hanzo: I'm pretty sure we're the same age, because I'm your imaginary friend.
Me: "Friend" is a bit of a stretch and also a little gay don't you think?
Hattori Hanzo: When are you expecting this wisdom to kick in?
Me: Any second now. I swear I can FEEL the force flowing through me.
Hattori Hanzo: Actually, you just peed down your leg.
Me: Stupid "getting old".

*This is slang that proves that I am young and gives me tons of street cred but I secretly suspect it is crazy-outdated because if old white men use it then guess what? Not cool. I might as well say "Oh Snap!" or "You Go Girl!"

**This is scary, wild-eyed laughter that makes everyone take a step back and pretty much means if you are close by you are about to get shot, exploded, or anthraxed. Just to be clear.

PS: As a sidenote, I got the invitation to my twenty year class reunion in the mail today. Thanks for the kick in the balls, Life. See if you get anything for Christmas (or Hannukah) this year! (I don't know if my life is Jewish or not.)

Thursday, June 25, 2009

I'm the Matt Damon of Stripper Poles

I made the mistake of watching The Departed again recently and so now when I walk around the apartment mumbling to myself, which is pretty much every second of my life, I'm saying everything in a badly overdone Boston accent and I'm calling everything "a qweah" or "retahded" and that is not only insensitive but also annoying because maybe the front door has gay feelings but was trying to sort them out and that's why it got stuck and not because it is being beligerent. I don't know what the door's problem was, but I called it "a qweah lace curtain motherEffer" anyway(s), and that was totally not nice and also I'm not even sure what that means because if I had to hump your mom and there were lace curtains up, I would think that she was being very thoughtful and fancy and that maybe I should be wearing a monocle as I violated her. Because that's the kind of gentle, thoughtful lover I am.

I am always willing to crack out the monocle and tophat when things get fancy. Like when my brother shows up for zombie movie day and insists that I "at least put on some underwear for Christ's sake" and then I realize it's going to be a fancy day and then POW! Monocle and tophat and cane. And then he's all "Seriously, Man. Cover your shit." And then I'm all "Don't be retahded!" and I break into a dance number from Chicago and then I hurt myself. Those $1 "exercise poles" they sell with that Flirty Girl Fitness© Video I bought found are not as sturdy as they look, especially when they are only attached to the ceiling with your son's forgotten-about Silly Putty©. I think Silly Putty© misrepresents itself because even though it never claims to be an industrial adhesive, I think we can all agree that pulling pictures off the newspaper pretty much implies that.

Silly Putty© is such a feckin qweah.

Also retahded is Flirty Girl Fitness© because no matter how many lapdances I give to the kids I can't seem to lose a single pound, and that means trouble because how else am I going to ever be a stripper with a heart of gold if my halter top won't even cover my belly? That's pretty much the Riddle of the Sphinx around here this summer.

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Sometimes They Write Themselves...And Then There's This

So I'm watching Pokemon© because of course I am, and the commercials are on so I'm only sort of paying attention and that's when I hear the new Cocoa Puffs© commercial where Sonny is supposed to be watching an opera in a theater made out of chocolate and he's singing and in his song he rhymes "stage" with "crazed" and I'm all "Hold the fucking phone there, Sonny! Those words don't rhyme. What the fuck are you playing at?" and then I get annoyed because who the Eff would ever perform in a theater made out of chocolate because the first time you fired up the stagelights guess what? That's right. Melted. The lack of scientific forethought in commercials these days is ridiculous. And so I'm all bent out of shape because I hate when commercials feel like they have to start some shit and then I realize just what has happened to my life to make it so that pacing in the kitchen and fretting about factual incongruencies in an animated Cocoa Puffs© commercial becomes a valid use of my time.

Also Cocoa Pebbles are way better because they don't strafe the roof of your mouth so bad.

Also also, it's been 30 fucking years...how come nobody can catch that effing leprachaun from Lucky Charms©? I think there is black magic involved, because only a deal with Satan could keep that from happening. And don't try and give me that whole "They're magically delicious" argument because have you even tasted Lucky Charms©? Because apparently magic tastes like dehydrated, ass-flavored, cardboard with islands of pure artificially-colored sugar that totally cause cancer* and that's a crappy way to start your day and you know what parent buys that cereal for their kids? Mean ones, that's what. Because kids are all retards and they totally fall for commercials that say cereal is delicious when in fact it tastes awful and it's up to the parents to only buy delicious cereal unless they want their kids to grow up quick and grow up mean, so their fists get hard and their wits get keen. And really...are you even still reading this? Because why?

You better run, Asshole. You know who else is after your Lucky Charms©?
Dinosaurs, That's who.

