March 31, 2004
Ready, Aim... WAAAHHH!
"Marines' weapon loaded with 'scream' "
"Anyone hit with a full blast would suffer excruciating pain, permanent deafness and some form of cellular damage. A prolonged blast could kill.......The actual sound used is a recording of a baby's scream played backwards."
No plans yet to unveil the Full Diaper Chemical Weapon line.
(note to self: renew birth control prescription immediately.)
Linguistically Loose
The GM1 and I went to the Wild Animal Park last weekend. We went to the Bird Show, where they have lovely hawks and owls and emus and parrots doing neat tricks. One of the bird trainer guys had an accent. So I blame the following conversation on him.
Youa culpa, bird guy.
GM1: "Oh, listen to that... another Aussie."
Me: "Is not."
GM1: "Is too. Listen to the accent."
Me: "I am, and he's not from Australia."
GM1: "Oh yeah? Then where?"
Me: "Scotland, maybe? Sounds so.... familiar? Hmmm."
GM1: "Listen, he just said 'one off' and 'thick as two short planks'. That's Aussie talk."
Me: "Is not. That's Brit-speak. Or thereabouts."
GM1: "You're the one thick as two short planks. He's a Steve Irwin clone."
Me: "Bah."
Random audience member to bird trainer guy: "Excuse me, but where are you from?"
Bird trainer guy: "Wales."
Me: "Ha! Knew it!
GM1: "Yeah, uh-huh, how did you know it?"
Me: Because his voice made me want to...er.... spread my legs."
GM1: *dead silence*
GM1: "Accent slut!"
Me: "No, you dink. My very first gynecologist was Welsh. I kind of mentally imprinted that, I guess."
GM1: *nodding wisely* Ah.... like an emu."
Me: "Yep, an emu with a yeast infection."
GM1: "Two short planks... I'm tellin' ya. "
Slip My Meals Under the Door
Thanks to Xade, I'll be playing this for the next... oh, I don't know, the next gazillion years or so.
Wait For It
My current favorite joke:
A guy is sitting at home when he hears a knock at the door. He opens the door and sees a snail on the porch. He picks up the snail and throws it as far as he can. Three years later, there’s a knock on the door. He opens it and sees the same snail. The snail says ‘What the hell was that all about?"
No, I Don't Have Change For A Five
You're Exotic Dancer Barbie. You have some moves,
and will do anything for a few bucks. Take it
off girl, but keep it PG-13 please.
If You Were A Barbie, Which Messed Up Version Would You Be?
brought to you by Quizilla
March 30, 2004
Grumpy Monkey
I am in an official Bad Mood today. Several things have made their way onto the official Bad Mood Inducing List, and are banned until such things can be dealt with in a reasonable, non-destructive-to-the-monitor,-keyboard,-and/or-GM1 manner.
Neighbors, however, are still in season, as always.
1. Politics. Any kind of politics. If I see the words "Kerry", "election", "WMD", or "gerrymander", I can't close that window fast enough. The most overbeaten dead horse in the bloggysphere.
Although I must admit Kerry has one use... he's the cure for constipation, because he aggravates the shit out of me. Ha! Good one, eh? You'd better be laughing, boy.
2. People who use the asterisk to tippy-toe around valid words. F*ck? Sh*t? C*nt? If you're going to have the emotion, please have the balls to express it properly. Bunch of euphemistic ch*ck*nsh*ts.
3. I know you're only 15. I know your mom works during the evening so you feel obligated among your soon-to-be-teenage-pregnancy-statistics wannabe-teenyskank friends to be party central. But if I have to listen to your Girls Gone Wild reenactment one more time, I'm going to reduce your demographic considerably with Mr. Baseball Bat.
Oops. Forgot you're all products of the public school system. Let me rephrase so you can understand: "Turn it down or die." There ya go, sparky.
4. Anyone who thinks they are qualified to tell other bloggers how to blog, what to blog about, or who is a great blogging example. Do I swim in your toilet? No? So don't pee in my pool.
5. Activists. A piece of cardboard on a stick with a rhyme doesn't make you Ghandi.
6. Socks. Particularly the socks that didn't have the good sense not to go on my feet while my toenail polish was wet and are now going to have to be removed with a hammer and chisel. Bad, bad irresponsible socks.
7. People who blame inanimate objects for their stupid mistakes.
8. People who do not send me flowers or expensive jewelry in an effort to coax me from my bad mood.
9. People who make lists like this.
March 29, 2004
The Gentle Art of Conversation
So the GM1 comes home with this pile of forms to fill out for the upcoming retirement, and promptly drops them on my desk.
Me: What's this?
Him: Some stuff I have to fill out.
Me: And it's on my desk because.....?
Him: Well, your handwriting is better. Mine sucks. You tell me all the time mine sucks.
Me: (in full bitch mode after a hard day of slinging fairy floss) Yeah, but it would have been nice if you'd asked me and not just assumed I'd do it. When did I become your personal secretary?
Him: (missing the chance to point out that I usually demand to do all the form-filling-out because yes, his penmanship sucks bad and in addition I am a near-pathological control freak who needs to do everything... but he skips this step and skillfully goes right for the guilt) I'm sorry. I didn't mean.... *accompanied by accomplished downcast yet extremely cute demeanor*
Me: (now wracked with remorse at my obviously wifely neglect) No, I'm sorry, I was snarky for no good reason and....
Him: Are we going to go see that movie?
Me: *whiplashing at subject change* Wha? What movie?
Him: You know, Snarky and Hutch?
Me: Starsky. It's Starsky. "Snarky" is a blog thing.
Him: Oh....yeah. But the new one, with Owen Wilson. He's the cool Hutch. The other guy was just.... I dunno, too cheesy.
Me: Hey, watch it! Cheesy is a good thing.
Him: Debatable.
Me: Who would know better? I mean, I AM The Cheese, you know.
Him: You aren't really The Cheese. You just play one on the internet.
Me: How burned exactly do you want your dinner?
Him: You da Cheese, baby. You da Cheese.
March 28, 2004
Quite Obviously, I Lied On All the Questions
 I am sweet, like Sugar.I am all sweetness and light; fluffy bunnies and dancing fairies; happiness and joy. Too much of me will make you sick. What Flavour Are You? |
(taken, along with the good silverware, from Snooze Button Dreams)
March 25, 2004
Out With the Trash
My fellow Munuvian and absolute gentleman notGeorge has caught himself a troll. As skinning is too good for this nasty beast, he does the right thing... he fisks her to within an inch of her best-part-of-her-rolled-down-her-daddy's-leg life.
It's a beautiful thing to see.
Listening For the Hoofbeats
I had my first real wear-the-nametage, punch-the-timeclock workday at the new job today.
And absolutely nothing, repeat NOTHING, blogworthy happened.
I know, I know....
I'm very disappointed myself.
I might even have to (dare I say it?) start something myself tomorrow.
*insert evil cackle and air-washing of hands here*
Like Curdled Cream Rising To the Top, So Are the Days of Our Lives
Most distrubing affirmation of affection heard recently:
"They are so cute! They are just so CUTE! I could just rip them in half and suck the bones!"
