Thursday, May 20, 2010

Sometimes When I Write I'm Afraid I'll Give You All Blog-Herpes.

I know you think that every day is like a thought revolution for me, and I spend all my time thinking outside any number of 3-dimensional vessels meant for holding things, and that I break so many paradigms that the owner of the paradigm store told me to "Get the Fuck OUT!" and now he's lost my business forever because the customer is always right even if he says "That thing on your face is probably herpes." even though he knows it's probably just a mole. Eff you, Paradigm Store Man!

Well you are totally right. Every day my brain is like Braveheart to modern society's Longshanks and while I don't always cry "Freeeeedommm!!" and do defiant ass-spanks (metaphorically speaking) I do come up with great ideas for improving my life.

For example, yesterday I was at my Mom's house, and that old dumpy whore was going on and on and on about something. I don't had to do with cancer and her will, but I wasn't listening because instead I was trying to think up a "safe word" I could use to let people know I wasn't listening any more. I tried it out on Mom with mixed results:

Mom:...and then after they restart my heart (*sob*) they have to check for (*sniff*)...
Me: Applesauce.
Mom:...cardio... Did you...Did you just say "applesauce"?
Me: I did.
Mom: Do you WANT some applesauce?
Me: I don't know. Do you have any?
Mom: I...I...I don't know...maybe. Why did you interrupt me? I'm trying to bare my soul here.
Me: I KNOW. Sheesh, Ma! I was trying to think up a safe word to tell you I wasn't listening anymore.
Mom: Safe word?
Me: Yeah. You know. Like all the sexy ladies who do strangle sex have. Excuse me...I meant "make strangle love". I wanted to tell you to stop talking without hurting your feelings.
Mom: That maybe didn't work out so well.
Me: Maybe. But we DID stop talking about you. So it worked on one level.
Mom: What level is that?
Me: The one where we talk about me instead.
Mom: Oh.

So as you can see, everything worked out in the end and now I'm going to try and use the same technique on my court-appointed therapist because when she gets on a roll about how you aren't allowed to just take your pants off in McDonald's and jump up on the table and start peeing in a wide circle while scream-singing "Hungry Like The Wolf", she really doesn't like to stop talking and it's always the same "Blah-blah-blah mandatory sentence....blah,blah...away for the rest of your life."

HAHAHAHA! Okay, Lady! Settle down! I get it. No need to get all uncool. And then I usually flip up my collar like The Fonz and go "aaayyyyyy!" with thumbs up, but then I remember this leopard-print Snuggie© doesn't even HAVE a collar so I feel foolish. And then I shout "Applesauce!" and run out of the room making an obscene finger-in-pretend-vagina gesture to the receptionist as I go. It's good to have a safe word is my point.

Friday, May 7, 2010

The Origin of the Feces. (Title NOT Relevant to Post.)

If you're like me than you understand a couple of things. 1) We look fucking awesome in boxer briefs as long as you put the mirror on the floor and lean it against the wall so our junk looks huge but our belly is 1000 miles away. 2) We HAVE to find the answers to the important questions. 3) We want a Fluffernutter© sandwich REALLY hard right now.

It's the second point I'd like to undress*, because I am a steadfast dedicated researcher into all things internet, so I'm pretty much the Woodward and Bernstein of "Your Mom" jokes and while I was trying to decide what the hell I was going to write today I figured the best thing to do would be to type words like "Hysterical Puppy-Dog Blood-Thirsty T-Rex" into Google and see what's what. The only thing that came up though was a picture of a Pug dressed like Princess Leia and not even the hot bikini one. Prudes Something really disgusting and manly, like someone eating a raw steak with their fingers at a bullfight while frenching a dwarf with herpes or something** that I'm totally NOT making up, so instead I decided to type in "What's what" but I didn't get that far because Auto-fill did THIS to me when I started to type...

That's like the most carefully guarded secret in the whole world forever!! Jesus!! What seedy back-alley of the internet have I stumbled into? Am I a National Security Risk like Will Smith in Enemy of the State. Oh HELLLL, No!

So now I have a "The Lady and The Tiger" type choice to make. Do I click through and see a million pictures of used tampons or do I just go make myself that sandwich? They say knowing is half the battle. But maybe sandwiches are the other half and not looking at bloody maxipads is another half and maybe adorable kittens are another half. It's all so hard to say. I have a sneak suspicion though, that knowing is half the battle of Little Big Horn as far as Lady Periods go, and it's the INDIAN half***!

I should have stuck to my original topic is my point.

Help me Obi-Wan Kennel-obi! You're my only hope!!! (*punches self in the junk*)

Life Lesson: Go read me at Mama Pop. Top scientists all agree that I should stop quoting them about what they agree on. And also that I'm the most handsome man ever.

*HAHAHAHA!! See? It's a play on words! Instead of ADdress, I said UNdress!! Where did I put that slide whistle and my "ha-cha-cha-cha!!"hat?

**Being a dwarf is manly, not disgusting...just to clarify. Because they get all surly from a lifetime of being made fun of. Something I can gladly say, I never do unless I feel like it.

***HUGE props should be given to me for not using the word "redskin" anywhere at all in that analogy. I'm very in tune with cultural and vaginal sensitivities.

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

A Wish That My Heart Makes. (*armpit fart*)

Now I don't know about you, but my favorite thing to hear about is other people's dreams! What an exciting adventure THAT always is! Because often times...REALLY WEIRD SHIT HAPPENS!!! Here is my synopsis of any dream that's ever been told to me ever ever in history of the whole universe:

"So it starts out and I'm in this [WEIRD PLACE] (abandoned mall/ shopping cart/ giant vagina/ etc...) and there's this [WEIRD POSSIBLY SYMBOLIC THING] (talking donkey/ giant white asparagus / fire-breathing penis / Keanu Reeves) and then...."

That's usually about as far as I get. Then I start to wonder if I need to pick up some new underwear because unless I'm mistaken I can feel jeans on my testicles but I can't really check now because this person is still talking about this stupid dream shit and Hey! I wonder if I can still hold my breath for a whole minute if I only allow exhales and no inhales? This would be a good time to train. Uh-oh..I better say something...


"And THEN we go to [ANOTHER WEIRD PLACE] and guess who's there? [SURPRISING PERSON] (dead relative / Danny Glover as Roger Murtough in Lethal Weapon 2 where he's about to get exploded on the toilet/ Your Mom having sex with four members of Parliament.)..."

So all THAT nonsense was a lead in to this exciting post where I talk about a dream I just had during a micro-nap, which is pretty much just like a regular nap only sexier. And the only thing I had time for in this nap was a sentence. So already I'm going to one-up all you dream-telling posers because my dream is short and to the point and doesn't have any symbolism at all because it's just a voice saying these words:

"You mean, if I had stuck this banana-cream pie down my pants, we wouldn't have crashed?"

Aaaaand SCENE!

As you can see, my psyche, like my calf-muscles, is highly efficient and let's me do all my sub-conscious navel-gazing while I'm AWAKE! Why a BANANA cream pie? Is that code for "semen"? (I'm pretty sure that's code for semen.) What was crashing? A plane? The Stock market? My flagging belief in the possibility that I will one day be infected with nano-robots and become super-strong? Maybe the most interesting part of this whole thing is... (*snore*).

This is what I get when I google searched "pie in the balls" because I wanted an old-timey vaudeville, ha-cha-cha-chaaa! picture to go along with this post:

I think they are playing cricket, but I don't even fucking want to know. All I know is that all Brits are secret perverts. Now that may sound minimalist and racist, but look at my winning smile and my kind eyes. Case closed.