Thursday, August 30, 2007

Best spellar evar

Do you remember the Crimean war?

I don't either.

I wonder what Crimean means, it really is an ugly, stupid word.  I used to think it was a river or a town, which is what the wars and battles are often named after.

Like Gettysburg.

Which is named after...well, I'm not sure what Gettysburg is named after.

Another nonsense word.  Probably Gettysburg is named after some indian like Wisconsin probably is, too.

I guess I don't know what Wisconsin means either, but at least there isn't a war or battle named after them.  Nice job, Wisconsin.

I guess my point, if I've ever had one, is that you shouldn't name a battle or especially a war after a nonsense word like Crimean.

You should name them after worlds, like world war one and two.  Those were good wars that make sense and that's probably why we won them.  No one was asking, what the fuck's a Crimea?

Probably Crimean is a town in the middle east where all the battles are and there's still a war there.

But really, who cares what it is?

Tuesday, August 21, 2007

I wish you'd wear skimpier dresses and sent me picture like your mom does

This is what you'd look like when you're reincarnated as an animal because you eat a lot of pork and clams and meats:

Except your hat will be fancier and you'll have a penned-in Hitler stache to show you're not to be trifled with.

You'll also wear more turqouise because that's your birthstone.

I'd join you but I'm afraid your last gift of a 1000 dirty condoms was ill received by me and some members of my inner circles.

I peeped into the box and into the tubes that you sent and I can tell you I saw a sea of sea men scanning a port and looking up they saw me and tried to board.

Quickly I capped them down and sent them on to your nephew to teach him how to shake off the burdens of youth.

A 1000 dirty condoms.

Though if I change my mind, I'll be in the form of a dik dik with my own fancy hat for I've eaten my share of pork and beef.

Even more than my share.

But not as much like you, little piggy.

Thursday, August 16, 2007

You should move to Nevada and take up professional whoring

I just wanted you to know that if you had cancer in your vagina I would scoop it out for free with the free plastic scoopers (the gray colored grated ones) that come in scoopable cat litter or even with my bare hands if I liked you in the way I want you to like me.

I would then put it in one of those little jars with that fluid that keeps things like they do with adenoids and tonsils (with a sealed metal jar for safety because cancer juice is nasty).  The adenoid tonsil jars.  So you could show your friends for the LOLs, OMGs and WTFLOLs.

If it was the scoopable kind of cancer that you had.

I guess that's more rare (scoopables) than the string sort of cancer that gets in your teeth and all over your fingers and half into your hair if you don't have one of those cloth head things the doctors wear when they tackle the tumors.

But the scoopables I'd scoop for you or drill out with drills and mild caustics.

Because I like you and that's what friends do for one another.

Scoops and caustics, caustics and scoops.

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

I'm taking a high dose of horny pills since you're out of town

I'm glad my calling wasn't to be a rap star because I'm not very good with rhyming and I don't have very many bitches and I'm not proficient with the word ain't, though I am working on it in my spare times (at night between drinks I whisper, "It ain't like that!" and sometimes I say ain't quite loudly but mostly I accentuate the word like).

I am, however, a very good break dancer and I could show you or teach you moves or show you moves if that's all you wanted.  Back so many years ago in the day I had a fine helicopter ability and also pop locking and the worm.  And the wave both left to right and also right to left and the dual-out worms from the center.  A move I created.

Remember how good I was and my parachute pants?  

I think a very nice job would be for me to become a professional break dancer and do break fights for people.  Something like a firefighter but for break dancing and even I have my own 911 number but not 911 because who wants to hassle that?

Let's say you had someone who was calling you out to perform some moves and you were naturally afraid of busting out some moves.  Well, you could call me and I could proxy break dance fight and if I win then all the glory to you and if I lose well...then that's bad for you.  I go home but you live with the shame of losing a break battle.  

And maybe a refund from me and maybe not.

I'd have to charge a lot, though.  Clearly my best days are behind me (in so many ways but I refer in this instance to the break) and I'm not as limber as I used to be and besides I run out of breath like this:.

There is a certain preordained number of times you can spin on your head on a piece of cardboard, after all (Jesus sets that number and the number is low because we spin through his grace).  

One bad move and snap, you're dead, pancake.  You got your fuckin neck broke, pancake.  

Monday, August 13, 2007

Please don't move to Carolina or consider taking me with you except for the sweat and death of the south

I've always been good with light, knowing just where to push it and how to make it point and barb and stab into eyes (not like lasers but like something less pointy) or just to let it be if that's what was required (and often it is the safest thing to let rest).  To let it be.

I more prefer the dusk which I'm not good at but seems to suit me.

I translated all of our love notes into Elgamal (your favorite encryption algorithm).

I hope you can crack the code because I wrote some very provocative things about your tattoos and how you should redo them so I like them better.  But you'll figure it out.

Remember my plan about beauty pageants for the beautiful people in every time zone?  Well, I think it's catching on.  Mitt Romney's campaign may support it and then when he's the next president we'll finally have our dream.  Well, my dream, you dream is harder to get.

He didn't go for it until I mentioned that it'd be great if you could travel to other time zones and destroy and eat the other beauticians and take their powers of time travel.  That caught his eye.  I guess he may even run for that sweet office after president but I may own everything by then.

If it goes into action I'll have to move to Greenland so I can win that time zone straight off.  I hope you'll come with me because you know I have being alone in the pale deserts.

Write back soon and please use Elgamal because that's the one I know.

Tuesday, August 07, 2007

Ticker ticker little tack there's a grubworm in my sack

I wish I could have a baby so that I could sell my breast milk on the black market.  I'd call it Father's Seret Milk Pleasures now with 25% more testosterone for growing boys and I'd sell it at Whole Foods so the hippies could finally raise strong boys instead of the weak, dirty ones they so often foster.

Know what I wonder?  How many homo incidents grow out of boys doing don't cross the stream jokes in the bathroom or in the woods or in backyards?

And then they cross the streams and things become clear and they break the laws of nature and then the jokes on them because they go to hell.

Well, at least one that I know of.