I met the head coach of The SF Giants. He had the head of an infant. I'm not being poetic here, his head was literally infant sized. His hair was baby fine, he had no facial hair and his eyes were puffy and shut. He also had no teeth.
HE HAD THE ACTUAL HEAD OF AN INFANT I TELL YOU.
I didn't check for a soft spot but I'd bet my dad's left nut he had one.
I saw my old dog Senator Ron "Chico" Lopez. He wasn't looking so good. He was swollen and puffy and had what appeared to be multiple stab wounds. If it wasn't for his sweet gentlemanly demeanor, I probably wouldn't have even known it was him.
I asked his new family if they could get me some blankets for him. But they said the wind would just blow them away anyway. I'm sad he moved away. He had his reasons I suppose. I was tempted to ask him to come back home but I didn't want to impinge upon his dignity by inferring that maybe he made a mistake by leaving me for greener pastures.
It was great to see him, even if he did look like a sack of death.
They were right about the wind though, a big gust came along and blew the whole family clean away, hybrid station wagon and all.
Chico seemed indifferent about it.
I left Chico and visited The Blue House which has been a sorority full of 8-15 girls for the last 50 years or so. It started out just being a group of college roommates but eventually, girls stopped moving out and they all just grew old together. It's not the same now that they are all old. They should rename it The Blue HAIR House, AM I RIGHT OR WHAT?
I bet the parties suck now.
On a side note, before the girls moved in someone was brutally murdered in one of the basement bedrooms. I, along with many others, knew about it but most of the girls didn't. I made out with a girl in The Murder Bedroom once. She didn't know the history and I didn't tell her. It was her bedroom for fucks sake. I'M NOT A CREEP YOU KNOW.
Out back by the garage were a couple of old grampa dudes that were probably some of the original visitors to The Blue House. They were listening to KISS as if it was a brand new band. I pretended that they were awesome but really it made me want to cry.
I cry about the gayest shit.
I came away from the day wanting to release my next record on vinyl.
SO STUPID.
I hate people who blather on about vinyl.
Point is:
NOSTALGIA CAUSES CANCER
That's all for now.
Don't get caught skipping the part where you had lots of disconnected public sex with a girl you never dreamed you'd do but what do you do when that vagina is all up in your face like that?
Your Best Way To Describe The Appearance of That Very Vagina,
Neatly Folded Cold Cuts
April 24, 2009
April 22, 2009
The Sheriff of Bullshitsville, The Cowell/Carell Pizza Family Band, & The Questionable Goose Bumps
I saw a couple of kids breaking the law over by the dorms. Since I'm 65 years old and the Sheriff of NotMindingMyOwnBiznizzVille, I put them under citizens arrest and called the cops. I blocked them in their car and took away their keys. They didn't seem too worried and it annoyed me. After 20 minutes waiting I wondered why the fuck I even gave a shit about whatever crime it was that I had already forgotten. My pride obviously got involved because I was still acting all authoritarian and dickheaded even though they obviously weren't the slightest bit concerned.
They were having fun.
I was not.
That goes against everything I stand for and is therefore BULLSHIT.
So I made some jokes and let them go.
It had nothing to do with the fact that one of their friends came along who very well may have been the Incredible Hulk.
Then they invited me to their party.
The party was housed in a multi level Pizza shop. The bands performed behind the counters of the various kitchens. The music wasn't very good, but the pizza was. Pretty impressive when a band can make a decent pizza while playing instruments.
My next door neighbor showed up and demanded I watch the video she made of her sentencing at the courthouse. She and all her friends turned the proceedings in to a choreographed musical complete with singing, dancing and crazy blood stained costumes that I think she borrowed from my girl. They REALLY did it. Look it up on youtube. It's pretty awesome.
She only got a one year prison sentence. I don't know what her crime was, I didn't ask. It's better not to know the prison sentences of your next door neighbors.
Oh yeah, all the pizza chef/band dudes were brothers. Guess who the oldest brother was. Steve Carell from The Office. He wasn't in any of the bands, but his influence was pretty obvious. He was the business behind it all. I had a short conversation with him and he was nice and everything and not at all like his character on TV. He introduced me to Simon Cowell who apparently offered a record deal to the whole Carell Family Band. Simon Cowell was also nothing like his TV persona.
"You know I really like your show." I said.
"Really? I wouldn't have expected that. I think it's pure rubbish." He said.
"You don't think that, it's a singing competition, what's not to like?"
"You're right, it's my attitude that's pure rubbish."
Then he slapped my ass which seemed kinda gay.
SURPRISE!
finally, a comedian friend of mine came by and interrupted us, he wanted me to help him plan his "comedy schedule". I looked at his calendar where he had an entire month of jokes planned out minute by minute. I took my sleeve and erased it all.
"Don't plan things. Make jokes about the people in your audience. People like to feel included. You are funny, funnier than most, If you invent your routine on the spot using the stories of the people in your audience they will follow you like you were Jesus."
We both got goose bumps from my lame speech. I hope I didn't just wreck his career.
Point is:
Goose bumps are inadmissible in a court of law.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught not telling the part where Simon Cowell chased you across the park while throwing pizza dough balls like they were water balloons.
Your Favorite Secret Ingredient in Paula Abdul's Drink,
Fermented Turtle Jizz
They were having fun.
I was not.
That goes against everything I stand for and is therefore BULLSHIT.
So I made some jokes and let them go.
It had nothing to do with the fact that one of their friends came along who very well may have been the Incredible Hulk.
Then they invited me to their party.
The party was housed in a multi level Pizza shop. The bands performed behind the counters of the various kitchens. The music wasn't very good, but the pizza was. Pretty impressive when a band can make a decent pizza while playing instruments.
My next door neighbor showed up and demanded I watch the video she made of her sentencing at the courthouse. She and all her friends turned the proceedings in to a choreographed musical complete with singing, dancing and crazy blood stained costumes that I think she borrowed from my girl. They REALLY did it. Look it up on youtube. It's pretty awesome.
She only got a one year prison sentence. I don't know what her crime was, I didn't ask. It's better not to know the prison sentences of your next door neighbors.