* Scientific studies have linked artifically colored rainbow marshmallows to being a douchebag in later life and while that isn't cancer in the strictest sense, it is like a cancer to SOCIETY and I think we can all agree that we're all in this together, so we should prevent douchebagitis-type melonomas from spreading.

ps: Happy Saint Jean-Baptiste Day to my Canadian friends! Way to make up holidays! I think I'll go celebrate Barney the Drunk From The Simpsons Day by getting plowed on Brandy Alexanders.

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

I Love It When A Plan...Never Mind

I had this awesome idea for a post and it pretty much made you all laugh so hard that I became a genius superhero and no longer had to worry about all the not work I've been doing because someone would definitely be willing to pay me to write for them on account of how terribly funny I am and kids would ask me for autographs and I would give them even though I was having a nice dinner with my girlfriend, the supermodel gymnast nymphomaniac, and I would only sort of shoot them a dirty look before the words of my publicist would come ringing in my ears and remind me "Try not to be a cock." and maybe I would pat them on the head and people observing from a distance would think that was a cute gesture, but up close the kid would see that I was annoyed and not smiling at all, but barring my teeth at him like a grizzly bear or Gary Busey.

And then I would throw my head back and fake laugh and then the A-team would crash through the restaurant window because I've always wanted that to happen during a fancy dinner because I tire quickly of hearing about all my legal issues and can't they work out a simple restraining order without me? They're polar bears, and I don't want them anywhere near me. Case closed. Your witness. Sheesh...if only I had studied Arctic Maritime Carnivore Law like Dad had wanted.

Anyway(s), the A-team would crash in and Hannibal would be all "I love it when a plan comes together." and I'd be all "Fuck yeah, George Peppard!" and then he'd be all "Kid. You got a funny blog." and I'd be all "Thanks. You made me think I could shoot things to solve problems as a child and that no matter how many bullets came out of a gun no one would ever get hurt, and then I shot my cousin in the face with an air rifle because he was using all the blue Lego© and he definitely got hit so that was a valuable lesson. Thank you." and then he would wink because he's so bad-ass, and then Mr. T would be pitying the fool and Dirk Benedict, which is such a porn name I can't even stand it, would say something slimy and oil-covered and then Murdoch would be OFF THE HOOK wacky! because that's how crazy people are, not scary and sad like you thought and then we'd all laugh HAHAHAHAAHAHA! That was the best dinner ever.

But I forgot the idea. So you get this instead. Sorry.

Monday, June 22, 2009

Nothing To Do With Blow-Js*

Father's Day this year dovetails nicely with the end of the school year and I'm not even positive what "dovetails" means, but I think I'm using it right even though it is corporate speak and that is a language that I do not miss at all, being that I was on the wrong end of a "staffing action" and if that sounds like someone being raped with a pole then yeah... that's about right. And HAHHAHAHA! look at me! I'm on the internet and complaining about being unemployed. I'm like the Neil Armstrong of hilarious blog posts. I break so much new ground, someone, preferably a bikini supermodel with a short attention span, low self-esteem, and not super good vision, should pretty much just sit behind me all day with a giant pair of scissors.

So right... Father's Day is pretty much the opposite of statutory rape, becuase instead of being arrested for having non-consensual sex with a minor because she got all stuck up at the end and said you squashed her retainer between the seats and you say "Hey! Don't get all weird! YOU had to take it out so we could eat all that Burger King©* last night!" and then the D.A. is all "blah-blah-blah... she asked you to the PROM... blah-blah... shopped at Claire's Boutique "or whatever... Anyway(s), Father's Day is opposite because instead, they give you cards and gifts for having sex with someone. And maybe you get breakfast in bed, which is totally not an option in prison unless your cell mate is feeding you his wang. (Or HER wang. I don't mean to be sexist.)

And the reason this is significant with regard to the end of school is that guess who can't sit around in their bathrobe all day and look at porn and walk around the grocery store trying samples like 15 times even though by like the third time the hat and moustache are no longer fooling the sample lady and she's all "One per customer, Sir!" which is totally another way of saying "asshole"...don't think I don't know. And then you're all "Show me where it says THAT!" because there's no sign that says "one per customer" so her legalese is just BS and then next thing you know you're running down the pet food aisle with two giant handfuls of Ranch Jalapeno Poppers and the sample tray is clanging off the floor behind you like a dime spinning in that "wha-wha-wha-wha" way that sounds like the time/space travel machine from Contact winding up and you're scarfing them down as fast as you can because that new security kid they hired sounds like he's gaining on you and you're laughing and crying at the same time and then POW! it's another talk with Officer Vance about how restraining orders are put in place for a reason and blah-blah-blah...something about deadly force next time.

Anyway(s)... Those days are over, now I have to be all upstanding and role-modeley and I'll be flying kites, and rolling that hoop with a stick, and riding around on that bike with the super tall front tire and kicking a can or whatever it is kids do now and I don't know why summer vacation makes me feel like a turn-of-the-century roustabout but it probably has to do with all the mescaline I'm on.

