A Rational Response to Liking Someone

Their mere presence floods your body with just enough endorphins to produce hope.

Romance for the Mathematical Enthusiast

How do I love thee? 
Let me count the ways-

1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55, 89, ...


An Epigram Concerning Danny

Danny drinks heavily his Jagermeister, with whom he shares with none,
due to his insistence
on creating the largest liver in the northern hemisphere-

He smokes heavily his Marlboro's, I think, due to his insistence
on contracting the black lung like so many West Virginia coalminers-

His gait is fairly effeminate, which is why, one would presume, that he imbibes and inhales heavily his Jagermeister and Marlboro's-
In order to obfuscate the taste of cock. 


Boca Raton's Arthur Levine and His Famous Sexy Lines

"Nice catheter!"

"They can cure syphilis now."

"I got a pocket-full of blue pills and my homeboys do too."

"Mind if I fill that barren wasteland you call a vagina with something other than dust?"

"I'm pretty sure Medicare covers broken hips."

"You're gonna need that oxygen tank after I get through with you."

"I might fall, but I can definitely get up... if you know what I mean."

"Let's go make a talkie."

"Mammy, I'm your Sammy."

"Are those liver spots?  Because I actually think they're notches of your myriad of conquests over the past 134 years.

"My grandkids call it a 'snowball'."

"You know, in this light, with your head just fractionally tilted in that specific manner, you remind me of a barely dead Dinah Shore."


This Day in William Devane History

On this day in 1974, William Devane ordered an unsweetened iced tea with lemon-wedge and a tuna melt on whole wheat toast.

Those whom were present claim that he was not displeased with the sumptuous repast laid before him.

This has been another edition of This Day in William Devane History.

Carry on.


Bathroom Cleaning Haiku

Missing Judge Judy.
Rubber gloves and toilet brush-
Fear the ass doctor!


Wilford Brimley Has A Modest Proposal

Stop right there, dumbass fuck-nugget!  Not only is Wilford Brimley looking more disheveled than usual, but his pointy-finger is pointed right at you.  And do you know what that means, you snot-nosed dickhead?

No?  Well, then perhaps you should allow Mr. Brimley to apprise you...


"I'm hungry, young man.  I gots the cravings for some meats.  That's right!  Meats!  Plural!   And before you and your Harvard bookworm tongue correct my grammar-- I will Van Damme your raisin bag; so keep that yapper of yours cinched!   I grew up a got-damn Mormon.  We name our children Enos and Amulek.  We wander the hilly countryside wearing forty gallon Stetsons like in that Doyle story.  We swim.  We eat.  And we make little baby sharks.  And that's...  Don't say anything, turd-handler!  I know it's from a movie!  It's a metaphor!  I was supposed to be in that hot-shit movie, but Lorraine Gary stole that part from me!  Guess I should have married a Jew when I had the chance too.  But no- I was too busy roping women and fucking cattle to bother with those no-fun Jesus tattletales.

"I see your eyes, prolapsed rectum-head!  What?  You're surprised we made sweet sweet burning love to our cattle?  Or are you shocked that our ladies were into bondage?  I'm not sure I want an answer from you.  You're an ignorant swath of doofus!  

"Hey!  Didn't I say I wanted some meats?  Where the crap were you on that one?  Nice hustle, Johnny Nowhere-near-the-fucking-spot.  I should backhand you in the maracas.  Let me tell you a story about hasty meats-fetching...

"One day my father walked in my tiny room.  He was wearing overalls.  Not the OshKosh B'Poop kind:  the kind that only a real man would wear who endured hours of torture from swarthy Indians.  His eyes hid long lost pain from long ago.  He sat down next to me on my tiny bed and put his arm around me.  He tousled my hair and gave me a smile.  Then he Jack Johnson'd me in the buckshot bag... "Pow!"  He tousled my hair one more time and then boxed my ears.  He walked out of the room without a word.

"The lesson that I learned that day was Meats-- then God.  Golden calf tastes delicious because it's young; it's tender.  I'm renaming it 'alchemy veal.'  You writing this down, weenis?  Get out your fancy ThinkPad and stylus the dookie out of this shit.  Do you have Mindspring on that thing?  I just got it.  Boobs and NRA updates.  The future is here!  You know what's not here though?  My meats! 