Oh yeah, all the pizza chef/band dudes were brothers. Guess who the oldest brother was. Steve Carell from The Office. He wasn't in any of the bands, but his influence was pretty obvious. He was the business behind it all. I had a short conversation with him and he was nice and everything and not at all like his character on TV. He introduced me to Simon Cowell who apparently offered a record deal to the whole Carell Family Band. Simon Cowell was also nothing like his TV persona.
"You know I really like your show." I said.
"Really? I wouldn't have expected that. I think it's pure rubbish." He said.
"You don't think that, it's a singing competition, what's not to like?"
"You're right, it's my attitude that's pure rubbish."
Then he slapped my ass which seemed kinda gay.
SURPRISE!
finally, a comedian friend of mine came by and interrupted us, he wanted me to help him plan his "comedy schedule". I looked at his calendar where he had an entire month of jokes planned out minute by minute. I took my sleeve and erased it all.
"Don't plan things. Make jokes about the people in your audience. People like to feel included. You are funny, funnier than most, If you invent your routine on the spot using the stories of the people in your audience they will follow you like you were Jesus."
We both got goose bumps from my lame speech. I hope I didn't just wreck his career.
Point is:
Goose bumps are inadmissible in a court of law.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught not telling the part where Simon Cowell chased you across the park while throwing pizza dough balls like they were water balloons.
Your Favorite Secret Ingredient in Paula Abdul's Drink,
Fermented Turtle Jizz
April 20, 2009
The Bashful Streaker, The Stretcher Spectacle, & The Landlord's Benevolent Ray Gun
Last night one of my fag friends dyed his hair blonde and was hell bent on going streaking through the streets to show it off. I agreed to go because streaking photos are rarely lame. However when we got out there and he was prancing about all naked and oiled up he suddenly got super shy about having any photos taken (I wasn't streaking BTW). Anyway, since he basically wrecked my fun by being bashful about the photos I decided to have some of my own fun trailer surfing which is exactly what it sounds like, when a flat bed trailer drives by, you hop on and basically risk your life acting like a complete butthole.
Gay rating: 4 out of 5 stars.
I ended up finding an old ambulance stretcher in the Mission. I did as expected and stretched out upon it. I'm somewhat visible to begin what, with the beard, sunglasses, purple suit and cowboy hat etc... but weezies, if you are really looking to be seen, a stretcher is a sure win. Don't know whether people thought I was injured or not, but they certainly did like taking photos with me. I even signed 3 boobs on 2 different people. (3 total, not 2 sets of 3 boobs.)
Spectacle rating: 4 out of 5 stars.
At one point a crazy looking black skater/homeless dude was running full tilt in my direction, I could tell that he as planning on jumping over me but at the last second he chickened out. I lambasted him for being such a pussy.
Up In My Shit rating: 3 out of 5 stars,
I also met three girls in matching sweaters. One of them gave me a plastic bag with a ray gun in it.
Precious First Gift Rating: 2 out of 5 stars. (the plastic bag still had sandwich gunk in it)
When I got home one of my tenants was parked in my driveway. I was of course a bit annoyed. When I asked them to move they gave me a ton of shit about it. I let it go because they are generally super duper nice and I could tell they were completely HAMMERED. They probably won't even remember doing it.
Saintly Landlord Rating: 5 out of 5 stars.
Point is:
I know I'll be in that number, when the taints go marching in.
Now dredg:
That's all for now,
Don't get caught leaving out the part where you promised to streak too but really had no intention of doing so.
Your Most Ideal Landlord Unless You Are Black and Afraid of Gigantic Vaginas,
Lisa Lampanelli
Gay rating: 4 out of 5 stars.
I ended up finding an old ambulance stretcher in the Mission. I did as expected and stretched out upon it. I'm somewhat visible to begin what, with the beard, sunglasses, purple suit and cowboy hat etc... but weezies, if you are really looking to be seen, a stretcher is a sure win. Don't know whether people thought I was injured or not, but they certainly did like taking photos with me. I even signed 3 boobs on 2 different people. (3 total, not 2 sets of 3 boobs.)
Spectacle rating: 4 out of 5 stars.
At one point a crazy looking black skater/homeless dude was running full tilt in my direction, I could tell that he as planning on jumping over me but at the last second he chickened out. I lambasted him for being such a pussy.
Up In My Shit rating: 3 out of 5 stars,
I also met three girls in matching sweaters. One of them gave me a plastic bag with a ray gun in it.
Precious First Gift Rating: 2 out of 5 stars. (the plastic bag still had sandwich gunk in it)
When I got home one of my tenants was parked in my driveway. I was of course a bit annoyed. When I asked them to move they gave me a ton of shit about it. I let it go because they are generally super duper nice and I could tell they were completely HAMMERED. They probably won't even remember doing it.
Saintly Landlord Rating: 5 out of 5 stars.
Point is:
I know I'll be in that number, when the taints go marching in.
Now dredg:
That's all for now,
Don't get caught leaving out the part where you promised to streak too but really had no intention of doing so.
Your Most Ideal Landlord Unless You Are Black and Afraid of Gigantic Vaginas,
Lisa Lampanelli
April 16, 2009
The Nine Year Lunch Break, The Insubordinate Typewriter, & The Natives With The Poked Out Eyes
So I've had the same job since 1991. Not very many people can say that. People sometimes ask me how I have been able to do it. The answer is simple, I only go in once every 8 or 9 years, or really, whenever I have a panic attack and remember that I never actually officially quit.
I had the panic attack yesterday so I gathered up all my shit and went in. I always pretend like it hasn't been 8 or 9 years since I was there last. I'm always surprised that my desk was just as I left it.
Being able to convince your boss that you were just taking a long lunch for 8 or 9 years is a talent I am proud to possess.
"Hey Merk."
"Hey Boss."
"Thanks for saving my ass at corporate."
"Oh you'd do the same thing for me." What he was talking about I hadn't the slightest fucking clue but if he wants to believe I saved his ass, I ain't gonna fight him.
"I gotta get busy with all this paperwork, I'll talk to you later boss."
I went back to my desk and took out some oversized paper, crammed it in the typewriter and began typing out all the reasons why I should quit that job. I could fill a thousand rolls of toilet paper.
Do they make toilet paper dispenser slash typewriters? I want one.
I was at work all of 20 minutes when I realized it was time for another 8 or 9 year break.
BYE JOB!
I also went back to Brazil over the weekend. When I was last there I was a Mormon missionary, this time I was a long haired beardy dude hell bent on ungodly pursuits.