*This really did have nothing to do with oral sex, except maybe that prison part and that isn't very sexy. I would like to point out though, that according to the latest scientific study, blowjobs are awesome and pretty much can fix any problem anyone ever has. It's all in the report. Seriously. You can look it up if you want.

**Maybe you think this blog is endorsed by Burger King and that's why I mention them, but it totally isn't because according to their lawyers there is "too much pedophilia talk" going on in here and I don't know why they are so stuck up but it probably has to do with the Patriot Act©. Fucking Bush.

Friday, June 19, 2009

You Dirty Rat

So the other night I was watching The Public Enemy with James Cagney and I really shouldn't be allowed to watch old gangster movies because they get me in lots of trouble. Like when I go to the grocery store and I'm buying green beans and I find one of those super skinny stick beans and I call the apron guy over and I'm all " Say! What's the big idea?" and he just sorta scrunches up his face at me, because he's like 15 and doesn't even know what a palooka is probably, but guess what? It's time for him to get an education. So I put on a sneer and I stuff the stick beans up his nose and then I punch him in the face and then I realize I'm daydreaming the whole thing and I'm standing in front of the green bean bin with two beans up my nose and I'm attracting a crowd again, so I just say "Hakuna Matata!" and then I shuffle off but not before I give the grocery kid a dirty look that says 'That's right, You mug! I'm comin' back for ya,See?" but I think he misinterprets that as constipation or maybe just craziness. It's hard to tell with kids these days.

The other way watching old movies gets me in trouble is with the ladies because maybe rampant misogyny doesn't seem like a good idea now, but back then HAHAHHAHA! hitting women was allowed because you kind of owned them, but not in a bad way like a dishwasher, in a good way like a dog or something with boobs that does your laundry. Obviously, society has changed and we no longer embrace the Cro-mag views of old as acceptable, but after watching this I find myself wanting to stuff grapefruits into women faces and that shit doesn't fly anymore, especially since the dry cleaning lady was just asking for my ticket, but I couldn't help myself and then POW! grapefruit in the face and I'm all "I didn't ask for any of your lip." and then I got arrested because obviously the cops haven't seen the movie and did I mention tazing me makes me pee my pants and forget who I am for half an hour?

That was an important life lesson.

It takes a special kind of asshole to look tough when wearing jammies.

Thursday, June 18, 2009

P.M.S. (HAHAHAHA! Get it?)

I have decided to craft a Personal Mission Statement and you can tell I'm serious about it because I said "craft" and that means that I am a very serious professional who doesn't just write things. Also I like the idea of a mission statement because it sounds like I'll be going on missions like a spy or a ninja and that's always better than sitting around wondering what smells are, because that seems to be what I am doing with my days for the most part lately. I have become quiet the good investigator of smells though. I can walk through a room and be all "BO, old spaghettios, and a forgotten onion ring under the couch." and POW! that's what stinks in the room. It's kinda like tasting wine without all all the super-classy purposeful spitting. So here's my Personal Mission Statement:

I will try in every area of my life to be a better person. I will challenge myself daily. I will seek the exceptional and reject the mundane. I will surround myself only with those who will impact me positively. I will continuously attempt to make the world a better place. I will stand firm against injustices and tyranny. I will improve the lives of those around me on an ongoing basis.

That's sounds pretty impressive, but when I go back and read it, it makes me tired. The more I think about the ramifications the more I wonder if maybe I wasn't being too ambitious. Like trying to be a better person in every area of my life? What about excreting? I see no need to improve that process. I'm pretty much the Iron Chef of Defecation. I don't even know what that means...but still. And challenging myself daily? That seems tiring and like I'm all stuck up and can't just chill out with my homies and like I'm no longer just Kurty from the block, or whatever so that needs some work. I am already exceptional so I don't really need to seek it, and the mundane is kinda cool and also it's re-run time on tv so I kinda have to tolerate the mundane. I like the part about only surrounding myself with those who will impact me positively, but it needs a little spicing up. I can combine that part with the "world a better place" bit and the awesome injustices and tyranny part. Anyone who uses "tyranny" in their personal mission statement is pretty much the best person you've ever met.

I will try in every area of my life to be a better person except for pooping because I already rock the hizz-ouse at that and also eating Pop Tarts. I will challenge myself daily but not super-hard or anything because I don't think I'm better than anyone. Okay... that's a lie. I'm pretty sure I'm better than most people but in a kind way. Like I'll try and not treat you like an incompetant asshole all the time unless you piss me off. I will seek the exceptional recognize how awesome I am by flexing in the mirror every day and kissing my biceps and reject the mundane try not to watch too many old episodes of Baywatch© unless it's during the Pam Anderson years because her boobies flounce gloriously. I will surround myself only with those who will impact me positively other superheros and we will form a society of superbeings who will totally . I will continuously attempt to make the world a better place. And using my powers and genius intellect I will stand firm against injustices and tyranny unless they are perpetrated by the US because I'm pretty much the most Patriotic person ever except when they cancel good TV shows and then I'm all "Fuck America" but in a positive way. I will improve the lives of those around me on an ongoing basis unless they are being total d-bags and then I'll just point at my junk and give them the finger.

