Archive for the ‘alleged famous ghosts’ Category


Monday, November 1st, 2010

So, I was taking my bi-yearly bath and I had  all my necessary accoutrements, ie. bottle of Mad Dog 20/20 (kiwi lemon, obvi),  my Sade mixed tape, and a crate of sort of stale yellow peeps I got at the half off bin.  It was gonna be relax-tastic.

Lazy Ghost Hunter thinks of Hot Dogs in the Bath

As I was gearing up to wash my hair using Aussie’s wonderful and gentle hair shampoo, dreaming of delightful Vienna Beef hot dogs, as I always do….when a fat tub of lard plopped  himself into my perfect bubbly bath, launching me, and most of the bath water toward the other side of the room, like I was on a teeter-totter. So,  I sat with my Mad Dog and watched  this Lord Chunk whine like a bitch.

Taft with Lazy Ghost Hunter in the bath

“You know,”  said ex-president lard-ass, “The bathtub was too small. It was built for a midge. Or a child. Yes, it was built for a child. Or a large monkey. If it was regulation sized, I’d never have gotten stuck. ARRRGHHH!!! I am Taft! TAFT! “

“Uh, huh,” I said.

“330 pounds is normal for a man.”

“Maybe for a manatee,” said his handlebar mustache.

“Is that mayonnaise?” asked the only man to serve as both the  President of the United States and the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, as he pointed to my Aussie shampoo.

“Um, no,” I said, “that’s shampoo”.

“That’s exactly the kind of shit that my EX-best friend Teddy Roosevelt would pull. Taft, out.”

And unlike during  his life, he got right out of the bathtub….one of the many benefits of being a ghost, I guess.  And I finished up the Mad Dog, then watched a Lifetime movie called “I woke up pregnant”.  It was great….but I was drunk, so you do the math.


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Tuesday, October 12th, 2010

In honor of our founder Christopher Columbus, I  was able to finally pick up that nice, shiny moped I’ve had my eye on for weeks, ever since that little shit for brains jag-a-loon moved in across the street.

You’re mine now, bitch. So, stop your whining Jimmy or Timmy or whatever the crap your name is. In honor of Columbus, I claim this bike as mine. It’s part of my rich cultural heritage, so deal with it. Or move. Or stay. You literally cannot pay me to give a shit, but you can pay for some more nice stuff so I can take it.

Columbus, popularized the phrase “DIBS” when he landed on “the Indies” and when told that the land was not in fact  the Indies, as he believed, but rather the front lawn of some lovely folks who’d been living there long enough to set up a progressive potluck dinners, the kind so beloved by smarmy suburban ladies and ironic hipsters….but i digress, so when he found out it was not the land he thought, Columbus shouted, in true heroic fashion “DIBS, mother-fuckers’. Then he licked all the food, telling everyone, “You can’t eat it, I licked it”.

So, obviously, this num-nuts should be honored with a national holiday.

And that, my friends, is why this country is gonna be taken over by a revolution organized by a tin can. Viva la Revolucion.


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Thursday, September 30th, 2010

I was chomping on a lovely bowl of green beans, see the aforementioned DIET, when this little delicious little bags of bones hovered above my garbage disposal.

Eating a meal is what got me in trouble, too.”

Good god, I thought, I can’t even eat my healthy bowl of cardboard in peace.

“I am the Count of Horn! I was lured into the slaughter by my alleged best friend, Fernando. The stupid Duke of Alba. You know, every since he got that title, he’s been acting like he’s so much better than everybody else. Please, I am the COUNT OF HORN. A Count is way way way better than a stupid Duke.”

I laid on the ground like this. Maybe, if I played dead, this jag-a-lope would take his stupid severed head and go home…..

No such luck. The time suck continued.

“I mean, OMG. I know it was 1567, but it seems like it happened this morning. I mean when you best friend in the whole world tells you, hey buddy c”mon over for a sleepover party with the Egg-fart, the Count of Egmont, you don;t think Oh, jeez, I should probably bring my toothbrush because I’m gonna get falsely arrested tonight….you just think I better bring my toothbrush to brush my teeth after we pig out on pizza and junk food. Ugg.”

I sat up and gave him the old shut it eye stare, but he could not have been paid to give a care.

“So, he arrests me. Can you believe it? At first  I thought it was a joke, like  the time we locked Egg-fart in the horsebarn all night. Classic. But no, this time, the Duke was seriously on a roid rage. And then he calls us up, In JUNE, and I think ok here goes…this is gonna be a practial joke…but no….that poop-face chops off my fricking head.”