"Holy Charro's knockers, doody-lips!  When I was your age and an elder told me to go forth and return with meats-- verily -- it shall be done!  You're just standing there!  Onward, fart-farter!  And upon your removal from my sight, do tell Mrs. Teschmacher the she and her cock-nibbling talents are needed toute de suite!"

And as you scramble out the room, El Brim Grande finally leans back in his ergonomically appropriate leather cushioned La-Z-Boy and stares at his meats indices.  They're up- just like his blood.  Not in pressure, mind you, but in temperature.  He is a riled man:  a turgid feral beast existing in a world of flaccid corporate nabobs.

Mrs. Teschmacher comes in and gives him a knowing, willing smile.  In moments she is on her knees in order to please.  He who is a god amongst mere mortals pulls out his set of knucklebones and lays them upon his Captain of Industry desk made entirely of tiger's eye...

But not the gemstone.

Image courtesy of:   @screenjunkies




An Epigram Concerning Taylor

It is a matter of course that an intelligent person will occasionally muse upon the existence of a being of higher power than themself.  The obvious corollary is that the intelligent person in question will also muse upon the non-existence of said being. 

And with questions such as these slowly traversing across his steppe-like mind, Taylor makes himself a grilled cheese sandwich.

Morrissey's True Intentions

Many things are worthy of getting to the bottom of.  Alas, some things will never have their Laurentian-like depth trawled due to fear of fear or fear of fearing the unknown or fear of fearing the fear that necessitates one who is fearful.

And so a question arises-- a question that has been studied, deconstructed, and obsessed upon--  just who is Morrissey really singing about in the beloved ditty "Our Frank?"

Fortunately for all of mankind, there is an answer....




Short Story: The Mysterious Case of the Missing Keys

They were in his other pants.

Haiku: Bloody Death! Doom!

Rickety loudness!
Off-balance shopping cart rolls
Past my house nightly.

A Gentleman's Epiphany

You were in the mood and I was raring to go-
But drink detours me time after time-
I don't remember doing much for you to bemoan-
Unless I once again suggested your ass or mine.



Super-mega-maximum-awesome is a term that describes something as being super-mega-maximum-awesome in nature.

For example:  If you were to find your paramour's genitalia especially aesthetically pleasing, you might be inclined to say, "Damn, girl, your cunt is fine as fuck!"

But with the new term of "super-mega-maximum-awesome" nestled comfortably in your gentleman's lexicon holster, you can now quite regally state,
"There are those, my dear, that might proclaim your vagina to be wholesome.  And there are those that might claim it to be rather handsome.  But I am not one of those; therefore, I shall hereby announce for all present and future parties that your vagina is the representative monarchy of every single thing--including dark matter-- in the universe that is super-mega-maximum-awesome!"

And just like the prophet William Joel once caterwauled...

"Tell her about it.  Tell her everything you feel.  Tell her that her taco is


A Meeting with He and His Spiffy Sandals

In honor of All Hallows' Eve, I submit to you some very quotable quotes quoted by the most famous ghost in the history of all things that do not and will not ever exist...


Yessir-ree-bob. I do indeed mean the Jesus!  Christ!  I'm quite convinced I spoke to the anthropomorphic form of Jesus! Christ! because He told me He was in fact Jesus! Christ!  And only a delusional schizophrenic foil-chapeau wearing loon whom I played chess with on a daily basis in a facility for delusional schizophrenic foil-chapeau wearing loons would know whether or not they are Jesus! Christ!

And as Jesus! Christ! once said to me as he opened with a Stonewall Attack:  "How in the fuck-basket burnt sienna has Edward James Olmos not played Manuel Noriega in a Broadway rendition of Mannix?"

Excellent query, Mr. Christ!

And now----

Jesus! Christ! on...

- Electric Cars
"Ish Kabibble!"

- Jews

"They'll come around."

- Cute Kitty Cats

"Satan's sycophants!  Nihasa ne'er-do-wellers!  Stupid Assholes!"