Wednesday, June 17, 2009


I was going to write something about dinosaurs because That Baldy Fella took all my old dinosaur material when everyone thought I had died and now I need some new ones, because dinosaur pretty much makes everything better. Dinosaurs are like rainbow sprinkles that way. If you were to have a giant ice cream cone and you decided that the topping you wanted was dinosaurs however, then you are a fool. And guess what else? A delicious treat.

But I'm not going to write about dinosaurs because some alarming evidence has just come to light, and I imagine my partner who is chewing on a toothpick throwing this across my desk from a small distance and it's in a manilla folder, which sound like "Nilla Wafer© which is the coolest cookie ever when you are like two, and the folder is stuffed with information, and Oh yeah! I'm in a police station. Did I mention that? And my partner is all "Feast your eyes..." real ominous-like, but I think she says "Feet or Thighs?" because of the toothpick and I'm not even sure what she is asking but I say "Thighs, I guess?" and she just gives me a look and then does a high kick to fix her pants from falling down because that's how she rolls. And maybe handcuffed to my desk is a prisoner who I am booking, and he is demanding to see his lawyer, so my partner comes over and makes duck noises at him while she tickles his armpits because I have to concentrate on this important new evidence. Don't look at me like that. I'm pretty much the leading expert on police procedure.

Wait no...maybe instead of a prisoner there can be a velociraptor chained to my desk. That would be awesome and would scare away any lookie-loos who wanted to look over my shoulder and read my stunning new evidence. They'd be all "Hey I wonder what Supreme Chief Executive Policeman Kurt is reading?" and then "Holy Fuck! Did you arrest a dinosaur? That's badass!" and then they would pick me up and carry me around the precinct on their shoulders and maybe the ceiling fan would clip me in the forehead and knock me out and blood would spray everywhere because everyone knows forehead cuts are the most vicious and this would make the velociraptor crazy so he would break out and start eating everyone and it wouldn't calm down until the whole squadroom is a bloodbath and finally my partner subdues the beast with some Nilla Wafers© and armpit ducks.

Artist's Visualization: I am not "Fish" in this scenario.

For those interested: You can go here and see how long you would last chained to bunkbed with a velociraptor. Here's a hint though: Not very long.

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

Depression Fish Sticks

So you've probably been wondering where I've been, because I'm that big of an egotist to think you noticed I was gone and Hey! Guess what? I don't blame you. I mean... I sort of blame you in that whole handsome genius celebrity vs. reader of handsome genius celebrity way but that's really not fair and I think we can all agree that all we are saying is give peace a chance.

But I'm back now from my adventure of a lifetime that featured pirates, and a wild assortment of wrap sandwiches and maybe some accidental crotch-kneeing that totally didn't need that big windup, but I'm okay because a real man can look fear in the eyes. And then that man sometimes has to ball up on the ground and clutch his junk and make weird little whimpering "Mek.Mek.Mek." noises. It's the nature of war. And love, for that matter.

But now that my adventure is over I'm feeling a little blue (BALLS!!! HA-cha-cha-cha!!! -ed.) and so I went to the grocery store to find some comfort in my old friend Food, and you might think that is an unhealthy way to fight depression, but in reality most psychiatrists agree* that effective dieting can have a significant impact on a person's mental state. Unless that person is fucking crazy.

So I'm at the store trying to think of a food that matches my sad, and it turns out the first thing I can come up with is fish sticks, because nothing says "I'm a lonely, lonely man with no one to watch out for me, and I live by myself and yeah maybe this bathrobe could use a washing but mind your own business." like fish sticks.

If fish sticks were a kid, he'd be the one who never has his lunch money and always has to have the school-mandated ham and cheese on white bread sandwich and the ham is always damp and the cheese is fluorescent orange and that kid has a little too much dirt under his fingernails, and maybe teachers walk past him and just want to give him a hug and say "There, There, Fish sticks." but they can't because of the administration's stringent "no touching" policy. So fish sticks grows up unloved and when he grows up...BAM! Serial killer. I hope your happy, School Administration.

If Fish Sticks were a musical, they would be "Little Orphan Annie" and right at the part where Annie has to go back to the orphanage because of Tim Curry kidnapping her or whatever, the theater burns down.

If fish sticks were a telegram, it would say "Mother would like you to know you are adopted.Stop. Were an AIDS baby.Stop. Also just put dog down. Stop."

