Sunday, December 30, 2007

Goddamn skunks (whoops)

I would like to tell a little story about my drive tonight. It goes a little something like this...

As I was driving tonight, my mind was wandering as it tends to do on the deserted and winding roads in my particular inbred part of Texas. Just as I was almost completely zoned out and in full road hypnosis mode, a skunk wandered out in front of me. I swerved to avoid it and I almost ran into the ditch. "Jesus!" I exclaimed as I regained control of my awesome and sexy Chevy Cobalt (interested, aren't you, ladies?). That got me thinking about Jesus. I'm not a super religious guy, but I do believe in God and Jesus and the basic Christian ideas and principles, yet I make jokes about God and Jesus and the basic Christian ideas and principles. I'm a strange dichotomy of God-fearing man and complete and total douche.

Anyway, I started just thinking about Jesus in general. Jesus Christ. Christmas. Things along those lines. Then it occurred to me that if his name was something like Jesus Cockcrapsworth, how ridiculous it would be to celebrate a holiday called "Cockcrapsworthsmas." Then I felt those strange pains in my stomach. You know the kind. The ones caused by the internal struggle between the forces of what may or may not be comedy and your own morals and somewhat lax religious beliefs. Kinda like the ones I just felt as I typed the word "cock" after Jesus' name.

I drove extra careful after that. I didn't want to get in a wreck and die having that be the last thing I thought about. I didn't really want to meet my maker on those terms. It's like farting in a room mere seconds before a really hot girl walks in. Sure she might still like you, but the odds definitely aren't in your favor.

What's the point of all this? Where's the moral, db? I'll tell you. Don't avoid hitting skunks. Why? 'Cause skunks make you blaspheme. That's why. Next time you see one while driving, run the fucker over. You'll thank me later when you're resting comfortably in Heaven. Also, you'll be doing a service to unsuspecting French cats the world over. (See what I did there? Pepe LePew? I know what you're thinking and you're right. I should win some sort of award.)

Monday, December 24, 2007

Merry Christmas

I love you all. Well, most of you. I hope you all have a great Christmas.

On this glorious Christmas day, I'll even ignore the fact that a good friend of mine failed to introduce me to or even mention the fact that she was friends with a hot science teacher who is near my age here in town. Who knows what could have happened. We could have had chemistry. Get it? 'Cause she's a science teacher? I bet she would have loved my particular brand of humor. We could have talked about sciency things like beakers and Florence flasks and whether or not God exists. Things probably would have been great. *sigh* I guess we'll never know now, will we. Oh well. Maybe next year somebody will think enough of our friendship to maybe introduce me to a hot girl that lives here in town. One can only hope. *sigh*

Mostly kidding.

MERRY CHRISTMAS. I'm going to take a pain pill and see how many times I can watch the Christmas Story before things get blurry and I start to feel sick. Then I hope the effects of the pill carry over through most of my family being here so I can sleep through it. Hope your Christmas is half as festive and enjoyable as mine.

Here's a disturbing fact for you to put things in perspective this holiday season. If you have a shitty Christmas or get bad presents, just think about poor little Judith Barsi. Judith did the voice of Duckie in Land Before Time and the voice of the orphan girl in All Dogs go to Heaven. On July 25, 1988, her dad murdered her and her mother before killing himself. So as you're opening presents that you don't like just be thankful that you're not poor little Judith. Not because her father murdered her, but because she will forever be associated with All Dogs go to Heaven. That movie was fuckin' horrible.

Stay in school. Believe in Jesus. It's his birthday.

Thursday, December 20, 2007

New Dream Threesome

The new lineup, after watching a bunch of episodes of scrubs and the first four episodes of the first season of "24," includes Sarah Chalke and Mia Kirshner. (The alternate in the event that one of these two lovely ladies gets sick or becomes fat is Ms. Elisabeth Rohm.) Discuss.

I almost put Amy Lee as my alternate, but I thought about it and realized that Amy Lee deserves my full attention and the brunt of my dongular girth.

Disappointed you didn't make my dream threesome, ladies? Well, you should be. Work on it.

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

"And Jesus said unto him, 'PLLLLLLLTTTTTT...'"

I'd just like to thank Kenny for sending me this gem. I'll see you in Hell, sir. I'm kidding. Jesus isn't mad. Anybody who manifests himself as a dog's butthole has a sense of humor, right?

Monday, December 17, 2007

Man without a face, you are my hero

Hot women in Santa outfits are quite possibly the sexiest thing in the history of things. I watch this commercial and think, "what do I have to do to get a girl like Heidi Klum? Is it acid? It's acid, isn't it?" What the fuck happened to Seal anyway? Was his mom grating some cheese one day and about 30 minutes into it realized it was actually her infant son? But seriously...good for that guy. It gives a pristine-faced guy like me hope. Hope that one day I might get horribly disfigured and end up with a supermodel. A supermodel with a sexy accent and gigantic boobs I can rest my weary head on after a long day at the being a badass factory.

Sunday, December 9, 2007

My breaks

The Steelers got the shit kicked out of them today. That was pretty bad, but I'll survive. I've seen worse. But then to add insult to injury, I was looking to see if there were any better pictures of my "double eye" tattoo that I want and that's when I found the picture below.

What the fuck? That's the exact thing I wanted. It's the eye from the Tool cd. I didn't want it in that color, but that's the exact thing I was looking for in the first place. I don't know how tattoo etiquette works, but I don't want to have the exact same tattoo as some other douche. I guess there's a way around this. I had an idea of what I wanted, but I don't think I want that anymore. I had a design and an eye model in my head, but those things definitely aren't what I want now.

EDIT: Holy fuck, there are like a thousand of this exact tattoo.

Monday, December 3, 2007


Last night I had a very weird dream. I dreamt I was strapped to a chair and there were like a thousand nuns in front of me praying for me in unison. One nun stood next to me and kept saying "sufre" over and over. This is weird in a couple of ways. First, I'm not now nor have I ever been Catholic. Second, I don't speak any Spanish at all. I wasn't even 100% sure what "sufre" meant until I looked it up. So that was weird.
Then I woke up with this horrible pain in my stomach. I had a lot of shit to do today at work, so I painfully got dressed and went in. I spent the first five hours of my work day hunched over at my computer putting together quite possibly my shittiest paper yet (and that includes the paper where I wrote the woman who was having her 100th birthday was celebrating a "decade." Yep...I'm a genius like that.) Then I decided I should probably go to the doctor.
I explained to the doctor that the pain wasn't really a sick feeling, but more like a physical pain. He poked and prodded and then came to the conclusion that he needed to check me for a hernia. Ah, nothing like having your balls cupped by a dude. In one of those "as long as you're down there" kinda things, I asked him to check out the scrotal abomination that is my third testicle. His exact words were, "wow...that's definitely not normal. If not checked out, this could get bad." So he wants me to come in next week to set up a biopsy. Hm. I'm not too sure about having something jabbed into my balls.
So the dream coupled with the stomach stuff (turned out to be a virus, but apparently not the 24-hour kind since I'm still pretty sick) kinda freaked me out. Ladies, better send me those boob pictures now. I could be on my way out. At least the fictional nuns think so.