Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Hello Again! You've Really Missed Me

Long time no talk. I've been swimming a lot in Hawaii, mostly making friends with sharks. I know you think they're mean, but once you get past their surly exterior, they're pretty fun to swim with. Plus it helps to have a big iron cage surrounding you at all times and a big harpoon just in case. Did you know sharks are ancient, ancient creatures? I didn't, until I read a book. I started off by taking a big swim down the mighty Mississippi, Old Man River himself, and spending several nights in hospitals all over this great nation. Scabies. River water is dirty. At least it is now, not like when sharks were first around. Why swim down the Mississip? Because they said it couldn't be done. And, as I alluded to with the scabies, they were right. I cannot be done. Especially not by me. Especially not after my water wings broke, which was fast. Why can't they make those things in grownup size? How many letters do I have to write? I got from the mouth of the river down to 50 feet from the mouth of the river. None of that is too deep to need to swim through, but I get scared without my water wings. So, yes, fine - it can't be done. Satisfied, Department of Public Health? But I'm getting off topic. At one of the hospitals - Saint Something-or-other, I don't remember, Saint Jesus maybe - I met the woman of my dreams. She was the nurse-in-training who rudely processed my emergency room paperwork. I fell for her at first sight, the moment she said, "Sir, you may not cut to the front of the line, no matter how much you're seizing." She was the first and last person ever to call me Sir, and not Sir Sux-a-lot, which was the name youtube gave me after one of my rap videos went viral. Several false starts and a few restraining orders later, I'd finally worn down her resolve. Her name was Mary Barry. I had a good laugh at that. Still cracks me up. It rhymes. I love rhymes. They're like little songs that can fit in a sentence, and there are so many of them - fat, cat; mouse, house; dinkle, finkle; dweedle, dee. I mean dweedle, feedle. I think there are more too. Oh yeah - Mary Bary. Those are the five rhymes. Needless to say, this led to sharks. Mary had a passion for diving, mostly because of her passion for her diving instructor, who I noticed was not me. This caused a rift in our relationship. I felt that we should love each other, she felt otherwise. I guess it was just one of those quirks of personality - you don't notice it at first, but they can end up turning a relationship sour. I should've paid more attention to it in the beginning, especially when she presented it to me in writing. I thought it was just restraining order talk. Turns out, she was mostly with me because it was easier and cost less than dealing with the courts. I guess I'm just a hopeless romantic, but I can't think of any more ideal way to start a relationship. If there's one thing that can be said about me, it's that I make relationships easy. I'll give somebody as much space as they need. I once gave a woman 3 years of space in which we didn't see each other at all. Total success. That was my longest relationship. 3 years and 1 week, with the week divided in half. So I sicked a shark on him, the diving instructor. Mary left me and had me prosecuted for manslaughter, but juries tend to be pretty anti-shark so my buddy Harry the Hammerhead ended up taking the fall. Sorry Harry. (But I think he'll do ok in jail. It's those other prisoners that need to watch out. He has far more teeth than them.) Since I feel bad, I try to make extra shark friends just to show I'm not prejudiced. I think it's wrong how many innocent sharks are in jail. So that's what I'm doing swimming with sharks in Hawaii - being polite. P.S. The book I read was called "Sharks!". It's an easy read, about 8 pages long, and is intended for preschool children. Check it out from your local library sometime.

Wednesday, November 30, 2011


I tend to assume people are untrustworthy, and that becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. The thing is, how is that bad? My prophecies are being fulfilled. Do know how rare that is? It burns up that gypsy lady every time I tell her. She put a curse on me, which I prophecized would make my life worse, and it did.

Me and my horse, who's name I forgot, were talking about this. He says when I expect people to disappoint me, I set them up to fail. But what the hell does he know? Nobody even knows his name! It's probably Liarhorse or Horse the Liar. Plus, I didn't expect him to help me anyway. I set him up with one task everyone would fail and he failed, so there you go. I'm right. I will never trust him or any horse again, whatever his name is. Probably Untrusty.

What's that damn horse's name?

Oh yeah, Horsey.

No! Horsedog.

No!! Mapleleaf! I'm pretty sure it was originally Mapleleaf.

No, we'll go with Horsedog.

Anyway, he's a liar.

Sunday, October 30, 2011


It's bad if you misspell donuts as "dognuts". I learned this today, ordering things on the internet. I have a dozen dognuts coming to me from I don't know if that's pairs of nuts or just 12 individuals. If it's not pairs, I want my money back. If it's individuals, I will grudgingly keep them. I don't look forward to eating them for breakfast.

Monday, October 24, 2011


Farming is hard. And I picked a bad time to start - right now. I mean, sheesh, you'd think I'd get some result after watering seeds for a week. It's been a whole week! But no such luck. Still waiting on my boston baked beans to sprout.

I admit I'm a novice, but I should get at least get an A for effort. Am I not owed that? I am! Give me whatever I think I deserve! Also that A should come in the form of a candy tree. That would be justice. Goddammit Earth, you owe me at least that.