From a relative during a phone conversation, talking about her kittens. And I have a whole lot of the same DNA. Think about it. Scary, isn't it? That's right, fear The Cheese, oh yes, you will FEAR The Cheese! Bwahahaha!
This post was brought to you by the letter K, for caffeine.
March 24, 2004
UTOB
Otherwise and from now on to be the official acronym for the Unified Theory Of Blogging, as eloquently laid out by The Commissar.
If you ever wondered why you blog, or even how, this is required reading.
Hey, I don't make the rules, you know.
The GM1 Speaks Yet Again
Me: "Okay, just take this Chexmix away from me before I eat it all."
GM1: "You want it locked up where you can't get at it? Is that the deal?"
Me: "Oh hell yeah, lock it up."
GM1: "Hmmm... we don't....
Me: "What?"
GM1: "We don't seem to have a vault."
Me: "Why on earth would we have a vault?"
GM1: "If this were the Batcave, we'd have a vault."
Mr. Spontaneity Makes His Move
You know, I thought the GM1 was being a little too anal when he had me bookmark Mapquest.
He's got nothing on this guy.
FUNDAMENTAL FACTOR: 1 - 7 women to have 1 - 20 children by me.
A major weakness in my plan at present is that I am very poor. In plunging into putting forth the ideas that appear on this website, I simply figured that I would cross the financial bridge when I came to it. The fact is that I have almost nothing. I apologize for this difficulty. My interests don't lie in the practical arena.The reason that I mow lawns for a living is so that I'll have time to pursue my interests. The income is minimal. Also, I don't know to what degree I'm willing to compromise my interests. But not much.
Now, I will say that I might have income potential. For example, if a book sold. But this is not a sure thing.
The queue forms to the right, ladies.
Havin' Some Fun Now
I've been at this for an hour.
It's extra-special fun if you pretend it's someone you'd like to see pinned down all splayed out and at your dissectiony mercy. However, sadly the program doesn't allow for any improvisational slashing snipping.
In a side note, I never realized a frog's liver is so big. They must drink a lot.
Yep, my world is full of drunken frogs and maddened virtual knife-play.
March 23, 2004
Just One Sledgehammer Closer To Heaven
My friend Tonya, who is wise and good and the evil instigator of the infamous "let's all get tipsy and dye our hair red" incident, sends me this prayer:
A Woman's Prayer
Dear Lord, I pray for:
Wisdom: To understand a man
Love: To forgive him and
Patience: For his moods
Because: Lord, if I pray for Strength
I'll just beat him to death.
Although I don't need strength. If I want to do a covert ops job on the GM1, all I have to do is....(cue the menacing music) cook.
SPF 5000
Even more satisfying than the Yeti vs. Penguin game.
Ant City.
(sighted at Quibbles and Bits, a nifty little bright spot indeed.)
Alrighty Then
However when you come across many troubles at the same times, you might be unable to handle it. There comes the problem. For this type you better enjoy the green and wood.
Now how can I possibly dispute in-depth analysis like this?
Zen and the art of Hello Kitty.
(om'd away from Bifurcated Rivets)
If You Knew Sushi Like I Know Sushi
You are not European.
What's your Inner European?
brought to you by Quizilla
(immigrated from Random Thoughts)
Green With It
I want to be Natalie. She has a job at a place rife with blogfodder, she is funnier than I can ever hope to be, and she has plaid.
On second thought, damn you, Natalie! Damn you to heck!
Playing the Perception Percentages
A PhD candidate working in the Sociable Media Group at the MIT Media Lab named Fernanda Viégas has done a survey of bloggers' expectations of privacy and liability.
Right there, we've exceeded the intellectual capacity of this blog.
However, I took brain in hand and boldly read it.
Surprisingly, I find I would place myself in the same majority as most surveyed did. I would term the things I write "personal ramblings" as would 83% of those surveyed. The majority of participants came from California. Or England. Since I channel Edmund Blackadder frequently, I feel doubly represented.
(statistically anomalyed from The Presurfer)
Pits and Bieces
The GM1 recently accused me of having a bloggy eye.
We were driving to one of the less-frequented, poorly-organized malls, when I noticed that the mental health halfway house was directly across the street. I pointed it out to him and noted that this probably explained the randomized customer service at most shops in there, and he paused and said "You're blogging this already, aren't you?"
And I was.
It's all fodder, all of you, out there going about your lives with your quirks and your nose-picking and your poor traffic skills. You with your bus-babbling and your trolley-taunting and your mall-mangling. You there issuing incoherent memos, you there posting ambigous signage, you there leaving a raw turkey on the sidewalk in front of my apartment....
I've got my bloggy eye on you.
By the way, adorable visitor Xade commented on a post a bit down the page that he devoutly hopes in my new job I will have access to the "fairy floss" machine. I kind of doubt they'll allow someone like me to run machinery, particularly the fun stuff like that, but I have to tell you.... I freekin' LOVE the phrase "fairy floss."
So today's linky lovin' goes to Xade, because he's enriched my vocab.
An editorial clarification for those who missed the intended satirical tone because you are taking things a bit too freekin' seriously and I don't mean you, Pixy, because you are the epitome of coolness, but I've gotten mail on this so I feel I need to say something humor point in one of my innumerable recent meme/listy things..... I don't truly hate France. They make excellent cheese. The Eiffel Tower is kind of pretty. The accent, with the right words, is hot. But that's basically all I care for.
On the other hand, I really like the Japanese despite that horrid public toilet I once had to make use of at the train station. Ick.
Did we ever, really, truly and once and for all determine who let the dogs out?
I didn't think so.
Photons and Englishmen Go Out In The Noonday Sun
Watching "Deadwood" got me in this all-Western, all-the-time mood, so I'm watching "Paint Your Wagon" while waiting for the caffeince to kick in. It is absolutely the best Western musical ever, if you fast forward past the parts where Clint Eastwood tries to sing, because that's just wrong.
"Farmers don't got time for fun. They got to plant them turnips, talk about the weather."- Ben Rumson, a real man with real priorities and turnips ain't one of 'em.
Yes, I have been using the blockquote function a lot lately. I find it soothing and invigorating and I like it and will continue to
An Egg In My Sock Drawer, You Say?
There comes a time in every blogger's life when the big burden becomes too much to bear. When at that crucial moment, the mind droops and imaginations flags and the thought of that particular task just sucks the vitality out of the fingertips.
I'm talking about coming up with a witty, succinct, attention-snatching title for each and every post.
And I'm going to take the road less traveled on this problem. I'm not going to go all minimalist and leave it blank. I'm not going to go matter-of-factual and pre-sum-up.
I'm going non sequitor.
That's pretty much the way I cook too, come to think of it.
Is that my eye-of-newt?
I Have A Cowboy Hat
I'm a big fan of HBO, what with "Carnivale" and "Sex and the City" and "Oz" and "Six Feet Under" and of course the uber-obsession, "The Sopranos". And now they've hooked up my Sundays anew.
