Thursday, January 19, 2017

In Which, I Reflect on the Coming Inauguration and Come Back With A Strong Anti-Suicide Argument

One of these guys I'd watch all day

It's hard to believe with all that's going on in the world that this is the best use of my ( also: your) time, but it turns out at my age there's a maximum number of times a day where em-bating is a viable option for "What should I do with the next 3 minutes?" 

And maybe you're thinking "There's no way someone as virile as you, with all your super-model girlfriends, needs to master-b more than 4 times a day!" and you'd normally be right, but right now all my incredibly sexy friends / work-partners are busy turning down inaugural invitations, so I'm on my own. 

And that's not Trump's Inauguration I'm talking either, because that really is quite a topic of conversation (!!) what I'm talking about is my own special ceremony where I stand on a dock and let them take turns hitting me in the grapes with champagne bottles. (Or rather Two Buck Chuck...my Inauguration is a classy, subdued affair.) I think that sounds way funnier than the actual Inauguration of The President of the United States, who is an orange with a mop on his head and has a turtle asshole for a mouth. 

And maybe your thinking I shouldn't speak of the President-elect that way but what you forget is I am this nation's leading political pundit according to a poll I just took of my cat and the dog. I take my duties very seriously, I even picked the dried up elbow macaroni out of the pocket of my bathrobe for the occasion. I also tidied up all my charger cords and sniffed each one to make sure the dog didn't piss on them again. Because if history has taught us anything it's that Jewish people have had a tough time*, but if history has taught us two things it's that Jewish people have had a tough time and that urine is an excellent conductor of electrical current. 

And by the way, I think even the word "Inauguration" is pretentious and wish they would just call it a "New Guy Party" or something because if I have to spellcheck Inauguration one more time some algorithm at the Pentagon is gonna flag me for terrorism or perversion or leprosy or something. The point is I'm not a terrorist and I don't have any disease from 0 AD, so shut up. 

I just hate having to spell Inauguration. I'm all "I-N-A-U-ugh! I'm already bored with this!-G-U-R-A- UGGGH!!-T-I-O-N!" and by the time I'm done I wish I was dead, but remember in the beginning of this post where I said don't commit suicide? Still true. Oh wait I took out the anti-suicide bit to talk about master-b-ing. Well trust me, it was there. Definitely don't kill yourself, because I don't want it coming back to me in any way. Like I need that hassle. The Feds already think I'm a perverted leper. 

I tried calling the dictionary people just now to complain about the "I-word" (a close relative to another one letter word, but wayyyy less offensive.) and they keep hanging up on me. And sure maybe the Fred Webster who lives in my hometown doesn't specifically work for the dictionary but I'm sure someone in his family does. It's not what you know, it's who you know, I always say.  I'm going to keep calling him. He'll buckle eventually. 


*True and not antisemitic. For antisemitism feel free to tune into tomorrow's Inauguration. I'd say there's a 50/50 shot for any racist / sexist idea to surface if Trump's teleprompter goes down. 

Thursday, January 12, 2017

In Which, My Life, Spiraling Out of Control, Reverts to it's Base State.


The Boys are Back in Town! Boys are Back in Tow-ow-ow-owwwwn!


Maybe you are thinking "Kurt, the handsomest scoundrel on the Internet hasn't posted in a really long time, I wonder what he is up to and if he is single." Well, I am NOT single, because I will always have my cat and that cat loves the shit out of me. Also, I still have a girlfriend who isn't a puppet made out of a sock and two buttons (well, one button and a glued-on piece of candy corn) and she thinks I'm alright when I remember to shower, but I don't even KNOW when she became such a Diva. It's like giving me access to her vagina gives her the right to gently point out growth opportunities. Well, Eff that! I've got you're growth opportunity right here, Bucko! (*Grabs junk. Realizes how itchy it is. Contemplates shower.*)

Well the good news is that I'm unemployed again and maybe you think that is heart-wrenching but really it just means less pants time and more "writing dumb shit on the Internet time". So I'm totally going to be all up in your grills, yo. It'll be like having a sexy friend to hang out with all the time, and this friend is so sexy you don't ever feel the need to point out that the inside of the microwave should never be cleaned by tearing away the congealed Ragu scabs and shouting "That's a spicy meatball!" every single time and you also would never dream of pointing out to him that it's not normal for a car to sound like a German half-track with one track blown off and maybe you should get that muffler looked at and you would definitely never give him a sad and mildly disgusted look when he sits down to his dinner of 3 lbs of mild Italian sausage, because you understand that no matter what he's beautiful on the inside but especially on the outside.

So welcome back, Me. I'm sure most of my old followers have "grown up" and "moved on" and "had a life" but I like to think of myself as a constant. Like the speed of light or my dog walking past a cat pan and deciding now would be a good time for a snack.The point is, I'm your friend for life and maybe you think that entitles you to my free BOGO hamburger but I doubt you even LIKE pickles and also I'm hungry and also, also it was my hard work digging in the couch cushions and returning bottles that got us the extra $0.85 that even made these burgers possible so until you've contributed a little you can just shut the hell up.

PS: Fun Fact - I wrote most of this post in 2011, and posted it and then never came back. so HA! Fooled ya! (The lack of personal growth is not pathetic and sad at all. End of discussion.) I'm like Peter Pan. Only green looks bad on me and so do pants and I totes would have diddled Tinkerbell.