Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Smooth Move, Ex-Lax!*

You know how in movies everyone in the history of anything escapes from being held prisoner or whatever through the air ducts? I'm pretty sure the Underground Railroad was all air ducts based on the information movies have provided me, and while that might not be historically accurate, I love hot dogs. Especially at the ballpark! Yummm. In other news, I just looked it up on the internet and The Underground Railroad was NOT in air ducts, so that just proves my point that maybe Hollywood is a bunch of liars.

But closer to home, I discovered the great air duct conspiracy at work today because they were having a big meeting deciding who to lay off, and I have pretty much lived by the rule :"If they can't find me, they can't fire me" so I was looking for a good hiding place and then it hit me, POW! "Air ducts! Just like the slaves! " and I was in the bathroom at the time so I stood on the toilet and unscrewed the grate JUST like I have been taught to , and then I boosted myself up and then I got stuck because one thing they DON'T mention in the movies is how you shouldn't eat a big plate of pasta for lunch after a 4 Pop-Tart© breakfast and then go try to hide in air ducts. That's just irresponsible Hollywood, and you'll be hearing from my attorney any day now. And if you think "Heywood Jablomi" is a made-up lawyer and that it is unprofessional to have your lawyer's letterhead on the back of a Chinese Take-out Menu, then you can just roll the dice and I'll see YOU in court.

It would probably be easier if we settled out of court and Heywood says I should be able to get "at least a couple hundred bucks" out of you because all I have to do is show the jurors the horrible scratches that look like Firecracker© Shineblast© lipgloss by Covergirl© but are totally grievous injuries I got when my boss pulled too hard on my foot whilst trying to unstick me from the vent. I don't have many regrets in my life, what with being this handsome and brilliant. But I do wish that I had flushed the toilet before my escape attempt. I also wish I'd thought to pull up my pants. They say hindsight is 20/20, but I think mine is even better than that.

Because this post is awful I'm going to add a picture. That's My Monster Apathy© Blogtip© of the week. If what you're writing is borderline retarded, add a picture.

It's an adorably obese cat watching his favorite movie! Avatar!
I'm going to get a squillion hits now, probably.



*I'm still totally trying to bring back "Smooth Move, Ex-Lax" as the greatest form of sarcasm. You can help by writing to your congressman, or addressing a crowd of protesters or firebombing a school in Ireland or something. Thanks.

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Tech Update: Big Science!!

I don't heart boogers at all. I don't feel one way or the other actually.
I just think they are misunderstood.

Today I was planning on doing some big science at work because I want to make the world a better place, not just for me but also for the children. Except those weird neighbor kids who I keep seeing in the hedgerow behind my apartment. I think they are pissing back there. I don't believe those children are our future and I refuse to teach them well and let them lead the way. Because they'll probably lead me back to the hedges and then pee on me. The "beauty they possess inside" is my boot up their ass, if I've got anything to say about it.

Anyway(s) my big science was in the field of orgasms, and as some of you may know, I am an expert in them because of your mom. HAHAHAHAHA! Just kidding. I'm an expert in Orgasmology because...well never you mind, just because. And the research has been exhaustive but trust me it's all for the common good. And by "common" I pretty much mean "my own" and by "good" I mean "awesome orgasms".

The thing is, they say an orgasm and a sneeze are the pretty much the same thing, but I sorta doubt that's true because I didn't sneeze in my pants during Avatar when he rode the giant red pterodactyl thing (he said, pretending to not know it was called "The Great Leonopteryx"). Go Taruk Makto! FLY!!!! (Just kidding. I totally had to look that stuff up and not just because I wasn't sure how to spell it but also because I am cynically indifferent to the magical fantasy world of Pandora and all it's beautiful creatures.)

My idea is if a sneeze IS the same as an orgasm than I want to sneeze at work all the time because I can't orgasm at work hardly at all, and a sneeze is much more portable and accepted as something your body is allowed to do, whereas an orgasm is something you can do at work only if you are lucky and not being watched closely because of already having two masturbation strikes against you because the place you work is all uptight and racist against fun. I wish I worked in Europe. I bet they get to masturbate all over the place. Especially the Norwegians. Norwegians look like avid wankers to me. Don't get uptight, Norway. That's totally a compliment. Also, you could probably orgasm at work if you had one of those cool "I orgasm constantly" afflictions like they show on Maury Pauvitch and act like it's a terrible thing, but leading scholars in my mind call bullshit on that one and I think we can all agree that is where we want to go when we die.