So I buy the fish sticks and POW! I still feel sad, but now it's okay because I did it on purpose and when I make them for myself I don't even turn them into delicious sandwiches, but just dip them into a blob of lite mayo, and as I eat them I cry a little and wonder where it all went wrong and then I realize it was probably right around the time I stopped using plates because having a big plop of mayo on your knee and dipping fish sticks into it is just gross. Also mayo and leg hair does not mix. That's an important culinary tip from me to you.

*I made up this fact, but that doesn't make it UNtrue. It makes it a hypothesis. And I'm sorry if you don't like the science, but it all adds up, so you can put that in your pipe and smoke it. Your witness.

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

I'm So Worldly It's Ridiculous

So I decided to watch BBC World News last night because that's the best way to feel superior I think, and everytime I listen to people with British accents talking about what is happening in the EU I pretty much become James Bond. And I don't mean the cranky Daniel Craig one who is all punches and almost no Pussy Galore, I mean the Sean Connery one with waves of monkey-like chest hair and badly-fitting shorts.

And the announcer guy is talking about pounds and bangers-and-mash and lorries or whatever, but I'm not really paying attention because I'm trying to see his teeth... because I'm an asshole that's why. But his teeth are unspectacular in their normalcy so I go back to half-watching the news I don't care about and here's the part where I saw a funny story that I can relate to you and you'll be all "Oh Kurt! Without your tough but fair observations of the human condition to add humor to my day where would I be?" and then I would be all "Oh stop! We both know you'd be dead." and then we'd both laugh and I would drop a wink to the camera, and then the credits would roll. But I didn't actual see anything interesting except a guy sweeping up after an election celebration in Greece and I'm all "Is that even still a country?" and that isn't even a little bit interesting because it's not like the guy was sweeping up the heads of executed revolutionaries or anything. It was just papers. What a gyp.

So as you may or may not have guessed I don't have anything to write about this morning because of uncooperative Greeks and while I was watching I fell asleep on top of the half-empty package of dry ramen noodles I was eating, and when I woke up I had crazy ramen noodle dunes in my cheek skin and I felt like I had been drugged because I don't think you are supposed to eat all 10 spicy chicken flavor packets in one go or else your body will try to reject all your organs at once.

I'm not sure that's what happened. That's just my medical opinion. Also, I ran out of expired cat anti-depressants last week and started taking Tic-Tacs© instead, and I'm not sure they are having the desired effect on my psyche but at least I've stopped spending my whole day watching birds in the window and instead just want to bludgeon everyone I see with the business end of a plastic lightsaber.

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

Jimmy "Superfly" Snuka > Therapy

I was trying to think of something clever to post and I came really close so you should totally be proud of me, but I didn't, butI believe it's the thought that counts, and if you don't like it then I guess this is where we part ways, except I'm writing for free on the internet, so you can pretty much come back anytime and my threats are totally empty. Except the one about photoshopping your head onto an eel. I will totally do that.

Beware my wrath.

The thing I was trying to be all clever about was firing my therapist for being too nosy and asking too many questions like "Will you please put down that letter opener and stop holding it over your head and screaming "By the power of Greyskull!!" because that's totally not working?" and "Why do you feel the need to let the air out of the principle's tires? You do know you haven't been in school in 20 years, right?" and to that I always reply "Quid Pro Quo!" and then I flip the couch in anger and then he tells me I'm not allowed to have any more coffee even though I'm totally parched from all the couch flipping. So obviously he should be fired. That guy is not the kind of professional I need.

I think the kind of professional I need is a wrestler, because I am hard pressed to think of any personal or emotional problem I have that can't be fixed with an appropriately timed suplex. And I think the pro wrestler I want is Jimmy "Superfly" Snuka, because unlike Hulk Hogan who has gotten even richer by breeding retards, Superfly has lived a quiet life out of the spotlight* and that's the type of humility I would like to see rewarded. So when I'm anxious because the rent is due, I will just send him over to figure-four leglock a small extension out of the landlord. And if the neighbor won't stop letting his dog poop in my lawn then guess what? Pile driver into the sidewalk. And if I wake up and feel depressed because my life is in utter shambles than I am only one sleeper hold away from forgetting all my troubles. That's way better than therapy. Plus Jimmy "Superfly" Snooka is a vegetarian** and probably doesn't eat that much so he will be a welcome addition to my house so long as he cleans the sink out after shaving.

Whatdya Mean they cancelled "The Unusuals"? Snuka? Sort this out for me.

*And by "out of the spotlight" I mean "still wrestling because who the fuck would've guessed that." Stupid facts. Always Effing up my blog. He is on the WWE apparently all the time still. But I'm sure he's super-humble and more than happy to help me sort out my issues. He also loves puppies and moonlit walks on the beach holding hands. And Superfly Splashing any sand hoboes we run into. True fact!