I could have probably chosen a better friend to pick me up at the airport. I ended up in the way way back of his little Brazilian VW station wagon for a 300 mile ride out into the jungle. I tried tweeting the whole thing but fucking SPRINT..
When we finally got out to his farm in the jungle, the natives were playing their favorite native sport. My friend would give you a long explanation with all this "native culture" this "lost culture" that, but it's basically naked football with arrows. Natives seriously don't care about being shot by arrows. They are stupid and half their eyes are poked out.
OH I'M SO FUCKING INSENSITIVE.
Point is:
OH MY GOD PIRATES!
Now dredg:
That's all for now.
Don't get caught giving porn to the natives and the missionaries trying to convert them.
Your Most Unmotivated Missionary to The Banshees,
Any Old Jew
I had the panic attack yesterday so I gathered up all my shit and went in. I always pretend like it hasn't been 8 or 9 years since I was there last. I'm always surprised that my desk was just as I left it.
Being able to convince your boss that you were just taking a long lunch for 8 or 9 years is a talent I am proud to possess.
"Hey Merk."
"Hey Boss."
"Thanks for saving my ass at corporate."
"Oh you'd do the same thing for me." What he was talking about I hadn't the slightest fucking clue but if he wants to believe I saved his ass, I ain't gonna fight him.
"I gotta get busy with all this paperwork, I'll talk to you later boss."
I went back to my desk and took out some oversized paper, crammed it in the typewriter and began typing out all the reasons why I should quit that job. I could fill a thousand rolls of toilet paper.
Do they make toilet paper dispenser slash typewriters? I want one.
I was at work all of 20 minutes when I realized it was time for another 8 or 9 year break.
BYE JOB!
I also went back to Brazil over the weekend. When I was last there I was a Mormon missionary, this time I was a long haired beardy dude hell bent on ungodly pursuits.
I could have probably chosen a better friend to pick me up at the airport. I ended up in the way way back of his little Brazilian VW station wagon for a 300 mile ride out into the jungle. I tried tweeting the whole thing but fucking SPRINT..
When we finally got out to his farm in the jungle, the natives were playing their favorite native sport. My friend would give you a long explanation with all this "native culture" this "lost culture" that, but it's basically naked football with arrows. Natives seriously don't care about being shot by arrows. They are stupid and half their eyes are poked out.
OH I'M SO FUCKING INSENSITIVE.
Point is:
OH MY GOD PIRATES!
Now dredg:
That's all for now.
Don't get caught giving porn to the natives and the missionaries trying to convert them.
Your Most Unmotivated Missionary to The Banshees,
Any Old Jew
April 15, 2009
Fixing The Blind Man's Boat, The Goop on The Poop, & After Hours at The Food Court
I was fixing a blind man's boat when a big wad of goop came rolling across the deck.
"Whut thuh" I said as I motioned to a seagull.
I thought it must be old varnish or maybe even a jellyfish. I sounded the alarms:
"Uh, doods, moving goop over here..."
Nobody gave a shit. Deck goop must be common to boaters. I wouldn't know, I don't know anything about boats. I was only helping cuz the guy was blind so how would he know if I did a shitty job?
I suppose if he drowned he would know. He'd probably be better off anyway, blind people are creepy.
Maybe it was ham jelly.
OR NO, ew gross, maybe it was that blind person eye goop. BARF.
Anyway, the eye goop schlubbed around the deck like it was looking for something. Suddenly it bee-lined for the corner, eye goop can bee-line. I admit the next part sounds made up but I SWEAR ON A STACK OF BUBBLES the eye goop was headed for a pile of poop.
"The goop is getting with the poop!" I mrntioned to the others.
Of course THAT got their attention.
So we all sat around watching this big ball of eye goop have it's way with a pile of poop.
It kinda made me sad because it made me think of Anna Nicole.
Also, I have no idea who's poop it was. But I have my suspicions.
THIS LIFE CAN BE YOURS!!! SET SOME GOALS PEOPLE!!!
Later on I went to dinner with some friends of friends. They have an "after hours club" in the food court at The Mall. The bulk of the crowd were Mormons so when I asked for a drink I instead got well wishes and invitations to "get my crap together man". I grew up Mormon so I knew the speech and wasn't having it. Instead I turned the tables and gave a really inspirational sermon on the virtues of being wasted.
I had graphs.
There was another ex-Mormon there too. He was wearing a missionary placard with swear words on it and each time I made a killer point he'd point a laser pointer at one of the other missionaries and he'd go "pew pew pew"
Needless to say, he was an embarrassment to ex-mormons everywhere.
"Pew pew pew" was NEVER funny and certainly NOT CUTE, not even when nerd girls do it.
OH LOOK WHO'S GIVIN FUNNY LESSONS, MR. GOOP ON POOP!!!
Anyway,
Point is:
Tell your own fuckin' story then.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught slipping in the term "bee lined" as a sneaky joke about the roaming eye goop of the "B" "LIND".
Your Favorite Thing Besides Blind People Eye Goop,
Deaf People Dancing
"Whut thuh" I said as I motioned to a seagull.
I thought it must be old varnish or maybe even a jellyfish. I sounded the alarms:
"Uh, doods, moving goop over here..."
Nobody gave a shit. Deck goop must be common to boaters. I wouldn't know, I don't know anything about boats. I was only helping cuz the guy was blind so how would he know if I did a shitty job?
I suppose if he drowned he would know. He'd probably be better off anyway, blind people are creepy.
Maybe it was ham jelly.
OR NO, ew gross, maybe it was that blind person eye goop. BARF.
Anyway, the eye goop schlubbed around the deck like it was looking for something. Suddenly it bee-lined for the corner, eye goop can bee-line. I admit the next part sounds made up but I SWEAR ON A STACK OF BUBBLES the eye goop was headed for a pile of poop.
"The goop is getting with the poop!" I mrntioned to the others.
Of course THAT got their attention.
So we all sat around watching this big ball of eye goop have it's way with a pile of poop.
It kinda made me sad because it made me think of Anna Nicole.
Also, I have no idea who's poop it was. But I have my suspicions.
THIS LIFE CAN BE YOURS!!! SET SOME GOALS PEOPLE!!!