So I tried to think of a way to make myself sneeze all the time, but since I can't develop allergies by will power alone I tried the old pepper up the nose trick because everything I know comes from cartoons, but that just made my nose run, and when people asked why I had long trails of black mucus hanging out of my nose I had to tell them "Oh that's the Anthrax probably" so they would leave me alone, and now instead of having constant sneeze orgasms I'm sitting in a clean room in isolation. Stupid big science.



Pandas fix everything. Even crushing orgasm-related disappointment.

PS: I looked it up on Snopes, and it turns out the whole sneezing = orgasm thing is a hoax. Perpetrated by whom you might ask? I'm not SAYING it's Norwegians, but I think we all know that talking with that accent is highly suspicious.

Monday, February 22, 2010

Is That A Banana in Your Pocket, Or Are You Just a Racist?



If you don't want to read this whole long, ridiculous post, I don't blame you, so here is the first image that comes up if you do an image search for "Most Hysterical Possum". Enjoy!

So this weekend I told someone I thought they had the IQ of a banana, and looking back on it now I feel super-guilty because how do I know how smart bananas are? Maybe they are, in general, the smartest of the fruits. I mean on a relative scale of course. Obviously you can't compare the intelligence of a banana against say, that of a dolphin. Because the only trick a banana can perform is making someone slip and fall on their peel in a vaudeville show, and that's really a passive trick, as to where a dolphin can jump high in the air and make adorable clicking noises and if you're Aquaman they will obey your every command, even if it's "Have sex with me." which is totally an abuse of power by the way, Aquaman*.

But compared to an orange? Bananas might be super-smart.

For all I know bananas have capitalized on their superior intellect and gotten Ivy League educations and live in mansions and have ponies and send their in-bred dumbass banana kids to fancy boarding schools, and they are probably all members of the banana equivalent of the Skull & Bones Society, only bananas don't have skull or bones so it would be the Peel & Stem Society, which sounds silly to you maybe, but to a banana it's probably super-sinister. And as the divide between the intelligent educated bananas and the poor working class under-fruits grows wider, animosity might grow until finally there is a fruit** revolution and the bananas are all hanged or decapitated or whatever and all the kiwis gather in the town square and rejoice but die a few days later when the fruit equivalent of the Bubonic Plague ravishes their homeland. Ironically, top Banana Researchers were only days away from a cure when the revolution swept them away. Tragic.

I don't know why I'm racist against bananas***. It's not like a banana ever held me up a gun point or got my sister pregnant with an illegitimate half-banana baby that it refused to acknowledge as it's own. It's not like angry bunches of bananas form gangs that have decreased the safety or property value of my community. It's not like my father had to fight them in Korea and he passed on his bigoted anti-banana world view on to me. I think I need to examine this instantaneous dislike of bananas, and really get to the root cause. Or maybe I'll just have a Pop-Tart©.


* If any dolphins want to file a sexual harassment lawsuit against Aquaman than shoot me an email because I think we can finally give that sonuvabitch his comeuppance. No mean NO, Aquaman!

**And don't give me any shit about tomatoes being "fruit" and potatoes being "tubers" or lettuce being a "roughage" or any of that other horse-puckey. If it grows on a tree, it's fruit. If it grows on or in the ground it's a vegetable. That's what the latest research coming out of the University of Kiss My Ass says anyway(s).

*** Maybe you think I'm super-smart and this whole post is an allegory for actual racism in the world today. Well, you're right. I AM super-smart. But you forgot to mention "handsome" You get a "B-".

PS: Go read Me on Mama Pop because I can do 100 push ups without using my knees more than 6 or 7 times and with only one break to get a doughnut.

