Hi.

My apologies if you’ve felt fleeced due to a shortage of posts. My responsibilities have combined to render me useless at the end of finals.

What does that me to me, E?

Pardon me for using my blog that is all about me and my awesomeness to waste it talking about you and your lameness.* Chivalry requires I answer your mindless question. It may mean more postings for you to savor, it may mean an added dosage of anti-depressants for you after reading the posts, it may mean that I verbally destroy you time and time again. A hodgepodge of magical options, each one as appealing as the last.

-Side note- my mind is offline for 7 months until I start dental school. I don’t need it until then and will conserve the few remaining brain cells I have until school requires their reactivation. Posts may reflect this causality.

What will I do if you don’t post regularly, E?

Again with the you business? Why waste time talking about you when you can read about me? To answer your question, I would hope you die an ignominious death leaving your name a thing of revulsion and displeasure. That when your name is uttered the only appropriate response is to spit and murmur curse words under one’s breath.

*Actually that is mainly what my blog is about. Talking shit about you. Face!

Game show fun.

We pick up the scene of our protagonist on some game show that has never been created…

Me: …I am of course referencing the boom chicky wow wow.

Game Show Host: Let’s see what our panel of judges think, judges?

Judges: Fail.

Me: Shit!!!

Female Contestant: Yeah that was pretty weak, dude. You have done nothing but disappoint me since I’ve met you. [shaking head]

Me: Thank you. Does it get lonely sitting atop your cloud of judgment as you rain judgments down on people you suppose are beneath you? Let’s get a ruling on that comment, judges??

Judges: Solid.

Me: Judges, I respect and trust your abilities. All of you are tributes to your craft. I am in awe. Thank you.

Female Contestant: You are a douche bag of unequaled proportions.

Me: Are you trying to get in my pants?

Female Contestant: No! Hell no! There is no way I am going to the hospital for back surgery after trying to hoist that hog out of them. My back is not a crane.

Me: You understand my struggle. Your empathy is appreciated.

Female Contestant: You misunderstood. I do not have any empathy for you.

Me: Explain.

Female Contestant: I empathize for the girls you get with.

Me: Of course. The only muscles more powerful than my love muscle are my back and legs that bear the burden of toting this monster around. Let’s not forget my heart that has the massive undertaking of filling it full of blood when I become aroused.

Female Contestant: With that much blood flowing to your loins, doesn’t that leave the rest of your body highly susceptible to infarction?

Me: Very much so. The delicate balance of blood distribution is a precise science that I alone have mastered. My life is on the line with each encounter.

Female Contestant: You are so brave.

Me: All in a day’s work. How’s about we go put my life on the line?

Female Contestant: I thought you’d never ask.

Me: I didn’t really. I knew what you were thinking. I sincerely hope this is the only time timidness ever manifests itself.

Female Contestant: You have my word…and my body and whatever else you want.

Me: Let’s not ruin the mood with desperation, okay?

Game Show Host: Uhhh really guys? We’ve got the rest of the show to do here.

Me: Yes really, Guy Smiley. Now be gone before you soon find the need to crap a microphone. Leave the cameras.

Staying Power

Prostitution, the oldest profession alive. Talk about job security. No fear of getting laid off. Did you see what I did there? Genius is what I did there. I love being me and not being you.

This happens more than I care to admit.

Me: You’re really starting to agitate me. Why don’t you sit down and have a Coke and a smile.
Person: I don’t drink Coke.
Me: It’s of no consequence. What I politely meant was shut the f@*# up so do that now.
Person: You’re impolite.
Me: A very astute observation. Do you find your keen sense useful?
Person: Quite.
Me: Observe this then, my son. [flipping the bird] How do you feel about that?
Person: Not good.
Me: The desired outcome was achieved.
Person: Why do you do that?
Me: I do it out of love. Not love for you obviously but for others.
Person: I don’t get it.
Me: Not surprising.
Person: What’s happening here? Why are you having a fictional conversation with yourself?
Me: With the realization that I’m talking to myself, does responding to the questions make me crazy.
Person: You’ve knowingly been doing that this whole time.
Me: You are a very smart man.
Person: I am you and you are me.
Me: Fascinating. In that case, I must confess that you are a very handsome man.
Person: Funny I was just about to say the same thing.
Me: Then you most assuredly were also going to comment about my manly pecs, huh?
Person: I felt it requisite, yes.
Me: You, sir, are a specimen.
Person: Ditto.
Me: Did you just say ditto?
Person: Well I typed it but whatever. Semantics.
Me: The word ditto I cannot abide.
Person: It seems we’ve encountered a crossroad.
Me: Indeed. What gambit are you considering?
Person: I don’t feel it essential to divulge the details.
Me: Withholding now are we?
Person: Like a stingy wife.
Me: Stalemate?
Person: You concede so quickly and with very minimal force applied. Are you French? You know it’s really not much fun making fun of you when you are me.
Me: Agreed but think of the children. Not like the late Michael Jackson but like the collectors of children Angelina Jolie or Madonna would. Lovingly.
Person: Interesting suggestion. Normally at this point I would remind my opponent that he should not forget who is the better and graciously bow out before I destroy them. Seeing as though you are my equal, I am on unfamiliar ground. A draw is equivalent to a loss so that can’t happen. What to do, what to do?

…to be continued…or not…we shall see…you don’t care…I don’t care…ellipsis…

Idiots

Their only purpose in life is to provide me with targets to berate and lambaste at my whim. Thanks and no thanks, idiots.

Stuff. Things.

I’ve had a lot of friends get engaged and/or pregnant lately. I am supremely happy for them and anxiously await their new additions. Oddly enough I had a realization contrary to what I thought I would have had. You'd think I'd hope for a similar outcome for myself. False. After being hopeful for marriage and kids for approximately 9 years, I have come to a place of complete appreciation for my situation. I think I may have posted something along these lines a while back but it still amazes me that I no longer hope for it. After hoping for something for so long, it seems odd to not be bothered when you don’t attain it and move on to other aspirations. I can say with all the clarity of a lucid mind, the previous goal looks better in the rear view. Growing older and wiser gently replaces foolish goals hoped for in youth. Experience truly is a softening filter.

But E, I’m married and you don’t know what you’re missing. Right. Call me selfish or whatever you wish but I’m fine not knowing. I hear married people complain/bitch all the time about how hard it is and that it is constant work. No thanks. I’ve got enough on my plate to keep me busy let alone room for additional helpings/stress. Marriage works for you and that's great. I am entirely self sufficient. I am quite able to take care of myself. What do I need a companion for? Nothing. What about sex? Touché. I am willing to forgo that though. That while sex is enjoyable there are things associated with it that I am just not willing to put up with for it. Marriage is great, that’s how I came into the world, it’s just for other people. Same with kids.

I can count on the hand of an amputee missing 3 fingers the number of girls I’ve met I would even have considered marrying. Seeing as though that number was developed when I was younger and hopeful/foolish I should update the number to accurately report its current value. The revised number is 0. I abolished the 2 because they left just like the hope I had for marriage and kids but quicker.

Let’s pump the brakes for a second and back up. In my 30 years of metabolizing stuff, I have met a fair amount of ladies. I have met more bitches than ladies but let’s simply consider the ladies. Considering all the ladies I’ve met, there have been the previous 2, count em, 2 ladies I would have ever considered embarking upon a lifelong journey with. (My perspective is now eternal but it was a lifelong thing when I considered these ladies. It’s an LDS thing if that doesn’t make sense.) 2 out of however many ladies I’ve met. That’s pathetic. I know I’m particularly picky but shit man, you’d think the number would be a little higher. Why is this? I’m not gay so that’s not a reason. It’s not that I never meet new ladies so scratch that one. It’s not that I’m not open-minded when I meet new ladies so that too can be excluded.

The reason, folks, is simple. E is just not destined to be married and have kids. It kinda sucks because I alone bear the burden of continuing the (insert last name here) name because I am the only surviving male in my immediate family. I would like to keep the family name alive and kicking ass but alas, no dice. Seeing as though I meet a potential candidate every 5 years (calculated from an age of 20 which is still a young age to marry but it was the first time I met a girl and thought about it) I’ve probably got another 5 years till I meet the next one. This number doesn’t hold actually true because the last time I dated a girl I would have considered was 7 years ago or so. It seems there is no paradigm with which to work. I can tell you this, however, the required desire and hope necessary to facilitate the act has vacated. Faith is hope for things not seen. Take away faith and hope and what do you have? Me.

I can’t wait to be a rich uncle/brother/son that spoils my family incessantly. This post was not meant to instill you with piteous feelings for me. This was a happy realization. This gives me something new to hope for and gives me faith anew. Seeing as I just got accepted into dental school, this goal actually has a chance of getting fulfilled.

I’m sure you don’t enjoy posts about my actual feelings on issues so I promise to post something funny shortly…at least something that is funny to me. Hopefully there is some overlap with you.

Fact

The only way to make butter better is to add honey...and a naked chick.

New Moon

New Moon gets a full moon from me as well as all the other movies/books in the series. What a piece of garbage story line. Oh no! I've fallen in love with my food...oh and I'm a vegetarian vampire. GAY!!!

P.S. Anyone over 18 that thinks Jacob is hot is a pedophile.

Dry humping?

No thanks! If it ain't the real thing then all it is is awkward and painful.

Pray for the admissions people at (will not name dental school.)

Pray for them. They are not well. They have unknowingly accepted a retard into their program.

Who, you ask?

Why me of course. It's on bitches!

Fact

Some women are more powerfully constructed than others. Today I saw the Mack truck version of a woman. Solid. Durable. Unattractive. Can take a beating.

No woman should ever aspire to be one of these.

I give and I give.

