skip to main |
skip to sidebar
I’m not sure if you’ve heard or not, but there’s a presidential election going on RIGHT NOW. Believe it, sister. But seriously, with less than a week to go I’m finding it increasingly difficult to have patience for all the hoopla. Let’s get the damn thing over with already. Yesterday, CNN.com had a poll that asked: “Have you decided whom you support for president?” Yesterday. Fucking yesterday. The election is in less than a week! Hell, most of the people I work with have already voted. I’ll admit, I was on the fence about a year ago, but watching approximately 1/5 of one debate shoved me in the right or left direction. Technically we’ve had at least 2 years to figure it out, so if you haven’t decided by this point, with these two slightly opposite candidates, you’re just slowing the country down. Wake me up when you pull your head out of your ass. I’m dying to know how you got it in there in the first place. (On second thought, it’s probably best that I don’t know how you did it).
Now, I don’t want this blog to turn into a platform for me to force my beliefs on others (see: all other posts), so I’m staying as neutral as the color gray (or maybe something just a little nicer like taupe or even ivory) on the election until my guy loses/wins. Then I’ll either drink myself to death or eat until I barf (which one do you think is for if my guy wins? Guess again!)
Aside from all the friggin campaigning, I’m also tired of people claiming everything has a political slant. The other night my friend said he heard that the movie Wall-E was “politically charged.” I wanted to politically charge my fist right into his goddamn mouth.
So, in the spirit of neutrality I've created a few bumper stickers for the politically Swiss regarding typically divisive issues. If you like them, you can buy them from me for $500 apiece. Hey, this blog isn’t free to maintain (yes it is).
Tonight I’m dropping a double-feature right in your lap, free of charge. You can thank me later (or now…it’s whatever), but be sure to keep on reading when you get to the end of this one (don’t just close your browser in disgust like you usually do after reading my blog).
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This weekend was the annual Blow Job (watch this video for an explanation and no, it’s not a blow job video) on Cedar Springs (It should be noted that Blow Job 2008 could be considered an actual event, given the lack of fellatio that occurs in my apartment). Anyway, held every year on the Saturday before Halloween, the Block Party is like Mardi Gras Lite with drunk, half-costumed, half-naked people EVERYWHERE. One of these people just so happened to be my lady friend, who is not afraid of a champagne bottle (take this either as a testament to her fondness of the bubbly, or her ability to, well, use your imagination).
Now, she claimed her costume was “something out of Studio 54,” but if you ask me it looked like Amy Winehouse and Joseph (you know, from the Bible…you’ll see) ran head first into each other. Either that or she went as an indiscreet flasher since the only things she wore under her vibrant coat were a bra and bathing suit bottoms. What a pervert.
Pervert or not, I love my lady friend. She’s beautiful, intelligent, passionate, caring, fiery, hilarious, and nobody can make me smile like she can. She also gets on my last goddamn nerve when she’s drunk. We split up like we usually do for most of the night (she likes to dance and I have the rhythm of an epileptic, I like to shoot pool or throw darts and she has the competitive nature of a zombie), but when we met again, she was on the floor. I don’t mean the dance floor. I mean she was laying face down on our hardwood dining-room floor, still fully-clothed (if you can call it that). Upon discovering her in this state I was informed by her best friend that she had fallen down 6 times already on the way home. Now that we were back at the apartment, guess who was on clean-up duty (the answer is “me” in case that wasn't made clear).
“Well, first thing’s first” I thought to myself, so I gave away her Big Mac and fries. Then I busted out the camera and snapped a few shots for posterity’s (and posterior’s) sake. Then I covered her with a blanket and put a pillow under her head. After I ate about 2 bites of my meal, she informed me she was ready for bed. Usually, tucking my wife in is a snap, but that shit ain’t easy when none of her limbs work. And I mean NONE of them. So now my drunk ass is stumbling around, trying to balance a flailing, yelling mess of alcohol and glitter so that I can get back to my fucking cheeseburger. Once I successfully got her into bed, I had to stick around and answer her barrage of questions (well, really it was the same question, but she asked it about 100 times).
