Violated By The Church of BBQ Tentants, Billy Ray Looked Better With a Mullet & You'll Find Me in a Tub in Jersey

While I wasn't looking, my tenants started a new church in my back yard. They built a massive stadium style deck to host their church meetings/BBQs. I haven't really looked over the lease for a while but I'm pretty sure they are in violation.

Speaking of violations, pretending to be cool with religion makes me feel like I've been violationed in my pooper.

Nonetheless, I spent a few hours spying on their sermons. I rolled my eyes so much, I barfed up a whole bag of quarters.

On of the attendees, Billy Ray Cyrus, came to me talking about his new idea for an "electric avocado". I got the impression that he went though all my photos and saw all the crap I do with groceries and figured an electric avocado would be the ticket to my friendship.

Anyway, becoming his "best bud" was a big mistake, now I have to help him with his adoption papers. Apparently he has a douchebag son in New Jersey who wants emancipation.

I'm not even a lawyer.

Don't get me started.

I saw one of my best friends from high school. He is so fat now that he requires two movie seats for his giant pooper. Good thing they have those lifty arm rests now, although his crack seems deep enough to accommodate an old school sitch.

That's two times for the word pooper.

I also saw an ex half girlfriend -- she really was trying super hard to play aloof but I out aloofed her times a billion.

I'm aloofer than a dead cat.

Later I found a box with all my clothes from junior high school. Every single item had a Pittsburgh Steelers logo on it. Boy was I ever trying to fit in. Truth is I just really like black and yellow.

Holy bumblefag.

Summary:
Religion is for renters.
I'm aloofer not a fighter.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught saying pooper just one more time to adhere to a fictitious OCD comedy rule of threes.
Your Favorite Excuse To Stay Depressed,
Mylie

Shin Meat Sandwiches With George Bush, Pillow Talk with The Jerk and Nancy Reagan & Plumbic Enemy #1

Yesterday I ate baloney sandwiches with George Bush and I asked him if he was worried that Jihadists in the middle east were trying to acquire uranium for nuclear weapons.

He said:
"Truss me, ain't nobody gunna "obtain" MY "anium" for no nukular bombs."

Then he cinched up his belt and went on for a half an hour about how NASA was using telescopes to study his butthole.

Later on I interviewed Steve Martin on The Bed Show. If you haven't seen it, it's not that great, the whole set is a giant bed and the guests are all old wrinkled cartoons.

Accordingly, Nancy Reagan was my second guest. She was STILL all yappy about "Just say NO" as if it was a brand new public service announcement we hadn't heard yet -- but I was the host so I put a stop to it.

"Don't be so Bum-outy, Nancy. Don't just say NO, say IF."

"What if someone offers me DRUGS and I don't want to eat them?" She wheezed.

"Then just say "I'll eat drugs IF they are made out of lasers and IF they come shooting out of Vladimr Putin's nipples. Since that's not likely to happen you get the same results without being a little ol' Negative Nancy."

"You don't know Vladimr." She said.

When I got home after the hosting gig I discovered that everything in my garage had been stolen because I left the effing door open. The weird part is that whoever jacked all my stuff installed about ten super skinny shower stalls before they left. They were too skinny for me and I'm not even 400lbs anymore.

Be on the look out for a half guilt ridden plumber.

Summary:
My "anium" is apparently radioactive.
Nancy Reagan Self-Rufies.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught staining your six pack just because the president thinks pre-karate sex is un-American.
Your Secretary of Defense,
Link Cheney

Soggy Snoring Sleeping Bag Sopranos, The Inside Out Pants Trick & Yelling While Sprinting Full Speed Through The Park

My friend who owns the art gallery where I did my 111 book show had a sleep over at his house which also happens to be one of SF's premiere opera houses. He doesn't really have it set up like a normal house with bedrooms and the likes so we all just slept in the lobby which is where he usually sleeps anyway.

Some of the opera stars slept over too.

The roof was really leaky so it was chinese water torture time up the wazoo all night long and forever and ever until I ran yelling into the park. Not screaming, yelling. It's different.