“Thanks for signing my chest!! I can now die a happy woman.”

“Okay darlin’. Run along now. Think of me next time you’re in the shower or whenever you’re naked.”*

“Already did twice this morning.”

“Atta girl.”

No doubt our meeting will be logged in her journal as a celebrity encounter. My oddness has awarded me a kind of cult following. False. The only people following my blog are my alternate personalities. Schizophrenia is not a bad thing. It’s keeps people, the many me’s, on their toes. It also provides me a platform to illustrate my esoteric-ness.

*I thought this was only something I said but I heard one of my friends say it the other night to a girl.

Ahh...Nicole.

Despite my attempt to cajole her into a date one evening, I failed to impress her. She spurned all my later invitations too. Ruminations leave me to the conclusion that I am a negative value of desirable. It’s as though I am shit on legs and leave shit stains and remnants wherever I go. I truly leave people with a bad taste in their mouth.

Psyche! I put the hurt on her. She is now recovering in a wheelchair. E leaves em hurtin for certain.

My sexual training began not with young, mindless girls hoping to hump themselves into an identity. My training began with seasoned, experienced women.* Not the royalty of shady women that plied their trade on the streets but older women with a taste for younger men. Older, lovely, uninhibited, insatiable women. Cougars. There’s nothing like a woman that knows what she wants and how to take it. (Pun? You decide.)

My accomplished skills have been honed from many hours of sweat equity between the sheets, in cars, on couches, on floors, etc. If you see a gorgeous chick who is bow-legged, you know she’s gotten the business from me. It’s what I do folks.

*Sadly there were a few accidents where I consorted with foul smelling rabble.

Persistence does not always pay off...unless the desired pay off is depression.

Girl: What are you doing tonight?
Me: You. Hard.
Girl: Joking aside.
Me: I’m hoping you talk nerdy to me.
Girl: Why are you such a dumb ass?
Me: Would you rather I be a smart ass?
Girl: I’d rather you de-ass yourself.
Me: Then what would you look at when my back faces you?
Girl: Why do I even talk to you?
Me: I’ve been wondering the same for a while now.
Girl: I hate you so much…but you get me so hot.
Me: I know but you bore me so beat it, ho.
Girl: Beat it? Do you mean your…
Me: No, beat it like scram. Tell your sister to call me.
Girl: I would happily accompany her when she comes over.
Me: Not interested.
Girl: I have no reason to live.
Me: Agreed. If you love me, you'll end it elsewhere. I sure as hell don’t feel like cleaning up after you.
Girl: Maybe you could help. I remember you telling me one time you were going to kill it.
Me: Yeah that was before you used your mouth to talk.
Girl: How about a second cha…
Me: Have you called your sister yet?
Girl: Umm no. Kinda trying to get laid here.
Me: Good luck with that. Get them fingers a dialin'.
Girl: You make me sad.
Me: Took the words right out of my mouth. What's your sister's number?
Girl: Why don't you want me?
Me: You're wasting time here when you could be talking to someone that gives two shits.

Hateful bitch.

I know this hate filled girl that no doubt bathes in children's tears and wipes her ass with their Christmas lists. Stupid c word.

I have not forgotten about you little sweeties!

I have been really busy the last little while and haven't had a chance to post stuff. Fear not! There is ample material that needs to be posted and will be soon.

Bona fide proof of my weirdness!!

I was chatting with a girl I dated a long while ago and told her that within the last few years I found out I was a massive nerd. She said she had known that for a long time. I was surprised she knew this longer than I did. She said that nerds are able to detect each other's presence, even if one's nerdery is inert or dormant. Here is my response.

"It’s nice to know that only your innate nerd radar could detect my nerdiness and that it wasn’t ostensibly discernable to non-nerds. Aaaahhh nerdery…it pleases me. My nerdery is like inertia; once it starts it keeps going. On a more serious note, the only question currently plaguing me is whether a white or black pocket protector would look better atop my breast. Thoughts?

Fair warning should conversation persist between us!! I’m prone to spontaneous bouts of nerdery laced with scientific terminology and concepts. It’s like nerd Turrets. I think I just wore out the N, E, R, and D buttons on my keyboard from typing them so much. I don’t know of any other word to use to explain my ailment. I am not a geek. I am not a dweeb. I most assuredly am a dork. A dork, as defined by me, does not involve a hyper-affinity toward learning but is one that is socially awkward and doesn’t care how he’s perceived. A nerd is overly eager for even the smallest modicum of minutia on any subject. His social status cannot be referred to as “social” unless you believe cyberspace to be an actual social setting. (Our interaction excluded.) Cyberspace exists but not as a viable social arena because there is no socializing without the aid of a keyboard. A viable social arena exists where people are face to face, in the flesh. I guess that makes me a dorky nerd hybrid. Dork only because I don’t care what people think and nerd because I like to learn more than most. None of the other descriptions for either term applies. My digression proves my point."

This should shed light on the fact that I'm still single at age 30 and will remain forever so. A lot of that has to do with personal choice too, if you can believe that after reading this iron clad written proof of my woman repelling ways.

Hell hole defined.

1) A gaping chasm so deep you can see hell if you peer into it.
2) F’ing deep.
3) A well worn prostitute's vajajay that is STD infested.

Hmmmfff!! Frivolous fiction!!

If you believe in such a thing as a perfect girl then I would like to sell you some snake oil.* What are women good for? 2 things. 1- Looking at. 2- Hmmm…did I already say looking at? Oh, I did. Then…ummm…yeah.

The term frivolous fiction not only applies to “the perfect girl” but also to my blog. Clearly I make most of this crap up. I write it, you read it, we both feel sick.

I’m sure my opening statement holds true for the reverse case also but since I’m not into dudes I will pay it no mind.

I was going to type a long diatribe of my feelings on the matter but alas, I’ve got to go to class. Physics. Repulsive, revolting Physics. My how I hate your guts.

*Sell you some snake oil - an old saying that means you are buying something completely worthless. It was sold as though it was a magic cure all but it actually did nothing but lessen your bank account and increase the shyster’s who sold it to you. A snake oil salesmen is the modern equivalent of a used car salesmen. A worthless, shady breed that ought to be eradicated.

Getting sweaty.

If chewing ice were a reliever of sexual tension instead of an indicator of it, I’d have eaten all the glaciers in the North and South Poles by now. What I’m saying people is I need to bury my bone, lay some pipe, get freak nasty, wear a skirt out, get sweaty with a broad, etc. And many times. I’ve got a lot of time to make up for. I'm beyond ready to come out of retirement. Old Faithful is ready to explode. I guess I should refer to it as something else because Old Faithful erupts with clockwork regularity. Me not so much.

Another true segment of conversation.

Girl: I had a dream about you last night.
Me: Then I’m sure you’re exhausted today. Me not so much.
Girl: You obviously don’t know me.
Me: Silly girl clearly you don’t know me.
Girl: I knew you last night.
Me: Touché. Sorry about the soreness.

Worry not. The joke's on me.

You may worry about those unfortunate souls that come in regular contact with me. You may wonder how they survive. You may even wonder why they haven’t offed themselves or me. To that I would respond with a scoffing chuckle that would end up making me cough uncontrollably and make others around me think and hope I was dying of respiratory failure.

You see I have this horrible gift to embarrass myself at the most awkward times. Most people get embarrassed/nervous to speak in front of people. Some get embarrassed after a horrible performance in the sack. Some get embarrassed/humbled after a dick measuring contest with me.* I get embarrassed when there is no reason to be. Not because of anything I said or did, per se. It’s because my body sometimes fails to support me in normal bodily functions and dastardly seeks to humiliate me. My body is agonizingly efficient in this regard. My body's weak sauce, bush league and just plain a little bitchish.

*Actually my dick’s so small I piss on my nuts. Not really but I had to work that gem in somehow. A girl I work with likes to tease me and say I have a teenie weenie (TW). Probably for the same reason big bouncers are called Tiny. One day she teased me and said that a girl only said something nice about me because she felt bad about my TW. I said I was surprised she felt anything at all it’s so small.

Thank you, thank you!! Good night!

An actual segment from a conversation I had. For realsies.

I was talking to a friend of mine attending a dental school I really want to get into.

Me: Tell whomever you need to in admissions that I’ll sleep with whomever I need to.
Friend: I like where your head’s at.
Me: I may not like where it’s at if they take me up on the offer.

I am a sad, sad man to think I'm as funny and clever as I do. Does that make you more sad for reading it? Of course not. You are precious and I am retarded.

A possible conversation with my future wife. Part II

Me: Begin disrobing for some amorous activity.
Wife: What?
ME: Copulation will proceed once your articles of clothing are removed.
Wife: Ehh? [blink, blink]
Me: I’m gonna put my thing in your thing and make it sexy.
Wife: Why didn’t you just say that?
Me: I did but in funny ways.
Wife: Who lied and told you that?
Me: [Sob, sob]

All part of the emotional rollercoaster of applying to dental school.

I'm over one the schools I applied to. Every time I call to ask a question I get the same hateful beeotch, Tonya. She cops this attitude like she sits atop a golden cloud and that applicants are not worth her time. I, being the clever person I think I am, tried getting information from another source there. I was promptly questioned as to how I had gotten that number like it was the president’s private line or something and was told the person I called for was the absolute wrong person to call. After the admonishment, I was transferred to Satan herself, Tonya.

I give up. If that's the way they treat students then I don't want to drop $350K there. My buddy is even more pissed off than me. They have the highest secondary fee and he's pissed he's not getting better customer service. A valid point. I would still go if they invited me for an interview but my experience has greatly diminished their standing with me. What does that mean for anyone but me? Nothing, absolutely nothing.