"Deadwood" is set right after the massacres at Little Big Horn, but that's not important right now. The important thing is Deadwood is not yet a federally-organized territory, it's gold country and it's every man for himself.
Of course there are the good guys, and the fictionalized-a-little famous guys, and the bigass mean spider in the center of the web- a sociopathic psycho dust-covered Donald-Trumpish saloon owner who also owns.... well, pretty much everyone in town's souls in one way or another.
I love a genuinely good Bad Man.
"Nobody's drinkin', nobody's gamblin', nobody's chasin' tail. I have to deal with that!" - bigass mean spider/saloon owner Al, after learning that word is spreading of a supposed Indian massacre of settlers on a road near town
March 22, 2004
Blog-Whipped
Does your weblog own you?
(found at Amanda's place, a haven of independence)
Things I Has Learnt Today
It was educational, if nothing else.
Today I went to mandatory "Food Handlers Class", despite the fact that the comestibles I'll be peddling bear little resemblance to actual food and more closer to crack-for-kiddies pure-sugar-rush whacko fuel.
Here is what I learned, during the moments I was awake.
1. Everything you eat will kill you. Dead. Within minutes.
2. Employees get food at half price.
3. A federal health survery determined that it is impossible to go to the bathroom without pissing on your hands, even if you just went in to fix your hair.
4. None of my coworkers know what "Celsius" means.
5. However, a full one-half of the class have a probation officer of their very own.
6. The other half have restraining orders out against violent kin and/or significant others.
7. Except me. I have totally screwed up the curve as far as aberant behavior.
8. This is quite unlike me, because usually I am the deviant.
9. I had to join the union to have this job.
10. Current math informs me I will be working the first 4 hours of every month solely to pay union dues to be protected in ways that I have just learned do not apply to me as I am part-time.
11. I feel so used.
12. Hold me.
13. However, there is a bright light at the end of the tunnel.
14. I will be "serving my fellow fun-seekers in their quest for adventure and affordable snacks."
15. Bruce, the trainer, told us so.
16. I hate Bruce.
17. Bruce smelled of Hai Karate and spoiled milk.
18. I suspect Bruce is a wanker.
19. I also suspect Bruce pisses on his hands.
20. I did not shake hands with Bruce.
21. But I did have a lovely pretzel at the break.
22. Half off.
23. It was stale, but I don't feel as bad as if I'd paid the full $5.75 for it.
24. How can they charge so much, you ask? Can you say "captive audience"?
25. I knew you could.
26. You think this is a list? Wait until I actually have access to the public.
Unwelcome
I must be a very poor hostess.
Why else would the veggieburger I ate last night be so insistent upon leaving, and leaving rapidly?
To be fair, the veggieburger was a bad guest. He had no taste and while departing, tried to take everything he could with him.
Or perhaps it is as the GM1 claims, that the veggieburger was an exorcist.
Holy crap, indeed.
March 21, 2004
It's My First Time, Be Gentle
How is it I have never done a Cheddar X before? Surely The Cheese and Cheddar X would be like Starsky and Hutch, eggs and bacon, Anna Nicole Smith and superstructure bras?
When I say:
Olympics, you say? = Philippe Candelero
Politics = suck
John Kerry = wanna-be terrorist
George Bush = my vote
Osama = camel ballsack mildew
Same-sex marriage = fine
Todd Bertuzzi = who?
Barry Bonds = who?
The Passion of the Christ = claptrap... oh, and sucks
Beach = walk
Britney Spears = five years off my life to look like that
Paris Hilton = overrated but funny
Microsoft = sometime necessary evil
France = waste of real estate
Hans Blix = who?
Linux = and his blanket
MTV = sucks
Outsource = telemarketers with thick Hindi accents
Hummer H2 = want one
Honor = must be earned
Love = the GM1
Courteney Love = uber skank
Me and My Nancy Boy Hair Gel
Old school punk! You just say what you have to say
regardless of what everyone else thinks!
You're one of my most favourite types of
music... You're raw and uncut! You're
surrounded by hype...just don't let it make you
go insane...
What genre of rock are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
(ripped kicking and screaming while making rude gestures at the Queen from Mamageek)
Useless Query
I wonder if I'm posting a bit too much today?
One Thing I Never Thought Of
This is a phrase I never really thought I'd have to ever ever use.... "sperm in the cheese." Yet there are times that exactitude is necessary.
An Addendum De Dum Dum
Lest ye who have become complacent and relaxed with the current color scheme fail to continue to maintain your less-than-watchful ways (like it does any good huh? I'm still a colorchart hummingbird), despite my added crap I have to do while upright and breathing, completely cutting into my real life, i.e. blogging duties as Churro Chick (see post below for complete and compelling details... go on, it's Sunday, it's not like you have anything pressing to do like mow the damn lawn or wash the dog or take the car out before it piddles on the good rug again)...
Oh hell, lost in my own syntax...
Um, well, I'm going to change the color scheme again.
That is all.
Carry on.
I'll Be Your Canary In A Coal Mine
Yep, my number came up.
I got a job.
I know, I know... a long long time ago I posted about going to orientation for a seasonal holiday gig, but that never came to fruition. I had to take a pass on it when I discovered they defined "flex part-time" as "ridiculously divided split shift".
So for the past seventy or eighty years little while, I've been sending out resume after resume, filling out application after application.
Good practice for that upcoming arthritis, but that was about it.
Last week (on a Sunday morning, wtf?) I had an interview, which I totally aced by sheer force of charm and a strategically unbuttoned blouse) went well because yesterday I went in to do some paperwork and sometime next week I will be:
*insert dramatic drum roll here*
A food service cashier at an amusement park.
I'll wait while you change your panties, because I know that makes you just as wet as it does me.
Seriously, at this point I just want a freekin' job. I want a paycheck. I want to be able to answer the phone without an accent. ("Nooo, Meessus eess no livee here. You no call no mas.")
Now, I've learned some things from blogging, and one of those things is Don't Talk In Detail About Work Unless You Are Absotively Sure You Can't Get Fired For It, Especially If You Have Idiots For Coworkers and Whackjobs For Supervisors. Not having actually begun the job yet, I can't vouch to the idiot level or whackjob quotient. I predict it's just a matter of time, being the cynical brat that I am.
That being said, I am rubbing my bloggy hands in gleeful anticipation of a neverending source of Encounters, Social Transactions, and First Hand Windowlicker Witnessing. Not gonna name names. Not gonna give time or place specifics. Not gonna replace terminology to cover my tracks. Wait, yes I am on the last one. Or not. Now I've confused myself.
In any case, if blogging appears lighter than usual, it's because I'm At Work. Or recovering.
(PS. I would like to point out that this is my second part time job. Not my second ever, you nit, my second in addition to tossing churros at touristas. Concurrent sentences, as it were. Is. Whatever. Anyway, I just wanted to be accurate. In case this all comes up later in court. Or commitment hearings. Or gossip on the bus. You know who you are, bigmouth.
