Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Like You Haven't Done It

Exhibit A: A Handful of mouthwatering Skittles©

Most people would look at me and say "Jesus, you're gorgeous." and although I am humble, I don't like causing fistfights so I would agree. And the other thing they might say is "What did you have for lunch today?" because they are interested in my well-being and want to see me live to be 100. Most days I can give a good answer like "Sex on wheat" or "Roast Beef with a side of your mom" but I forgot my lunch today and that's tragic like when a kid is 5 and thinks he's a warlock and his dumb neighbor tricks him into trying to fly of his roof, but guess what kid? You CAN'T fly and your neighbor is a dirty bitch out for herself, and she's gonna laugh so hard at you whilst your picking purple blossoms out of your hair that she's going to pee her pants. Life is full of tough lessons is my point, and not being a warlock is pretty much the toughest.

Another important lesson I learned is that Skittles©, the delicious fruit-flavored snack*, are almost exactly the same size as an 6mm M4 Screw, and both make almost the same clicky noise in your hand if you shake them. And it isn't until you're not paying attention and flip a handful into your mouth that you can tell which is which if you aren't looking. This is a pretty big discovery, I think. See because one is edible and no one will look at you like your a complete idiot if you toss them into your mouth, and the other will make people do that big eyes, head back jerk like they are turning into a chicken only starting with the muscle memory. And then it dawns on you that the flavor in your mouth isn't mouth-watering grape, or tangy cherry, but rather anodized aluminum and while the fat content is probably considerably less on a handful of screws, maybe not swallowing them is the best plan.

And then you have to spit out a handful of screws in front of the chicken people and you have to explain that you thought that they were Skittles© because you weren't paying attention and that why don't they just go somewhere and mind their own business, but they can't hear that admonishment and important reminder that we are all human and make mistakes because they are now laughing as hard as your asshole neighbor did on the tragic day you discovered you weren't really a warlock.

Exhibit B: A handful of less-delicious but roughly the same fucking size as a Skittle so why don't you just go get bent, M4 screws.

Moral: The Universe hates me. Being Handsome is a curse. I humped your mom.


*If anyone at Skittles© wants to work out some kind of restitution for this heinous crime, it would save me the trouble of suing them for Man's Cruelty to Man, or Animal Endangerment, or Rat-humping or whatever. I'd be a great spokesman because I could talk about how much more delicious their candy is than hardware. Call Me!

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Asking Tough But Fair Questions

I don't feel good today so I guess someone got their goddamn hands on some kryptonite or maybe anti-handsome toxin or maybe super herpes, but all I want to do is lie down and the boss is frowns on that because I chose to do it in his office. But you know what I say. Finders keepers, losers fuck you, Stalin. But even when I'm down and out I don't want to leave you in the lurch, and that doesn't mean I'm going to stuff you up the ass of the butler from The Addams Family, because I am a perfect gentleman. I'm so fancy if I even walk near a fox it surrenders because it thinks the hunt is on. Also I wear a monocle and a tophat when I go to the men's room, so everyone knows I don't poop. It's the perfect crime really. Because A rolled up newspaper fits into the hat perfect.

Speaking of poop...here's the whole reason I'm posting. It's like an Easter Egg I heard about and wanted to share...only instead of a surprising secret content it's just weird . Here:

I ask all the difficult questions. I'm like Jerry Mathers or Walt Whitman or Cyrano De Bergerac. I don't know...I couldn't think of anyone who asks difficult questions. You make something up. I need a nap.

UPDATE: Kurt went home sick with a case of super herpes that he contracted yesterday when he tripped and fell penis-first into Miss Yvonne's mom, aka "The Toolbox". But he asked me, Steam Me Up Kid, to update this post after I informed him that The Bloggess posted the exact same thing today. Kurt, it appears, puts the i in plagiarism. When you plagiarize, Kurt, you make a liar out of Gia and pez. (Gia as in top model from the 80's, later dead from too much lesbo action with Juliet from  Lost and maybe some drugs like pot and the other stuff you bake in foil and take in a shot. Pez as in the candy. Yes, I used all the letters in plagiarism. I know, it worked out beautifully. It's my best work yet, I think.)

But in all fairness, he thought it up first.

Also, I stole that toolbox joke from Miss Yvonne. (When I stole, I made an ole! out of s and t. *Spanish flamenco clap*) 

Friday, November 6, 2009

Dinosaurs Are Not A Slip And Fall Hazard

Yesterday at work we had a safety meeting as soon as we got in and I don't know what kind of evil-minded, racist-against-tired-people, bigot was in charge of this debacle but I will tell you one thing, I have a winning smile. The very notion that people can listen to you talk about Material Safety Data Whatever and blah-blah-blah explosion hazards at 6am is like saying I am capable of having sex with a wild jungle girl who has pledged a life oath to me and I now keep in the basement in a special crate I made out of a refrigerator box that I lined with sticks and leaves, and NOT brag about it to all my friends who then want a turn but I say "no" because I care way more than I share.

That is to say "not very effing likely at all".

So they are talking about some safety shit and I'm not paying attention because all my focus is on trying to keep my eyes open, because guess who Johnny Goodluck seated right next to me? My boss. Perfect. Well-played, Fate. You're such a douchebag. (I'm just kidding, Fate...HAHAHAHA! Get it? I'm calling you a douchebag out of love and respect, the way I would with a priest or my mom. My point is, don't fucking impale me on the way home please. Take a fucking joke, Douchebag!) So my boss is sitting there looking all ruddy and ready for a heart attack and I'm slumped next to him trying not look slumped, and that is achieved by holding your shoulders up too high so your torso is the right height even if your head isn't.

And then the presentor told us to beware of brontosauruses wandering around the plant and I wanted to stand up and say "You fool! Everyone knows they are called Sauropods now, and the animal formerly called "Brontosaur" is now called "Apatosaur" and it was just one species of an entire Dinosaurian Genus. Simpleton!" and then he would be ashamed of himself and then maybe a Sauropod could step on him just to drive the point home. I'm all about driving points home. And by "driving points" I'm talking code for "screwing" and by "home" , I mean "your mom". And then I thought "The Sauropod is an incredibly large animal and it would be easy to avoid it, and it's not like they will try to eat you being that it's diet consisted mostly of vegatation! Why is this even being included in this safety lecture?"

And then I woke up.

Stupid 6am meetings.


Moral: Go read my article on Mama Pop because it's Friday and the movie I'm talking about is both funny and gross. Like watching monkeys fuck. So it's pretty much a must see.

Also Moral: I'm featured on Five Star Friday again, so I think we can all agree I better get my ass in gear on coming up with a catch-phrase as fame is imminent. Like The Clap or the cops figuring out where I live.