“WHAT’S MY DIAGNOSIS??!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?”
Aside from “drunk” I didn’t have a good response. When this answer finally satisfied her, she felt it necessary to tell me that her “arm [was] like the Sahara!” which I took to mean either hot, dry, or lousy with camels, none of which made any sense.
Then she was done with me. After I had literally carried her to the bedroom, got her dressed for bed, put water on her nightstand, set the trashcan next to the bed for her, AND put her under the covers, the only thing she had to say to me was “NOW GET THE HELL OUT OF THE DODGE!!!”
I had no idea she was a Ford girl.
#10 - Runner-up for best costume was the woman dressed as Jabba the Hutt, who, now that I think about it, might have been a heinously fat lady that wasn’t dressed up at all.
#9 - The best costume by far was the man who dressed up like a street sweeper. I know it doesn’t sound impressive, but this guy went all out. Not only did he have a bucket and a broom, but he was actually using them!
#8 - Xander’s perfectly timed “never wear black without the blue” under the blacklights above the restroom line. The fellow in front of us had some hygiene issues.
#7 - Carrying auxiliary whiskey in the form of a flask and mini-bottles.
#6 - Saving Asian Lara Croft from Creepy Drunk Doctor by acting like she and I were together. Props to Marco for adding believability by telling the loser that Lara and I shared a bed, in so many words.
#5 - Marco letting me where (sp?) his fairy wings, if only for a short while. I looked like a fuckin’ bad ass. Why is everyone laughing?
#4 - (technically a low-light) The ballsy, effeminate, middle-aged, black man who said to his partner “well, slim pickins in that bunch…” as a group of people walked past him.
#3 - My belligerent self “accidentally” tripping a line-cutting dickhead in the restroom. If my 14 years of soccer taught me anything, it was how to trip someone and make it look unintentional.
#2 - The vortex near the Roundup Saloon dartboard where no one stands enabled us to complete several games of darts. Granted, we had to play from the women’s line, quite literally (not only did we have to scoot closer to the board, but the place from whence we threw our darts happened to be right at the end of the line for the women’s restroom, so we spent most of the night butting up against pissy beavers, again…quite literally), but still…we got to play.
And the #1 play of the night…my drunk ass passing out on my pillow, which happened to be a cheeseburger. Seriously.
Guess what? I am now officially a prophet. No, I don’t have papers to prove it, but would I lie to you? I hope you answered “no,” because I’m about to birth some wisdom from this certified soothsaying head of mine. That’s right; I’m going to answer some pretty hard-hitting questions for you right here and now. Most of these are reader submitted (or what I imagine readers would submit, had I not been too lazy to ask them to submit questions). I know you’re probably worried about my well-being, what with revealing the secrets of the universe and all, but fear not…my voice has been disguised (just to be on the safe side, if any Master Truthbringers ask about this blog, play dumb. Okay, now you say “What blog?” and wink at me. But I didn’t see you wink, so I’ll probably get a little frustrated and say, “this blog…the one you’re reading…act like you don’t know anything about it if someone starts to question you.” And then you'll try again and say “What blog?” and wink at me………Got it. Awesome. *wink*).
Would you really rather sleep with Ms. Piggy than Nancy Grace?
Let me put it this way, Ms. Piggy wouldn’t even have to be there. What I mean is, I would rather be jerked off by a puppeteer than even be in the same room with Nancy Grace, whose animal form is the praying mantis (I know, I thought it was “hippo,” too). I don’t want to be eaten alive while I’m having sex. Actually, I don’t want to be eaten at all. That being said, I guess if you were to be eaten alive, during sex would probably be one of the better ways.
Where have all the cowboys gone?
Paula Cole ate them all (during sex, the lucky bastards).
Hey, don’t you know that Jesus guy?
Nope.
*cock-a-doodle-doooooooooooooooo*
Shit.
Why is everybody always pickin’ on me?