Anyway, the other is a freelance, under-the-table-payment gig doing housecleaning for absolute slobs who care nothing for their personal safety or abode hygiene very busy people. It's cash in hand, but it makes me smell of bleach and dust.
You really really want me now, don't you? I could tell.)
Analysis
My dad has weighed in on the whole Martha Stewart thing.....
"The investigation of Martha Stewart continues. Her recipe for chicken casserole is quite efficient. First you boil the chicken in water. And then you dump the stock."
A Young Margaret Thacher, Baby
This is the exact conversation I have every time I have to ride the bus.
(eavesdropped from Reflections in d minor)
March 20, 2004
The Annual Disclaimer
If for some reason you are blocked from commenting, it's quite likely you share an IP with the same shit-for-cerebellum assnuggets that keep posting utterly window-licker shortbus comments designed to annoy the bloody buggery hell out of me.
If you are an innocent victim caught in this insidious byproduct of evil, let me know via email.
If you are the aforementioned assnugget, please eat camel poop and die.
Thank you,
The Management
March 19, 2004
It's Not My Fault
Robert started it.
Nggghhaahhh!
Grrr arrr Rum and Monkey.
(I can just hear my mom now..."and I suppose if Robert jumped off a bridge, you would too?" Probably, Mom. Because that's just the kind of girl I am. A bridge-jumping crowd-following polar bear.)
Eat, Drink, and Be Merry
Once more, the Friday Five.
If you...
1. ...owned a restaurant, what kind of food would you serve?
It would have to be a sushi place. Or maybe a coffee shop. Perhaps I could just sell quadruple espressos and have a catch-your-lunch aquarium.
Overly-caffeinated and spear gun just go together so nicely.
2. ...owned a small store, what kind of merchandise would you sell?
They always say stay with what you know, so it would have to be books, porn, and toys.
3. ...wrote a book, what genre would it be?
Probably a blatant rip-off of anything by Dave Barry.
4. ...ran a school, what would you teach?
Certainly not cooking.
5. ...recorded an album, what kind of music would be on it?
"Music To Make Dogs' Ears Bleed."
Unguilty
Granted, I may get a little blind, bulletproof loaded tipsy on days ending in Y occasion, but I've never ever gone so low as to consider doing karaoke.
But I appreciate Steve being brave enough to cover that base for me.
(from the musically inclined Bob, who is not too shabby in the crooning department.)
March 17, 2004
Letting the Appletinis Drive
My notes for today, St. Patrick's Day, 2004
1. Appletinis are not only good, they are damn good and take three tries to spell properly.
2. I was gone all day, did you miss me?
3. The correct recipe is 1 appletini equals 2 ounces green apple schnapps, 2 ounces Grey Goose vodka, shake a lot and drink many.
4. I follow recipes to the LETTER, Jack. I'm just sayin'.
5. I went to the GM1's pre-retirement seminar (day 3) today.
6. Listening to the VA rep was like llisteining to paint dry.
7. No, three appletinis is not enough. Go make more.
9. I really hate the VA rep.
10. He had ugly shoes and a depressing attitude.
11. The GM1 would not let me speak in the seminar, he said I was an instigator.
12. I love my toes.
13. They are the prettiest toes I have seen all day.
14. If I could find the camera I wuold take a picture of my toes.
15. And the coffee at the seminar was bad bad bad, like old piddle.
16. I'm just saying.
16. I cannot, however, feel my toes. What's up with that?
18. I sincerely support with my whole heart and ammo dump the death penalty.
19. Especially for mega-boring VA reps. You ass.
20. I make a great appletini, have I told you this? I mean, damn, I could get a job anywhere on th basis of my appletinis.
21. Did I tell you this? The GM1's first name is really Henry?
22. He hates his names.
23. He likes Hank.
24. Hank sounds like a disease of the horse's testicles.
25. He's doesn't htink this is funny. I do. I laugh and say Hank Hank Hank.
16. This is the best toenail polish yet.
17... no, 26.... what the hell?
27. If that's yhou on the phone, I"m not here. Call back later.
28. Holy shit. When did THAT happen.?
29. Must go, sink is on fire. Damn. Again.
Happy Valentine patkrick days!!
March 16, 2004
Forget Nascar
This is the only racing for me.
Cheese racing.
Q: What do you think happens when you throw a slice of processed cheese (without removing the plastic wrapping) onto a lit barbeque?The plastic melts giving off highly toxic fumes and you are left with a pretty grim cheese/plastic mess welded on to your BBQ, right?
WRONG!
Sparkling Mullet
Sparkling Mullet. Body Wash/ Car Wash. Dual action! 2-in-1 formula! Strong enough to clean the car, yet gentle on the nards.
Frikkin-A this is a real product, not a product of my twisted hygienic sensibilities! Go look if you don't believe me.
On the back, it says:
" Dual Action Formula in a zesty spruce scent!
For the body: Foams to a fragrant lather in bath or shower; dispense onto washcloth and scrub that hot babe-magnet until it sparkles (don't forget the nards!) Frikkin' rinse. Now you're ready to Parrrtayyy! Try our Vibrant Mullet Shampoo on the beaver pelt too!
For the car: Hose up a frothy bucket of suds and sponge wash. For best results, wash car out front where all the babes can feast their eyes on your hot bod and bitchin' wheels. Frikkin'-A that smells good- just like your sexy self. Party! Party! Partayyy!
Warning: After washing your boby AND your car, you may be too hot for some chicks. Partayyy!"
My daughter Kelly, the queen of cool random gifts, sent me this. She's also the sender of a wonderful coffee cup that says "Fuck Decaf" and a necklace of delicate tiny skulls. She's definitely in the will.
March 15, 2004
But You Doesn't Has To Call Me Johnson
I saw this over at Lee's place. Did I mention he has the best first name?
If you call me Ann, you're my mom.
If you call me Annabelle, you're my papaw.
If you call me La, you're one of my friends met through the GM1
If you call me Lee, you're one of my friends met in Hawaii.
If you call me Squeek, you used to play paintball with me.
If you call me Lala, you are the GM1.
If you call me Pookiebear, you are the GM1, horny.
If you call me Leroy, you are constantly misaddressed junk mail.
If you call me Smelly Ass, you're Tonya.
If you call me Molly or Jinjer, you're from IRC.
If you call me bitch, you used to live downstairs and coveted my screen door.
If you call me Your Royal Majesty, you're darn right.
Those Impetuous Fools
Yesterday morning, March 14th, I heard a rustling at my front door.
*rustle papercrinkle rustle*
I went to investigate, seeing as how I was only partially dressed and it would be kind of funny to see some Domino's crappy-advertisement-stuck-on-my-doorknob-dispensing yokel fall down the stairs in shock.
Sadly, I was too late... and it wasn't the yokel.
I found two pieces of folded paper scotch-taped to my door. One was dated March 11th and announced that this was 7 day notice that on the 15th a maintenance worker would be entering my apartment to do "work." The other was dated March 13 and said this was my 48 hour second notice that on the 15th a maintenance worker would be entering my apartment to do "work."