- The Still Breathing Gavin Macleod

"I know a guy."

- Usain Bolt

"Whooopa-dee-doo, your majesty--  Try doing that on water."

  - Dancing Like No One is Watching

"Somersets; day and night!"

- The Trappings of  Wealth

"Bjorn Borg:  scourge of the Federation."



An Epigram Concerning Me Feeling Old

From an outside observer's standpoint, it would certainly seem like I'm mentally preparing myself for the process of bending down to pick something up off the ground that is less than one-tenth my weight.


Do Not Take John Farrell Literally

Needing a spark during the ALCS, John Farrell-- manager for the Beaneaters of Boston -- said that it was time to throw young-buck rookie third basebagger Xander Bogaerts into the fire.  While one should ignore the spark/fire reference as both hackneyed and legitimately dumbass-ian, it is quite necessary for one to note that "fire" was used as a metaphor.

So it is rather unfortunate that a third rate cardiac surgeon with a stupid hat took literally Farrell's quote and did this:

Piddles and damnations to Murgatroyd!  I left the Pepcid in my other sacrificial turban!



Be Kind-- Remind--

She ventured up to me with furrowed brow and bitten lip.  She grazed softly my face with delicate fingers.  Gazing into my eyes, I could tell her synapses were firing at speeds unknown to human-kind.  I stared back--pleading, begging, hoping--say it!  Does she dare?  Could those words I've longed to hear escape her mouth? 
And what seemed like eons multiplied by eons raised to exponent infinite...
"Honey," she says softly.
"Yes, my love?"  I can no longer wait.  I'm trembling.  Her naked vulnerability demands every ounce of my attention.
She speaks-
"Put the fucking toilet seat down."



An Epigram Concerning Robey

One could theoretically hug Robey forever if one chose to dedicate the forever necessary because forever is precisely the amount of time needed to get arms around him.


Not a Jewish Kung Fu Movie Starring Bruce Lee

Fists of Murray

Lesser Known Negro League Player Nicknames

Slappy Do-Rag Poo Poo

Pattycake Johnson

Cobblestone Knuckenicks

Old Aspergillus Face

Esther Abramowitz


The Laredo Lockjaw

Soupbone Smacker

Not Gay in Any Way Whatsoever


An Epigram Concerning Charlie

In a rotunda of social obligation, Charlie- he of distilled thought and drunken warbling- commenced to crossing the room in a most haphazard way.  "A corner I must find," he bellowed. "A corner to which I may relieve my weariness!"


A Gentleman's Excursion

I was enjoying my journey 'cross the land of Thai-
But drink deviated me from my well formed plan.
At least I found a mate with whom I could lie-
But I probably should have asked if she was a man.


An Excerpt From Hilaire Belloc's "The Four Men," Contemporized for Persons Suffering with Mysophobia

"May all good handshakes that here agree
Sanitize thy hands to be germ free,
And may all my bacterium go to hell!
Purell!  Purell!  Purell!  Purell!
May all my bacterium go to hell!
Purell!  Purell!"


The Retiring Corpulence of Johnny B.

Avast, ye Fat Man!  How you've raped death!
Flick!  Flick!  You finger-fucker;
You abundance of negligible.  Stare across the horizon of your imminent demise- bask in the shade-

The dirt molds between your toes.

How ankles must buckle under the gravity of your mass.

You flick!  Flick again!
Incessant with your obsession, have you shame inside?

A hollow cunt you are-
Filling it.  Filling with naked promise of another day of
No death.
Your maker lives atop a mountain Rocky-
Taste the cock of your maker!  Guzzle His fluid-life killer!

Drenched in your own perishable skin-sack, upon a weeping heap of collapsing, creaking, beveling earth.
Your steps take an infinity stolen from finite time- your Lorentzian length expanding in proportion.

The residue of your breath insulates a Siberian hut.

Staring at the poltergeist of the Ace of Hearts- yours beats heavily;
Have you guilt?  A life worth the definition? 

Have ware that all ends are nigh- but some not soon enough.
Fare-thee-well, Fat Man!


