One more day and this year will be over. The earth has been traveling around the sun at 67,000MPH for 365 days and so, he we are back were we started, ready to do it all again, though this time somehow optimistic that something will be different this time around.
I think it would be cliche and boring for me to talk about New Year's resolutions and regrets of times passed. I would like, instead to tell you all about something I that is probably the furthest thing from your mind, but should be closer to the forefront.
You know when you get a new roll of toilet paper, and you are too lazy to put that little spring loaded rod through it and attatch it to the rack? What do you do with it then? You set it somewhere...on the back of the toilet, on the floor next to the toilet...or you set it on top of the rod in the fixture and you get on with your life.
This seems a perfectly acceptable solution, and after all you just had a very pleasent, if not stressful bowel movement, and the achievement has left you euphoric and slightly unaware of...certain physical truths. Namely, that the new roll of ass wiping paper has too large of a circumfrance to actually stay on top of the rod.
You stand up, go to flush your effectuation straight to Hell, when lo! The brand new roll falls right into the tiolet! No fucking way did that just happen. No fucking way!
But it did, and now you have a problem. Your toilet is full of shit an any part of the fecies that was in any way liquid is no quickly absorbing into the massive lump of paper. You can't just flush it away, that would most certainly clog and make a bigger mess. So you have two options, A. You can fish out the shit soaked toilet roll with your bare hands and then try and figure out where to dispose of the dripping stinking mass or B. You can commit suicide.
end transmission.
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Some Bullshit Escape.
So, today I got in a big fight with some woman that insisted that suicide rates increase during the Christmas season. I know that's not true because I thought it was true at one point, but as I am prone to do, I did the research and found out it just isn't fucking so.
Actually, more people kill themselves in April than any other month. I find that interesting since it was the month I was born in, so if you believe in any sort of reincarnation or that kind of shit, I probably have the soul of a suicide--er. I refuse to call them victims...but it makes sense when you think about it. Winter time is a bleak, shitty period of the year when depression seems almost inevitable. Everything is dead, it's cold, the days are short, a lot of time with no sun, and there's no fucking way your parents are gonna buy you a $185 GI Joe Aircraft Carrier for Christmas, even though it is over 5 feet long (That's barely $37 a foot) and comes with Admiral Flagg AND a special edition ACE. Where would I put such a thing? I'd find somewhere...
I digress, Uh...oh yeah, but in April it's all sunny and the girls are wearing less and the air smells like life and sex and vitality, and there you are, still feeling like shit, but the rest of the world walking around with a boner and you can't go anywhere without seeing it, mocking your pain. And your puppy that you named after your dead grandma got hit by a semi truck that was shipping tampons to the local safeway, and that "rash" you got from the girl you fucked six monthes ago still hasn't gone away, and they canceled Firefly, which was on its way to being the best show ever, and there's that fuck Jared still making money with his stupid glasses, telling you how good subway is for you, but you know it's a lie, they started a new season of the Real World, George Bush got re-elected, your job sucks, somebody got a hold of those pictures you took of yourself with your dick tucked back between your legs and posted them on the web, gas is over 3 fucking dollars a gallon, they stopped making almond joy ice cream, Pennies still cost 2.3 cents to make, and it doesn't seem to make any sense that there are no girl terrorists, and you can't stop watching that stupid super sweet 16 show on Mtv, and you ordered that Rueben with NO thousand island, just like always, and they still put it on, "I said make it Dry bitch! Dry!" and no one else seems the least bit depressed about any of it so BLAM!
This all seems moot in the face of the fact that this poor woman's daughter killed herself 6 years ago, on Christmas. I never said the suicide rate was zero over the holidays, I just said it didn't increase. In all probobility the poor girl was so fucked up she had other things on her mind more important than Jesus's birthday.
So, if you want to kill yourself, for God's sake wait 'till April. We'll all understand, and I won't have to stand in silent, awkward disbelief at my incredible misfortune at choosing when and who to debate on the topic of Yule tide self murder.
Merry Christmas kids.
end transmission.
Actually, more people kill themselves in April than any other month. I find that interesting since it was the month I was born in, so if you believe in any sort of reincarnation or that kind of shit, I probably have the soul of a suicide--er. I refuse to call them victims...but it makes sense when you think about it. Winter time is a bleak, shitty period of the year when depression seems almost inevitable. Everything is dead, it's cold, the days are short, a lot of time with no sun, and there's no fucking way your parents are gonna buy you a $185 GI Joe Aircraft Carrier for Christmas, even though it is over 5 feet long (That's barely $37 a foot) and comes with Admiral Flagg AND a special edition ACE. Where would I put such a thing? I'd find somewhere...