Both delivered on the morning of the 14th. The math side of my brain did some quick calculations and went to 7/11, promising to bring me a Slurpie.
So I waited until Sunday hours were in effect and called the management office. Just curious, mind you, about what "work" entails. And why was it in quotation marks? Oh, and wondering about the whole time warp thing too.
No answer. I called on and off all day, because really, I have no life, and I got nothing by air.
At times like these I channel Glenn Close in "Fatal Attraction" and my inner psycho starts shrieking "I won't be IGNORED, Dan!"
A little technical background info here: I don't have an in-house phone, I have only the cell. And my number is caller ID blocked, because that's just the kind of withholding bitch I am.
More technical background info: If you call the management office after hours and leave a message, it will page a staff member at their home so they can review the message and see if it need immediate attention, like a fire or a cat caught in the garbage disposal (again).
What?
So I called them. I called them all evening long and left intense, complex messages.
Okay, so I called and let the voicemail record bits off the television and the sounds of me flushing the toilet.
I still don't know why maintenance is coming today, nor do I know what "work" they're going to "do". But I do know I took satisfaction last night in making my anonymous, prank-calling voice heard.
Kinda.
Yep, I am Joe's Vindictive Spleen.
I'd like to point out that I have a long and contentious history with the management office, so this is not just me going all Bart Simpson out of the blue, but the latest in a series of efforts to get my karmic pound of flesh for all the wrongs they've done me... okay, all the times they've pissed me off. And at no time do I encourage the impressionable youth of America to follow in my wicked footsteps and do such evil deeds. That's why we have Beavis and Butthead, right? And politicians. And those guys who invented speed bumps. And manufacturers of shoddy umbrellas that collapse on you in mid-downpour. And Domino's.
I Drink, Therefore I Am
Alcohoroscopes MRK 2- the stars and your drinking style
Virgo Style:
Cerebral Virgos are compelled to impose onto their bender. Their famously fussy quest for purity could lead to drinking less than other signs, sure -- but it could also lead to drinking booze neat, to sucking down organic wine or just to brand loyalty. They rarely get sully shellacked -- but oh! when they do! Virgos controlled by the intellect, but there's an unbridled beast lurking within, and they let it loose when walloped. It's dead sexy (and suprisingly unsloppy). As every Virgo friend should declare, 'I'm going to drink myself into a low level of inteligence tonight' as a toast to the subgenuis IQ.
brought to you by Quizilla
(lushed away from Fresh Bed Goodness)
March 14, 2004
Meat... It's What's For Dinner
Tomorrow is International Eat An Animal For PETA Day.
I plan to celebrate with eggs and chicken-fried steak for breakfast, a double cheeseburger for lunch, and veal for dinner. However, if you add in some caramel, that's pretty much how I eat every day.
Built for comfort, not for speed... that's me.
I'd trade it all away, though, if I could buy Hannibal Lechter a big old helping of southern fried animal activist.
And a Coke.
March 13, 2004
Ribbet
Thar's a new blog in town.
Okay, that works a lot better if you imagine me walking all bow-legged with my thumbs hooked in my waistband and speaking entirely in this perverse love-child-of-Matt-Dillon-and-Festus accent....
Anyways, while I go put away the pink cowboy hat and spurs, go check out Froggie's Lilypad, which is one of those rare blogs where I actually have met in real true life the author. Which is cool, as is she.
Hop to it.
(sorry, I am recently infested with severe pun-itis and cannot stop myself from saying things like that. It's just one of those things. I'm climbing aboard the short bus even as we speak.)
March 12, 2004
Vex Vobiscum
Have you ever had one of those days where the sun shines, and birds sing, and you find a $20 on your way out to the car? Where traffic seems to melt away before you, where other drivers smile and wave, where the perfect parking spot awaits you at your destination?
A day that goes smoothly and easily, with compliments from strangers and kudos from friends? A day that in the evening finds you safely at home, dinner already made by an adoring spouse, and an icy martini with olives so pert and perky they fairly coo "nibble me, oh yes oh yes, nibble me now!" placed in your hand the moment you step through the door to your freshly cleaned and elegantly furnished abode?
One of those days where you find nothing in the mailbox but thank you notes and certifcates of merit, where spam rears not its ugly head and Nigeria doesn't exist, where clever phrases and eloquent posts filled with insight and genius flow from your fingertips? One of those days where all your favorite television shows are on one after another and nary a rerun in sight and all commercials have been reduced to three second blipverts?
A wonderful day that at the end finds you tucked snuggly warm in a heavenly-comfortable bed, with clean, crisp sheets and only the quiet whisper of your most cherished song on the radio to lull you to sleep after your beloved has considerately waited for you to have pleasure first, not once but several times, and followed it up with a long backrub? Where all your dreams are wonderful and full of benevolent omens of coming peace and prosperity?
Me neither.
And if you did, I don't want to hear about it, you lousy braggart.
Stick The Banana
There's something decidedly wrong about giggling like Beavis and Butthead while watching this harmless recipe animation for MonkeyPops.
Yet I cannot contain myself.
March 11, 2004
Oh Hell
And of course, the post previous to this but after the initial "not gonna post" one, it was needed to make very clear under what circumstances it was allowed.
So, let me just be clear.... absolutely no posting whatsoever today after those two... uh, and this one, because they were required by the Geneva Convention or something.
Unless something that rocks the news world happens. Or if my neighbors do something typically short bus. Or if the GM1 says something silly again.
Except for all those, no posting today.
Really.
To Each Rule Its Own
When I said no posting today I meant except the one I posted saying there was no posting. Because technically that is posting, but it was a necessary post so it doesn't count.
In Accordance With Some Other Prophecy
There is a tradition amongst the bloggarians that any absence shall yea verily be explaineth so that people don't think you're just off on a binge somewhere and not bringing them back anything like the selfish pig you are.
So in cooperation with local authorities (very very localized, like the little voice in my head... no, not that one, the nasal one that sounds like my third grade teacher on acid) I am hereby serving notice that I'll not be posting anything today.
Too much stuff I've read already this morning has me in a supremely pissy mood and I don't feel I should inflict it on you, even though some of you think I'm one funny Cheese when I get all huffy and kick someone's tushie all over the 'sphere.
But I'm trying not to elevate my blood pressure unduly, saving that for fun stuff like who they vote off on "Survivor" tonight, and so no posts today.
March 10, 2004
I Know You Are But What Am I?
Googlism is the process of letting Google define you. Googlism is not for the faint of heart. Googlism is not for unattended children. Googlism wants your heart, your soul, your very being and most of all the rest of the afternoon that you discover is gone gone gone once you start mucking about with it.
Googlism said about LeeAnn:
leeann is one of the sweetest bunnies ever
leeann is a highly trained government agent
leeann is also in the frederick's of hollywood lingerie catalog
leeann is at the bottom of the pile
leeann is dead
Today's Non-Fluffy Post
My favorite recent quote:
"Activism is a way for useless people to feel important, even if the consequences of their activism are counterproductive for those they claim to be helping and damaging to the fabric of society as a whole." Thomas Sowell(no puppies were startled in the stealing of this from Two Nervous Dogs.)