Non Sequiturs for Lovely Pilgrim Ladies

"... and then we used our safety word."

"... and that's the last time I ate a chocolate bunny."

"... his face, covered with some sort of viscous fluid- like that scene in Ghostbusters."

"... smelling like a birthing wildebeest at noon in the dead of summer."

"... horseshoes, except with onion rings and a cock."

"... you know- the guy with stumps for hands who works at that Oriental massage parlor?"

"... and hold the placenta."

"... slips on it, falls flat on his ass onto Aunt Trudy's most favorite wombat, kills it, and then blames the Bolsheviks!"

"... how he got it all the way up there, I'll never know."

"... name him after Hitler."


A Gentleman's Effort

My week was consumed by the most exhausting toil-
So I was drunk on drink upon joining you in bed.
Immediately I had to ravish you 'till your blood did boil-
But would have stopped had I realized you were dead.


Base-balling Words of Wisdom

When playing against the Giants of San Francisco, it would be a rather prudent idea to do everything that is in your power to not hit the ball within three zip codes of Brandon Crawford.



At some point in the summer of 1985, Noddy Holder (top-hatted frontman of Slade and inspiration for the currently dead Kevin DuBrow) stole an innocent looking DeLorean DMC-12 from the driveway of one Dr. Emmett Brown.  

It is of absolutely no secret to anyone that Holder loved speed.  His infatuation with extreme wavelength stretching velocities bordered on the obsessive; and according to his myriad of female lovers, he was also obsessed with buying saffron in bulk.

Little did Noddy know that when his lead-footed ways forced the DeLorean to reach 88 mph, it would transport both man and car to a preset temporal destination.  The year was 1849.  The place was a small cafe in rapidly industrializing Paris, France.

You may be asking yourself how Holder ended up in Paris if that was not the place of his immediate departure.  Well, I don't fucking know.  But what I do fucking know is that Noddy Holder had a cup of coffee and shared some laudanum with Charles Baudelaire.  So shut up and read some excerpts from their conversation, okay?


Be always drunken.  Nothing else matters:  that is the only question.

I don't want to drink my whiskey like you do.

The act of love strongly resembles torture or surgery.

I wanted to show the colder broads how hot cookin’ they are- So give me good time gals to love the rest of my life - wooo!

I love Wagner, but the music I prefer is that of a cat hung up by its tail outside a window and trying to stick to the panes of glass with its claws.

Them kinda monkeys can't swing and them birdies can't sing.  If them pigs could fly maybe they'd fly away from me

To love intelligent women is the pleasure of a pederast.  

Boys get tight.  Ooh, what a sight.  Ready to use their charms.

And, drunk with my own madness, I shouted at him furiously, "Make life beautiful! Make life beautiful!"

And you told me fool fire-water won't hurt me.

If rape or arson, poison or the knife has wove no pleasing patterns in the stuff of this drab canvas we accept as life- It is because we are not bold enough!
Gotta find some way outta this town tonight.  There's a hot shootin' mama gonna crack your skull on sight.

--- Cheers to Dayn Perry


Not a Movie Where a Simian Society "Goes With the Flow"

Platitude of the Apes

A Gentleman's Eschewal

I wanted to share in our son's blessed day-
But drink had turned me a shade of green.
Rest assured I was still well on the way,
Until I realized my pants were rather unclean.


An Epigram Concerning Jim

"Bone" constantly appeared in Jim's scholastic and employment endeavors .  But because of the  utterance of "I do," that particular word has since been deleted from
his universe.


Conversation Between the Author's Senile 82 Year Old Grandfather, the Author, and Very Briefly, Knish, the Elder's Dead Dog

Knish.  Knish.  Knish! 

Uh...Grandpa, Knish isn't here.

 What do you mean?  Where is he?


 How long ago?

Two years.  Give or take.

 Did an ironclad get him?

 They don't have ironclads anymore, Grandpa.

 Fiddlesticks!  What are they using for naval engagements now?

Submarines.  They're kind of like ironclads that operate underwater.


 No, maritime engineering.  Witches have nothing to do with it.