I digress, Uh...oh yeah, but in April it's all sunny and the girls are wearing less and the air smells like life and sex and vitality, and there you are, still feeling like shit, but the rest of the world walking around with a boner and you can't go anywhere without seeing it, mocking your pain. And your puppy that you named after your dead grandma got hit by a semi truck that was shipping tampons to the local safeway, and that "rash" you got from the girl you fucked six monthes ago still hasn't gone away, and they canceled Firefly, which was on its way to being the best show ever, and there's that fuck Jared still making money with his stupid glasses, telling you how good subway is for you, but you know it's a lie, they started a new season of the Real World, George Bush got re-elected, your job sucks, somebody got a hold of those pictures you took of yourself with your dick tucked back between your legs and posted them on the web, gas is over 3 fucking dollars a gallon, they stopped making almond joy ice cream, Pennies still cost 2.3 cents to make, and it doesn't seem to make any sense that there are no girl terrorists, and you can't stop watching that stupid super sweet 16 show on Mtv, and you ordered that Rueben with NO thousand island, just like always, and they still put it on, "I said make it Dry bitch! Dry!" and no one else seems the least bit depressed about any of it so BLAM!
This all seems moot in the face of the fact that this poor woman's daughter killed herself 6 years ago, on Christmas. I never said the suicide rate was zero over the holidays, I just said it didn't increase. In all probobility the poor girl was so fucked up she had other things on her mind more important than Jesus's birthday.
So, if you want to kill yourself, for God's sake wait 'till April. We'll all understand, and I won't have to stand in silent, awkward disbelief at my incredible misfortune at choosing when and who to debate on the topic of Yule tide self murder.
Merry Christmas kids.
end transmission.
Even Grey Suits have their day.
I was thinking, whatever we may do, excess will always keep its place in the heart of man, in the place where solitude is found. We all carry within us our places of exile, our crimes and our ravages. But our task is not to unleash them on the world; it is to fight them in ourselves and others.
Egg nog was originally named after drinks called "grog" meaning anything made with rum. I drank a lot of it and this is the outcome.
end transmission.
Egg nog was originally named after drinks called "grog" meaning anything made with rum. I drank a lot of it and this is the outcome.
end transmission.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
It's sad when someone you know becomes someone you knew.
So a lot of you might be wondering, where was Johnny Knoxville last Thursday night?
I'll tell you where! He was at the Double Down Saloon watching a girl shoot darts out of her twat at a skinny dude with balloons taped to his chest. How do I know this? 'cause I was there too!
It just goes to fucking show that there are things in this world still left to surprise and wow me. Just when I was sitting at home, lamenting that there was nothing this world had to present to me that would ever again fill my body with tingling veneration, behold! Las Vegas surprises me yet again!
This woman could not only fire blowdarts out of a tube inserted into her pussy, she could do so with enough force to lodge the darts in the human target, (better still, she could do it from two different positions!) that's right flesh piercing vagina darts! Add one more terrible weapon the the pussy's already lethal arsenal. The darts were not terribly accurate, though I blame the girls skirt for the interferance. Ian has pictures of this somewhere, I'll give you guys a look when I can get to them.
end transmission.
I'll tell you where! He was at the Double Down Saloon watching a girl shoot darts out of her twat at a skinny dude with balloons taped to his chest. How do I know this? 'cause I was there too!
It just goes to fucking show that there are things in this world still left to surprise and wow me. Just when I was sitting at home, lamenting that there was nothing this world had to present to me that would ever again fill my body with tingling veneration, behold! Las Vegas surprises me yet again!
This woman could not only fire blowdarts out of a tube inserted into her pussy, she could do so with enough force to lodge the darts in the human target, (better still, she could do it from two different positions!) that's right flesh piercing vagina darts! Add one more terrible weapon the the pussy's already lethal arsenal. The darts were not terribly accurate, though I blame the girls skirt for the interferance. Ian has pictures of this somewhere, I'll give you guys a look when I can get to them.
end transmission.
Friday, December 08, 2006
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Murder in the key of F.
A homeless woman farted on me today. I feel as if maybe she was just farting and I walked by, but that is not the truth. She expelled fecies in a gaseous form straight into my nasal pasasages, the airborne shit sticking to my white t-shirt and blue jeans, both now brown with her insolence. And she did so with predjudice!
Why do I tell you this?
To brighten your day, of course. Hopefully, if you were farted on today the person was lying next to you, naked, or it was in the context of ribald humor, expelled for a laugh. At the very least the person who farted on you had a place indoors to sleep. Even better, you walked through the ass-cloud of a stranger, and it only made your lunch taste faintly of shit.
end transmission.
Why do I tell you this?
To brighten your day, of course. Hopefully, if you were farted on today the person was lying next to you, naked, or it was in the context of ribald humor, expelled for a laugh. At the very least the person who farted on you had a place indoors to sleep. Even better, you walked through the ass-cloud of a stranger, and it only made your lunch taste faintly of shit.
end transmission.
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