March 09, 2004
In Accordance With Prophecy
Once again, cheese takes the fall for the weak overindulgence of others and the dire consequences. Or else we can blame mullets. Nevertheless, we at The Cheese Stands Alone always advise that you consume your cheese in a responsible and moderate manner, lest you suffer the fate of the poor sods in this little precautionary film.
Who am I kidding? Cheese is meant for the wallowing... go on, all mozarella at full speed and damn the lactose intolerant!
(brought to our attention by loyal hottie Tonya, who should get off her ass and get a blog going already, because she is just that darn cool)
Is Bill Under My Desk? Or Is It Just Spring Synchronicity?
There I go, posting about my cooking skills (or lack thereof) and what do I see on Bloviating Inanities but a post that refers to a recipe clearly made just for me:
Cheeses Christ.
All I need now is a few holy crackers and some wine... well, I have water, maybe there'll be one of those miracle thingys.
Mmmm, the power of Cheese.
Words of Wisdom From the GM1
"It's on that fine line between flush now and flush later."(Upon viewing my latest attempt to ad-lib a recipe from my dilapidated cookbook.)
A Mere Dribble In the Cyber Spitbasin
I never thought it would happen to me.
(You really have to say that in the voice Steve Martin uses in "The Jerk" to get the full effect I'm going for, and if you don't remember it, I urge you to trot on down to the video store and rent it quickly, lest thou burst into uncultured flames and where the hell was I going with this anyways? Oh yeah....)
An antique post of mine has been pinged several times this morning, and while this, or some comment spam or such happens fairly regularly, this appears to come from a legitimate blog. Yet when I go to the blog (not my blog, the blog what has sent the ping, why in the world would I ping myself? Do I look like I'm modeling for a soon-to-be-banned London ad?) I can find zero mention of The Cheese, or even myself.
How odd is that? Even stranger, it appears to be a political blog, and anyone who knows me knows that The Cheese and meaningful political discourse are as disparate as John Kerry and credibility.
Nothing to fuss yourselves about, just my little morning mystery... and me without my trenchcoat.
Wonder if Columbo ever wore snazzy pink polkadot pajamas?
Can It Be? A Quiz I Was Last To Do? Oh, The Shame, The Shame... It Burns!
Volo anaticulum cumminosam meam!
"I want my rubber ducky!"
Okay, so you're a little childish. You know how to
have a good time.
Which Weird Latin Phrase Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
A little childish? Am not, you big boogerhead.
March 08, 2004
In Case You Wondered
In keeping with the complete and utter lack of interest, even my own huge demand for up to the minute reports on my walking coma enthralling life, let me share...
Daily schedule: Wake up, drink huge amounts of coffee, read blogs in my pajamas (the blogs themselves are not in my pajamas, I feel compelled to explain... I wear pajamas whilst reading[also while sleeping, duh]) until ten minutes before the GM1 gets home, dash around taking shower, tidying house up, etc. When he opens the door, pretend to be exhausted from all the sitting on my dead ass in front of the monitor all day housework and demand he order us up a pizza for dinner to save us from eating whatever cooking I transmorgify into charcoal because I'm so worn out.
Unless I need to go out to the commissary and torture bag boys.
As if that wasn't enough info....
How I Expend My Television Viewing Time
Monday:
"Two and a Half Men"
CSI: Miami"
Tuesday:
"Keen Eddie"
"Queer Eye For the Straight Guy"
"The Shield"
Wednesday:
"Angel"
Thursday:
"Survivor"
"CSI"
Friday:
" Oz"
Saturday:
"Mystery Science Theater 2000"
Sunday:
"Mythbusters"
"Mail Call"
"Sopranos"
And of course, on a daily (M-F) basis I watch "Cops" three times a day, any "Thin Man" movies I can find, and if I'm in just the right mood, back to back hallucinations of "Teletubbies" and "Boobah". History Channel picks up any empty spots.
I have a very full life. The great outdoors can take a hike.
(insprired by this post at the Caffeinated Ramblings of a Coffee Achiever, although hers was not boring like mine)
In Which The Cheese Commits Blasphemy
Dare I say it? These "stupid creatures" are even cooler than sockmonkeys.
I like Ninnyhammer the best.
(happily discovered at The Presurfer)
Expectations
Dear Tonya,
I went to the zoo yesterday, and thought of you.
Remember that time you came to visit me, bringing your boyfriend Mike so I could meet him? Remember how we all went to the zoo, because Mike had heard how great it was? And remember how, at the end of a long, hot day of trudging from exhibit to exhibit, uphill more than down, legs aching and spirits flagging... remember how Mike suddenly fixated on the idea he had to see this one particular owl? Remember how imperative it was that he find this bird?
Remember how dog-tired we were, yet we followed him from one darkening-in-the-mosquito-filled-dusk cage after another, as he cheerily chirped "Nope, not this one. Nope, not here. Nope, maybe next one over..."
Remember how we hated Mike that day?
And finally, do you recall, finally how we skidded to a stop behind Mike, as he stood peering into a shadowy aviary at a tiny ball of fluffed up feathers perched high in the corner near the ceiling? And how we all stared at it, waiting for the miracle that was owl?
Then, do you remember how you stepped back in a sudden fury born of exhaustion and chafed thighs and shrieked "IT BETTER FUCKING DANCE!".
Remember how you then threw your souvenir cup at Mike and stomped off to the car? Remember how I laughed until I couldn't walk anymore and Mike thought I was having a seizure of some sort?
I went to the zoo yesterday, Tonya, and thought of you.
I couldn't find the dancing owl.
I Never Think Anyone Is Listening When I Do This
When I put on my makeup, I find myself muttering the Six Million Dollar Man dialogue...
"We can rebuild. We have the technology".
Then I make that sproingy noise.
March 07, 2004
Like There Was Ever Any Doubt
Are you damned?
Brought to you by Rum and Monkey
You have been naughty. You are the sort of person who used to pull off the wings and legs of flies when you were a child, and giggle at the black speck that remained. Evil is written right through you like 'Blackpool' through a stick of rock. You malingering deviant. Prepare for eternal damnation. You deserve it.
(found while traveling the road of good intentions on my way to Suburban Blight)
March 06, 2004
Epiphany
I just sat here and sweated over that last post... yep, that piddly little saying-nothing-really typed-up fart of a post. Tweaking a phrase here, restructuring there, when the GM1 asked me why I was working so hard at it.
"You know" he said, " all your posts don't have to be art. They don't have to be perfect. Sometimes okay is good enough."
And he's right. While I like to be good, and while I strive to be "holy shit, did you read that post on the Cheese?" great, didn't I say a while back how everything blogged is transience at its finest? Now, I would never play to the lowest common demoninator, or go strictly for the cheap shot just to get stats. But I have to admit, very damn few things make it to the "classic and enduring" level.
And most of all, I have to remember.... blogging is not supposed to be work. At its very highest, blogging is supposed to be fun.