Is Wayne Brady gonna have to choke a bitch?

"And then we...blah...blah...blah..."

Her errant supposition that I gave a shit about anything she was saying was annoying. This woman was oppressively vapid and to make matters worse she thought she was the cutest little number. Her every word taunted my decreasing ability to not drive into a tree to silence her. Every successive word offended me more than the last. I don’t know what she did to piss me off. She was just one of those people that instantly agitates you for no reason. It didn't matter what she did the same result would ensue, increased annoyance for me. Plus she smelled like shit. I don't know if she brushed her teeth with dog shit or just smelled that way but damn! Apparently her sense of olfaction bailed with her personal hygene. Gross.

“It was so cute! You should have been there! What happened next was so funny. We…blah blah…frigging…blah…”

If asked to quantify the amount I cared, I would report a large negative value. Each second spent with her was greeted with a silent inquiry of, “Why me? How could I have drawn the implausible misfortune of having to endure this misery?" Killing Octo-Mom and all her children would not amass someone the karma that was currently kicking my ass. Mentally rolodexing through some possible reasons of why made me realize that I am actually a horrible person and rightly deserve every femtosecond of what I’m getting. Karma you cruel bitch!! I’ve never killed anybody but you’ve read other entries of mine. You know I deserve it more than anyone else. Penance is exacting and delivered in ways we least appreciate.

"I was laughing so hard. You would have been too if you were there."

Highly doubtful, bitch. That tree looks sturdy enough to disallow me from walking away from after impact. [swerve]

Question:

What do a kiddie pool and my personality have in common?

Whoa pervert! I am not a pedophile. Expect an uppercut in your mail box soon, courtesy of me. I was looking for shallow. Shallow is what they have in common. Seek help, dude!

I wonder if this ever happens to Randy...

"Hi Randy! Do I make you randy?"

"No, my parents named me. How are you, bitch?"

"My name’s not bitch!!"

"Depends on who you ask. "


...and scene.

Exhibit B

“You’re a brown-noser.”

“True.”

“Not because you kiss ass but because you normally have a mouth full of chode.”

“Chode?”

“The ABC.”

“The ABC?”

“I get it, you’re a parrot.”

“No numbnuts, what is the ABC?”

“The ABC, my good man, is the ass-to-ball-connection. The piece of skin comprising the transitioning area between ball and anus."

“Ahh. Got one of those.”

“And I’m sure it’s bruised from repeated ball sacks pounding it into jelly.”

“Gay jokes?”

“I work with what you give me. You may call it a different name like home or heaven. The only time you’re not suckling upon chode is when you’re kissing a man.”

“I’m outta here.”

“Give Esteban my best.”

I’m deeply disturbed. I submit this concocted conversation I had with myself as nail-in-the-coffin evidence.

He answered as though he had all the reasoning power of a bag of hammers. My friend had suffered a debilitating mental infirmity that put a dimmer switch on all but the most basic reasoning skills. Calling them skills is arguable. Honestly, he was just plain dumb now. This was no fault of his own nor was it given with evil intent from his parents. It was just plain unfortunate and frustrating.

“You’re gonna be throat deep on a superlative set of balls before you know it if you don’t cease and desist with the douchebaggery.”

“Did you just proposition me?”

“Do you even know what that word means?”

“It means you want to put your humping stick in my body and that makes you a queer.”

“I’ve got 5 things to say to you. All of which are variations of you shutting your damn mouth. Your oral diarrhea is in dire need of Imodium AD. Take an exorbitant dosage and be quick about it.”

He looked as though I had personally inconvenienced him. Good. He was driving me nuts. His expression surprisingly went from one of confusion and anger to one of delight as though he had just supped upon a bowl of pure joy.

“Today is a great day for a belly bump.”

“What the…? Nope.”

“Good thing you don’t have a say in the matter.”

“How would I not? I’d be a participant.”

“Semantics, my son. You’re concerning yourself with things you needn’t.”

“You’ve lost your damn mind. Apparently you’ve found someone else’s too because I don’t know where you’re pulling these words from. You have trouble spelling your own name and unfailingly struggle with words over one syllable. This is quite the departure from your normal parlance.”

“Congrats. You just earned yourself an ass kicking. “

“A false statement like that is hardly a thing to be congratulated for. I grow weary of debunking your hollow threats. Remember that one time you were trying to take your undies off and got your foot stuck in the leg hole? After exerting an excessive amount of force to free your foot, your heel was freed and milliseconds later lodged itself in your man satchel. You had to go commando for a week until the swelling went down because you couldn’t fit into your white-tighties. Do you remember that?”

“Of course, it still hurts.”

“If you don’t leave me the hell alone for the next little while, I will kick you so hard in the nuts I will lift you off the ground. You’re pathetic little sack will balloon to the size of mine and will cause you to pass out from the lack of blood to the brain because the blood will be taking up residence in your distended sack. It will make you yearn for the self-induced nut shot you gave yourself years ago. Does that sound fun?”

“I work my ass of to be your friend.”

“Please stop “working your ass off.” You will soon be left with no ass and nothing to show for it. Oft times all your “work” does is piss me off. Just be my friend and quit trying so damn hard. It’s annoying.”

Such a shame.

I know this girl that is naturally beautiful. She doesn’t need to put her face on to look good. The type that looks as good first thing in the morning as she did the night before.

Sadly this girl used to be that way. Now she seems to pass through the Insta-Whore-O-Matic Machine before she exits the house. More make up does not equal better looking. In fact the equality should read: more make up = cheap, insecure, anti-hot, etc.

Ladies, don’t lessen yourself by adorning your face with superfluous make up. The minimal basics (eyeliner, base, etc.) are more than enough. Accentuate your features but don’t alter them.

Appropriate Title

Me: "Haven’t I seen you here a few times?"

Girl: "Yeah, either one of us is always here or we’re in sync. "

Me: "Ha ha ha, Lance Bass. [Shiver coupled with a dry heave] 1, 2, 3 not him!!"

Girl: "Shit!"

Keep wishing.

I believe some people wish me a mute or perhaps wish an accident upon me that would leave me without the utility of my hands. That way I can’t infect them or the internet with my carefully woven criticisms and rebukes. Hate them you may but respect them you must. They are well delivered. Interpret that sans arrogance. When you see art, regardless of the content, you have to respect the talent. I talk shit. I criticize the shit out of people. I say/type shit other people think but don’t have the testicular/ovarian fortitude to express. I like to think I do it reasonably well. Some strenuously toil with and despise writing. I love it. I love delving into an arbitrary topic and seeing where you go with it. I love stringing words together that lucidly articulate the thought I have. It’s all in the details. That’s why I like science.

In summary, this is one author unwilling to participate with the Make A Wish Foundation.

It's my cross to bear...and possibly yours as a result.

Sadly my brain exists as a petri dish and incubator of ideas that should never be unleashed on the public. Material produced within my skull should be quarantined for everyone’s benefit and well being. The fact that I feel it requisite to release such content probably qualifies me as a virus or a psychopath. Even more bothersome is the fact that I think people might find it entertaining. I am sick. Slap me in a straight jacket and lock me in a white cuboidal room. Protect humanity. Leave me alone with my thoughts. Strip me of any medium with which I could disseminate my insanity. Or don’t and give in to my madness. You may learn something about yourself. For example, you may learn that you didn’t think you could be so offended. You may learn that I am demented beyond salvage. Or maybe, just maybe, you’ll chuckle and discover that you may be a little twisted like me. Regardless of the ensuing realizations you may experience, I hope you chuckle at least once.

Sometimes you just gotta check.

I have had some lifeless lays that were so atrocious I had to keep checking their pulses to see if they were still breathing. Nobody wants to be a necrophiliac.

Breast cancer is a serious matter.

Losing a breast to breast cancer is a more serious matter. Where will these women find mammary support for the single chest protuberance? An amputee store? Anyone have Nancy Reagan’s number and I’ll ask her? I suppose these women could always implement a sling if the amputee store doesn’t yield any unibreast concealment lingerie articles.

An experience involving the request of a person's friendship on Facebook.

Me: "If you request someone's friendship and then cancel it, do they get notification that the event ever occured?"

J: "They may get an email notification. Why, did you request X's friendship?" (X representing a girl that we mutually find repulsive.)

Me: "It was no accident." (Obviously I didn't.)

J: "Then you took it back?"

Me: "Yes, it’s okay. I’m part Indian. I’m allowed."

Feeling the need to share your opinion with me?

Comment what you wish. I will not edit your words or moderate the comment before it shows up on my blog. A few words of caution though. You are entitled to share your opinion of me and my posts but know that I will respond and undoubtedly in a manner you won’t like. Should we happen to get into a verbal joust, know that you will lose. Step up if you’re feeling frisky.

Grammar and spelling apply to comments too. Improper grammar and spelling will only incite a stronger response from me than needs suffice. Do yourself a favor and make my response to you as gentle for yourself as possible. Gentle being the difference between 9.99999999 and 9.99999998. A modicum of difference but it could be the difference that sends you over the edge. I will try my best to do that anyway. Hell, if you’re that close just go for it, dude. Consider this your incentive.

Why am I such a dick? Do what you are good at, right?

Regarding an annoying trend.

I hate how a blatant disregard for grammar, punctuation and capitalization is in vogue. I need Robert Langdon from Dan Brown’s novels to decipher some of the messages I get. Half of the time they are run on, brain drop sentences that make no damn sense. One is hard enough to decipher but when you string two of those gems together and expect me to know where one ends and one begins, forget it. DELETE. Regardless of the content. It’s insulting to know that I’m worthy of a message but not one I can make any sense of. Which brings me to my next point. PROOF READ YOUR SHIT!!! It takes microseconds. Those microseconds unspent give rise to many minutes of head scratching, brain pain and serious questioning of your mental faculties. Do yourself a favor and preserve any shred of dignity by proof reading your message and correcting any errors before pressing send, enter or whatever delivery mechanism you implement depending on the medium you’re using.