Later on I went to dinner with some friends of friends. They have an "after hours club" in the food court at The Mall. The bulk of the crowd were Mormons so when I asked for a drink I instead got well wishes and invitations to "get my crap together man". I grew up Mormon so I knew the speech and wasn't having it. Instead I turned the tables and gave a really inspirational sermon on the virtues of being wasted.
I had graphs.
There was another ex-Mormon there too. He was wearing a missionary placard with swear words on it and each time I made a killer point he'd point a laser pointer at one of the other missionaries and he'd go "pew pew pew"
Needless to say, he was an embarrassment to ex-mormons everywhere.
"Pew pew pew" was NEVER funny and certainly NOT CUTE, not even when nerd girls do it.
OH LOOK WHO'S GIVIN FUNNY LESSONS, MR. GOOP ON POOP!!!
Anyway,
Point is:
Tell your own fuckin' story then.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught slipping in the term "bee lined" as a sneaky joke about the roaming eye goop of the "B" "LIND".
Your Favorite Thing Besides Blind People Eye Goop,
Deaf People Dancing
April 14, 2009
Making Out With Big Ben, Hanging Out With Dudes Fantastic, & Working Out With Exciting Punctuation
I made out with a girl with a really round face.
It felt like I was making out with a clock.
She had some dude friends that I had to pretend to like. Before you get all indignant, you probably don't enjoy the douchey dude chit chat any more than I do. They wanted to talk about sports, I tried to talk about sports bloopers but it sounded like:
"and then the dude slipped on his butt and then the ball hit him in THE BALLS!!"
Sports bloopers are better seen than described and it doesn't quite qualify as sports talk anyway.
I bet gay dudes like sports bloopers enough to talk about them. I prefer the gays for such reasons.
Anyway, I gave it a good effort, but when they left the room and came back dressed like me I knew I was headed straight to MurderMeWithDranoFiveThousandTimes Town.
Of course I'm exaggerating, they were fine fellows. Actually, we became best friends immediately. They grew beards, put on sunglasses and we hit the TOWN Man! Was it ever FUN! Girls weren't talking to us, we were driving around in a SWEET VW bug. I bragged about the time I went all the way to New York in the back seat of a VW bug. They asked me "how many of them chicks do I bang"...
THEY ASKED GREAT QUESTIONS!
MY STORIES WERE FANTASTIC!
TIME DIDN'T CRAWL AT REVERSE DEAD TURTLE SPEED AT ALL!!
I LOVE DUDES!!!
Ok, would it be rude to mention on my international blog that they both had sorta iffy skin? I think they both probably read my blog. All cool dudes with questionable skin LOVE MY BLOG!
HI GUYS, THAT WAS A BLAST! GOOD LUCK WITH THE SKIN!
Oh yeah, another awesome thing about hanging out with ClockFace's dude friends was that LUCKILY, my clothes were WAY TOO SMALL!! YES I AM YELLING, IT'S THAT EXCITING! I LOVE TO BE STRANGLED BY MY OUTFIT! BOA CONSTRICTOR CLOTHES ARE COOL! Oh yeah, and my shirt was a Hawaiian shirt and I LOVE Hawaiian shirts. Too bad I didn't have a parrot.
Jimmy Buffet is SOOOOOO GREAT! I wish HE was my best dude friend.
JIMMY BUFFET PROBABLY HAS A PT CRUISER!!!
SARCASM IN ALL CAPS MAKES EVERYTHING TEN TIMES AS FUNNY!
WAIT, JIMMY BUFFET PROBABLY DOES HAVE A PT CRUISER!!
HOW IS THAT SARCASTIC!?
Last thing about Dude's Night Out. The one dude, not the one one, but the other one, yeah that one, guess what.
HE ONLY HAD 2 DOLLAR BILLS WITH THE FACES CUT OUT. Talk about a conversation starter.
Wow, I'm really pooped from yelling so much.
Point is:
TYPING IN ALL CAPS WITH EXCLAMATION POINTS IS A GRUELING WORK OUT!!!
I AM IN SHAPE!!!
That's all for now.
Don't get caught intentionally sports bloopering cuz it doesn't count and everybody can tell...
Your Favorite Sexual Assaulter
Marv Albert
It felt like I was making out with a clock.
She had some dude friends that I had to pretend to like. Before you get all indignant, you probably don't enjoy the douchey dude chit chat any more than I do. They wanted to talk about sports, I tried to talk about sports bloopers but it sounded like:
"and then the dude slipped on his butt and then the ball hit him in THE BALLS!!"
Sports bloopers are better seen than described and it doesn't quite qualify as sports talk anyway.
I bet gay dudes like sports bloopers enough to talk about them. I prefer the gays for such reasons.
Anyway, I gave it a good effort, but when they left the room and came back dressed like me I knew I was headed straight to MurderMeWithDranoFiveThousandTimes Town.
Of course I'm exaggerating, they were fine fellows. Actually, we became best friends immediately. They grew beards, put on sunglasses and we hit the TOWN Man! Was it ever FUN! Girls weren't talking to us, we were driving around in a SWEET VW bug. I bragged about the time I went all the way to New York in the back seat of a VW bug. They asked me "how many of them chicks do I bang"...
THEY ASKED GREAT QUESTIONS!
MY STORIES WERE FANTASTIC!
TIME DIDN'T CRAWL AT REVERSE DEAD TURTLE SPEED AT ALL!!
I LOVE DUDES!!!
Ok, would it be rude to mention on my international blog that they both had sorta iffy skin? I think they both probably read my blog. All cool dudes with questionable skin LOVE MY BLOG!
HI GUYS, THAT WAS A BLAST! GOOD LUCK WITH THE SKIN!
Oh yeah, another awesome thing about hanging out with ClockFace's dude friends was that LUCKILY, my clothes were WAY TOO SMALL!! YES I AM YELLING, IT'S THAT EXCITING! I LOVE TO BE STRANGLED BY MY OUTFIT! BOA CONSTRICTOR CLOTHES ARE COOL! Oh yeah, and my shirt was a Hawaiian shirt and I LOVE Hawaiian shirts. Too bad I didn't have a parrot.
Jimmy Buffet is SOOOOOO GREAT! I wish HE was my best dude friend.
JIMMY BUFFET PROBABLY HAS A PT CRUISER!!!
SARCASM IN ALL CAPS MAKES EVERYTHING TEN TIMES AS FUNNY!