Four words: “candy from a baby.”
Are you my mother?
No, but the odds are good that I’m your father. BAM! (See Fig. 2.2(a))
Where’s the beef?
It’s usually in my trousers, but there’s always a good chance that it’s in your mother. BAM! (see Fig. 2.2(a))
Cat got your tongue?
If by “cat” you mean your mother and by “tongue” you mean “beef,” then the answer is "Yes, yes she does." (you should probably have the chart memorized by now.)
If not me, then who? If not now, then when?
What?
What’s with all the pictures?
I don’t write all too wellly, so I gotta make up for it with some funny stuff. Plus, I use Photoshop at work and as the old saying goes, “Photoshop an eagle carrying a baboon, and you’ll get a raise soon.”
Who was that guy in that one movie?
Ask me again when you get your act together.
Well, that's all for now. I hope you're happy with some of my answers. Actually, I don't care if you're happy or not. I don't make the truth, I just bring it.
My recent entry on unpopular opinions got me thinking…what if there’s a world somewhere where dinosaurs really do still exist? Then I got to thinking…wait, I was already thinking...so I guess technically I just kept thinking…anyway, what if there’s a world somewhere out there where Burger Kings have Minute Maid Orange (and, even further, ANOTHER world where Burger Kings aren’t Burger Kings at all, but Grandy’ses…and they serve whiskey…wait, that’s Heaven, not a parallel universe…sorry, different blog…) and where making jokes about newsgroups is actually cool, not nerdy (see title).
It gets better the more I continue to keep not stopping to still carry on thinking about it:
Imagine a world where up is down, where Pac-Man is square (literally, not like “it’s hip to be square”), where it’s totally not hip to be square, and where everyone says “yes” to drugs.
A world where “The Macarena” sucks, where people’s fingers bend the other way, and where Mike Tyson is President (he still has that wicked face tattoo though…and he still wants to eat people’s children).
A world where people talk backwards, where they walk sideways, where submarines fly and where airplanes swim.
A world where I decide not to blog and consequently have a little more free time on my hands that I’m not really sure what to do with (I’m no prophet (yet), but I’m willing to bet it involves porn), where O.J. is found guilty, and where no one can quite remember exactly what happened on 9/11.
A world where alcoholics are willingly exposed, where The West Wing actually is the show about Lowell and Tony Shalhoub, and where Nolan Ryan is left-handed, but for some reason he insists on pitching with his right hand, so he pretty much sucks.
A world where all dogs burn in Hell, where men give birth (from what orifice, I have no idea), and where genital herpes isn’t even remotely sexy.
A world where I can grow a full beard, where I can throw a spiral, and where I have a HUGE cock (I’m talking Mandingo huge). (NOTE: Mandingo has a film which made it to the semifinals of my Funniest Porno Title contest: It Don’t Matter, Just Don’t Bite It…fantastic!)
A world where poems that don't rhyme actually count as poetry, where Moses asked Pharaoh if he and his people could stick around a little longer, and where Nancy Grace isn’t the less attractive, more annoying, real-life version of Ms. Piggy.
A world where Frosted Flakes are just mediocre, where Sugar Bear has had quite enough Golden Crisp, where that little bitch Mikey will put anything in his mouth, and where:
Talk about a mindfuck…
Lately I’ve been watching a lot of The West Wing. I have to admit, it’s not what I expected (what I expected was that show with Lowell and Tony Shalhoub as the immigrant cab driver), but it’s pretty damn good. For those of you in the “don’t know,” The West Wing was a TV drama that centered around President Josiah Bartlet (played by Martin Sheen, but should totally have been played by Emilio Estevez) and his Senior White House Staff. Throughout the show, as the strengths and weaknesses of each character were exposed I started asking myself, “If I were president, who would I choose as my Senior Staff?” Well, I’m glad I asked…
Press Secretary - Will Smith
Press Secretaries need to be quick-witted, charming, intelligent and humorous. Also, I’ll need someone who can boom! shake, shake the room whenever the situation demands it.