Of skirts and me.

The best way I’ve found to gain a woman’s affection is by saying, “Listen up, skirt! We’re doing this and you’re not going to be weird about it.” Women respect and prefer the candid, authoritative approach. If you try this and get slapped, you aren't doing it right.

It's what I do.

My criticisms are infinite. Present me with a dill hole and I’ll properly, thoroughly deconstruct them. I’m not responsible for their ensuing therapy after such an experience. Unfortunately my worst critiques are directed inward. We are our worst critics.

If you’ve read more than a single entry I’ve written, you know I’m severely off kilter. Something is wrong with me and people pay the consequences. Adding to that is the fact that I love whatever’s wrong with me and will never capitulate. Sorry. Not sorry for being me but more so sorry that you provide me with way too much material to ridicule you with. If you were a machine, you would be the contraption that sets up bowling pins.

Aaaannnnnnd...action!

Just because I am a born again virgin doesn’t mean I don’t get mine. Perhaps someday that will include a partner.

I may have posted something along these lines a while back. I still remain hopeful. It doesn’t help that the majority of hot women I meet use their personalities as men deterrents. Being hot entitles you to nothing. If anything, it should induce action on your part to pair your looks with an equally impressive mind, personality, sense of humor, or sense of humility. Entitlement to the finer things in life while at the same time being the biggest bitch you possibly can be entitles you to an attitude adjustment by way of a fat lip.

A work in progress.

Me: "You’re hot!"

Random Skank: "Thank you. That’s nice of you to say."

Me: "Ooooh!!! You’ve just been Jedi mind tricked. Face, ho!"

Random Skank: "How so?"

Me: "Pardon?"

Random Skank: "How have I been Jedi mind tricked?"

Me: "What are you talking about?"

Random Skank: "You just told me I’d been Jedi mind tricked."

Me: "Don’t be ridiculous."

Random Skank: "You are a dill hole."

Me: "I feel like this interaction has become hostile entirely on your account. I no longer feel safe."

Random Skank: "I hate you."

Me: "Double burn! Like I said, you were totally Jedi mind tricked! Foolishly you thought I meant hot as in aesthetically pleasing. False. I meant hot as in upset. I hope you enjoyed this perfect illustration of efficacy. Now hit the road. Hot, as in upset, chicks are big turnoffs. You’re really killing my boner here, lady. It’s near flat-lining…or flaccid-lining rather."

...Sigh...

Watching my favorite NFL team this season has been like watching shit in motion. What a bunch of sucks. They need a meteoric finish to finish at .500. I personally don’t think they can nor should they. They jettison many solid defensive players and a sick coach for complete crap. Of course I am talking about the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. I hate rebuilding years.

If you like U2....

...off yourself. The herd needs thinning.

Bono's a douche.

Good riddance!

I don’t feel bad for the bird that undoubtedly lost its life crapping its guts out on my car. I do feel bad about the indignity my car will experience until I am able to rid its exterior of the filth. Stupid birds.

Obama and those appointed by him suck sweaty testicles.

I feel like I’m subsidizing evil when I see that taxes were taken out of my check.

Also, I’ve lost any confidence I ever had in the Nobel Peace Prize Award. There wasn’t much to lose after that douche bag Gore won it for the biggest fallacy ever conceived. Global warming? For real? I could decapitate myself and have higher brain functions than the morons who believe that garbage.

How does a moron like Obama win the Nobel Peace Prize after 12 days of work wherein he accomplished exactly dick? Actually negative dick. All he’s done is drive the U.S. into the poor house for years to come amidst applause and approval from the media. The same media that criticized Bush’s every move. Juxtapose Bush's moves to anything Obama’s ever done and Bush looks brilliant. Bush was a good president. Obama is not, nor will he ever be. All he is is talk. Mindless drones like talk and pay no heed to actual content. If it sounds good, it must be good. I’ve said this before and I’ll now say it again. YOU CAN’T POLISH A TURD. Fools believe you can and subsequently think he is a great president and was worthy of earning a once prestigious award. Thanks Obama for once again changing something of prominence and refinement to complete shit.

Holy piss!

With each dental school interview I attend, there seems to be a disturbing reoccurring theme. An overactive detrusor muscle. (When a detrusor muscle contracts, your bladder compresses to release its contents. Basically it is responsible for making you go pee pee.)

It sucks. I take a piss before I walk into the office/room/building so there is no discomfort during the interview. However, the doorway to the office/room/building acts as a signaling device to my bladder telling it has reached maximal limits. False. I just pissed all my piss. I know the kidneys don't work fast enough to refill it in a matter of minutes.

What's worse is that I don't walk into these interviews nervous so I can't figure why it keeps happening. A sissy bladder is congruent to nervousness or downing gallons of Diet Mountain Dew but neither is the case. How does the doorway signal my bladder? Have they combined to try to ruin my interview? How can this be so when I'm entering rooms I've never been in before? There should be no familiarity between my anxious bladder and an inanimate doorway. It's very disturbing. Perhaps I should wear a diaper to the interviews and just let the piss fly.

One of my favorite distinctions I've ever read.

Capitalization: the difference between "I helped my Uncle Jack off a horse" and "I helped my uncle jack off a horse."

I've reconsidered.

I now like Physics. The relationship Physics and I have is purely physical though.

(No disrespect to the chemistry between Chemistry and me.)

A snippet of conversation.

Me: Physics can blow me.

Friend: Wear protection.

Me: And have a loss of sensation? Nah!! I want it to be really personal for Physics cause I hate it that bad.

I'm sleepy.

I am more worn out than a whore after a month of double shifts.

Gettin some.

I had a friend tell me today I needed to get married so I can get laid again. Hmmm...nah.

The thing about most married LDS guys I know is that they got a lot in the first few weeks or months of their marriage and now rarely get it at all. Begging, pleading and any attempts of enticing their wives to have consensual and not pity sex is unproductive.

I would rather know that I'm not going to get any than know it's available but inaccessible. False hope is a bigger bummer than not getting any sex at all.

Mouth Breathers.

You make me want to beat you about your lips so they swell and prevent you from breathing aloud. You sound like a vacuum with a short in it. Stop breathing loudly or stop breathing period. I will make the choice for you if you seem irresolute or slow about it.

That is all.

A portly girl from Portland…or wherever. I’m guessing some place that specializes in fried foods and mayonnaise.

What the….? Was the back of her thigh smiling the smiles of a thousand kids with dimples? She must have gotten hit in the back of her legs with a sack full of nickels. That’s unfortunate. Even more unfortunate is that she would proudly display them. People with scar tissue or burn marks usually hide them out of embarrassment. She should learn from their example.

This woman is probably a wonderful, sweet person undeserving of scrutiny. However, she brought this upon herself by exhibiting her craterous leg flesh. The assemblage of dimples comprising her posterior thighs were so deep it looked like nails had been in her legs for a long while and were just taken out. They were deep little suckers capable of housing some potting soil and a small plant.

Cellulite, cottage cheese, or whatever you like to call dimpled thighs, should be hidden and not advertised. Owners of it should not be sold short shorts/skirts. Liquor stores ID people before allowing qualified people to purchase booze. There needs to be a screening process in place at the clothing stores. I’ll devise the standard. Hot chicks only! My definition of hot chicks will be the standard. Girls that don’t meet the standard will be refused the article of clothing and told to come back when they’re hot and skinny or have rectified whatever violation they’re guilty of. Isn’t that offensive? No. If you juxtapose the two offenses, my objectivity and their fashion faux pas, and compared the offensive levels of each, I would be so much less offensive so as to be nearly negligible.

“Juicy” the strained material spanning her behemoth butt declared. Each letter was the size of a midget. Juicy indeed, in the most disgusting way possible. Billboards belong on the side of roads and aren’t portable and butt shaped. I’m not saying that clothing makers shouldn’t put words or pictures on their items; I’m saying that this chick’s butt was as big as a bill board. Gross. I’m going to go punch myself in the crotch and try to regain feeling in my swimming suit area again. I fear I may have a lifetime of penile flaccidness ahead of me. Thanks fatty.

What it do?

The demands currently being placed on my time and energy are taxing and I'm oh so tired. Applying to dental school is a long, arduous task that would try the patience of the most patient person.

Posts have been infrequent and probably dull. Sorry but you can’t wring a molecule of water out a paper towel that has been in the drier for an hour. My simple mind seems to have been set on the lowest dimmer switch setting. No subjects or people proffer themselves for my ridicule at the moment. I’m sure things will change because many things deserve my ridicule. Actually, I lied. My elfish Physics professor. Such an annoying little man. Screaming is not teaching. Which formula should we use to answer the question that nobody cares about? How about: You = Pederast. Quit patrolling Baby Gap’s changing rooms for new “friends.” Sickos like you should be repeatedly sodomized with a swordfish or deer antlers. Unless you like it then we’ll revert to something you don’t like. Like having sex with adults or something that doesn’t live on a farm.

On a more positive note, both of my fantasy football teams won last week. The winning streak will probably end next week because that’s what always happens to my teams. They prefer streaks of losing to those of winning. Whatever. I mostly enjoy fantasy football for the shit talking, probably because I don’t know what it feels like to win in fantasy.

Also, I’ve heard back from 6 of the 14 schools I applied to. 5 interviews, one rejection. I like the ratio. Not bummed about the one I got rejected at cause it was a safety school. Hoping to hear from the remaining 2 of my top four schools soon.