WAIT, JIMMY BUFFET PROBABLY DOES HAVE A PT CRUISER!!
HOW IS THAT SARCASTIC!?
Last thing about Dude's Night Out. The one dude, not the one one, but the other one, yeah that one, guess what.
HE ONLY HAD 2 DOLLAR BILLS WITH THE FACES CUT OUT. Talk about a conversation starter.
Wow, I'm really pooped from yelling so much.
Point is:
TYPING IN ALL CAPS WITH EXCLAMATION POINTS IS A GRUELING WORK OUT!!!
I AM IN SHAPE!!!
That's all for now.
Don't get caught intentionally sports bloopering cuz it doesn't count and everybody can tell...
Your Favorite Sexual Assaulter
Marv Albert
April 13, 2009
Hitting on a Normal Sized Girl, Going Home With a Short Girl & Sleeping With a Dwarf
I do alright with the ladies, I mean, I ain't no Wolf Blitzer or anything, but I ain't complainin.
Last night though, last night, ALL the ladies wanted me.
Well ok, .... one lady wanted me, but she REALLY wanted me.
I wasn't sure what to do. she was movin FAST, not in a "hey I wanna grab your nuts" kind of way, I wasn't THAT lucky, more like, "hey lets buy a dog together and file joint returns".
What I'm trying to say is that she wasn't that cute and she was also pretty short. When I say short, I mean borderline midget. Ok probably not even borderline, she was full-on midget height -- but proportional, without the nibbly cheetos fingers. She was just really really tiny, and kinda ugly too. Or at least the became that way, or seemed that way, but that was way way later.
I say "way", way too much.
Anyway, I'm getting way ahead of myself. I'll back up.
I met her at a house party and I thought she was really cute. As she approached me, she did so in such a familiar way that I thought for sure that I must have known her from somewhere else. But she was way too cute to have forgotten. Then again, I do know a LOT of pretty girls.
"Well hello there handsome aren't you a breath of fresh air." she said as she leaned in and grabbed my arm.
"Hey nice to see you." I said.
I always say "nice to see you" to people who I think I may have met before. If you say "nice to meet you" you're fucked if you already made out with them or took them to court or some shit.
We chatted for a few minutes about the party and whatnot and I was looking for clues about having met her already. But I was getting nothing. None of her friends coming by rang any bells either, but they all kept talking to us like we were a couple. Why would HER friends do that? They'd know right?
I suppose it was because she was acting like we were a couple.
Man this is getting boring. I'll fast forward to the part where we go back to her place because that's the part where she started getting shorter and uglier than I remembered.
I had a seat on her couch and she went into the kitchen to get us drinks. I took a look around, didn't take off my sunglasses, I like to remain in the dark about most of what goes on in the world. Or at least what goes on in your average dumpy apartment.
We continued talking and I continued trying to figure out why it seemed like this girl knew me from somewhere. Yeah I meant to say it like that.
"Wait a minute. That painting looks familiar" I said.
"Ya think?" she said.
"Yeah I made that painting when I was in high school. I'm pretty sure I threw it in the garbage years ago."
And then I saw another one, and then another one, and then a bunch of flyers I made for my old band, and then I noticed a pile of old shoes, MY OLD SHOES.
"Ok why do you have all this stuff? You have been acting like you had no idea who I was."
"This stuff? this stuff all belongs to my roommate."
"Yeah well it used to belong to me. These are all things I made. I threw away all this stuff years ago in Utah."
"My roommate is from Utah."
I looked around a bit more and realized there was only one bedroom. She was totally full of shit. She didn't have a roommate.
Oh man I just got bored again.
Did I have sex with her? That's what you want to know right?
DUH! of course I did. But it wasn't very fun. I swear. Plus I was drunk. At least I started out that way. Turns out she didn't have any alcohol in the house.
So yeah, she probably wasn't really that short and she was also probably much cuter than I remember. But hey, the more someone likes me the shorter and uglier they get.
Point is:
SCIENCE. LEARN IT!
That's all for now.
Don't get caught accusing midgets of having snack fingers.
Your Savior,
The Easter Bunny
Last night though, last night, ALL the ladies wanted me.
Well ok, .... one lady wanted me, but she REALLY wanted me.
I wasn't sure what to do. she was movin FAST, not in a "hey I wanna grab your nuts" kind of way, I wasn't THAT lucky, more like, "hey lets buy a dog together and file joint returns".
What I'm trying to say is that she wasn't that cute and she was also pretty short. When I say short, I mean borderline midget. Ok probably not even borderline, she was full-on midget height -- but proportional, without the nibbly cheetos fingers. She was just really really tiny, and kinda ugly too. Or at least the became that way, or seemed that way, but that was way way later.
I say "way", way too much.
Anyway, I'm getting way ahead of myself. I'll back up.
I met her at a house party and I thought she was really cute. As she approached me, she did so in such a familiar way that I thought for sure that I must have known her from somewhere else. But she was way too cute to have forgotten. Then again, I do know a LOT of pretty girls.
"Well hello there handsome aren't you a breath of fresh air." she said as she leaned in and grabbed my arm.
"Hey nice to see you." I said.
I always say "nice to see you" to people who I think I may have met before. If you say "nice to meet you" you're fucked if you already made out with them or took them to court or some shit.
We chatted for a few minutes about the party and whatnot and I was looking for clues about having met her already. But I was getting nothing. None of her friends coming by rang any bells either, but they all kept talking to us like we were a couple. Why would HER friends do that? They'd know right?
I suppose it was because she was acting like we were a couple.
Man this is getting boring. I'll fast forward to the part where we go back to her place because that's the part where she started getting shorter and uglier than I remembered.
I had a seat on her couch and she went into the kitchen to get us drinks. I took a look around, didn't take off my sunglasses, I like to remain in the dark about most of what goes on in the world. Or at least what goes on in your average dumpy apartment.
We continued talking and I continued trying to figure out why it seemed like this girl knew me from somewhere. Yeah I meant to say it like that.
"Wait a minute. That painting looks familiar" I said.
"Ya think?" she said.
"Yeah I made that painting when I was in high school. I'm pretty sure I threw it in the garbage years ago."
And then I saw another one, and then another one, and then a bunch of flyers I made for my old band, and then I noticed a pile of old shoes, MY OLD SHOES.