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Just When I Think I've Had The Best Idea in The World, Someone Crosses a Mega-Shark with a Giant Octopus

I was going to do an epic post about a guy at work that we'll call "Farty Joe" because he has something very wrong with his insides and maybe "Joe" is just a fake name I'll use on the internet, or MAYBE "Joe" is his real name and I've just done a classic double-cross in my mind like a secret agent. That's for you to figure out. I'm like Twin Peaks pretty much all the time.

I was going to post about that but then there was breaking news on the Mega-Shark vs. Giant Octopus front, and folks....I'm calling you "folks" like this is a radio broadcast from the forties and you all hate The Hun and love Norman Rockwell and gosh I sure hope we bring the boys home soon, and all I'm doing to help the war effort is banging all the lonely housewives but we can't ALL be Private Ryan. Quit judging me... when it comes to Mega-Sharks or Giant Octopusses I like to think of myself as an expert witness for the defense.

The big news is that Roger Corman, who pretty much invented bad movies, is going to be directing a movie called Sharktopus, and I think we can all agree I just came in my pants. The thing with Sharktopus that makes it magical-er than if Frodo giving Harry Potter hand-release, is that it is both a shark AND a giant octopus, so it is clever and can squirt ink and sink ships and solve puzzles and eat Captain Quint and be in 3D if it wants, but also it has the capacity to love. And love makes the world go round if you don't count the conservation of angular momentum that is inherently present in the materials from which the Earth was originally formed.

This is how it looks when I'm banging your mom in a "Singapore Sling" according to Physics. Your witness.

And the other awesome thing about Sharktopus is it joins an elite fight team of movies that Corman has made that are all shark / vampire / dinosaur based including: Dinoshark, Dinocroc, Dinosaur Island, Carnosaur, Carnosaur 2, Carnosaur 3, and Vampirella, which may not seem like it fits, but trust me I don't even care. The whole reason for this post is really just to show you the picture I'm about to show you and then high five myself until I become self-conscious and realize everyone is watching me with scared/confused looks on their faces and then I'll remember back when I said "I just came in my pants." and then the world will make sense again.
Quid Pro Quo.

Monday, February 8, 2010

I Wish I Could Explain Myself

I didn't want to come to work today because of being lazy, but also because I accidentally got frosting on my finger and it dyed my finger pink so now when I point at someone it looks like I'm trying to shoot them with a piece of flamingo. And I don't know about you, but a flamingo gun does not sound very threatening. If I was going to come at someone with an animal gun, I would want it to be a velociraptor one, so that when I pulled the trigger a velociraptor would come out and eat that person and then OH SHIT! here comes the velociraptor to eat me too! What a terrible idea that gun was! I want a refund! ARRRRGGgGHHH!!!!

But that's still way better than a flamingo gun.

This isn't a velociraptor gun, it's a NAZI Velociraptor WITH a gun.
Man, history is weird.

Now to the layman when I say "I accidentally got frosting on my finger" you maybe think some splattered on me while I was trying to resescitate a war orphan by massaging his heart back to life with my bear hands, which I totally washed first. But the truth is, this kind of accident happens when you swirl your finger on the inside of the frosting bowl to try and collect a dollop on the end big enough to instantly trigger a diabetic coma and get you out of work the next day. Accidents like that are the worst kind, because they are the hardest to predict, because who knows? Maybe I would WANT to go to work! Like if I had brain damage, or some evil being was after me for some mysterious reason and then work is a great hideout because they have really good security there. Take THAT, Landlord! Paying rent is for amateurs!

The reason I didn't want to go to work with a frosting-stained pink finger is because it looked like I had been finger-banging Rainbow Brite and that's just NOT cool with what's going on in Haiti right now. I don't know how Haiti is relevant, but I bet it is. I'm an international citizen is my point.