The girl I had been dating for 2 months up and told me Sunday she was moving back home to Washington Tuesday. She always was a stickler for advance notice. She told me I was the best thing that has happened to her in a long time. It only makes sense she would leave. A few certainties this humble man knows: death, taxes and girls leaving me. Such is life. I don’t say that for pity or out of sadness. It is eerie how much I have no thoughts about her having left. You’re leaving? Oh okay, drive safe. I must be part robot. It was fun but now it’s as if it never happened. That seems rude but I don’t know how else to describe my lack of emotion toward the subject. She’s gone and I’m here, the world keeps on spinning. No sadness, no anger, no nothing. Pure ambivalence.

I’m considering foregoing dentistry to do pro bono work…

...as a prostitute.

Box, it's what's for dinner.

I wonder how the phrase “Think outside the box” ever came to existence. Why would you ever want to? I imagine a homo or a vagiphobic person thought it up. I am a vagiphile and seek to maximize time spent within box. All my thoughts are singularly focused inside box. The only thoughts relevant to outside the box is the owner of it.

Holy Sheeeeiiit...

I haven't posted in a while. I have been busier than a one legged man in an ass kicking contest.

By way of update, football season is soon upon us. (Pre-season doesn't count.) As such, that means fantasy football has started. I am in two leagues because I am a nerd. In one of my leagues, there is a certain douche bag that I'll refer to as S who fancies himself a shit talker. He tries to step and gets humbled every time. Below is an excerpt but I first need to set the stage. Last year my team's name was Vaginal Spotting because they were a bunch of bleeding bitches. S won last year and claims it was due to superior planning and awesomeness. Clearly he's delusional. You can't predict who gets hurt otherwise I wouldn't have picked my whole team last year. I edited the f word and names but left S’s apparent distaste for punctuation and grammar to emphasize his lameness. No one posted in our league last year except S and I. Fair warning, it’s pretty crass.

I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I am so pathetic that I loudly crack myself up when writing sometimes. Enjoy!

S: E has a bleeding vag. Anyway, C thanks again for having us over it was fun. To e, go f yourself buddy. To the rest good luck!

E: True, hence the Vaginal Spotting name last year. I'm amazed you can type and eat asshole at the same time. C, I hope S's typing doesn't take away any of your enjoyment as he eats your butt.

I dare any of you lames to step up and post this year. Fair warning! Do so knowing you'll get ruined. Notice how S wouldn't look me in the eye at our draft. He's still recovering from last year.

S: Me recovering? You were in the closet crying by week 6. It's good to see that you fully recovered and are out of the closet again... As for eating assholes it was your mom's so get it right. She wants to know if you need any laundry done, if so go f yourself.

E: So you admit to eating assholes? And I sat next to you on draft day? Damnit C! Why didn't you tell me? He was probably fresh off an asshole and circulated fecal matter every time he spoke. Wear a mask out in public, dude!

While you were busy patrolling the elementary for new meat, did you happen to ask one of the little kiddies for a come back? You forgot to include, "No, you are." Oh wait; you basically said that in your third sentence. You are a walking douche bag. Are douche bags capable of being gay? If so, you are the composite Elton John, Liberace and Freddy Mercury edition douche bag.

Last year you were able to rely on your team to make up the difference from your inability to talk shit. That will not be the case this year. Make no mistake, my team will be nowhere near the top of the leader board because…well…they’re my team and they consistently find ways to suck ass. I guess you and my team have some common ground.

S, I appreciate your misguided ambition to verbally keep up. Your stupidity gives me ample material to work with. I can only hope, for your sake, that someone else joins the shit talking extravaganza otherwise it’s going to be a long, depressing season for you. Better start taking anti-depressants now.

Rape, it's not just for dudes.

Rape. It can happen to men. Women scream or fight. Men have to take it with stoicism. Why? Try explaining to your friends how you tried to fend off a woman’s sexual advances in the manliest way possible. It ain’t gonna happen. She’ll recount in embarrassing detail your childish screaming and general overall unpleasantness. When a man unluckily happens to be raped, they are left with no choice but to take it in the ass...and quietly. Probably not the best phrasing considering the context.

With that said…

It started out so innocent but I was currently in hell…or at least that’s what I called her.

“Why are you crying?” she asked as she had her way with my body.

“Because it’s so beautiful.” I could only hope she bought the subterfuge.

“Are you gay or just a bitch?”

“Ummm…neither.”

“That’s debatable.”

“Don’t you think if I was gay I’d be penetrating a different orifice? Also no bitch I know possesses a flesh light saber like yours truly.”

If you could see the image in my mind’s eye, you would sense me cowered in a corner, naked and afraid, in a place so dark it made you forget what light is. The walls neighboring me had a grimy and stomach-churning texture as though someone had ingested large amounts of corn then spackled the walls with the contents of an enema. Compared to my current setting, I could only long for a place like the image you’re now visualizing.

Internally, I was an entropic mess. Externally, I was a stoic, confident man capable of withstanding anything, even this unwanted sexual play. Let the record properly indicate though, I was terrified. Was she using me for my seed? Was she some sexual deviant that got off on raping? (You bet there was a pun intended, kiddos!) These questions and many other equally frightening ones swirled inside my head. How I was able to transform the internal fear to an outward display of confidence is a compliment to my birth sign, Gemini. The twins sometimes come in handy. Like the time you and I were talking and I acted like I was interested in what you had to say.

Anyway, I remember hearing or reading somewhere that fear is a weapon. Able to be used interchangeably by opposing parties involved in an interaction. Its desired use simply depends on who is able to impose their fear the best. I kept telling myself I was reasonably smart and could conjure up a plan to use it to my advantage but nothing was proffering itself. My ability to use fear as a weapon was equitable to a gang of retards humping a door knob. Useless and disturbing.

Let’s rewind the reel to try to discover how I got into this mess.

It all started with a conversation I had with a woman I met in the mall. We were waiting in possibly the slowest line to ever exist, the sloth of lines if you will. We initially exchanged comments about the dawdling pace of the line that made the other laugh. A good, natural laugh. She was pretty with nice features. The conversation evolved into what each other was doing that night. I told her I was running errands and was probably going to chill after that. She told me about a BBQ at one of her friend’s house that started at 7:00 and asked if I wanted to ride over there with her.

“I should be done with my errands by then so yeah, let’s do it.”

“You mean have sex right?”

“Of inter-course…I mean of course.”

Sometimes I can’t help but be silky smooth. It’s what I do. The night progressed and by the time we had gotten to the BBQ I knew I was going to have to play crotch defense all night. This chick emanated desperation like a turd does stink. If such a comparison can be made, she was as desperate as Elton John is gay. Knocking the bottom out of this chick is far removed from something I’d endeavor to pursue. Not because she wasn’t attractive but because the desperation was too nauseating. I’m still clueless as to how my current predicament evolved. Perhaps I shouldn’t have gone to the BBQ with her. Perhaps I shouldn’t have joked with her about sexual things but what else is there to joke around about? Perhaps my words leave women with no option but to whore themselves in ways they’ve never considered. Whatever the case may be, it’s hard for me to not take advantage of verbal opportunities that present themselves. Take this little gem for example. This is probably one of the reasons I am currently getting raped. Don’t you love the inner monologue that’s happening while this traumatic experience is occurring? It’s all I can do to not think of what’s really transpiring. Oh yes, the rape inducing gem I mentioned.

“Are you ready to go?” she asked.

“Almost I just need to take a shower. May I use your body as a towel?”

“Indeed.”

“It’s going to get you all wet, is that okay?”

“Too late.”

Why didn’t you just use your boner as a weapon to aid in your escape you ask? Great question. I was too terrified? I don’t know. I have no good answer for that. In hindsight, a well placed bludgeon from my flesh night stick could’ve have gotten me out of the situation. I only feel more stupid now for not thinking of something like that before.

Don’t fool yourself, I tried to escape but she repeatedly implemented sneaky, clandestine attacks that concerned me. I would think I humped her to sleep and was in the clear only to turn around and be balls deep in her. My only responses were useless, internal questions like “What in the wide, wide world of f*@# is going on here? And how the monkey did she do that?” Desperation made this woman incredibly shrewd. Giving her the business only heightened her desperation. I am unable to explain how that was possible but I am currently experiencing it.

Why didn’t you just capitulate and play dead or something? Capitulation was not an allowable option. I had to play along to propitiate and prevent this chick from placing me in a Misery situation. Her compulsion left me no choice. Sex or torture. You would understand if you were able to see her eyes. A plan began to piece itself together in my head causing me to half smile and have that far off look. If only I could pull it together! It would take meticulous timing and perfect execution. It had to work. I was running out of boner skin. Not even Wolverine could regenerate skin as quickly as this chick was wearing it off. How was I withstanding her insatiable need for boner skin you ask? Callous is not the right word here but you get the idea. Usage has rendered my unit indestructible…or so I thought until I met this woman who’s clearly well versed in all forms of sluttery. It was as though she knew someone in desperate need of a penis skin skin graft and was using her vag to extract the skin. That was probably over the line, even for me. Deal with it.

To be continued….

A bucket of yuck.

I met a lady the other day who had been properly outfitted with all the physically ugly features that could possibly be attached to a singular person. Think of all the ugly people you have ever seen before. Now think of them amalgamated together. Now take that to the tenth power. Now add one. You now can begin to understand just how unattractive this lady was. To her credit, she was a total sweetie!

This lady was instantly sweet on me for some reason, possibly because no one pays her much attention. Unfortunately my doing so got misinterpreted. A casual glance and hello was construed as a proclamation of my love for her considerable unsightliness. “Ugly girls need loving too,” or so the saying goes. Yeah that’s what ugly men are for.