 Communist treachery!

 Yes, communists are often treacherous dogs, but the invention of the submarine had nothing to do with communists.  It was just science.

 I don't trust them.  Damned rust-buckets in the water.  How do they move?  Do they use Orientals with oars?

 Nuclear propulsion.  See...

 Because Chinamen made a damn fine railroad.  Swinging their hammers every which way.  Goes to assume they'd be good oarsmen.  They'd be awful coxswains.  You'd never be able to understand their jibber jabber.

 A cox...what?  Why are you talking about an Asian's penis?

You try spending all of May 1954 without Chinese penis in you.

Wait.  You fooled around with guys?

I shot McKinley.

Irony Watch 2013: A Man of Principle

Edward Snowden, this generation's Hal Holbrook, has blown a klaxon in effort to to inform the populace what 1984 had already informed the populace of sixty four fucking years ago.

To wit:  LINK

And where, pray-tell, does the aforementioned Snowden hide his yellow-bellied traitor loins in order to stand mightily on his principles?

Why Hong Kong, of course.

This has been Irony Watch 2013.

Carry on.


Lock Up Your Children, For Jerry Don Gleaton Has A Van


Run away, children!  Run to the bosom of your birth-mum!  Jerry Don sees you.  Jerry Don smells you.  And Jerry Don has brought candy.  He may have a pack of Sugar Babies, some Fun Dip, or even Pop Rocks hidden 'neath Poseidon's headdress.

"He looks like a fine young fellow,"  Some of the mothers pushing strollers might say.  Ignorant slags!  He's not peering into some far off horizon reliving the skirt steak he devoured for lunch.  He's looking for escape routes:  escape routes that he will vanish on after nabbing your child with his homemade frog gigger and burlap sack. 

When he's not playing baseball, Jerry Don Penis Erectus Gleaton loves to toil in his shed.  His tools calm him from a long day of suffering fools in the fool's paradise around him.  His hands calloused from an ironmongerer's daily grind:  he melts hot hot lead like he melts hot hot hearts and succeeds in both because of his hot hot sex.

Someone should really call the authorities.  But would they care?  One look at the strapping broad shouldered, immaculately groomed face, and criminally tight glutes of Jerry Van Dyke Don Corleone Gleaton would cause even the most cynical man to revert to optimistic sunshine.  How can you not look at him -- shouting to Almighty God Almighty, "Thank you, Lord of all things and Jerry Don Gleaton!  I have found the definition of perfect!"-- and not find the closest shoulder in which to dry your eyes?

But do not be fooled!  He may write beautiful sonnets; he may be able to pat his head and rub his belly simultaneously.  But these are mere parlor tricks from a man who has given himself over to evil.

Jerry He Was Such A Quiet Boy Don Gleaton has moved into your zip code -- with his van --

Act accordingly.


If "Satanic Verses" and Hip Hop Collided

Salman Rush-D.M.C.

Seldom Used Klingon Proverbs

"Revenge is a dish best served with bedroom eyes."

"Revenge is a dish best served at 40-Love."

"Revenge is a dish best served at an internal temperature of 165°."

"Revenge is a dish best served before midnight just in case there are Gremlins present."

"Revenge is a dish best served in interpretive dance."

"Revenge is a dish best served with a lovely side of sauteed shitaki mushrooms followed by a single white grape to cleanse the palette."

"Revenge is a dish best served by using Victor Borge's skull and kneecaps as vehicles for said revenge while being topped by a delicious FroYo."

"Revenge is a dish best served without bread so as not to fill you up before you've had your necessary portion of revenge."

A Gentleman's Explanation

'Tis true I forgot to put the toilet seat down.
It only happened after I consumed much drink.
I don't quite understand the reason you frown-
At least this time I did not use the sink.


Trixie Carmichael Has Fallen in Love

She courts her reflection with eye-hardened resolve.
"Truth is beauty; therefore I am true," She may think to herself.
All the while the dirty dishes pile up and the laundry goes unfolded.

She kisses from a distance that only a sextant knows.
"Such pleasure I must bring unto you," She may think to herself.
All the while the fifty car pile up and beaten housewife go unseen.

