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.)