The line for the bathroom was extremely long and crowded so in order to divert attention away from my cutting in line I took off my pants and turned them inside out. It totally worked, you should try it, of course if you're like me you'll want to match so you'll have to turn your jacket inside out and if you left your jacket back at the opera house as I did, you'll have to sprint back at full speed to get it before some fat ass opera singer tries it on and stretches it all to hell.

Feel free to yell your head off as you are sprinting.

It's ok to copy me. I'm totally used to it by now.

Anyway, in other news...

Nobody reminds me of my dad more than George Carlin.

It's always sad when a funny person dies.

Summary:
Tenors snore loudly and with vibrato.
Screaming is gay, yelling isn't.


That's all for now.
Don't get caught saying it's ok to copy and then silently resenting those who do all passive aggressive steeze for the next five decades.
Your Silent Resentful Copycat,
Flavor Flav

Blogtrotting To Up My Geek Cred , Complaints Look Funny With Your Junk Flopped Out & Carol Channing Lays Some Cable

In an attempt to raise my level on the geek pole I took a trip up north to hang out with an internet friend I had never met in true life. She likes to go on and on about her blog fame and what not which is why I assumed she was like way up there on the geek pole.

But apparently she ain't.

Everywhere we went I got spotted and she didn't.

She was pissed.

It was Naked Night at the Hotel bar where she always hangs out with her friends. I normally don't like Naked Night anywhere but her friends were so complainy about everything that had they not been naked it would have sucked like ten times as much.

Complaints look funny on naked people.

My shoes got really dirty.

There were animals in the street.

One of the worst things about hanging out with a group of someone else's friends is the crapping situation. I had to take a giant crap but didn't know how to go about accomplishing it. To make things worse, she had a friend who had a pink poodle that had to poop every ten steps.

The fancier your haircut, the dumber you look taking a crap.

I just held it.

Felt like I had a bowling ball in my anus.

Still I was happy to be spotted more than her in her own home town.

So if you were one of the people who said hi to me, now you know why I had gruntface.

Summary:
Internet friends should stay there.
Strange groups inhibit easy dumps.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught waiting till the last second to tell everyone it's your birthday.
Your Favorite Kind of Birthday Cake,
Willard Scott

A Salute To Minimalism, The Fastest Acting Class & Convertible Stunt Drooling With Strokey at Spring Break 2008

A good friend announced to me the other day that he was "becoming" a Minimalist.

I raised my arm showing him the back of my hand, fingers extended and said:

"Well then let me just get rid of some of this clutter."

I curled back three unnecessary fingers and a useless thumb;

"To minimalism!"

Then I released a long silent fart, not as further salute to minimalism, but because our friend was conducting business on the phone. I'm not RUDE.

At the park I met a douchehag woman who was prattling on and on about her "actor skills".

"Gimme any emotion and I will act it." She squinted.

So I elbowed her really hard in the boob.

"Act like that doesn't hurt."

Later The World's Biggest Midget friend of mine who had a massive stroke asked in a mumbled slur if I wanted to drive with him to spring break and even though his arms and giant head flop around somewhat uncontrollably due to the stroke I said sure why not. We jumped in his convertible VW Cabriolet and he looked no different than the other drunken spring breakers swerving hither and yon, showing their boobs and acting all MTV.

He's an excellent drooler!

Minimalism is for quitters.
Safety is for pussies.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught quoting yourself as if nobody heard you the first ten thousand times.
Your Favorite Broke Ass Cripple Who Cain't Neven 'Ford The House Payment,
Ed McMahon

Sleeping Underwater With Electric Farts, Potty Training Using The Peed On Refried Beans Method & The Trailer Park What Is My Heart

I have learned how to sleep underwater. The secret is that you have to plug yourself in to a wall socket so that your farts light automatically. It takes a minute to get used to the constant buzzing sound of the electricity but once you do it's really soothing and adds to the feeling of inhaling water.

Bet you didn't even know a fart could light on fire underwater.

Take a science class. Sheesh.

My brother stayed over in the guest room and he got so drunk he peed the bed. To teach him a lesson I peed in some refried beans.

I always think it's best to lead by example.

Some religious asshole was blabbing on about how Jesus lives in his heart and I said:

"Yeah well Jesus lives in my heart too but he has cancer and it doesn't look so good."