** Completely made this up. Like ZERO research was done on this. You know what is just as likely to be factual? Pretty much anything you say out loud at anytime. Even drunk. It's this kind of thing that keeps me connected to the common people. We are one. Like in the Lion King. Only you're the Crazy monkey in the tree and I'm...fuck this metaphor.

Monday, June 8, 2009

Zombies My Ass

This is the greatest piece of Viral Marketing ever created and I wrote about it for Mama Pop Today and if you don't see the correlation between naked Norwegian Supermodels singing about their ass, and Blood-thirsty Nazi-zombies reanimating and trying to take over the world than you obviously can't think outside the box. And what box is that you might ask? Your mom's.

Sorry. That was uncalled for. Like when your mom showed up at my Prom in garters and high heels and a gun holster.

Oh yeah...if it's not too late...this is NSFW. Which is code for "Not Suitable for Wanking" because it just shows big sideboob for like a second. Shut up. Don't be a prude.

And The Nobel Prize for Jump Rope Goes To ...

I haven't done a list of nemeses in a while and maybe that is because I want to be at peace with my environment and want to live a life that reflects my ideals of love and harmony and I should probably get another Nobel Prize and this one would be for Peace and not for Cereal Eating or Jump Rope or whatever the other categories are. But maybe also the reason I haven't written a list of nemeses is that I forgot or got lazy or maybe I was exposed to Gamma radiation and when I get angry I turn into a green giant that must rage against the machine. And not the one that sells peas and carrots and goes "Ho Ho Ho", I mean the other one.

Okay, that last one didn't happen for sure, because if I turned into the Hulk every time I got angry I would undoubtedly turn every time I went to the grocery store and that bitchy lady who restocks the comic books came by and was all "Hey! You have to buy those! You can't sit in here and read comics all day!" And then maybe I would be reading a Hulk comic, and that would be super-ironic because Look out, Bitchy Lady! Here comes my jolly green foot up your ass. That would be way better than my usual response which is to throw a handful of Kool-aid dust into her eyes so she is temporarily blinded and then run away whilst yelling over my shoulder "Cry your Sharkleberry Fin© tears! I cannot be stopped!" And then I usually trip over the mozzerella cheese endcap because I'm too busy yelling over my shoulder to watch where I'm going and the police and the ambulance have to get involved.

Kool-Aid© guy riding a pink shark = Radical!

Okay, my list for this week:

Charlie's Angels 2: Full Throttle - This was on TV yesterday while I was cleaning and I hated it so much that I would stop at random intervals and say "I fucking hate you." to my TV set, and now it probably has a complex but guess what? If I showed up at your house, climbed up on your dinner table and took a dump and then started rolling around in it and touching myself, I would understand if YOU said "I fucking hate you." I would understand that it's only business and nothing personal.

Geodes - My BFFF sent me a box of rocks in the mail and that pretty much makes her awesome on like 10 different levels, but included in the box was a bunch of Geodes and sure those are super pretty and cool but I cracked them open hoping to find a power crystal that would unlock my mind-control abilities or maybe some other superpower, but no matter how hard I try I can't get the Hillbilly next door to commit suicide or even keep his box of duck off his porch for one day. So Eff you, Geodes for not having mind-control crystals inside.

Dust - I have special company coming next weekend and no it's not Child Protective Services, so don't get all stuck up and be all "La-Di-Dah! You can't beat your kids with a tennis racket for eating all the ice cream and expect to get away with it! Where are my monocle and top hat?" because I SO can expect to get away with that, because my kids know how to keep their goddamn mouths shut*. And dust is on my list because dusting sucks and it seems like everywhere I look things are out of focus because of the thin grey haze covering them and HAHAHAHA! Am I right? Dusting sucks?! Hey look...I'm blogging about housework! Fucking shoot me. I hate you, Dust.

*I don't endorse beating your kids**. Because then they grow up and seek revenge. Psychological abuse is way better.

**I mean...I don't endorse beating ANY kids. Not just yours. I would never beat your kids... that would be weird. If I just showed up at your house and started beating your kids? You'd be all "Hey! Very Handsome Stranger! Why are you beating my kids with a tennis racket?" And then you'd get Kool-Aid© in the eyes and you would understand my pain. Not really. You'd probably just want to kick my ass. But look out! I'm wily.

Friday, June 5, 2009

A Lesson For Us All

Sometimes you get the bear and sometimes the bear gets you. A friend in high School's father used to say that and then I stole his neckties when he wasn't home. The moral of the story: Don't invite me over to your house when I need a necktie. Also the moral: Go read my Mama Pop article on the movie Fanboys.  It's good for a snicker I think. 

Spoiler:I call Dan Fogler afterbirth.

Here's the trailer if you are unfamiliar with the film:

Wow. Sorry.