Then, I remembered how much I needed to practice my kickball skills…..bye bye head….that stupid decapitated head floated right out the window and sloshed on the ground like a moldy cantaloupe. True, the physics of it is confusing…if he’s dead, how can his head still spill out brains…but, really I can’t be paid to give a care right now because I ate a tur-ducken for a snack (that’s a secret, so if you break my confidence, I’ll put your nuts in a blender) and I am sleepy…..


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Thursday, May 6th, 2010

It’s not my fault, I swear to god. And speaking of god, no way he would have made shoes so tasty if he didn’t want me to eat them for lunch. I mean, nobody ever says that it is chocolate’s fault for being dessert.

So, who’d have thunk that my last week’s lunch would have come back to haunt me while I slept this afternoon.

When all I wanted was a little nappy-poo, I had this SOB circling around my brain…..

“Listen, shoe” I said, ” you are too delicious to live.”

The shoe just kept singing a song by Hannah Montana.  A hideously catchy one.

“And the J-Z song was on. And the Jay-Z song was on”

“Shoe,” I said, ” I understand that you are angry with me, but that song? It’s horrible. Perhaps I do deserve some punishment, but listening to that tripe on repeat is a punishment worse than death.”

“And the J-Z song was on. And the Jay-Z song was on.”

“Shoe! Stop!”

“I can’t. It’s stuck in my head. Damn you Hannah Montana. You are the worst.”

Then, the shoe banished itself to the netherworld, somewhere far far away, where she could get her brain wiped clean of Hannah Montana and her alleged music.

And the world was peaceful again. Until I felt a bubbling of some little tune deep within my soul, and when I started in on “J-Z song was on. And the Jay-Z song was on”  my punishment began…..and for the record, I have sworn off shoe-lunches and am returning to my old lunch: Lychee martinis.


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Monday, May 3rd, 2010

I consider myself pretty open-minded. I tried Clear Pepsi. I watched Will Farrell’s dramatic films (i wouldn’t advise him to quit his day job…but not as puke-inducing as I thought). I even ate at Chipotle once. HUGE, HUGE mistake…..but live and learn. I also consider myself to have a relatively firm grasp on reality…..and I certainly never thought what happened to me this morning, would ever happen to anyone who was not on a acid-induced mind fuck……But I was just sitting on my chair, settling in for a long overdue afternoon nap, when I turned into a flipping pencil drawing……

Ace in pencil

Yeah, that’s right. And I am certainly not in an A-Ha video. Literal version or otherwise……The pencil drawings were a little shaky and made me feel like I was on a cruise ship, which as per my previous post, does not make me a happy camper. So, while I do enjoy the delightful tunes of A-Ha and I especially enjoy the literal interpretation of the video, I’d prefer not to be involved in it. So, Take on Someone Else, please!!!!

Much obliged. And also, let me know when you are coming round to play a reunion tour….I am guessing that will take place at a state fair or maybe a local church picnic. Either way, I’m there.


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Monday, April 26th, 2010

Lately, I have been haunted  not by a ghost, but by something very real, and WAY more terrifying: the ROM COM. And not just any rom coms, but the ones starring Matthew McConaughey. I’d rather watch President Taft take a bath ( which is funny because Taft is fat and got stuck in the tub).

Matthew, you make it hard to love you.  I mean, really, your IMDB list of film credits reads like it was done on a dare.  Just look at yourself. This tripe has been looping on my tv.

McConaughey collage

And your personal motto, “just keep living,” really? Your foundation is called jk livin, the j is for just, the k is for keep. It is literally as though you are begging for a beating.

ace yelling at mcconaughey

But you rescued my brothers and sisters from Hurricane Katrina. And you saved a cat from some juvenile delinquents trying to burn her alive.  So, McConaughey,  I have changed my opinion of you, despite your aversion to shirts and your god-awful movies, we are friends for ever.

Maathre mcconaughey hearts


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Wednesday, April 21st, 2010

I’ve seen a load of scary shit in my day. Silence of the Lambs.  The remake of Willy Wonka.  Once I even saw Kathy Bates eating a sloppy joe in a cafe.

But nothing, not even the Bates inhaling the joe, even comes close to what I just saw.

I knew humans were dumb, I just didn’t know they were bat-shit bonkers.

So, I went to the Banff Mountain Film Fest at the Field Museum tonight and to my insane horror I discovered the existence of Alex Honnold and his sport, the Free Solo Climbing, which is not as the name implies, climbing the stairs to your deck with a Solo cup full of warm Bud Light……but rather it is climbing up the sides of mountains without any ropes.