She bats eyes in the direction of no one in particular.
"A shame you were not here to witness that," She may think to herself.
All the while the hissing cacophony of existences pile up and a cello goes unheard.

She ignores the smoke- the soot- the shit:  with ambivalent watering mouth.
"Imagine what it must feel like to see me amongst all this," She may think to herself.
All the while the sins of the dead pile up and the flooded city goes unpumped.

She does snow angels in the ashes of the long forgotten.
"I am a Metatron of the world around me," She may think to herself.
All the while vulture-picked eyes pile up and a flower goes unbloomed.

And Trixie Carmichael crouches down
to pick a daisy.
And Trixie Carmichael sticks it
behind her ear.
And Trixie Carmichael looks at 
The smoke-
The soot-
The shit-
And wryly smiles.

For Trixie Carmichael Has
Fallen in Love.


Rejected Children's Television Show Titles

You Can't Do That On Television Unless You're In Germany

Loofasam Dodecahedronculottes

Where In The Greater Metropolitan Des Moines Area Is Chastity Bono?

Everybody Poops:  The Animated Series

Pinky And The Duodenum

Coast Guard Tom:  Real High Seas Coward

Uncle Jack Kevorkian's Playhouse

Snuffleupagus' MAOI Inhibitor Fun Hour!

Smile Time With Satan!

Elderly Disfigured Al-Quaeda Emus


Not a 1970's Porn Loop Starring Darren McGavin

Kolcluck:  The Chicken Choker


A Gentleman's Excuse

I considered going to your lecture on Erasmus.
But one drink turned into quite a lot.
Please don't take personally my absence.
It's just you're a rather boring twat.


A Gentleman's Error

I'm sorry I broke your priceless china.
I was a wee bit drunk last night.
And you say that wasn't your vagina?
I thought it felt a little too tight.



Thinking of You

Grocery list:


Hand Lotion

Cliche. Response.

Cliche:  "The world is your oyster."

Response:  Must be why I'm so horny all the time.

Cliche:  "Christmas is a season for giving."

Response:  I'm Jewish.

Cliche:  "As useful as tits on a bull."

Response:  I do enjoy the company of a more voluptuous lady every now and again.

Cliche:   "Don't get you knickers in a twist."

Response:  I'm pretty sure they prefer "African American" these days, buddy.

Cliche:  "April showers bring May flowers."

Response:  Fuckin' dumbfuck bees.

Cliche:  "You are what you eat."

Response:  My friends call me Manischewitz Paint Chips Kitten.


The Foreclosure of Taylor Bean's Smile

I am a blurred picture on a carton of spoiled milk resting upon a ziggurat of decaying rubbish.

My guffaw: neither true nor charming-
It is an overcast Cleveland.

From many evenings last to many evenings future,
I am there; forever will be. 

I am a thermos without a lunchbox.

Put your arm around me-
let us steal this moment.
I will cherish it and many more; They are my skyward idols. 

My heap is rummaged through by a starving and bed-less one. 
His last breath stinks of ethanol. And inconsequence.

My alley:  my home:  my raison d'etre-
We are all here; or maybe just you and I.

All that there is is all that there is. 
I ask for nothing more than more of all that there is.

I am in a technicolor prison atop  discarded 8 tracks.

I am a smile for the camera.
There is no camera.

Away to the far-
I will travel light-
The Great Wall is a bunch of Legos.

I am a speck in the distance- a molecule orbiting nothing in the vastness of space,
But I am where I want to be-

Under a false umbrella-
pelted by the acid
and the rain.

I gaze around with eyes that sting;
A-look for anyone-
Anyone like me.

There are so many false umbrellas:  So many like me.

We are all blurred pictures on cartons of spoiled milk.


Epiphany of the Day

Chili with no beans has identical undesired effect as chili with beans.


Advice From an Asshole

Dear Asshole,
                        My boyfriend and I have been together for almost six months.  Until recently, our sex life has been excellent.  We did it every day and could not get enough of one another.

