Wednesday, November 29, 2006

Psychotherapy, psychotherapy, psychotherapy

A lot of people wonder what I think about when I'm in the bathroom pooping...if that's where I get my good ideas because the best of my ideas have a certain bathroom quality to them.  I'll be honest with you, as romantic as that idea sounds, the creative process is not so simple as just sitting down to shit, no...when I go number two, most of the time I'm thinking about how good it feels to poop.

Know what I mean?  It feels wonderful.

Then I often think that if it feels so good coming out, how good must it feel going in?  Ya know?

Then I worry that I'm turning homosexual on account of the in-out thoughts.

Sometimes I just think about how cool it would be to actually be in real life Wolverine from the X-men--you know, have his claws and healing powers?

I like to think about how I'd do it with Jean Gray and how Cyclopes would be jealous but he would know that the cooler man staked his wife and that she really dug it (cause she does when I imagine it, she's totally all over me).

Then usually the cleaning crew comes in and knocks cause I only poop at work to economize on TP.  At that point it's a busted reverie and a rush to flush before the ladies come in with their buckets and mops to sweep away the debris.

tickle your ass with a feather

I'm pretty sure there are only about a hundred thousand people in the world.

Mostly this is accomplished easily because when I go to work it's mostly the same people that are usually there except when layoffs happen.

When I go to football games and such then people use cardboard to represent other people, this much is clear.

Obviously someone plays George Clooney and he does it very well.

I'm not as taken by the fellow who plays all of the Carradines, though.  On the one hand it makes sense that there's just one guy playing the role of several bad actors and it also kinda makes sense that you don't see them all together in one room but I feel sorry for the guy who has to do that stuff because it's clearly affecting his role as an actor.

The woman who plays my wife is beginning to wonder if I'm on to the little plan.  I caught her reading a script about how she was supposed to pick a fight with me the other night about how I don't do my fair share of the work around here.

Of course most of the people live in and around Omaha.  Except when I travel, then it's a chaotic burst of everyone traveling so that they can set the scene in LA or some of the fine places I go.

There is no traffic in Los Angeles as long as I'm in Nebraska and you have me to thank for that.

Since there are only about 100k people, I know the million man march never quite got to a million people.  Plus most of the 100k are white.  There aren't that many black fellas that I know so the number can be quite low.  Nowhere near a million.

Cows are real, though.  Can't train a cow to act.

So far the play has been pretty good, my compliments to the chef.  My only request would be smaller hangovers and less work, if such a request can be granted.

If not, that's ok, too.

Monday, November 27, 2006

There's one! Set for stun!

Good news, the Africa trip was a super success and they have agreed to really try and not be so dooshy in the future (no more wars, no more monkey sex, no more coke bottle movies and no more Crocodile Dundee sequels (on this I was firm)--those were the main items on the agenda).

The most poignant movie of the season was just viewed by me over this long holiday period and that movie was Legally Blonde.

I laughed, I cried...and that boyfriend of hers?  Total asshole.  What did she ever see in him, anyway, ya know?  LOL>

And she really made some good friends like that one brown haired girl and also that one blonde girl who did her nails?  Remember her?  The one she taught how to get a man and rescuted her dog by using the various large legal words from her fancy Harvard eductation?  Remember?  That scene gave me the goosepimples all up and down my front arms and legs!  LOL!

Also, guess what...Beach Boy Xmas music should be "banned for life."


I'm sick of that shit.

I'd really rather have my pee hole gored out by a spike-tongued gorgon than have to listen one more time to that fucking Brian Wilson (I wish he'd gone nuts well before he decided to go Yuletide).

Tuesday, November 21, 2006

Big hooks under your clavicle would hurt

The wonderful thing is that the guy who played Kramer has officially declared his intention to be a Republican!  Welcome brother, we were worried about you groveling in the lap of the whore liberal media but I always had my suspicions you was one of us.

A gramel-toe is of course a camel toe plaguing an old woman.  They are more rare to see in the wild as the camel toe does not normally manifest itself in sweat pants or poly-blend slacks.  But they're still dangerous.  Don't just laugh and try and pet one.  They still bite and spit.

Guess who has a crush on me at my work?  Yep, everyone.  You're very smart, today.

Finally, the innernet, since I'm leaving for the week to go train Africa on how to be better at things, I'll leave you with a tidbit of truth.

If you lived in a vagina-shaped tree-hut you really could only have visitors once a week, for the faux-curly doorway would only once a week tilt back 45 degrees to reveal the labial columned doorway.

