Monday, March 19, 2007

I'll bet if your last name was Biggerstaff you'd be all braggy about it. But it's not that cool.

The first man to eat squid was also the one who invented cunnilingus.

After the squid he probly said, "Ok, what else you got. Oh, that? Sure. You got lemon? No?" Then he paused to take it all in. I can see it in my mind. "That's fine. That's fine, let's see how it goes without lemon."

But lemon sure would help, sometimes. Or tartar sauce.

Sure do love tartar sauce.

It's glorified mayo but I sure do love it.

Know what else?

When I was young I used to laugh at comb-overs but the older I get the more I find myself qualifying them like, I don't want a comb-over like HIM.

Like Donald Trump.

I don't want a comb-over like Donald--as if a Johnny Depp comb-over would be so much more sleek.

Here's a poem about Cuba.

if you and
peurto rico
went to war
you'd totally

which is like
that you suck
a little less suck
than some other
shitty island
hawaii but
with mexicans
and not the

(and i'm not
just saying that)

except you have
guantanamo bay

except you sure do
have guantanamo
and for that we
thank you
as if you had
a choice

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Sunday, March 18, 2007

HTML is for losers

Know what you should never shoot into greater veins of the pp (thinking that one on the top that bulges so) (but not like a varicose) (I promise)?



Makes your penis fall off after a painful 3-day ride with destiny and you're in the back seat, nauseous, and the window won't roll down.

Then you get your name in the paper but in a bad way. Which is the normal way with the paper.

I read all about it in the literature.

Know what you should shoot all up in there?

The Metachlorines. Lots of them.

Gives you the force something awful.

Plus? Makes your "potential" taste like money and power which is deliciously irresistible.

Even to monkeys and dogs who can be downright irascible when you're trying to show a point.

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Wednesday, March 14, 2007

I'm saving your refuse in buckets and selling your bits to pawn shops for cheap

If I were a veterinarian I would not be a vegetarian because animals can totally sense weakness.

The first thing that would happen is that a Dog of Merit would come in and give a sniff and would give a Growls of Warning which a regular meat eater would sense and would jump back and call out, "Nurse, this one intends damage to my system clock. Cuff him or club him with a spiked sword."

That very sense of the "bite" or "kill instinct" is repressed in the "vegetarian" and they don't hear that low growl range and then the dog bites them into a pita sized meal and begins a bland snack of beta-carotene-rich blood and bone.

That's why they don't have any vets in India. Mortality rate is way too high and too they're cowards.

Plus that's why so many Hindus die from cobras. They don't sense the bite intents. At all.

If America had cobras we'd have them eradicated by now, much like the Buffalo and the Emu and the American brand Indian.

Know why?

Noone bites us like that and gets away with it.


Even if they never technically bit us or we bit them first.


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Monday, March 12, 2007

Sometimes titles should just shut the fuck up

I'll imagine if people heard about a young fellow what was up in arms about an accident between a chopper blade and his very penis which is now shorn in half (between base and glory fountain) they would raise their one arm as if in karate chop (but bent at the elbow) and slowly raise it up and down all the while saying to their nearest friends, "How could this tragic tragedy have happened?"

I'll further bet that if the same people heard about the same fellow rent in twixt by the same chopper blade AND found out his original length was a sum of one inch when stretched to the most eager foist then they would not raise their hand in choppy chops but instead cock it palm front so as to whisper to their near and dear, "There goes the fellow running about like a furious dog complaining of losing fifty cents down the drain, half his total worth."

Know what else?

Walgreens checkers should not also be part time comedians. When buying condoms and the gent asks, "You know where to put these, young man?"

A good answer is this obvious one: "Why don't you fucking ring my shit, bag boy, and stop rubbing my cock muffins."

The more realistic is the one where you think to yourself in your small voice, "What did he just say?"

And then you're in your car about five minutes later and you're driving home or you're off to beg someone if you can use those fresh condoms on them, and you say to yourself, "WHAT DID HE JUST SAY TO ME?"

And further, "If that asshole EVER says ANYTHING (and ever and anything you say real big like you're about to explode in a gangster manner) like that to me again, it's serious go time and I don't care if they call the police while I'm stomping his skull. Shit. They'll cheer me on. I'll wear my moonboots. They'll give me the key to the city."

But you take careful care to never go back to that particular Walgreens. Don't you.


You do.

That was kinda long and I'm sorry for that.

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Friday, March 09, 2007

Guess who has had way too much coffee.

I have been away mapping the wild coasts of Southern California. I shall provide the maps when I finish them and not a moment sooner so stop bugging me about the maps, already.


It was a charming trip and I see why so many fuckers live in California.

I sure do wish they'd move.

But they won't.

The thing that perplexed me and I rarely am perplexed because I live in the moment and someone offers me a toke on a weed stick? I take it. Every time. Weed stick? Why yes, please.


California? You sure was a nice blast of sunshine and relief from this long summer but what was it with all the poop on the stools of the public bathrooms?

When I first saw it I thought to myself, "My God! Poop covers that from stem to stern. Seek another haven."

Then guess what?

It was hard to find a resting place not besoiled and I said to myself, "Is this some kind of X-Game, California? Some kind of perverse stool soiling X-Game defined perhaps in the number of stools you could soil per day? Or is it a style of covering such that you get awarded extra points for covering the entire lid?"

Take your time, California, in answering me.

Use the Schwarzenegger or the Schwartzkopf channel (as per usual).

And tell me if you ever become affordable.

I'm innerested.

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Thursday, March 01, 2007

Know what would suck? Yep. Potato Allergy.

I wrote a script about how you go along in life and everything is great and then all of a sudden...curve ball.

It's short so if you hate it you won't have wasted too much of your precious life. Here it is.


NATE: Hey, Chip, how you doing?

CHIP: Bad news, Nate, just got back from the doctor.

NATE: Oh, no, is something wrong?



CHIP: I have defensive adenoid syndrome. The two spheres are competing for dominance and the Noid side is producing way too much Noidadin.

NATE: God, Chip, will this make you sterile?

CHIP: We're just not sure, Nate.

NATE: Well, if you need a sperm donor, you know I'm here for you buddy.

CHIP: Thanks, but you know I've never kissed a girl.

NATE: No, I mean I'll donate into you. If you want.

CHIP: That's very kind of you, Nate, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to get this little adenoid defensive syndrome behind me before I can consider any sort of relationship.

NATE: Whoa, Chip. Who said anything about a relationship? I don't do relationships. Especially not with people who just found out they only have a month to live.

CHIP: I understand, Nate. Believe me, I do.

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