Hattori Hanzo*: What are you even talking about?
Me: You know. With pink finger, it looks like I've been playing pokey-poke with Rainbow Brite.
Hattori Hanzo: Rainbow Brite wasn't pink. Maybe you mean the pink pony from My Little Pony?
Me: Jeez. I'm not into animals, Perv! What are you some kinda loon?
Hattori Hanzo: Did it ever occur to you that all mammals have roughly the same color vaginal excretions and just because you fingered Strawberry Shortcake doesn't mean it would turn your finger pink. Like... brown-skinned people don't have brown wetness in their vaginas.
Me: Whoa! Slow Down! I'm pretty sure you're being really racist right now.
Hattori Hanzo: What are you talking about? This is basic biology.
Me: Whatever, David Duke. And you're right... it was totally Strawberry Shortcake I was think of.
Hattori Hanzo: Seriously.What's wrong with you?
Me: No! I said I DON'T want it to look like I was fingering a cartoon child! See? I believe the children are our future. We have to teach them well and let them lead the way.
Hattori Hanzo:Well, what made you even think of fingering a cartoon child?
Me: Ugh. You're not listening. I said I DIDN'T want people to think that. I'm protecting people.
Hattori Hanzo: You're protecting NAMBLA by having this discussion.
Me: Your MOM is in NAMBLA!
Hattori Hanzo: 1) We have the same Mom, because I'm pretend. 2) I think the "M" in NAMBLA stands for "men", Mom can't join NAMBLA.
Me: Man. You are all about the racism today. I say Mom can join NAMBLA if she damn well pleases, because I believe we need to show them the beauty she possesses inside.
Hattori Hanzo: I'll give you a dollar to stop quoting "The Greatest Love of All."
Me: Oh Man! Check it out! This finger is stained blue! It totally looks like I just fingered Papa Smurf.


*for new readers Hattori Hanzo is the voice in my head who's totally an asshole and i have to finish typing this before he sees. Here is where I invented him.

PS: Read My Mama Pop Article today at Noon. It's about dwarfs in Westerns. Pure Gold.

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Gorilla My Dreams (*Slide Whistle*)

So there's these two guys at work and they must be super-macho because they are talking about football, and I don't know about you but I can pretty much smell their cocks from here because of how manly football knowledge makes them. And they are trying to pull me into the conversation, so I play along because I don't really know what the statute of limitations is on a wedgie but the whole time I listening to their conversation I'm thinking about how awesome it would be if instead of fighting another football team, they had to fight a man-eating cybernetic gorilla like I saw in a Spawn© comic book a long time ago. I was pretty sure I remembered his name as being Cy-gor© because of all the REAL dorks I beat up to extract information from and totally not because I read comic books well into my 30s late-20s 20s.

If Herpes was a Gorilla Robot Monster, it would look like this. Herpes: The Silent Killer

See? Let's see Peyton Manning something something football-word on THAT thing! I think Cy-gor© is a great name for a cybernetic gorilla because you couldn't call it "Tic-illa" because that sounds like a hilarious tickling machine and not a terrifying perversion of nature. I think I would call my football team-devouring gorilla "Darfur" to raise awareness, and not just for the genocide occurring there, but also for me to the Nobel Peace Prize Action Squad or whatever they have.

They'd be all "Did you really name your killer robot gorilla 'Darfur'?" and I'd be all "I sure did. To raise awareness." and they'd be all "My God. So kind AND handsome. I think I speak for the whole world when I say 'Thank YOU, Kurt.' here is your prize and your prize money and your free Netflix membership for life*, and the committee member from Russia wanted you to have a couple of hookers** but don't worry they are totally clean and new to the hooker business and your girlfriend already called and said it was okay so don't worry about that." and I'd be all "Thanks, Nobel Action Squad! I knew you wouldn't let me down."

Maybe you are wondering if a killer robotic ape is really the best way to raise awareness for the atrocities occuring in the Sudan. Well let me just say that I didn't even know Darfur was IN the Sudan before I wrote this post. So obviously awareness has increased. And also mind your own business Nosy Nelly. And also,also: Check out how many toe-raises I can do in a row without making ouchie face or anything. Your witness.


*I'm not positive you get a lifetime Netflix subscription with the Nobel Peace Prize but I think you should. You just have to promise to never watch any movies with Keanu Reeves in them. (zing!)

** I know, I know...the objectification of women by using them as sexual rewards is a terrible atrocity and dehumanizing and blah,blah,blah daddy issues... but don't blame me. That Russian guy was totally hammered on Vodka spritzers like THE WHOLE TIME I was imagining it. Don't hate the playa...hate the game.