The couple would arrive to dinner and the man would look at the revealed clitoral knocker and would say, "Yeesh, I'm not touching that thing--it frightens me."

The woman would be thinking, "Touch it.  Touch it.  Go ahead and touch it."

But she would say, instead, "Yes, don't touch it.  It looks dangerous.  I'll bet it carries germs."

And I'll bet she's right.

Monday, November 20, 2006

I meant Sherryl Crow. Sorry.

If I was a genius I'd probly shoot for that Nobel Peace prize.  Just like Arafat won.  If I said that before forgive me, I probly have brain tumors or something bad that compromises the repetition genes.

I wonder if there's a quota on how many babies you gotta blow up to get one of those prizes.  Probly at least forty over a thirty year time frame.

Ted Kaczynski never did blow up a baby that I know of.  Plus, he mailed all his own shit.  Probly you need to get people to mail for you, or to walk into places for you to show their sacrifice to your peace medal.  I'll need some of those, too.  Maybe the Mormons could help out there.  Maybe import some Muslims.  I'm not good with details.

I think that's the secret.  Blowd up babies.  And Jews.

Plus the beard, ya know?  That's probly a factor.  Beards, babies and Jews.  And bombs.  The three Bs and a J--not quite the BJ formation that is preferred but this one pushes in a different angle (not of the dangle).  Then I collect my million dollars and the fancy peace prize that I'll show to all the sycophants who want a piece of the million dollar peace pie and I'll be livin high in Las Vegas or one of the finer cities of the nation like Atlanta or something.

Just not Omaha anymore cause I'll have outgrowed this podunk town.

Saturday, November 18, 2006

I'm going to win the world series

Am I the only one who still wants to see Kylie Minogue's boobs?

Wednesday, November 15, 2006

Guess who's out of vodka.

I'll bet a plane made out of hair (an hairplane) really goes up in flames when it catches on fire.  That would totally suck.  There you are, flying along, some douchebag goes and lights up in the bathroom...FOOM!  You're falling to certain death.  Thanks a lot, smokers.

I bet it would say foom, too.  Like in the comic books.

Guess what else?  I lied about swimming around the world.  Just to fool you.  I'd say I'm sorry but I'm not.  I'd do it again.

Also, Christopher Bates wrote Shaun of the Dead.  He spelled Shawn wrong but other than that he did a pretty good job.  I'd have added more shotgun blasts to the face but he's in England and they are limited with their firearms.

Guess what else.  We have a weatherman here who is called "Chief Meteorologist."

I like to think about what his work is like...all the sub-chief's sitting around asking, "What's the weather going to be, chief?  The President's flying in and the CIA boys need to know if it's going to snow in Omaha."

Then he goes to the scrying room and summons up the weather using buffalo hides and bones.  Instead of getting it on the innernet like we do.

I wonder if he ever gets sad that his whole job function is pointless.

Unlike mine.

Tuesday, November 14, 2006

Chip the glasses crack the plates

I'm thinking about starting an advice column.  For the people.

Someone sent me an email that was like this:  Dearest Ho, do you think my mom would forgive me if I razored my face because I resemble someone I don't like very well?

Lol.  Wonderful question and here's the answer.

Dear Razor-face,

Your mom will forgive you as long as you are doing what she wants you to do with respect to your marriage, your job and your family.  If you are kosher with this so-called mother's alignment of three then razor away, my friend!

Monday, November 13, 2006

I read a book once...

I just swam around the whole world.  Don't tell anyone about it because I don't want the liberal media all over me but I do want everyone to know that I'm the world record holder in swimming, now.

Dear Virginia,

What the hell is wrong with you?  At what point did you sink so low as to NOT elect a racial slur spouting, football throwing, good ole boy over a race loving milquetoast?

You need to wake up, Virginia and also you, South America in general.  You are in bad shape and the bus is leaving the station.  What's next, Catholics allowed into the klan?

Jim Crowe is rolling in his grave, my friends.  You have betrayed him, you have betrayed me and you have betrayed the unibomber, Ted Kazinsky.  We are all three betrayed by the likes of what used to be a rich tradition of hating of all non whites.

Wake up before I drive over the liberal north America landscape and slap your face.

Plus, you know what?

I bet redneck zombies would sodomize you before they ate your brain--if you were a boy, that is.  If a girl, they'd just eat.

If you were a boy, though and there were at least two of them, they'd totally make you skweeeeel like a pig.

Then eat.