                        We haven't had sex in the last two weeks.  He kept saying that he was tired from working so much or that he wasn't feeling well and thought he was coming down with the flu.  I was skeptical and decided to confront him about it.  My biggest fear was that he was cheating on me.  That has happened to me in the past and is an unpardonable offense.  He told me he wasn't cheating and the reason we haven't been having sex is that he thinks I've gained some weight and am no longer attractive to him.  

                        While I have put on a few pounds, I believe it to be a negligible amount and certainly not enough to be unattractive.  I know I still look good.  How do I convince him of this?


                                                        Lost in La Crosse

Dear Delusional Bitch,
                                     Let's start with the obvious, shall we?  You were already a porcine individual.  The only time added weight is a "negligible amount" is when you're a heifer.  Plus, you're living in Wisconsin.  As I understand it to be, Wisconsin is full of fifth generation Polacks whose metabolisms are slower than a retard on Jeopardy.
                                    Now that we got the fact that you're a giant fatty out of the way, we can focus on whether or not your boyfriend is cheating... Of course he's cheating, you corpulent twat!

 Let us investigate:

1)  You started dating each other in November

2)  Shit gets really cold in November, doesn't it?

3)  In cold weather, people need to keep warm as best they can

4)  Fat people can help keep their partner's toes from falling off

5)  It's not cold anymore

                                   So now that it's not cold he doesn't want anything to do with you.  What a shocking revelation!  He doesn't need your blubber to insulate him from the frostbitten tundra that is Wisconsin.  And since he doesn't need your podgy backside anymore, he's not attracted to you.  The sad part is that he was never attracted to you; and you thought he was.  HAHA!  What a giant massive moon-like tubby dumdum you are.  He's banging some skinny broad whom he can actually stand thinking about while he's porking her.  And speaking of porking...Oink Oink, bitch!

                                   Now, normally in this situation I would advise the person to run a warm bath, light some candles, grab a pint of Häagen-Daz, and just relax.  But with you, I can't recommend that.  You obviously don't need to be eating any ice cream, your tub may not be big enough for your William Howard Taft-esque ass, and you're so stupid that if you use candles, you might just burn your fucking house down.  

                                    Here's what you do:  break up with the guy.  Take a spin class.  Eat a salad.  And before you know it, you'll be the gal that the guys are cheating with instead of on.  Now that's progress!

                                    And please drop me a line in six or seven months.  December can get frigid.







Begone to the Forever, Captain Stubing! And Beyond It!

Your virginal white garb is absurdly ironic-
Seeing as how you mount little boys in your
floating den of horny avarice.

"Slow ahead!" You scream at underlings too
stupid to see the double meaning behind it-
And the little boy nestled in your crotch.

Your even brief presence requires such a
lengthy salute.  Yet the only salute you give
is the one in your pants for said little boys.

Lo, how do you get away with such pedophillic machinations?
Your bedroom eyes?  Toothsome smile as white as
the pale thighs concealed under your short shorts?

An innocence is detected in your round moon-face;
Yet it hides the blackest of souls whose thirst for
the pernicious and deceit is unbounded.

Oh, a blue eyed angel you are not.  In fact,
I'm quite certain you are a minion of Satan himself-
Sent here by Him to secure his position as global potentate.

And so He shall rule, with You at his side-
The one that brought him victory, thanks to your
spurious smile and duplicitous tongue.

Looking at you, there is no conclusion left
to be made. Your evil stands alone-  but perhaps not;
Because I have my doubts about Doc.


The Author's Name, Boldened and Embiggened for Sight Restricted Individuals and Possibly His Own Ego


What Should Never be Said at a Dinner Party Thrown by Foodies

What the fuck is that?

This tastes as though it would be best paired with a Bartles and James.

The finest pastries in all the land can be found at Stucky's.

Where's the shitter?

Anyone bring Moon Pies? 

What a coinkydink!  I once had my balls licked on this very table!

A round of "Huzzah's" to the chef for not a soul vomited up their meal!

Oh, no thank you.  If I had another helping, my dick would fall off.

Bangers and mash, tee hee.

This traditional Navajo dish is exquisite.  I now anoint you the "Iron Chief".