"Ok why do you have all this stuff? You have been acting like you had no idea who I was."
"This stuff? this stuff all belongs to my roommate."
"Yeah well it used to belong to me. These are all things I made. I threw away all this stuff years ago in Utah."
"My roommate is from Utah."
I looked around a bit more and realized there was only one bedroom. She was totally full of shit. She didn't have a roommate.
Oh man I just got bored again.
Did I have sex with her? That's what you want to know right?
DUH! of course I did. But it wasn't very fun. I swear. Plus I was drunk. At least I started out that way. Turns out she didn't have any alcohol in the house.
So yeah, she probably wasn't really that short and she was also probably much cuter than I remember. But hey, the more someone likes me the shorter and uglier they get.
Point is:
SCIENCE. LEARN IT!
That's all for now.
Don't get caught accusing midgets of having snack fingers.
Your Savior,
The Easter Bunny
April 09, 2009
Fantasy Squat Make Out, Hobo Gun Rental & Train Door Tricks For The Kids
Admit you like the idea of squatting. Look me in the eye and tell me that when you see a crack den on TV with drug users passed out on old sofa cushions, you don't get a little jealous of the lifestyle.
Fine, don't admit it.
Anyway, one of the reasons why you like me is that I actually have the balls to LIVE the dream.
Last night I went downtown and spent the night in one of our city's most fantastically putred squats. It's a large building that has been condemned since the Jimmy Carter administration. He has a dream yalls. There isn't a drug you can't buy, a corner in which you can't piss, a stairway through which you cannot fall. It's really the pride of San Francisco's homeless crack whore population.
I didn't go alone, I'm not that selfish. I brought an old girlfriend with me. She's addicted to lots of different drugs, so she was the perfect choice. After meandering though a maze of slanted, dilapidated stairways, and stepping over dozens of possibly dead transients we found ourselves a cozy little moldy room/hallway situation. We both picked out a sofa cushion, I plopped myself down on mine and scooted it over right next to hers using my thrusting butt as a type of row boat type action.
We both used diaper fingers to toss away some used needles and old socks to make the place a little more romantic.
Then we made out like homeless people for a little while. Drugs have done a number on her boobs, a GOOD number. Losing all shame entirely can be kinda fun. Especially when your lady smells like well, a homeless lady. Actually she smelled totally normal, like a regular lady. A man can fantasize can't he?
We were interrupted by a group of official looking hobos looking for the person who ordered the gun.
"Who ordered the gun?"
"Not us." I said "What kind is it?"
"The suicide kind."
"Oh, hmmn," I muttered and then turned and whispered to my lady: "They have special guns for suicide?"
"They are the same as the other guns, they are just painted orange and are cheaper." she said. "you know, because if you are dead you can't rob somebody to pay the gun rental fees."
"Oh yeah, duh."
We made out for a little while longer then decided to leave.
Except we couldn't find our way out. We wandered around for hours. Up stairs, down stairs, I felt like I was trapped in an MC ESCHER drawing that had been covered in pee and dry rot.
Probably one of the best parts of wandering through a dilapidated squat is the buzz one feels while passing a person on the verge of barfing. BEAT THE BARF! It's almost as much fun as you might expect.
Anyway, we finally found the ladder to the train door. I was hard as hell to open, I had to smack it with my shoe. My Lady exited first (so I could look up her skirt) then I crawled in. The train conductor was surprised to see us. Apparently the door had been hidden and slimed shut for years. The years of having remained shut also caused it to stick open. The train can't move if the door is still open so I had to get off the train, go all the way to the bottom floor and hike up & down all those Escher stairs again to close it. By this time the halls were filled with kids taking field trips lead by the Mayor.
Word had apparently spread about us finding the secret door, so all eyes were on me.
I had to push a bunch of kids out of the way to get back to the ladder leading to the door. I was probably more rough than I needed to be. Whatever. When I finally got there I put on much more of a show than was necessary because I think kids deserve it.
Point is:
Homelessness is a state of MIND yalls.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught thinking your pee will somehow cure dry rot.
Your Favorite Social Worker,
DisGrace Jones
Fine, don't admit it.
Anyway, one of the reasons why you like me is that I actually have the balls to LIVE the dream.
Last night I went downtown and spent the night in one of our city's most fantastically putred squats. It's a large building that has been condemned since the Jimmy Carter administration. He has a dream yalls. There isn't a drug you can't buy, a corner in which you can't piss, a stairway through which you cannot fall. It's really the pride of San Francisco's homeless crack whore population.
I didn't go alone, I'm not that selfish. I brought an old girlfriend with me. She's addicted to lots of different drugs, so she was the perfect choice. After meandering though a maze of slanted, dilapidated stairways, and stepping over dozens of possibly dead transients we found ourselves a cozy little moldy room/hallway situation. We both picked out a sofa cushion, I plopped myself down on mine and scooted it over right next to hers using my thrusting butt as a type of row boat type action.
We both used diaper fingers to toss away some used needles and old socks to make the place a little more romantic.
Then we made out like homeless people for a little while. Drugs have done a number on her boobs, a GOOD number. Losing all shame entirely can be kinda fun. Especially when your lady smells like well, a homeless lady. Actually she smelled totally normal, like a regular lady. A man can fantasize can't he?
We were interrupted by a group of official looking hobos looking for the person who ordered the gun.
"Who ordered the gun?"
"Not us." I said "What kind is it?"
"The suicide kind."
"Oh, hmmn," I muttered and then turned and whispered to my lady: "They have special guns for suicide?"
"They are the same as the other guns, they are just painted orange and are cheaper." she said. "you know, because if you are dead you can't rob somebody to pay the gun rental fees."
"Oh yeah, duh."
We made out for a little while longer then decided to leave.
Except we couldn't find our way out. We wandered around for hours. Up stairs, down stairs, I felt like I was trapped in an MC ESCHER drawing that had been covered in pee and dry rot.
Probably one of the best parts of wandering through a dilapidated squat is the buzz one feels while passing a person on the verge of barfing. BEAT THE BARF! It's almost as much fun as you might expect.
Anyway, we finally found the ladder to the train door. I was hard as hell to open, I had to smack it with my shoe. My Lady exited first (so I could look up her skirt) then I crawled in. The train conductor was surprised to see us. Apparently the door had been hidden and slimed shut for years. The years of having remained shut also caused it to stick open. The train can't move if the door is still open so I had to get off the train, go all the way to the bottom floor and hike up & down all those Escher stairs again to close it. By this time the halls were filled with kids taking field trips lead by the Mayor.