Friday, November 10, 2006

In lieu of something nice, here's this

If you were a type of canned meat you would be vienna sausages and all the little boys would laugh at you and say vagina sausages even though your shape belies that notion.  Puggy pps.  I would be regular canned sausages, spicy and delicious.  No, wait.  That's wrong.  I would be wild albacore tuna soaking in a fine olive oil -- a tuna that was in the fresh of his years when caught by a struggling fisherman, fresh of years and wonderful to the taste.

Here's a letter I've been meaning to write but didn't know if I should until Jesus sent the Holy Ghost to tell me I should.  That was last week, sometime, and I'm sorry I didn't take care of it right away but I been real busy.

Dear parents whom raised Democrats,

I'll bet you'll be real sad when you're up in heaven looking down on your kids in hell after you're all dead and you've gone to heaven and they've gone to where they belong.  Unless you're a Democrat as well--then you can all just share a room down there--the Bill Clinton Dorms, maybe.  Wouldn't that make you so happy to be in the famous Bill Clinton Dorms.

You were too soft on them, you know.

Too many late nights and video game parties.  Too much pop.  Too many partial birth abortions and not enough of the firm hand and the Good Book.

I mean, technically you failed, but I guess hindsight can be a real bitch, huh.

It's unseasonably warm in Omaha, Al Gore

Go to him, Kate Moss.  Marry that sad, sick Pete Doherty.  You can fix him.  Take him in and give him small dollops of chicken broth and pat his sweaty head as he comes off the smack and the crack and the weed and the pills and the booze and the mescaline and the hoo haa.  Be the woman he needs you to be.  For him.  For us.

Also, Nancy Pelosi running the house for the Democraps?  Did the Democratic spells to summon Idi Amin (a well-known Democrat) from the dead fail and then they went with Plan B: Pelosi?  

I mean, I dig the chicks as much as the next guy but this chick has a certain reputation for pure, liberal evil.  Couldn't the demos have gotten a more dino type girlie to be the leader until we sweep the sin out of THE HOUSE in the next time around?  I'd have felt a lot better about that plan. 

But I wasn't asked, was I.

Vote, vote, vote for my scrote for el presidente!

The most wonderful news, everyone!  I have totally offset your vote today when I went into the closed curtain of justice and voted scratch Republican!

Say goodbye to your abortions you sick liberal Democraps!  Starbucks is next!  Starbucks is next!  Do you hear me Starbucks?  You liberal bastion of liberalism?  You're next.

And guess what else?  I got pretzels today instead of the preferred chile covered Fritos.  Guess whose fault that is?  Bill Clinton's.

And guess what else?  There was one seat where a Democrap was running unopposed.  Guess whom I wrote in?  That's right, Our Savior Jesus H. Christ for County Assessor.

He'd do a good job.

Once you trained him in modern day Economics and how to assess shit.

Friday, November 03, 2006

macerating macerating macerating, remember?

I know I don't need to tell YOU this but tomorrow is the 2nd annual National D&D day!  

National?  Who am I kidding?  International.  Dare I say...even Middle Earth will be invited.

Will I be there?

Ha ha har ha ree dar!

I'd tell you but then I'd have to backstab you for 2d6x4+11+1337agility bonus from my extra high (godlike) Dexterity.  Some tell me I'm lythe like the Greymouser himself.

Wednesday, November 01, 2006

A fish that tastes like vomit is a bad invention, Albert Einstein

I wonder if you could help me out a bit.  I've been scouring the innernet via the google images for a certain picture and for the very life or for the very soul of me I cannot find what should be so easy to ... find.

Anyway, the picture is like this, I'm picturing of a giant man who has a white t-shirt and maybe it has a logo and maybe it doesn't.  The important thing is that he doesn't have pants on nor underwear nor the socks.  His legs are obviously skinny and one foot is in America and the other fills up the entire little island of Japan.

Of course he's in a full pure squat position and the balls, which are hairless and shaved by a mountain of monkeys... well, one of them (the right pretty ball (or maybe the left, it's late and i'm confused in science)) is sitting on a welcoming cheek of smiling Isreal--also represented on the cheek are the three major exports of Isreal.  

The other and also the gigantic bronze one is covering the snarling face of middle Asia.  You can tell middle Asia would like to bite that glory globe but bronze spheres are tough nuts to crack.

The long tonails of the right food are yellow and long and literally stab the Koreas and the Vietnams (and China but not directly (through N. Korea)).

So if you can find it...please...tell me, my mom wants this picture.