We call it maize, motherfucker.

I haven't been to one of these since I left the Donner's.

Don't mind me, I'm just here for the trim.

Quoth Ralph Kramden, Now as a Slightly More Educated Man

"See here you shrieking harpy!  If so much as a syllable is hissed from that serpentine chasm of yours, you shall endure fisticuffs from me which will send you barreling into the cosmos... posthaste!

Upon Fantasy Baseball and Salad Dressing, with Regret and Melancholy

 I ask of you:  can one be any more pathetic in choices as I?

Oh, how the idea of Peppercorn Ranch manifested such a magical whimsy in my mouth!  Hickory Bacon and Tomato:  the limits of my feverish desire...boundless!  I see you, Cucumber and Dill- teasing with your implicit promise of Mediterranean delight!  You'll never escape me, Roasted Garlic Parmesan!  I would circumnavigate all worlds near and infinitely far in follow of you!

I gather them- a buffet all to myself; orgasmic salad delight is but a stone's throw away!

Like an accident happening, my temporal senses slow- I taste them all; awaiting the moment whereupon hands clasp overhead in celebration of genius.

Nary a sound I make- disappointed as I am.  Awful!  Sickening!  Pitiful!  Turd-like!  These selections proved hideous:  my brilliance annihilated.  Shame cloaked me as a lone tear traversed my cheek.  Quickly as was my wont, I collected my group of failures and set them to be cast off down to the pits of hell from which they had sprung and shall now return!  My attempts at pleasuring my otherwise dull world with flavors so bold; so delicious; now all for not.

I sat down- the lights were dim, the lights were dim. 

Four times was the fail...


And as to my miscarriage?  What is my penance? 

It is this golden sombrero:  so shiny in its laughingly ironic, mocking existence.  I will never again wear such a soul-heavy headdress.

Just as I vow to never have Jesus Montero on my team again.

Fuck that guy. 


At the Expense of Roger Ebert

First time that he saw Olivia de Havilland his jaw dropped

Didn't respect Richard Kiel's acting roles until much later in life

Death was the second funniest thing to happen to him

Fuck you, four eyes!

Could never be accused of mouthing off

Ended up being ahead of the decomposition curve

Wasn't constrained by the narrow rules of the English language by having to use vowels

What David Lee Roth Can Also do With the Devil






Watch "Duck Tales"

Sack York

Hum a happy tune

Legendre transformations

Be a clown

Play "Strat-o-matic"

Make cocoa

Say really excited things, such as "Tally ho!"

How a Cow Would Respond to Being Callously Abandoned in the Middle of a Densely Crowded Kuala Limpur Bazaar


Ten Interesting Facts About Marcel Marceau

1)  Real name was Gabardine Rabinowitz

2)  Invented the microphone

3)  Exhumed the body of a hair tonic salesman who died in 1926

4)  Was known amongst superheroes as "The Sonic Boom"

5)  Hated the smell of feet

6)  Directly responsible for the Bay of Pigs

7)  TKO'd Abraham Maslow in the fifth round of a ten round match

8)  Insisted that people call him "Mr. Tibbs" on warm evenings during the third week of every month

9)  Coined the Term "Silent but deadly"

10)  Wore a bonnet

Dramatic Reenactment of the First Conversation Between Anne Sullivan and Helen Keller as Performed by The Roadrunner and Wile E. Coyote

Meep meep


Meep meep


Meep meep

Grrrblfardppth! (falls off cliff and dies)

What a Duet Between Phil Collins and Theodor Geisel Would Sound Like

"Seuss Seuss Sudio"


Rejected Jeopardy Categories

Rational Women

Colonial American Homosexuals

Hitler's Spice Rack

Knights of the Rhombus Table

Inner Ear Erotica

Monogamous Kennedys

Marsupial Genetalia

Famous African American Podiatrists

Micronesian Achievements

Aboriginal Toiletries

A Racist but no Less Interesting Perspective on Vietnamese Parents

They name their children Dong but not Charlie.

What Not to Say to Your Feminist Girlfriend After She Complains That it Hurts When Being Sodomized

"Take it like a man."