Word had apparently spread about us finding the secret door, so all eyes were on me.
I had to push a bunch of kids out of the way to get back to the ladder leading to the door. I was probably more rough than I needed to be. Whatever. When I finally got there I put on much more of a show than was necessary because I think kids deserve it.
Point is:
Homelessness is a state of MIND yalls.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught thinking your pee will somehow cure dry rot.
Your Favorite Social Worker,
DisGrace Jones
April 02, 2009
People in Purple Houses Shouldn't Throw Phones, Deputy Step Dad, & Every Kind of Tear They Make
People in purple houses are kinda askin for it. It's not like one needs to search their pockets or look for an excuse to fuck with someone if they live in a purple house. They chose to paint their house PURPLE, what more excuse does one need? SHOW THEM WHAT'S UP!
That's what I did last night with a good buddy of mine. We got right up by the dudes window and whispered all kinds of zingers about the "exotic flowers". We whispered because whispering flower insults is way scarier than saying them out loud.
"Look at this." my buddy whispered. "The fucking purple siding is LOOSE."
"What an idiot" I said. "Flip it, make it make a funny noise."
By this time the old man who owned the place had cracked a curtain and was peeking out the window watching us.
"Flip it, make it make a funny noise." I said a second time.
"Flllooiiignngggblbnblblblbppptptptptptpt."
"Hahah, that's awesome, sounds like cartoons!" I said.
My buddy had a look of great satisfaction.
Well, the old man had about enough of this shit, we saw the crack in the curtains close. I knew that he was probably putting on some Homer Simpson slippers. That's what I do when somebody makes funny noises with the loose siding on MY house.
"Lets' get outta here." I said.
The old man exited his house and headed for his shed. I'm from Utah so I know that old men with Homer Simpson slippers only go to the shed to get the shotgun, the lawn mower or a bag of potting soil.
"Seriously Prince, we gotta get the fuck outta here, I don't wanna get mowed."
Look, I didn't mention my friend was Prince at the beginning of the story because I know how you are, you'd be all up in your shorts about me bragging about my famous friends and you wouldn't have paid attention. You also would have probably given unnecessary significance to the fact that we were fucking with a purple house. It's your fault for being shallow. Anyway, just TRY to ignore the fact that it's Prince because it really has NOTHING to do with the story. He's just a regular guy here. Purple has nothing to do with this either. The story isn't about PRINCE. He's just there, being regular.
Prince hopped the fence and disappeared into the tall weeds. Well tall for him anyway, they were really only about waist high for a non-Prince sized person. I made it to the weeds just before the old man started the lawn mower. My heart was racing.
Prince's phone had been ringing the whole time.
"You should answer that, the old guy is gonna be able to track us through the weeds with your cell phone ringing like that."
"Can't answer it, I'm twittering all of this." he said.
Not to bust Prince's balls, but his tweets are all stolen from Carmen Electra. Trust me, the dude is STILL OBSESSED. It's kinda sad.
"Seriously dude, you gotta stop that phone from ringing, we are going to get mowed man."
Prince stopped for a second, got a destructive grin on his face and threw his phone straight into the air. It popped like a firecracker and made a little glowing purple puff -- duh. See, that's another reason I didn't want to tell you it was Prince because now you were expecting a purple exploding phone. If it was a regular guy you'd be all "WOW A PURPLE EXPLODING PHONE"
Anyway, the weeds were actually taller than I said, over my head even (and FURRY) but one can't tell a story about Prince without mentioning how tiny he is now can one. Still though, forget I said that, he's just a regular guy in this story. NOT ABOUT PRINCE.
When we finally got to town, since we were being chased by a man with a lawn mower a gun and possibly a bag of potting soil, I looked for a cop.
Suddenly, right there in front of me, next to a bent parking meter, was the only cop that I've ever actually known.
"Bruce, how weird, I was just looking for a cop and here you are, the only cop that I've ever actually known.."
Bruce was my first step dad. He turned out to be every lame cop stereotype times three. He even went so far as raising falcons as a hobby. He also maintains a perm and has a mustache -- duh.
He gave me the same "you abandoned ME look" look he always gives his former step kids and actual kids. You see, Bruce convinced himself that when he left my mom, my sister and his two kids, that we somehow abandoned HIM. He definitely went above and beyond the deadbeat call of duty and actually made my little brother and sister feel like it was their fault that he only came around once a year at Christmas time.
But this time his look was even more shifty, more nervous. I noticed my Grampa, his dad, standing behind him. Grampa never gave us the abandonment trip because he stuck around.
But now even Grampa wasn't making eye contact with me.
Of course by this time I had forgotten about being chased by an old man with a gun, a lawn mower, and a bag of potting soil. The fun was over. Now I had to deal with BRUCE.
"Look, I want you to meet my son." He said.
I turned to see a kid who was essentially his clone. Can perms be passed through genes?
I tried to be cool, I tried to be an adult, I knew this new person standing in front of me had nothing to do with how fucked up Bruce was to my brother and sister.
I sucked it up...
..for a few seconds...
...and then I started to cry.
I'm not sure why. I didn't even know he had a kid besides my brother and sister and as soon as I realized he did something in me just cracked. I think I was crying for my brother and sister who he completely abandoned and treated like shit for their whole lives. I had my own father who was great so I was set. My little sister, his daughter, was young enough that when step-dad two came along, she just saw him as her dad. But my little brother, his son, was too old not to notice my dad coming to pick me and my older sister up on Saturday. He was too old not to know his dad was making the choice to not pick him up on Saturday too.
Even as a kid I'd get a knot in my throat if I thought about that.
All my tears quickly turned into a rage about which I won't be typing here because this is a SAFE FOR WORK family blog.
You'd think that seeing him at least having a relationship with one son would make him less of a monster.
Well it didn't, it made him worse. Way worse. It means he knew better.
Anyway, a couple of minutes passed and this is the part of the story where you find out just how much of a regular guy Prince is.
I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around.
"Merkley" he said. "THIS is what it sounds like, when doves cry."
"HAHAHHAHHAHHAHHAHHAHAHHAHAH"
We laughed and laughed and laughed until every type of tear that could flow sprayed out of our faces.