This Honnold character climbs up mountains without a ropes, or a net or a giant bouncy house to catch him if he falls.

Alex honnold mountain climbing

Here’s a video of him climbing with ropes. AND HERE is the trailer for the most amazing and terrifying video on earth: First Ascent – Alone on the Wall. And check out the Banff Film Fest to see this Alex Honnold chap scamper straight up insanely high sides of mountains.

It is terrifying as a RAT IN A TOP HAT, but it is some good tv.

If the extent of your climbing involves getting on the couch to watch Gossip Girl, like me, then I guarantee you will BANFF your guts out with sheer terror when you see this scary movie.

Ace on couch due to Banff Film Fest


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Monday, April 19th, 2010

I may be lazy, and no one has ever mistaken me for competitive, but if there is one thing I pride myself on it is my fashion sense….and if there are two things that I rule at, then the other is eating. (used to be sleeping, but as of late, due mostly to cranky ghosts recounting crappy stories to me, my napping skills have atrophied) So, when my old college drinking buddy called me up and said he was in town for a sales conference on the newest developments in litter box technology and would I want to meet up, I said, Garfield, you old so-and-so, you betcha.

Of course, he suggested the Olive Garden. Their pasta is divine, after all.

Garfield Lasagna

Without opening the menu, he ordered.

” 2 trays of lasagna, good sir.”

Then the waiter turned to me.

“I’ll have the same,” I said, not wanting to look like a pussy in front of the cat.

We celebrated like it was the good old days.  We reminisced about the the Dining Hall buffets and the time Garfield entered that competitive potato eating contest.  Then we told the waiter it was my birthday, so they brought us an ice cream cake.  It was epic.  Garfield ordered a lasagna to go, and I went home and passed out on the living room floor.

Party Green Bulldog

Good old Garfield. That guy is a riot. Non-stop entertainment. And quite the lasagna aficionado.  Truth be told, I never really felt passionately one way or the other about the lasagna, as an entree. I mean, don’t get me wrong.  It’s good. And I can always get behind a solid casserole dish, but it has never been my favorite. Until last night, when lasagna became my enemy.

This angry demon lasagna rose from the depths of my belly, appeared before me, floating mere centimeters from my kicked in snout, and demanded an apology.

“Lasagna is a delightful meal…..for Garfield. That cat is a-doorbell. But you?  Someone took great care in creating this for you and you toss it down your gullet like it is foul medication.  You say you are sorry to me, to the chef and to your own digestive track.”

“What?” I said.

“Apologize!” he yelled, his eyes as red as the sauce, “Do it now!”

“Fine, I’m sorry.”

“Remember,” he said, “eat slowly. Chew each bite 37 times.”

Then the demon lasagna vanished. And although I have no regrets about my dinner choices with Garfield, I think I’m gonna stick to the wonderful raviolis next time I’m heading over to the Olive Garden.


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Monday, April 12th, 2010

There are times when I am happy to get up, well never truly happy, but there are instances of supreme human stupidity which justify a ghost’s need to wake me up to commiserate. This is just one such occasion. So for this nonsense, I poured myself out of bed…..and I was not disappointed. Appalled, yes. Disappointed, no.

Apparently, one Mr. Nicholas Sparks has been chatting himself up to whomever can stomach the inane ramblings of a madman, so I must assume that he has been talking only to brick walls, by the fact that he has not been fed to a pack of ravenous pigs (as per the movie Snatch, pigs will devour a human, bones and all….so mommies keep those  valuable little kiddies far away from the petting zoo or leave them unattended, depending on the how irritating the child is).

Among the brilliant anecdotes and nuggets of wisdom Nicky Sparks has imparted upon humanity, he had the absolute gall to not only act like he’s read a Hemingway novel, but to put himself and Hemingway in the same category. Apparently,  Sparky said the following in an interview A Farewell to Arms, by Hemingway. Good stuff. That’s what I write. That’s what I write.” ( Check out the whole thing, folks. It’s comic gold.)

WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT??? Seriously, what the shit?

This nonsense makes Hemnigway’s  ghost cat army very displeased.  And an unhappy cat is an entertaining cat, what with all the devious scheming and secret killings. Enjoy. You’ll see why I didn’t mind so much being woken up.

Hemingway's Ghost Army of Cats

Cats are loyal and vindictive. And Hemingway, in addition to being a wildly talented writer, took excellent care of his cats. Watch your back, Sparks.

Pirate Cat in Hemingway's Ghost Army

Oh, and Sparks, you are on my list too.


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