So it seems I have to learn to relax.
And play just a little harder.
I must admit, in a genuflection to the irony gods, that I rewrote this post about seventeen times.
Honestly, Now...
Am I the only one who starts to post something, decides it's a pretty good whip-out, and then wonders if it might be better to wait until the weekend is past to put it out there, because you don't get so many visitors on the weekend as you do weekdays?
Doesn't make me bad bloggerette, does it?
On the other hand, weekends are when I catch up on all the stuff I've neglected in favor of blogging M through F, so perhaps it's a balance.
March 05, 2004
Movin' On Up
It turns out that Harvey of Bad Money wants to become the number one Harvey in the universe Googleverse. A good bombing seems in order.....
Harvey. Harvey Harvey Harvey Harvey Harvey Harvey Harvey Harvey Harvey Harvey Harvey Harvey
I'd just like to add I'm not quite sure how this works, so if I'm doing it wrong, tell me so I can stop.
My fingers are tired. *sniffle*
Yes, I know, if I only had a nickel for every time I'd used that excuse I'd be Donaldella Trump. Mind yer beeswax.
Harvey Harvey Harvey Harvey Harvey Harvey Harvey Harvey Harvey Harvey Harvey Harvey Harvey
Dust It Off
Yep, here it is Friday and me without a bit of original content. Lucky that I have the Friday Five.
What was...
1. ...your first grade teacher's name?
Plato. Or it might have been Socrates. I was little and didn't pay much attention.
2. ...your favorite Saturday morning cartoon?
Popeye, the old ones where he muttered incoherently. I couldn't wait to grow up and have a squinky eye and bulging forearms.
3. ...the name of your very first best friend?
It was a piece of lint that I carried around for two years and called Gikky the Spider.
Shut up.
4. ...your favorite breakfast cereal?
Although I am quite clearly not Chinese, until I was in college and discovered the orgasmic joy of cold pizza, every single morning I ate a bowl of rice with soy sauce.
Couldn't find anyone to bind my feet, though. Damn narrow-minded southern methodists.
5. ...your favorite thing to do after school?
We lived in a house that came with a huge, public-school-size swingset in the backyard, the kind made of industrial steel pipes about 15 feet tall.
One day, perfecting my monkeyness, I was shinnying up one of the poles to the top and sliding back down.... when I noticed the most peculiar thing. If I shinnyed up a ways, then clutched the pole with my legs very tightly and slid down just the tiniest bit and did it over and over and over again, it felt GOOD. For months, every day after school I was up a pole.
Until the day my mom poked her head out the back door and hollered, wanting to know what the hell I was doing.
"Oh Mommy!" I yelled. "You have to come climb! It feels so goooooooood! She got a look on her face in stages, first "what the hell?" and then "could it be?" and then "holy jeezus on a pogostick!", before she tugged me down and into the house for a cold bath.
The next day when I came home, the swingset was gone.
Years and years later, in high school, it was discovered by the parents that I was having sex with the boyfriend.
"It's all my fault" my mother sobbed. "I never should have let you play on the swingset!"
March 04, 2004
I Am Not the Love Child of Ghandi
"The Singhsons".
(curried away from The Presurfer)
Damned If We Do, Damned If We Don't
Of course the big story recently in the news is how horrendously high gas prices have risen. Think of the joy here at Chez Cheese when I read that San Diego has the highest gas prices in the nation. Naturally, in an effort to boost ratings by creating an atmosphere of panic and undue urgency fueled by near-hysterical news anchors looking grim and announcing the End Of All Civilization As We Know It via automobile consumption educate the public, the local TV news ran a little piece on ways to cut your gas useage. The first four made perfect sense for a change.... maintain a clean air filter, check your fuel filter, keep good tire pressure, and make sure you have good spark plugs.
The fifth was just stupid.
They said drivers should "avoid stop-and-go traffic and don't drive on hills."
San Diego is the home of the 23rd worst highway bottleneck, not to mention normal day-to-day commutes that takes an average of an hour, if there are no wrecks or construction in your way. San Diego is also built on a series of canyons and hills. To avoid stop-and-go traffic and hilly areas, your commute must be done via sea, air, or wormhole.
Why in the name of Exxon, then, do they give useless advice like this?
I think it's all in the sacred name of blame. Making the victim appear guilty to throw off the stench scent. If you wind up taking out a second mortgage to buy fuel for the Family Truckster, and you try to bewail that sad fact.... well, did you follow all five of our recommendations? No? You drove on roads and up and down hills? Well, then, clearly the fault isn't on greedy oil companies' heads.
It's all you. Youa culpa, youa maxima culpa.
Rational, logical argument? Hell no.
But there's nothing rational about $2.50 a gallon, either.
I knew Santa should have brought me a pony.
Cos They Are Good To Us
I am coming out of the spongmonkey closet.... I LOVE the new Quiznos commercial. The song is stuck in my head, will not leave, and I find myself bursting into the last bit at random moments, much to the dismay of the GM1's libido.
Something about your woman yelping "Dey got a PEPPAH BAH!" at a crucial romantic moment seems to be his main gripe.
UPDATE: Upon close examination of their "Moon Song", it appears that I was right... spongmonkeys and I were meant to be together.
by the way, it is NOT "sponge"monkey.... it's "spong". I should know, I'm the high priestess of spong around these parts.
Getting Kinky in '06
Kinky Friedman, of the legendary band Kinky Friedman and the Texas Jewboys, is planning to run for governor of Texas in 2006.
I'd vote for him based on name alone. Kinky. Heh. And "Texas Jewboys" always gives me the giggles.
''I want to fight the wussification of the state of Texas..."
and
''There are no skeletons in my closet. They are all bleaching on a beach somewhere,'' he said.
Makes me wish I either lived in Texas, or that he'd just skip the preliminaries and go for President.
I have the hat and boots already.
March 03, 2004
Golden Moldy Oldy
Here's another blast from the past, brought to mind because I'm daydreaming about moving somewhere better... again.
Writ back in June, 2003.
Keeping History From Repeating
The GM1 got on his flight this morning and flapped away off to San Diego, to find us somewhere to roost when we move next month. He was all excited about going back, because he gets to see all his old pals, and nervous, because our entire existance hinges on his finding a suitable, affordable, not-in-some-scummy-neighborhood abode. See how I day by day subtly reinforced the concept of a proper living environment, until it took root in his mind and became the main priority of his life... to find a place that won't make me go psycho and cut Little GM1 off in his sleep.
Not really. I'm not that manipulative unless it involves birthdays and jewelry. Or cheese.
But he is concerned about the search, since this is his first solo as we've always found our previous homes together. But after all this time together, he knows what I like and what will drive me over the edge, and how to combine both our needs successfully. (He wants a reasonable commute to work, I want to stay as far away from frat boy stereos as possible.)
He can't possibly do any worse than Husband #1, at any rate.