Apparently you’re not comprehending how physically repulsive this lady was. If I were to lose my mind and somehow think it a worthy endeavor to assemble a team of the most unattractive women I'd ever seen, she’d be the only starter. She could make a retch retch.

I don’t believe I am some transcendent figure above reproach. I am not Brad Pitt. I am a mere mortal, subject to gravity and taxes, but I know ugly when I see it. This chick entirely encapsulates every facet of the word.

E, who was this lady? Your mom. Face!!

Dear Readers

I haven't forgotten about you. I was on vacation last week at my home away from home, Lake Powell. I love that freaking place!

By way of update, I have been working on another story/post but can't seem to get it to go in the direction I want it to. I have this idea in my head but don't feel it has come together in a manner that adequately pleases me. Be patient or piss off, you decide.

A few, small excerpts from the timeline of E.

Unlike other males at the age of 5, I was a man. I started shaving a few months before my 5th birthday. I bought beer and a pack of smokes for the first time at 6. The attendant didn’t even ask for my ID, probably due to the thick, protruding forest of chest hair. She did ask for my number though…and I nailed her because I’m awesome!

At age 9, after spending a couple of years in prison for extreme bad-assery, I escaped. I have since toned it down to stay under the radar. Not because I wouldn’t be able to elude the authorities but because all the screaming fans gets old. Sometimes I just want to be a regular person. It’s nearly impossible for me to do that due to elevated bad ass levels. Sigh.

At age 10, I was in California to watch the 1989 World Series between the A’s and the Giants. I’m sorry to all the Californians for the earthquake...my balls dropped that day. I would have expected them to drop a lot sooner because I started shaving so early but nature takes its own course in a person’s body.

At age 30 on July 31st, 2009 I realized how stupid this post was and discontinued it.

I feel like I'm creatively bankrupt this week. I hate being sick.

I may be a lot of things...

I may be prone to sensationalizing. I may have a natural inclination to exaggerate my involvement in events. I may be beset with rugged, good looks. I may be as slick as the devil himself. I may have the ability to make women spontaneously orgasm at the mere sight of me. But what I don’t have is…

…a tolerance for fairies, of the tooth variety. Sneaky little pixies. Good for nothing whores!!

What do they do with the teeth? Practice dentistry? I don’t trust them.

Something to try.

I was at the dentist this morning taking breaths from a nitrous oxide delivery apparatus. My head was pleasantly spinning about as I watched The Price is Right. That is a damn good show. Drew Carey is a fine replacement for Bob Barker much like Conan is a fine replacement for Jay Leno, aka douche bag central. Just give me one good whack at that ant hill he calls a chin. I digress. The hygienist strolls in to scratch any unpleasant calculus off my Chiclets. While she's busy swinging the instrument like it were an ice pick, I momentarily looked up to notice that TPIR has ended and a soap opera had begun. I have never watched an episode of any soap opera so I can only speculate as to the content. Whorish activities, killing, slutting, cheating, overacting, excessive dramatic pauses, STD swapping, music that has a lot of theatrical violin crescendos, things of that nature.

However, today whilst affably enjoying the magic gas, I took a few minutes to study the gripping appeal these shows have to some people, namely housewives and queers. I did so without the headphones plugged into my ear holes. I endeavored to make up my own storyline that I’m sure was completely incongruous with the actual fictional plot. That was some funny sheeeit.* I cordially invite you to try it one day when you have a spare moment. Bonus if you have a nitrous oxide tank lying around you can take pulls from or a big fat philly blunt, son!

*Cannot be held responsible for not having a similar or enjoyable experience because I have a vibrant imagination that oft times runs rampant, especially when on nitrous. Also because I am cool and you are not.

Curses!!

I got duped into viewing the latest installment of blue ball cinema last night. Yes, I watched the new Harry Potter. I feel as though I visually supped upon a sweaty ball sack. Even worse, some little teenage brat was breaking her teeth on a cup full of ice right in front of me.

I would be so pissed if I was a Harry Potter fan but I guess I would be used to getting teased. 2 hours of Harry Potter getting his ass kicked, punked and in general being a little bitch. Then 30 minutes of action only to set up the next movie. The only thing I can think of to equate it to would be an old man with ED hooking up with a chick. After 2 hours of flaccid horseplay, something finally happens. Wood. Then the chick bails and leaves him with his dick in his hand.

If Harry is the chose one, why does he continually get his ass handed to him by EVERYONE? He “kills” some bad ass only to have him come back in the next one. Where did they find this bad guy, at the party store next to the trick candles? Harry’s next spell should be “success” which he should exclusively use on himself. Everyone that goes against him knows it, why can’t he learn it?

How does any Harry Potter fan ever think he is going to become a wizard when he is clearly a massive fairy? Your move gullible lemmings.

An awkward situation.

“E, why don’t guys find me attractive? What’s wrong with me?”

My head scrambles to reassemble itself from the atomic bomb that was just dropped within it. How do I start? How do I begin? Why wasn’t I given a few weeks to think it over?

“Well…uhh…”

I realize the first question is a front for the real question, why don’t you find me attractive, which complicates an already complicated position. There are no good answers. Every word I use to answer the question will be scrutinized ad nauseam and probably interpreted incorrectly.

“That is to say…errr..uhhh…”

Delivering an unrehearsed, unscripted answer that normally requires a great deal of inspection and careful thought is not smart, especially when she is your friend and obviously very vulnerable. I am not qualified to answer for all men and I am certainly not qualified to answer a question like that. Ladies, this is a loaded question that any man with half a brain would immediately run at hearing. How is it that I understood that learning to walk was more important than learning to talk first and yet somehow failed to apply the knowledge when it mattered most? My stupidity sometimes keeps me in uncomfortable situations.

“…hmmm…”

Articulation fails me again. Not that it matters, no thoughts are qued and ready to be expressed. My words were precisely conveying the exact thoughts going through my mind at that time. Gibberish and lots of it. I don’t know why I’m not into her, I’m just not. How do you explain something that isn’t there? There is nothing wrong with her. I like her just the way she is, a friend. Our feelings are not reciprocates though and that’s why I’m here verbally fumbling like a virgin mumbling nonsense as he tries to figure out how to put it in for the first time.

“You see I…you…guys…”

My discomfort intensifies as her eyes continue boring holes through mine as she tries to access and interpret the disorderly words floating around in my gray matter. If by some magical force she succeeds, she too was waiting for the jumbled words to properly align themselves into a cohesive sentence that she could begin overanalyzing.

“To best answer this question we must first delve into the specifics of cellular respiration.”

“What? No. Just answer the question and answer it honestly. Say what you think. My feelings won’t get hurt, I promise.”

Everyone knows that last sentence is super-saturated shit. I can’t remember what I said to her. I hope it made sense and wasn’t taken badly.

Ladies please don’t ever put a man in that situation! You won’t like what he has to say. I think in your mind you’ve played it out that he will respond as though he were in a super sappy chick flick and would sweep you off your feet with his response. And right before you hit the ground he would effortlessly catch you and hold you close and tell you he deeply loves you. Bah! He should titty punch you for verbally punching his brain like that.

Another segment from the aforementioned scroll of wonder.

Our translating experts believe this is not connected to the previously posted translation but who knows really? Whomever the author was, he seems like a real a-hole.

You’re so fat you look like a crowd. Are you the reason for the Swine Flu pandemic? Well you and some drunk that imbibed so much he blinded himself and eliminated his sense of touch and proportion? I don’t even want to run a reel on that tragedy. Pardon the anthropomorphism; I know you don’t have the ability to talk like Wilbur or Babe the Pig and that I may as well talk to a brick wall but I find you fascinating. I guess even a hippopotamus gets some every once in a while to perpetuate the species right? You go girl. Go on with your fat self. You’re hideousness is only eclipsed by your stench. But it’s all good right? It’s you. This is what you’ve chosen for yourself. This makes you happy. Well I support it then. Physically I would not be able to support you, obviously I meant it emotionally.

For all you baby seal lovers.

I am thinking of starting a new club for baby seals. I'm thinking of calling it Club Baby Seals. Anyone interested in joining?

A lucky find.

Some ancient scrolls were recently found and translated. It seems to be a recorded interrogation or screen play of some sort. It’s unclear what happened or how it was resolved but what is clear is that this is by no means laziness on the part of the author. I share a brief excerpt with you now.

“I assure you that was not the case. I offer my life, family and all my valuables as collateral of my sincerity.”

“I couldn’t buy a bucket of spit with any of those. No deal.” [slap]

“My daughter?”

“Been there, done that. That reminds me, I’ve got a present for you that’ll be delivered in 9 months.”

“I don’t get it.”

“No need, your daughter got it just fine…a few times. She should be able to lose the IV drip in a few days.”

“IV drip??”

“Yeah to replace lost fluids. Kinda odd considering the amount of fluids she took in. Enough about her excessive promiscuity, let’s revisit your jack assery. Why did you do it?”

“I’m a giver what can I say?”

“Really? You look like you’d be the receiver.”

…to be continued…or not, we’ll see if I feel like revisiting and continuing this disaster.

Please be respectful of my feelings.

Just because I'm a whore doesn't mean I'm cheap.

Bad-assery.

The other day I walked up to a beefy ex-con and bit through a quarter, flexed, punched a woman, kicked a puppy, drowned a kitten, lifted a car with each hand, wrestled a bear bare handed, broke a light saber over my knee, cut a laser in half with my hand, made time stop, spit in his face, jumped up and pulled an airplane out the sky just to name a few of the bad ass things I did. You may argure that everything I do is bad ass and you would be right.