This post is going to be like an exciting race because I'm not sure what is going to happen. Will I fall asleep or be interesting first? Either way it'll be a photo finish because for some reason my body decided that sleep is for sucks last night and that it would be way better if I just flopped around in bed all aggravated instead.

That was a great plan, Body! You're such an asshole, Body. If there was a bunch of kids crossing at a crosswalk in front of you, and you were late for work, you would honk your horn at them and the crossing guard would give you a horrified and very angry look and you would just roll your eyes and that little girl with the "Yo Gabba Gabba!" backpack would jump high  in the air and maybe pee her pants a little. And My brain would be in the passenger seat and be all " Dude! Relax! What's the rush?" and you 'd be all "I have a big presentation on how to excrete at 9am." and that's just stupid because who would even want to attend that meeting? All the invitees would hit "accept"  in Lotus Notes, but no one would show up. Because you're an asshole, Body.

I was going to post about how I wanted to sign up for the witness protection program but that was before my asshole body went rogue on me. Now I'm trying to remember all the side-splitting observations I was going to make but all I can think is "Why the Eff didn't I sleep last night? " so that part about how cool it would be to pick whether or not I got to have a mustache? Gone. And that bit about picking where I got to live and they would be all "Iowa or Nebraska?" and I'd be all "Screw you, Pigs! I want Pismo Beach like in that Bugs Bunny Cartoon where Bugs and Daffy have to deal with the Genie in Ali Baba's Hidden Cave and Daffy does that awesome soliloquy about all the treasure being his that goes 'It's mine you understand? All mine! Get back in there! Down! Down! Down! Go! Go! Go! Mine! Mine! Mine! Mwa-hahahaha!' " and then the Feds would just look at me and then look at each other and maybe one would scratch his balls and HAHAHAHA! that's funny. That's gone too. 

I can't even think about that right now because I'm so tired and my brain is like that one kid who used to just roll around on the floor and make armpit farts to get the whole class to laugh instead of doing his construction paper Father's Day craft, and the teacher would be all "Brain, please return to your seat." and then my Brain wouldn't and then the teacher would beat it, because guess what? It's 1977, bitches! And that shit was still cool.

I'll stop now. Here's a cartoon as a peace offering:

Thursday, June 4, 2009

Word to Your Smother

I had an awesome plan this morning. You see, my alarm clock started going off at like 5:15 am and I don't know about you, but fuck that. So I hit snooze and went back to dreaming about Metallica concerts and bowling, or whatever and then 8 minutes later guess who's got something to say? Asshole the alarm clock, that's who. So I hit snooze again and then stuffed the clock under my body so I wouldn't hear it next time. This was the best plan ever because it totally didn't wake me up again. I woke instead to a teenage girl flipping out because I let her over-sleep. Heh. Kids. They're so funny. 

I also had an incredible pain in my back and I thought maybe I had hurt it doing karate kicks on the couch yesterday, so I reached underneath me to rub it a little (TWSS!) and pulled out a braying alarm clock and I had this weird moment where in my half-awake state I was afraid to reach back there again because what else was I going to find? A bowl of grapefruit? A toaster? An angry dwarf midget little person hopped up on goofballs? So I did an exploratory poke and found that all that was there was an alarm clock divot so okay, I'm not sprouting weird random shit out of my back, and that's a bad medical condition to have probably and I don't want to be in any medical journals because the pictures are rarely flattering in those things.  No one has ever said " Hey! Check out this awesome picture of me!" and then you follow the link and it's a medical journal. Unless they're a surgery addict and they're hitting on you. Which is both creepy and sexy. Which we can all agree is the best kind of sexy .

So now I'm trying to think of what other problems I can solve by smothering and sure maybe there aren't many that won't lead to jail time, but this is a creative exercise so unless you are trying to stifle me, just zip it.  And at first I was all "Landlord!" because that would be an obvious answer but then I started thinking outside of the box, which means I stopped looking at porn and got serious and I made a real scrunched up serious face and I instantly gained the respect of my colleagues for how hard I was working, except my collegues are just a sock puppet I made yesterday to keep myself company and a dirty dish I found in The Girl's room, which was covered in something grey that I can only assume has gained sentience. And I think the main thing I will solve with smothering is being awake and having to deal with my life. I'm pretty much the greatest problem solver ever.

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.

Tuesday, June 2, 2009

Parenting or What I'm Awesome At

I like when the kids are home sick and not in that weird Munchkins-by-Prosy* way or whatever... you know... like in the Sixth Sense when Dead Bruce Willis**  and the kid go to visit the barfy ghost's family during her funeral and Oh Hai! Your wife poisoned your daughter's FACE.  Yeah.. not like that. I like having them around so I can perform stunts for them and then they can rate them on a scale from 1 to 10 and usually they are too weak to protest so I'll do a pirouette and then a scissor kick and then a "ha-cha-cha-cha-cha!" shuffle and then get down on one knee and shake my hat and The Girl just kind of looks at me and blinks for a minute and then holds up the "6", which is totally unfair and I begin to protest but then she passes out from dehydration so I totally got gypped.

