A Few Minutes in My Head

I started working out again recently, and needless to say I feel like Clint Eastwood’s character on “In the Line of Fire.” Old and out of breath for those of you not with me on the reference. Tell me, how has the blogging world been without me? It had to be sort of lonely without my offensive/brilliant posts. This one is pure rumination. Actually, statistically speaking, all of my blogs are pure rumination and rarely have I stuck to an issue like the bird attack epidemic, or my new pet E. coli. It may look like an empty sealed jar, but under a microscope the thing is ADORABLE…and deadly. What a fucking combination! It’s a lot like Teddy Rupskin; cute too look at, but once he opens his evil robotic mouth it could even do damage to Will Smith’s ears.


I like hockey. This doesn't make me Canadian, does it? I don't want to have to learn that God forsaken language, Canadian. I hear it’s more difficult than Latin. You know who I want to meet? The guy that kayaks in the man-made lake in my neighborhood. He just looks ridiculous. That's like me mountain biking through the woods on the golf course. Why is Nature vs. Nurture such a long, ongoing debate? Nature would totally kick nurture's ass. Nature has hurricanes, and tsunamis and shit. Nurture has snuggies and breast pumps.


I got a brutal blister from bowling (don’t you dare fucking say it). I find it hard to share with people that I actually got it from playing a fat child molester’s game, so I am telling people that a midget bit me. What? It could happen.

Ever go to a fast food place and the bastards forget to give you a straw? How am I supposed to drink this, now? Taking off the lid is completely out of the question. If I wanted a drink in a regular glass, I would’ve poured myself a nice refreshing glass of lemonade, or something. No, I wanted a delicious fountain Dr. Pepper to enjoy as the grease and artery clogging meaty mass lodges into my aorta valve, and now I can’t even have that. Fucking Fascists.

My house is so cold that I may actually have a vagina. That would explain my longing to buy a bunch of shoes, and to be held.

Remember those little capsules that you throw in hot water and they turn into sponge animals of different varieties? I bought some you know, to make my bath time more interesting. I mean, you can only masturbate for so long.

Why are people jerks? What about getting me coffee makes people so mad? Like, that’s your job, dude. Don’t look like I’m inconveniencing you by ordering a coffee at Starbucks. Okay,the heated squirrel’s milk was slightly outlandish, but I’m famous so I can do that shit. It’s like the backstage requests that rock stars make. Let’s see, I need 11,792 green and orange gummy bears. If I see a fucking red one people will perish. I want a hooker with her left arm severed off, and a hooker with her right arm severed off. Then, I want them to pretend they are conjoined at the hip, and sing Strawberry Fields (While doing a bunch of freaky shit). I need one of those massage chairs. A good one. Like, Sharper Image, not Kohls. And, I want one for my animatronic monkey head. I need 10 new packs of boxer briefs. The gayer the better. I like wearing faggy underwear, it balances me out. Otherwise, I'd be a misogynist bastard with normal underwear. Bye, Felicia