Husband #1 was my high school sweetheart, and that right there should tell you why it went to hell in the proverbial handbasket. If you fixate on someone when you're 15 years old, and one of the things you love about him is that he never changes, chances are that will drive you mad by the time you realize you're 21, married 3 years to for-all-intents-and-purposes a man who is still 15. After discovering his work ethic was about equal to his budget skills (we had everything we owned repossessed twice, including the car), I decided to take my chances and strike out in the big world on my own. To be fair, I was just as incredibly stupid as he was, and the financial crap was just as much my fault.
But I'm not the one who dangled the prospect of a new home in front of me to get me to come back.
I'm just the dummy who took the bait.
Let me tell you how "new house on a hillside, with nice furniture" translates into reality: It was a condemned two room house on his father's property, the hillside was the result of erosion that was two feet from the back door, and the nice furniture was a folding table from his sister and a leaky waterbed his stepbrother had pilfered from his last delivery job. Water was supplied via a hose run from his dad's house next door, as was electricity from a questionable extension cord. It came with its own version of Animal Planet.... spiders the size of mice, mice in herds, and birds that shit on everything and that entered through the hole in the roof.
As I had had a huge fight with my parents about returning to Husband #1, I could hardly leave again, tail between my legs and humbled by my mistakes. So I stayed... through the winter when the water hose froze solid and we melted snow for our needs, through the electrical fire from the tiny space heater that destroyed my book collection, through the spider bites and the pneumonia. I stayed just long enough for him to decide he was better off without me and went next door to live with his mother. I finally left when she told me I would have to start paying rent to stay in Chez Slum, since her darling boy had come to his senses and dumped me. She also made the mistake of shaking her finger in my face.
I bite, by the way, and have excellent teeth.
So you can see why I have misgivings about letting housing decisions out of my hands, even though GM1 is so much farther up the evolutionary ladder than Husband #1. Shit, Husband #1 isn't even the same species, if memory serves.
Memory is a wonderful thing. It teaches us not to repeat our mistakes. It leaves marks on the instinctive level. It strengthens the spine and stiffens the resolve.
It makes it a lot tougher on apartment managers.
Good hunting, GM1. I trust you. I'm ready to go.
(previously posted on Blogspot)
You Better Believe It
Which Enemy of the Christian Church Are You?
Take More of Robert & Tim's Quizzes
Watch Robert & Tim's Cartoons
(divined from Pixy)
March 02, 2004
Ooga Choka Ooga Choka
I went out amongst the general public today.
You who have been around here a while know this never leads to Good.
This time was no different... the bag boy at the commissary scolded me.
I try to be nice. I really really do. I say please, and thank you, and I generally leave the safety on when I give my one warning. So when Bag Boy wants to make small talk as we search for walk to my car, fine and dandy. We talked about his current school, and his career plans, and that safest of subjects, the weather.
HA!
BagBoy: So did you get caught out in the big rainstorm the other day?
Me: No, I managed to miss that. Did you?
BB: Nope, I was inside studying all day for my doctorate in Nuclear Brain Surgery.
Me: Mmm. Yeah. I'd like to see a big storm, though. A great big thunder and lightning boomer.
BB: *stopping and drawing himself up to his full impressiveness of 5'4", (maybe) 100 pounds* How DARE you! That's so irresponsible!
Me: What? *looking for keys frantically*
BB: Don't you know how many people DIE every day because of lightning? Don't you know how many acres are lost to FIRE because of lightning? Don't you know the untold suffering and AGONY caused by lightning?
Me: What? Were you hit by lightning?
BB: Er... no, but we learned in my Advanced Geekotromics For Spotty-Complexion Geniuses class that....
Me: Were you burned out in those fires we had last fall?
BB: Um, no,.... but in Super-Difficult Physiomolecular class they told us...
Me: Don't you think it's kind of nice to sit all cuddled up with your girlfriend while it storms? Watch the lightning flash around? Snuggle and watch the rain?
BB: *mumble mumble*
Me: Beg your pardon?
BB: I SAID I DON'T HAVE A GIRLFRIEND.
Me: Oh.
BB: Yeah.
*both standing silently at my trunk, looking at our feet*
BB: So... you married?
March 01, 2004
The Real Simulated Me
With all this technology around, I'll never have to be a photo victim again.
This is me via a neat little avatar-making thing on a site I can tell you absolutely nothing about, because it's in Spanish and all I can say in Spanish is "where is the bathroom? I have no money. More beer!", which is really all you need, isn't it?
(from the Goldie at the end of the rainbow)
And this is me via the Mini-Mizer, although I must state that my ass not as chunky as it seems here.... who am I kidding? This is more accurate than any picture ever. Dang. I knew those little knobby bits were there for a reason.
(assembled from Tiffany's place)
On The Very Heels- Now More Winnerific Than Ever!
Yep, another caption contest already. The Screamer Howard Dean might be pretty much out of the race but he's still putty in our photoshoppy little hands.
UPDATE: And yes, I did manage to get out of bed this afternoon today and decide upon a winner.
Go on over to Snooze Button Dreams and tell Jim what a great job he did and maybe he'll share the wealth of his fantabulous prize which I have to send to him as soon as I can find it. Under the bed? In my drawers? Who knows?
Way to go, Jim!
Desk drawers, people.... geez.
Again, please put your captions in the comments. This one will run only until Monday, March 1, sometime in the morning or afternoon, depending on when I decide to get up. And as usual, who knows what goodies lie in store for the winner?
and needless to say, thanks again to Bob for sharing his art.
The Envelope Please
Random comments from the GM1 during the Academy Awards last night.....
On Billy Crystal's perky man boobs displayed during his nakedity in the opening sketch: "I'll be in the other room, call me when this is over. C'mon, I just ate."
On the fashion choices of most women attending:
"Look, another one! Geez, every woman here is pulling a train tonight."
On Sean Penn's win: "Shit! Fuck shit! Bloody hell fuck shit!.... sorry... Sean Penn gives me Tourette's."
On Jamie Lee Curtis's dress: "Where are her boobs? Did she lose her boobs? That dress ATE her boobs!"
On each instance of a Return of the King win: "THAT'S what I'm talkin' about! "
On Sofia Coppola's apparent disinterest in the whole thing: "When your daddy owns half of Hollywood, you can be Princess Attitude."
On Liv Tyler's dress: "Where are her boobs? Did she lose her boobs? THAT dress ate her boobs!"
On the constant description of each film as "uplifting": "Movies are supposed to enter-freeking-tain. If I want uplifting, I'll get a Wonderbra."
On Renee's Zellwegger's acceptance speech: "She should just go over, kneel down and blow Harvey Weinstein... that's what this is, foreplay. "
On Angelina's Jolie dress: "See, now THOSE are boobs. She has very professional nipples. "
On Angelina Jolie's nipples after further consideration: "Hmmm... maybe those are stunt nipples. It can't be that cold in there."
Nope, the GM1 is not a leg man, bless his little heart.
Reversing Polarities
The cosmic downfalls caused by cats eating cheese....
something to do with evil starfish that fall out the nose and stuff.
Science is so cool.
(an evil starfish stole this from Minion and Lackey and fenced it to me for a very good price.)