The other good thing about having sick kids in the house is I get phone calls from the school, asking why they didn't show up today and this is a perfect chance to practice my evasiveness techniques.  And I think it is very important to answer questions with questions because that's what psychologists do to figure out why you're 36 and still wetting the bed and crying whenever Blue's Clues comes on, or at least that's what my friend, Mike says. Yeah...Mike. Heh. Crazy bed-pissing Mike. That's what we call him.  Also I like to throw in movie catchphrases to help the caller feel topical and relevant. I'm pretty much the perfect phone interviewer. And when they ask why The Girl isn't in school I usually yell "Quid Pro Quo!" at them and then run the phone up and down the zipper of my hoodie a few times. And then I shout "These aren't the droids you're looking for!" or "Wolverines!" and then I hang up. And then I look over at the couch and The Girl is holding up the "8" card. So I know I've done well.

Well I have to keep this short because I have to supervise all the chores she's doing because if I don't then I'll find her curled up in a ball and crying on the floor and no paint ever got scraped like that, I can assure you. And also I need a nap because I just dozed off and had a dream where my school nurse tried to be friendly to a Deceptacon© and got her ass shot so that's a sure sign that this post needs to end before more hapless, under-paid school functionaries get shot by evil robots. I swear that was never my intention. I just want a car that can talk to me and solve crimes. Is that too much to ask?

*I never even thought about how Prosy has a craziness named after her but I think we can all agree that makes perfect sense. 

** I should have said "spoiler" but I didn't because everyone else always says they saw that twist coming a mile away, but I totally didn't and I'm angry that my Genius Detective School training failed me that time. Also that time when I was trying to hide from the police by dressing in drag. That only works in the movies and it is totally possible to get tasered through aWonderbra© in case you were wondering.

Monday, June 1, 2009

The List is LIfe. (With Important Pimpy Update!)

If I had to pick the greatest thing about me, it would be a very difficult challenge and that's like asking what is the best part of sex, and don't everyone  just jump up and shout "Orgasm! Orgasm!" and then run around in circles wooting like a bunch of horny chimpanzees, because that's the obvious answer and this isn't Family Feud and also shouting "Orgasm! Orgasm!" in the middle of a crowded restaurant is a bad idea because maybe that wine steward had no idea you were a spaz and when you knocked him over he chipped a tooth on that bottle of "Two Buck Chuck" you sent him for. Asshole. Not you... you're nice. I meant him. Him and his pussy tooth.

Where was I?

Right. The best thing about me. Well I'd like to get deeper than just my ravishing ...

Hattori Hanzo: What are you doing?
Me: I'm writing about the best thing about me.
Hattori Hanzo: ... Seriously.
Me: I know, right? It's like the riddle of the Sphinx.
Hattori Hanzo: No. It's not. The greatest thing about you is that you're a jackass who doesn't know when to shut up.
Me: That wasn't even ON the list I had made up!
Hattori Hanzo: Let me see that.
Me: Don't crinkle it...historians may want that someday. Or maybe a documentary filmmaker.
Hattori Hanzo: "Can beat up a shark even after it bites one of my hands off"?
Me: That was more of a "In theory" characteristic.
Hattori Hanzo: "Can totally turn women on by saying the word 'oligarchy' and winking provocatively."? That was a fluke. And besides, let's see you wink provocatively.
Me: (*winks provocatively*)
Hattori Hanzo: Yeah. That's what I thought. It looks like your expecting someone to throw you a fish and then you'll clap your flippers or play a tune with your nose on the carefully set up rack of horns in front of you or something. 
Me: Nuh-uh. That was super-provocative. Maybe you missed it. (*winks provocatively*)
Hattori Hanzo: No,no. I saw it. Drool a little less maybe and don't roll your eyes back.
Me: That's what makes it sexy, duh.
Hattori Hanzo: "Can turn into a half-bat / half-yeti hybrid and solve crimes."?
Me: What? I can!
Hattori Hanzo: That was a dream you had last night.
Me: No, it wasn't! Those Alpine hikers were so glad to see me they gave me a jar full of their frozen-off toes!
Hattori Hanzo: That was pretend. I can't read any more of these. 
Me: See?! There's too many awesome things about me! How will I ever pick?
Hattori Hanzo: You'll think of something.
Me: (*winks provocatively*) Your Mom thinks of something!
Hattori Hanzo: I don't think it's necessary to point at your crotch and then spin around 3 times either, when you  wink provocatively.
Me: You're not the boss of me! Diplomatic Immunity!!

UPDATE: Hey remember that hysterical Article I wrote about Genghis Khan on Mama Pop? No?  That's because you're a dink and didn't read it yet. Here's the link. Dink.