All this was done to illustrate my bad ass-edness. After composing himself and swapping out his crap and urine filled undies for a fresh pair, he told me he had never met a bad ass like me and swore his allegiance to me for the rest of his mortal life. I told him that won’t be necessary because me being such a bad ass means that I would have no need for him other than managing my fan club. I don’t need a bunch of little jerks running around getting in my bad ass way.

P.S. Sorry to the quarter, woman, puppy, kitten, bear, light saber, etc. It wasn’t anything personal. You were simply needed to illustrate a point. Thanks for your help and sorry for ruining your life. If it makes you feel any better, it made me feel good doing it. I knew you’d understand.

Whoring.

All I’m saying is you put me in a room full of women and someone’s bound to get knocked up. Unless any of the freaks I’ve mentioned in previous posts are there, namely Lindsay Lohan, Jessica Sarah Puker…rather Parker, whatever. You include either of those broads/skanks/vomit inducing whorefests and someone’s getting stabbed/shot/repeatedly punched in the throat.

I started off with a boner but am now flaccid as all get out. Jessica Alba…Eva Mendes…nice. We’re back in the boner business. I don’t mean to sound too creepy but I would boil their soiled undies and drink the broth. I mean I would sop either up with a biscuit in no seconds flat. I would happily carry their children.

So Jessica, Eva consider this my proposal. Let’s do this.

Dirty Thirty

I am officially a dirty old man…as of a month ago.

Leaving my 20’s behind was not a traumatic experience. Just another day. I intentionally neglected to tell anyone my birthday was coming up, like I always do, so that a big deal was not made. Mission accomplished. I don’t understand huge productions for birthdays. I’d much rather avoid the spotlight and unnecessary attention. Birthdays are not that big of a deal. Everybody was born, big whoop. After meeting many of the people I have, that is no reason to celebrate. In fact, it’s only a reason for sorrow and gloom. Celebrating their departure from this life seems a much better reason to party.

As much as I write about hoping people spontaneously die for reasons CSI can’t explain or don’t want to because they’re too gruesome, I’m not serious. I just verbalize what most other people think, albeit in more vivid detail. If you disagree, I invite you to come get a face full of piss. Actually I don’t want to discriminate; I invite you all to come get a face full of piss. Come one, come all! Step right up! Free piss in the face. You think you look good now, wait till you see your face dripping with piss. [whistle]

Now that I have appropriately earned the title of dirty old man, it’s only gonna get worse. Beware.

Cyclists/Retards

I’m going to mount a battering ram or a plow blade to the front of my Accord for summers. Why? Multiple reasons, of which I’ll mention three. One, so my car doesn’t get damaged when I take a cyclist out for hogging the road. Two, obvious aesthetic enhancement. Three, aerodynamics. Why summer E? Wouldn’t it be more appropriate in winter? Easy scooter, I’m getting there. Summer is when retards are out on their bikes. But E, they aren’t all retards. Really, then why do they wear helmets? Check mate.

Question: car vs. cyclist? Car, no question. I’ll prove it every time I see a cyclist on my side of the road mindlessly, selfishly weaving in and out of my lane like he’s entitled to it. Laws may indicate they are entitled to it but not the way these douche bags rape the law. If cyclist’s have the same rights as a car, why don’t they adhere to the speed limit or to passing laws? If there is not a bike lane for you to congest, get on the sidewalk or die. That simple. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for fitness. Just not when inconsiderate asshole fitness interferes with my life. That includes you marathon organizers. Of all the uninhabited space on Earth to run a marathon, you, being a dumb ass, decide blocking off the road in front of my house is the best place for a marathon.

Cyclists, I may warn you by honking my horn before taking you out or I may not. It depends on my mood that day. Scaring your bladder and rectum empty before making a flesh, bone and metal composite pile on the pavement will only make me laugh harder. I don’t want to notify every one in advance because some may try to out pedal me. I don’t want to have to waste gas speeding up to maim you because I’m environmentally friendly, hence the driving of a car and not riding a bike. Plus I want it to be as painful as possible for you. Speeding up will only expedite the bone crushing. No thanks. I want you to have time to ponder about how big of a dumb ass you are for thinking you are so important that the rules of the road don’t apply to you. In terms of road priority, you are less than nothing. I would swerve to miss a bird, an object in the road, a feral cat, an air molecule, a falling leaf, etc. I would only swerve toward you.

Some may consider me a hero for cleaning up the streets. To them I say, superhero, get it right bitch. I am eradicating evil and should be named accordingly. Only superheroes do that not heroes. No need to send fan mail or offer your daughters to me. I’m just a man doing what is right.

Regarding Michael Jackson

While many jokes can be told today, the fact remains that he is (not was) the King of Pop. He always will be too. I liked him for his music not his personal life. The only other thing I'll say about it is that I imagine a lot of child molestation lawyers are out of work today.

R.I.P. Michael

A dude with a chick's name equals gay.

I have a friend that is so gay he can’t even think straight. His parents knew he was gay when they first saw him and consequently named him Courtney. Aptly named cause he’s kind of a bitch. I call him homo for short. Sometimes you just don’t have time for that extra syllable. But seriously folks, Elton John and Freddy Mercury look like mountain men or mill workers compared to this fairy. I once asked him what size of bed he sleeps on to which he responded a queen. Figures. But seriously folks, this man sleeps on a cock shaped pillow. He said it gives him good head support. I asked if he meant neck support. His response was a series of blinks. I imagine he was spelling out G-A-Y using eye-blinking Morse code cause he’s that gay. But seriously folks, this is not a gay bashing post. Someone else’s sexual preference is none of my concern nor should it be anyone else’s.

However, while we're on the subject I have a question that no one has ever been able to adequately answer. Why the parades and over the top flamboyance? You’re gay, I get it. Why the huge production? Why is there an overwhelming compulsion to overtly advertise your sexual preference? I used to work at a restaurant where I was one of the only straight people there. All too often I was told that I was gay and just didn’t know it or that everyone is gay to an extent. I would ask them why they want everyone to be open-minded and accepting of them but will not extend the same courtesy. Never got a response.

Sometimes you're too grossed out to help.

“I’ve got f*#% you money so f*#% you!” Tyson exclaimed while grabbing his balls.

“You speak as though you teach at a finishing school. And what does money have to do with anything? Relax, brother. Have a seat and let’s figure this out.”

“Perhaps I wasn’t clear enough. I said fu…”

“Oh you were clear dumb ass. If I was a Sith Lord, I would be force choking you. Now sit down before I do it the old fashioned way.”

“It’s just that…I’m just really upset that she would do that to me.”

“You mean to him. No need to be a douche to me. I didn’t touch that thing.”

“What? Oh yeah, I guess to him is more accurate. Why would she do that to him?”

“Maybe she mistook him for food? I’m surprised she was able to get over there to do it. She’s got a body for sitting.”

“What? Come on man, that’s my girl.”

“You feed her well. Do you feed her via a feed bag or trough? Never mind, my curiosity sometimes overrides protocol. Why did you not lash her to a post? It’s unlawful to let your animals run free.”

“Look A-hole. We’re talking about my girl.”

“Look sicko. You have sex with a farm animal. Bestiality is illegal too. You’re in some serious trouble here reprobate. I’m trying to help you but first I need to understand. Why her? Not tall enough for a horse?”

“That’s it…” Tyson lunges toward my throat to cause me harm.

Allyoocan!! I uppercut him, Ryu style. He back flips into his prior spot in the chair. I quickly handcuff him to the chair to prevent further attacks. “Not smart guy. Wipe your self off, you’re bleeding.”

“I can’t…move my…hands,” Tyson says between gasps as he recovers from the resounding blow.

“Funny huh?”

“Funny that you tell me to do something when you’ve disallowed me from doing it?”

“Precisely. I’m restraining you for your own good. If you charge again, I may not be able to stop myself next time.”

“Thank you for sparing my life.”

“Indeed, now get your tongue out of my ass. Getting back to business, any clue as to what compelled your behemoth girlfriend to cheat on you? Better question is how is it possible that there could be 2 sickos in this world willing to hump that thing?” I contemplatively ask before my stomach painfully convulses. Good thing it’s empty or I would have violently jettisoned its contents everywhere. The logistics of the putrifying event escape me. We know no two things can occupy the same space. Additionally the location of her sagging belly would make most positions impossible. I imagine a crane and crane operator are involved. My stomach through some weird neurological linking took this thought as a cue to convulse again. I had to stop thinking about it before I puked myself inside out.

“I don’t know how to answer your question other than to say I like what I like.”

“That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard. Have you tried hypnosis, suicide or thinner girls?”

“I’m an alcoholic.”

“Not a viable excuse. Double vision doesn’t have the distorting power to make animals look human. Alcohol does have the ability to make a girl look magically 20-30 pounds thinner after imbibing enough booze to kill a midget. It cannot, however, make a girl look hundreds of pounds lighter and not so…ummm….animal-like. Your body is incapable of accommodating the amount of alcohol required to make that a feasible option. You would die with even a fraction of the requisite amount.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You need to add the word “no” to your lexicon. It’s evident the love you have for her supersedes any social awkwardness she possesses as well as resemblances to beasts and whales. You love her with all your soul. And while I find it repulsive on every imaginable level, I support you brother. Just love her Tyson, just love her. The reason she probably cheated on you was because you didn’t love her enough. You drove her into another man’s arms, well at least a portion of her. No man has a wingspan long enough to wrap his arms around her like a belt. Now for her health’s sake put her on a diet. You two will need to work out the details of her cheating on you because I’m over it.” I walked over and un-cuffed him so he could be on his fat loving way.

“Thank you for the advice.”

“Sure. Thank your adipose sponsored girlfriend for making me money on my McDonald’s stocks. Oh before you go….” I said as I walked over to the closet.

“Yeah?”