Then I went on and on about how Kurt Cobain and a bunch of other dead dudes also live in my heart and they party constantly doing all kinds of drugs, they never take out the trash or mow the lawn and I'd really like to evict them but I can't because I'm not about to serve an eviction notice as I'm not in the mood to have a fucking thumbtack stabbing into any of my various ventricles or aortas etc.. I'll leave the heart attacks to Grampa thanks.

Then I thought about Jesus lighting his farts on fire at a party in my left atrium with Kurt Cobain and how Kurt Cobain would get all pissed at Jesus for playing with fire in the atrium cuz that's where Kurt grows pot.

I often take jokes ten miles past the last exit.

There is a great rest area out there.

You know about rest area bathrooms right?

Google.

Anyway, I also sat up on the roof and threw hot dogs at passers by. Fun times.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught singing "Champagne Super Vena Cava In The Skyeee" To flunkee Brit-o-phile heart surgeons.
Your Most Recently Available Leather For Purse Making,
Yves Saint Laurent

London's Reddish Blimp Filled Night Sky, Park Bench Nappytime Bike Thief City & Something Fancy For Your Finger

My favorite part about visiting London are the reddish blimp filled night skies. While the rest of the world moved on to aircraft that are actually speedy, the UK stuck with giant lumbering wartime balloons and parachutes. But what choice did they really have? Regular airplanes don't match a curly mustache and monocle which everyone knows is the national uniform.

Anyway I was so busy blimp gazing on my bench hang out spot at the park that I ended up in Nap City which, when visited via park bench is AKA Stolen Bike City so when I woke up --- aw -- poor me, no more bike.

I got up and looked for it but that only resulted in a quick trip to Lose Your Park Benchville. Luckily, upon my return, the new inhabitant of my bench was having craft day so we sat around and made jewelry using the lost wax casting method. His equipment was exactly the same as the stuff I keep in my kitchen pantry at the house so I totally looked like a pro.

I made a ring that looked like a tiny old vagina, you know for laughs.

The only people laughing were creeps.

Can't win'em all.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught going for the more identifiable vagina ring even though a wormy butthole ring is way more universally relatable on account of 100% of living creatures having one.
Your Other Most Popular Finger Adornment,
A Common Nostril

100 Wrong Rung Doorbells, My Italian Neighbor's Stinky Second Bases & Sulking To End Global Warming

There was a big house party at my house last night. All my friends showed up and rang the doorbells.

Yes that's plural.

I had a separate doorbell installed for each of my 100 top friends, they each have a distinctive ring so I know who is at the door, except

A) Nobody ever rings their own bell and

B) How the fuck am I supposed to memorize 100 different rings?

Stupid cell phones gave me the idea.

But yeah, I wasn't invited so I just stayed in my room watching all my friends having a great time in my house without me. I had a knot in my throat like I wanted to cry exactly like when I left my lunch money home in middle school and I thought I looked so stupid just sitting in the lunch room not eating while everyone else gorged themselves on Jello and sloppy joes.

My friend who had a massive stroke a few years ago was there dancing faggily as if nothing ever happened. He still looks like the worlds largest midget. I tried to be happy for him but I was too busy feeling sorry for myself and choking back tears. Holy gay.

An italian neighbor woman fell asleep in my bed.

She stunk.

Since most of my friends are famous folks like Tom Brokaw, paparazzi were trying to take pictures through my windows but I could hear them through the walls so I had a grand old time startling them and making them pee.

I was still sad though so don't go getting all overly happy for my one sliver of joy in a woodshed of dread.

Also there was a dog shaped like a fish and a peacock that looked like Ed Begley Jr. at the party.

I should have kicked them all out of my house but of course I was hoping they'd come find me sulking in my room and I could guilt them all into a deep dark freezing cold depression.

FREEZE!

RAH!

ahhhhh........aaaaaahhhhh aaaaaaaahhhhh.... AHHHHH

FREE BASE.

Speaking of ice and free and bases, I wanted to rub the neighbor woman's naked second bases but she really did stink,

Like goat cheese.

AKA vomit.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught second basing the lunch ladies.
Your Cutest Sounding Disease,
Rabies