Deputy Communications Director - Hugh Jackman
I equate Hugh Jackman with my first vision of Halle Berry’s tig ‘ol bitties. He’s aces in my book.
So now I’ve got the black vote and the Australian vote all locked up…what’s next? Ahh yes…
Senior Communications Director - Kevin Bacon
Footloose, anyone? Plus, think how ridiculous the 6 Degrees game would be if he were also involved in politics. No, don’t think about it…your brain will eat itself.
Deputy Chief of Staff - Rose McGowan
Yowza. She can chief on my staff any day.
Chief of Staff - Wesley Snipes
Consider the following dialogue between President Bartlet and Secretary of Agriculture Roger Tribbey on how to select your Chief of Staff. My notes are in italics (so is this).
Bartlet: You have a best friend? check
Tribbey: Yes, sir.
Bartlet: Is he smarter than you? check
Tribbey: Yes, sir.
Bartlet: Would you trust him with your life? CHECK
Tribbey: Yes, sir.
Bartlet: That's your chief of staff. Oh. That was easy.
Vice President – Bill Murray
Technically, the Vice President isn’t considered Senior Staff, but I feel like this list would be incomplete without one. Especially one of such high calibre (during my reign, we woulde switche to the European spelling of things in an effourte to improve oure foureign relatiouns) as Bill Murray. The man is a comedic genius. What more could you ask for in a Vice President than the ability to make people laugh? Okay, you caught me. I might not exactly know what the Vice President’s job is. I’m sure Bill will be great though.
So there you have it. With my team of superheroes and me at the helm, our great nation will be safe from aliens, fictional literary monsters, giant, subterranean worms, zombies, vampires, ghosts and gophers. I’ll roll the dice with a nuclear war. That shit will NEVER happen. 
I’ve always been intrigued by unpopular opinions. Several years ago someone told me it would be creepier if Michael Jackson was sleeping in the same bed with little children and not molesting them. Mull it over for about 5 minutes and try to come up with a compelling counterargument (hint: it can’t be done). By taking a unique stance on a divisive issue, this benevolent person gave me the confidence to promote my own beliefs regardless of how they might be received.
Unpopular opinion #1 – Fuck endangered species.
Imagine the following slightly extreme scenario: Dinosaurs are still alive and co-exist relatively peacefully with humans. Without museum exhibits and the excitement of the unknown, kids now realize that the brontosaurus, while gargantuan, is about as cool as a camel’s nutsack in the middle of July. Big-game hunters hang Stegosauri (you don’t know what the plural form is either) heads on the walls in their gamerooms. Pamplona, Spain hosts the annual “Running of the Triceratops” where hordes of idiots are mauled by a creature that makes once feared bulls look impotent. Where’s the imagination?
Environmentalists’ main argument for saving endangered species is “what kind of world do you want to leave for your grandkids?” Well, assuming I give a damn since I won’t be here anyway, I want to leave a world where my grandkids can say “Mom, today in science class we learned about this crazy bird that used to exist when Pops (I’m making my grandkids call me that) was still alive. It’s called an ‘eagle’ and [well-intentioned, but misinformed] archaeologists say that it was a massive creature whose diet consisted solely of another weird animal called a ‘baboon.’” Then, instead of going to a zoo and maybe seeing baboons fuck/throw feces at each other (I don't know what the difference is either), my grandkids can mentally create a fantastical world where terrified baboons run frantically as gigantic eagles swoop down from the skies, deafening the world with their screams while they pluck their prey from the treetops.
Unpopular opinion #2 – Women are way hotter when they dress a little bit masculine.
(Quick sidebar: the other day I was searching for funny porn titles and came across what is, in my opinion, the undisputed champion. Ready? “Black Tranny Hootenanny”…fucking AWESOME) A girl in the right jeans, sneakers, and t-shirt can be almost as hot as a room full of black trannies…almost.
Unpopular opinion #3 – Baby eagles are tasty.