“Put this to good restraining use,” I said as I threw him a chain and a lock. “To keep her away from the fridge or when you leave so she doesn’t go to another man or ten. Good luck kid.”

How the....?

How is it that a punk bitch like Jimmy Fallon has a tv show? I excrete more talent from my ass than the aggregate talent of a thousand Jimmy Fallons. Saying I shit more talent than zero times 1000 isn’t impressive because I’m comparing myself to zero. How he’s able to still talk is surprising. I’d have thought the amount of time he’s spent under countless producers’ desks would have rendered his mouth useless. No talent S.O.B. What is happening to America? We have a dumb ass president with a severe Robin Hood complex. He makes George W. look brilliant. If you can’t see that then he can’t rob you blind because you already are. I pity you and will pray for you. How is it that Bush gets criticized by the media for making good decisions and Obama gets a free pass to make as many stupid decisions as he wants? Anyway I don’t want to dwell upon this one man running our country into the ground quicker than JFK Jr. did in his plane. Or did he crash into water? Doesn’t matter, he’s deader than disco.

A word of advice to the guys out there.

If she looks like she can take a punch, walk away. Nothing good can become of it. Trust me.

Some things never change.

LDS girls should not be allowed to date. They are crazy and have the oddest agenda when it comes to dating. I need to consult a committed member of an insane asylum to understand how LDS girl's actions could possibly make sense to someone. Not that I would understand it, crazy and sane are immiscible. I can’t wait to go to dental school out of state so I can hang out with normal girls.

When will it ever stop?

Girl: I’m gonna hit the sack.
Me: Are you tired?
Girl: Let me rephrase, I’m gonna hit your sack, your man satchel, etc.
Me: I am a gentleman of distinction and believe that act is reserved for married couples. Plus you sound super whorish.
Girl: That is a good thing. Let me show you how good it is.
Me: No. Do you read me?
Girl: I want to read you like I was blind and your body was Braille.
Me: Understandable. Please be sure to take maximum offense to this, you look like the ugly duckling that never made it to swan. Piss off immediately.
Girl: Please! I need you in my body…I mean my life. Oops, Freudian slip.
Me: I’ve given your proposition its due consideration and cannot be any firmer in my decision. No, absolutely not.
Girl: So your decision is rock hard?
Me: What’s wrong with you? Are you a sexual deviant? Are you retarded?
Girl: If either of those things turn you on, then yes.
Me: Good hell woman! I’d punch you but you look like you can take a punch. That is not attractive. At all.
Girl: Would you rather pull my hair?
Me: I'd rather have a normal, non-sexual conversation about how sick you make me. Please scram.

True story. Sometimes the truth is funnier than something you can make up.

Not my fault.

My back sometimes yells at me like it’s my fault my parents hooked me up. As such I have made kyphosis sexy. Thanks abnormally large appendage protruding from my groin.

Attention dames and world patrons!!

Sorry broads but I will be busy studying for the DAT for the next 2 months and will pay you no mind.

To any investors out there, there is going to be a dramatic increase in household battery usage and power so buy stocks accordingly. You see there will be many girls with voids to fill. Substitutes for me will need to be found. I can only hope Duracell, Rocky Mountain Power, etc. can handle the demand. Economics says the price for these goods will spike due to the heavy demand. I imagine no less than worldwide mayhem and anarchy will ensue. Women will be stealing and killing people for money to purchase previously hinted at items. In addition to elevated crime levels, women will be extra cranky due to the substitutes being unable to fully satiate the battery of women I regularly do.

I apologize in advance but will not alter my plans to save society. Aiding my ability to not assist is the fact that I don’t care. I’ll be holed up in my room studying with no concern of the world around me. It’s almost time to make reclusivity sexy. Good luck dealing with the estrogen fueled psychos.

Bahh!!!

I swear the older I get and the more LDS girls I meet, the less of a priority they become.

Of E and women.

“Excuse me miss, do you know where I might find the nearest post office?” I politely asked a woman walking on the sidewalk in front of my building.

“You’re not from around here are you?”

“Nope, just moved in yesterday. Was the question a dead give away?”

“Let’s cut the shit okay, honey. I already lost my virginity but I’ll be happy to give you the box it came in.”

“Uhhh…actually I was just looking to get a package sent out. Did I inadvertently move into a red light district?”

“Red light district? No and I’ll pretend you didn’t just call me a prostitute. I’ll happily handle your package.”

“Damn lady! You’re hotter than a whore in a pickle patch.” I said. “That’s really nice of you but…”

“I want to name a multiple orgasm after you. Want to go halfsies on a bastard?”

“Whoa, settle down spaz.”

“How about you bend me over and load me up like a shotgun.”

Hooolyyyy shit!! Why does this always happen to me? I can’t even ask for directions without getting propositioned. Good for me I know, but sometimes it gets in the way of everyday business. Can’t be in a woman all the time, people ask questions when you’re out in public.

“Look, if I were to assemble a team of the most desperate girls in the world, you wouldn’t be riding pine, you’d be the whole team. Desperation is a stinky, putrid aroma and you my dear, reek. How about you run along?”

“After you ravage me 3 times or after you ravage me 5 times?”

I got close enough to her ear for her to feel my words rather than hear them and whispered, “Piss off huh?”

Sometimes you need to be firm with the ladies so they get the point. Sorry gals but it’s for your own good…or my good…or whatever.

Another snippet of another conversation I had the other day.

Female friend: I’m going to the gym.
Me: Be sure to stretch, you’ll need to be limber for tonight. I don’t want you pulling a muscle…unless it’s mine.
Friend: Sorry…I’m in the middle of something.
Me: I’m trying to do the same.
Friend: You’re crazy.
Me: Relax, I’m just trying to loosen you up. Poor choice of words probably.
Friend: I’m not stressed.
Me: I guess the only thing left to do is get it on…heavily…for a long time.
Friend: Sounds interesting.
Me: As do the positions I’m thinking of putting you in.

I love being a dirty old man.

This bugs me more than anything.

Yes even more than the fact that the train wreck Lindsay Lohan was atop Maxim top 100 a couple years back. That chick is beat. Her boyfriend is too. What's that? Lindsay's dating a girl!?! No freaking way!!

I never have understood why some lesbian chicks try to look like a man. Another time and another post perhaps...

Anygay...oops I mean anyway...

Do not chew ice around me!

When I hear that crunching sound it incites deep within me an urge to mimic that sound with the breaking of the chewers bones. That is easily the most annoying sound in the world. You want something in your mouth? I got something for you. If you bite it as though it were a piece of ice, so help me I will...inhale...exhale... If you try to orally Lorena Bobbitt me, bad things will happen. To you and all that you love, like and care about.

Wow, didn't mean for it to get all dark and psycho-ish. Thinking about someone raping my ear drums like that makes me snap.

I don't care why you chew ice, just don't do it. At all. Ever.

Oh and whoever created hard candy for people to noisily crash around in their mouth can die.

Nerdism

If I stopped studying as much as I do, I would have to return my nerd card. That can’t happen, that’s really the only reason girls talk to me.

A couple snippets of conversations I had today.

Slightly altered conversations I should say. Never been a stickler for actuality when embellishment is always an option.


Me: Let me know if your boobs get lonely and need to be held.
Hot friend: My boobs are lonely and need to be held.
Me: Slut.
Hot friend: Sob, sob. Weep, weep.
Me: Your mascara’s running.


Other hot friend: I need a money tree.
Me: Is your money bush inadequate?
Other hot friend: ???
Me: Or money no-bush, I don’t know your grooming patterns.
Other hot friend: *blink, blink*
Me: You know, prostitution…
Other hot friend: [Arms fold and an eyebrow elevates as her head tilts]
Me: Hmmm…I think I’ll go f myself.
Other hot friend: With a sandpaper glove on.
Me: Right.

I am such a good brother.

The other day I was at my sister and brother-in-law’s house with my whole family. Without preamble, I gagged the gag of someone that had just been given rat poison. They think it’s funny when I gag and I don’t blame them, it is. The cause of the unexpected gag was a dirty, distended diaper. My nephew’s foul diaper gifts are ruthless. They linger in clothes longer than cigarette smoke or campfire smoke.

Much to my family’s delight, I was asked to clean him up after a particularly moving musical number emanated from his backside that probably topped off his diaper. I somehow managed to control my spastic gag reflex enough to keep my food down. After a particularly concentrated whiff found its way into my nose and nearly eliminated my olfactory sense for good, I stared at the contents of the diaper as if it possessed the answer to all of life’s secrets. My brow furrowed in contemplation as I tried to make the association. My little sister asked what I was doing. I told her to come over and tell me what she thought it looked like. Reluctantly she peered into the bowel evacuation and squinted in reflection. As she looked and tried to see what I could possibly being seeing in a disorganized anal blowout resembling a Rorschach inkblot made from feces, I looked at her, then back at the diaper, then back at her face and said, “Amazing!”

“What,” she asked nasally as her hand pinched her nose.

“It looks like your face!” I said stoically with a face registering disbelief. Normally I crack up in my delivery but not this day my friends, not this day. It was perfect.

Everyone looked at me for a few seconds as their brains processed what had just occurred. My mother then slowly lowered her gaze to the ground and shook her head probably wondering how I could have come out of her. I can describe the look on my dad’s face with two words: utter disappointment. I have never been so happy to disappoint him and doubt I could exceed the performance if I tried.

That lasted for half a second before everyone burst out laughing. Such is my family, easily amused with anything having to do with farts and poop. BTW, the girls in my family, mom excluded, can easily out-fart and out-stink the guys any day. It’s gross.

I love my sisters for resisting the probably unremitting urge to kill me in my sleep. What a bunch of sweeties!