"Pur-ple Rain, Pur-ple rain...." he sang.
"HAHAHHAHHAHAHAHHAHHHAAAAAAAAAA"
And then he kept doing lyrics from his songs until he wrecked the joke. He is a bit of an attention whore.
Point is:
Give Prince a break, he is really really short. He means well.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught giving Prince the key line when in fact it was you that turned to him and did the "when doves cry" joke.
Your Liason to The Stars
John Deere
That's what I did last night with a good buddy of mine. We got right up by the dudes window and whispered all kinds of zingers about the "exotic flowers". We whispered because whispering flower insults is way scarier than saying them out loud.
"Look at this." my buddy whispered. "The fucking purple siding is LOOSE."
"What an idiot" I said. "Flip it, make it make a funny noise."
By this time the old man who owned the place had cracked a curtain and was peeking out the window watching us.
"Flip it, make it make a funny noise." I said a second time.
"Flllooiiignngggblbnblblblbppptptptptptpt."
"Hahah, that's awesome, sounds like cartoons!" I said.
My buddy had a look of great satisfaction.
Well, the old man had about enough of this shit, we saw the crack in the curtains close. I knew that he was probably putting on some Homer Simpson slippers. That's what I do when somebody makes funny noises with the loose siding on MY house.
"Lets' get outta here." I said.
The old man exited his house and headed for his shed. I'm from Utah so I know that old men with Homer Simpson slippers only go to the shed to get the shotgun, the lawn mower or a bag of potting soil.
"Seriously Prince, we gotta get the fuck outta here, I don't wanna get mowed."
Look, I didn't mention my friend was Prince at the beginning of the story because I know how you are, you'd be all up in your shorts about me bragging about my famous friends and you wouldn't have paid attention. You also would have probably given unnecessary significance to the fact that we were fucking with a purple house. It's your fault for being shallow. Anyway, just TRY to ignore the fact that it's Prince because it really has NOTHING to do with the story. He's just a regular guy here. Purple has nothing to do with this either. The story isn't about PRINCE. He's just there, being regular.
Prince hopped the fence and disappeared into the tall weeds. Well tall for him anyway, they were really only about waist high for a non-Prince sized person. I made it to the weeds just before the old man started the lawn mower. My heart was racing.
Prince's phone had been ringing the whole time.
"You should answer that, the old guy is gonna be able to track us through the weeds with your cell phone ringing like that."
"Can't answer it, I'm twittering all of this." he said.
Not to bust Prince's balls, but his tweets are all stolen from Carmen Electra. Trust me, the dude is STILL OBSESSED. It's kinda sad.
"Seriously dude, you gotta stop that phone from ringing, we are going to get mowed man."
Prince stopped for a second, got a destructive grin on his face and threw his phone straight into the air. It popped like a firecracker and made a little glowing purple puff -- duh. See, that's another reason I didn't want to tell you it was Prince because now you were expecting a purple exploding phone. If it was a regular guy you'd be all "WOW A PURPLE EXPLODING PHONE"
Anyway, the weeds were actually taller than I said, over my head even (and FURRY) but one can't tell a story about Prince without mentioning how tiny he is now can one. Still though, forget I said that, he's just a regular guy in this story. NOT ABOUT PRINCE.
When we finally got to town, since we were being chased by a man with a lawn mower a gun and possibly a bag of potting soil, I looked for a cop.
Suddenly, right there in front of me, next to a bent parking meter, was the only cop that I've ever actually known.
"Bruce, how weird, I was just looking for a cop and here you are, the only cop that I've ever actually known.."
Bruce was my first step dad. He turned out to be every lame cop stereotype times three. He even went so far as raising falcons as a hobby. He also maintains a perm and has a mustache -- duh.
He gave me the same "you abandoned ME look" look he always gives his former step kids and actual kids. You see, Bruce convinced himself that when he left my mom, my sister and his two kids, that we somehow abandoned HIM. He definitely went above and beyond the deadbeat call of duty and actually made my little brother and sister feel like it was their fault that he only came around once a year at Christmas time.
But this time his look was even more shifty, more nervous. I noticed my Grampa, his dad, standing behind him. Grampa never gave us the abandonment trip because he stuck around.
But now even Grampa wasn't making eye contact with me.
Of course by this time I had forgotten about being chased by an old man with a gun, a lawn mower, and a bag of potting soil. The fun was over. Now I had to deal with BRUCE.
"Look, I want you to meet my son." He said.
I turned to see a kid who was essentially his clone. Can perms be passed through genes?
I tried to be cool, I tried to be an adult, I knew this new person standing in front of me had nothing to do with how fucked up Bruce was to my brother and sister.
I sucked it up...
..for a few seconds...
...and then I started to cry.
I'm not sure why. I didn't even know he had a kid besides my brother and sister and as soon as I realized he did something in me just cracked. I think I was crying for my brother and sister who he completely abandoned and treated like shit for their whole lives. I had my own father who was great so I was set. My little sister, his daughter, was young enough that when step-dad two came along, she just saw him as her dad. But my little brother, his son, was too old not to notice my dad coming to pick me and my older sister up on Saturday. He was too old not to know his dad was making the choice to not pick him up on Saturday too.
Even as a kid I'd get a knot in my throat if I thought about that.
All my tears quickly turned into a rage about which I won't be typing here because this is a SAFE FOR WORK family blog.
You'd think that seeing him at least having a relationship with one son would make him less of a monster.
Well it didn't, it made him worse. Way worse. It means he knew better.
Anyway, a couple of minutes passed and this is the part of the story where you find out just how much of a regular guy Prince is.
I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around.
"Merkley" he said. "THIS is what it sounds like, when doves cry."
"HAHAHHAHHAHHAHHAHHAHAHHAHAH"
We laughed and laughed and laughed until every type of tear that could flow sprayed out of our faces.
"Pur-ple Rain, Pur-ple rain...." he sang.
"HAHAHHAHHAHAHAHHAHHHAAAAAAAAAA"
And then he kept doing lyrics from his songs until he wrecked the joke. He is a bit of an attention whore.
Point is:
Give Prince a break, he is really really short. He means well.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught giving Prince the key line when in fact it was you that turned to him and did the "when doves cry" joke.
Your Liason to The Stars
John Deere
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