You know how it's 99% disgusting to throw-up? It stinks, burns, splashes everywhere, makes your eyes water, and cramps up your stomach muscles. BUT, there is the 1%. That far corner of your mind that you don't want to admit is there in the middle of your five alarm fire of hot mess. It is the part that is enjoying the vomiting process. Hopefully, my blog is that 1% .

Thursday, February 25, 2010

Better off dead?

I have been thinking about an appropriate way to off myself. Don’t worry Ma, this is not a cry for help. I’m not depressed, however; I am sick and tired of stupid shit. I could go with the Artie Lange method: become a radio show sidekick, achieve B level star status, bloat to 350 pounds, addict myself to heroine, and plunge a knife into my chest and abdomen about 9 times. That just seems like more of a commitment than I’m willing to make to the process. Plus, Artie survived. I guess it’s too late to co-star in a incomprehensibly, popular sitcom starring a nervous anorexic, a Christian nut-job, and a Canadian. Did I mention my character’s name? Boner! No, too derivative. I think I would clock out something like this: spend a life time training and learning about an animal commonly known as a Killer Whale -that naturally spends it’s free time swimming over 100 miles in a day- and keep it cooped up in a tiny tank and teach him to perform tricks for tourists. But the greatest feat of all would be him yanking me from the stage, and proceed to thrash me about until blood flows from every orifice (old and new) in full view of young innocent attendees. I wonder if I would drown or be bludgeoned to death? I know it seems selfish on the surface but to be fair, my employer does believe the show must go on and wouldn’t dream of euthanizing their prized, multimillion dollar orca. He was, after all, just following his instinct of beating to death a 40 year old homo-sapien. See, everybody wins.


Friday, February 19, 2010

Golf Haiku

Tiger Woods Eat Shit
You Sounded Like a Child When
Claiming Buddhist Faith


Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Fuck you Toyota !

Dear Mister Akio Toyoda,

Was that really necessary? All I was doing was driving down a blind alley when my 2005 Camry screeched to a halt, pitching me right through the windshield. As I got back to my feet to assess my damages -several pieces of glass embedded in my forearm and face- the car thrust forward and ran right over me. I came to with your prized piece of engineering pinning my wrists and feet, leaking brake fluid in my mouth. That’s when things really got interesting. Something that can only be described as a robotic goblin was released from the gear box, lowered slowly to the asphalt and rolled right up next to me and made eye contact. As I stared in horror, it winked a red, beady eye and headed south. I wriggled and squirmed as it dropped it’s tiny tinny pants and pulled out 9 inches of dog-dick-red robotic cock. Before passing out from the stinging pain and lack of circulation, I remember thinking "you have got to be kidding me, what kind of sick perverted option is this? I specifically told the sales guy I did NOT want any new “features”."

I must have been passed out for at least 12 hours because I awoke to the heat of the sun drenching my body. Of course the Camry was gone too. No note, nothing. I finally made my way home and found a recall notice...thanks asshole!