Tuesday, December 14th, 2010
I went to the Dominicks today. In the middle of the day. The guy in front of me in line for the check out had an entire cart filled with Arm & Hammer deodorants. An entire cart-full.
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.
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.
“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.
Thursday, October 21st, 2010
Let this be a lesson to all of you. If you open the fridge and see leftover Thai food in a bag and you didn’t go out for Thai food last night, nor did anyone you know or maybe don’t know, give you leftover Thai food to bring to work the next morning, then don’t pick up the leftover Thai food and eat it. Yes, put down the flipping Thai food. It’s not yours. I know it is delicious and maybe you only intended to have a taste, which as an aside, GROSS, I mean who samples other people’s lunches??!!! but let’s be real here, it is impossible to just have a taste of Thai food, especially if it’s wonderful #59, Pad Se Ew from Dao’s, which it was, and I know because I went to Dao’s last night and brought those delicious leftovers for lunch…..So, WHEN I find you, be forewarned…..YOUR BALLS ARE GOING IN A BLENDER.
Wednesday, October 20th, 2010
Well, I woke up with a wicked injury to my right rear passenger side leg. I blame a particularly chatty ghost named Senior Apple lle
there was a lot of shouting “Remember me??” and a lot of quotes from what I could tell was that book, “Are you there God? It’s me Maragaret” because there is no other discernible reason for an outdated computer to be whining about wearing a training bra other than it was stuck on a repeat key….
So, this lump of wires and self-loathing spent the whole night sitting on my poor defenseless leg. And when I woke up, I was walking like a wobbly table-top, so not at all. And it hurt like a mother board….get it??? Ah, cut me some slack, Im stoned.
I put on a brave face, but I really couldn’t walk, which didn’t bug me too much, since the most I walk is from my bed to the food dish, but the real issue is that I couldn’t sit down, well, I could, but it took me a good goddamn hour to move my leg into a seated position. Boo.
So, I called my enemy, now friend, the Vet, who gave me a boatload of painkillers.
Hearts and stars, gang, hearts and mother fucking stars. The world is a far better place, now that I get one of these lovely little treats 2/x a day. Food tastes better, water tastes better, hell, even breathing tastes better. The ghosts are no longer as annoying as usual. I may even try to pay attention next time some Joe Schmo from beyond the grave reads me a poem. Good gravy, I love drugs.
Thursday, October 14th, 2010
So, I had a long day. I made a batch of brownies, which let’s face it, aren’t gonna eat themselves. My DVR was full and I had to play a little catch-up. It is mentally taxing to try to keep all the characters in Gossip Girl straight. I mean, just who is the heck is this yokel in prison. And could it be true, is Vanessa being written off the show?? So, just imagine my exhaustion after a solid 4 hour block of Serena looking confused and Chuck trying to convince me that he’s actually interested in that boring tool shed from the old country…..But, of course, I was awakened by a 3 part harmony…..
And then they sang and danced.
Here are the lyrics
Wake up little Suzie, wake up Wake up little Suzie, wake up We've both been sound asleep Wake up little Suzie and weep The movie's over, it's four o'clock And we're in trouble deep Wake up little Suzie, wake up little Suzie Well, what are we gonna tell your mama What are we gonna tell your pa What are we gonna tell our friends when they say ooh-la-la Wake up little Suzie, wake up little Suzie Well, I told your mama that you'd be in by ten Well, Suzie baby, looks like we goofed again Wake up little Suzie, wake up little Suzie We gotta go home Wake up little Suzie, wake up! Wake up little Suzie, wake up! The movie wasn't so hot It didn't have much of a plot We fell asleep, our goose is cooked Our reputation is shot Wake up little Suzie, wake up little Suzie Well, what are we gonna tell your mama What are we gonna tell your pa What are we gonna tell our friends when they say ooh-la-la Wake up little Suzie, wake up little Suzie Wake up little Suzie
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”.
And that, my friends, is why this country is gonna be taken over by a revolution organized by a tin can. Viva la Revolucion.
Tuesday, October 5th, 2010
Well, many of you have been sending in your questions. And, fair enough, life is confusing and there is nowhere to turn. Who you gonna ask? Your priest? Please, unless you’re 8, you’re gonna get the busy signal. Yahoo Answers is useless. Wikipedia is for turds….so I’m gonna help sort it all out for ya…..So, what exactly is the difference between a cicada and that idiot Buffalo Bill from the lovable family film, Shut up, Sheep?? Well, pay attention kiddies because there is gonna be some math involved….
One wants to get out of his own skin; the other wants to get you outta your skin.
One wants pizza. Little Cesear’s preferably, but will settle for Papa John’s so long as there is extra extra garlic sauce. The other wants to tuck his junk between his legs and make you put lotion in a basket.
So, remember kids….Let Cicadas live and fictional serial killers, well, live, I guess. So, until next time, good luck Keeping Up With the Kardashians……those ladies made a deal with the devil nobody can defeat.
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…..
Monday, September 27th, 2010
This entire earth is making me angry due to dieting, parking tickets and the apparently permanent cancellation of the ground-breaking drama My Boys. It’s a real show, with characters I really started to care about. I mean, what is gonna happen when Kenny and Stephanie move to London? Brando just bought that stupid Crowley’s bar and Mike married that chick from The Hangover. So much is happening….
What about Bobby and that appalling combover? I was really and I mean REALLY looking forward to watching the steady retreat of his hairline until it was a Trump-esque monstrosity and then the inevitable replacement to a jaunty, faux-hawk toupee, which would, if there is a god, coincide with my birthday or maybe Christmas. But, you f-ing jags have ruined it all for me. Do you know how long it takes for me to let my guard down and open up my heart to new sitcom characters?
Well, after watching it ironically for many seasons, I finally admitted to myself and to my world, which includes my Zombie friend Emily, a burrito and a wooden pineapple, that I actually liked the flipping show. And you’ve ripped it away from me. It feels exactly like the time I thought I saw Bieber at the mall…turns out it was a mannequin from Baby Gap.
But, I’m still King of the World. You can’t break my spirit TBS. I’m sure that the CW has something to offer…..