And to be fair, a whole lot of other things too. You owe me a kitchen with a real stove in it, not this gas-blowing, make-you-pass-out-from-gas-inhalation machine I have now. Also my landlord owes me that. That's the law.

You owe me a really great song about me. I've been at this for a week! I want the lyrics to be, "Ron Ron Ron, you're so great. Everybody else can suck an egg. Dadada, leg." Or something. I don't know. I'm no Nelly Furtardo. Just make it inspire people to commit world peace or something. It's important I'm remembered as inspiring and a hero. "Ron Ron Ron, what have you done. Being so peaceful and dadada gun." Maybe find something that rhymes better than gun. Like I said - your job. My job is to farm nutritious and sweet beans.

And last but not finally, you owe me a mountain of spaghetti, because I would say a lifetime of spaghetti, but I don't want it to be all spaced out in little small parts over a lifetime. I want it all now, dammit.

But back to farming. Let me get on point: you all owe me. At least a vacation to Maui or something. Or at least a waterpark in Wisconsin with a Maui theme - you know, Mauiconsin, or Mauiconsinland - the more affordable but still adequate Mauiconsin. I've put in my time. You owe me at least a Wiscation.

Did you know salted peanuts do not grow more salted peanuts when planted? Turns out they just salt the earth, which apparently is not a good thing. I thought, "Mmm, salted earth! Sounds tasty like Ruffles!" Boy was I wrong. Tastes more like Pringles.

Anyway, my point with farming is this: horse poop may be a good fertilizer and often free, so don't overpay for it. And you don't need to "see how it feels" to know if it's good. Don't be stupid, just taste it. That's "seeing how it feels" with your tongue. More productive.

And let me warn you: it tastes god-awful. Just terrible. It's the taste equivalent of having your wang slammed in a minivan door.

So that's farming.

Saturday, October 1, 2011


Got into a bit of trouble today. Turns out when they say, "It has to be a seeing eye dog, not a seeing eye horse," they mean it. And I'm supposed to be blind. So I had a hard time getting into my job interview at the Heritage Foundation.

By the way, did you know that think tanks don't have to be shaped like tanks? It's just a regular building. I thought one of two things: either an aquarium, like a fish tank, or a giant military tank with a big cannon. I thought a military tank would make a lot of sense, because what good are ideas if you can't back them up? That Heritage Foundation is all talk.

So their security guard escorted me and my trusty horse out. Although, I think "escorted" is the wrong word. "Kicked" is too. There was no kicking. There was a lot of billy-clubbing and defensive grapples against my many blows. I landed a few good ones though.

Friday, September 2, 2011

I like to rise early in the morning, when the birds have just begun to sing their good morning songs, the sun has just begun to cast the faintest pale-orange specter of daylight across the night sky, and there are still plenty of double chocolate donuts at Dunkin Donuts.

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

New Romance

Gay men like me a lot more than straight women. Way more than gay women. So I'm trying to turn myself gay.

It seems like it'd be pretty easy - go to an antique shop, meet a fancy gay man with good taste, and engage in coitus - not so. For some reason there's a part of this human brain that rejects the rational part. I don't know what to call it - probably "the straight part". That's the part of the brain that rejects rationality. Straightness is responsible for everything that doesn't make sense. I think it's safe and fair to blame straightness for everything irrational in the world.

I can make it to the antique shop, even buy an ottoman that I have no actual use for. I already have way too many ottomans. Good luck getting around my house with out bumping into one. Especially in the dark. Those things are shins' worst enemy.

I have to wear shin guards at night now, like a night-time soccer player. Other night-time soccer players always think I'm on the way to a game, then I say no, and they're like, "Oh - ottomans," and we nod. They're pretty good people.

I can even meet a gay man with good taste. There's an aluminum knight that's painted lime green with pink polka-dots. It's the perfect object of good taste. Any time a guy looks interested in that, I try hitting on him. I have a few pick up lines that tend to work:
"Hey, you and me are gay. Let's do the nasty."
"Howdy, partner, let's do the nasty."
"Hey guy, I'm looking to do the nasty. You?"
"Nasty? Wanna do it?"
"Ola, muchacho. El nasty?" (my Spanish is not great)
"LET'S DO THE NASTAAAY"(said like Cookie Monster)
"Nasty nasty nasty, let's all do the nasty. You and me." (that's sort of to a conga beat)

Nine out of ten times, it never works. But one out of ten times - it sometimes works. I'd say one out of twenty of the one out of ten, give or take. More take.

It only worked once.

But when it came time to actually do it, I chickened out, like a not-gay chicken. I'm so ashamed of myself. I am working on a gay-maker machine though, based on listening to the anti-gay deprogramming tapes Christians offer and replacing all the "don't"s with "do - a lot"s. I'll let you know how that goes. My wife, Chevrolet, she cannot know about this.