| Dogs
Dogs always
take up too much room on the bed by positioning themselves
inefficiently. If you try to get them to play Tetris so they learn how
to fit shapes together, your wife will accuse you of being
condescending.
Some people say
Scientology is bad because they charge people $300,000 for super powers.
Listen, if someone comes to you and offers you three hundred thousand
dollars to give them super powers, the best thing to do is get that
three hundred thousand dollars as far away from that person as possible,
before they do some real damage. Spend it on anything you want, but
whatever you do, don't go around giving super powers to people who think
that you should just be able to buy them. You either get them the old
fashioned way, in a radioactive accident, or you build a super powered
suit like the rest of us.
Loud Whistlers
I don't know
exactly how much time it takes to teach yourself how to do that ear
raping shrill trill, but apparently, it takes all the time everyone else
uses to learn everything. Think of someone you know that can whistle
really loud. Are they good dancers? Can they paint? Do they even know
how to tie their own shoes? No, no, and no.
But they can
whistle!
And God bless
them, some people want to grow up to become doctors, so everything they
learn from the cradle to the grave is aimed at saving lives. Some
people want to be police officers, or teachers. But some people, it
seems, want nothing more than to be able to make a sharp, high pitched
noise to make everyone at the tractor pull turn and give them a
disapproving glare.
I wish I had a
dream that awesome.
The Spring Breakingest
Man, I just
realized I forgot to go on wild spring break during my college days.
Now I’ll never get to climb a mountain in an ad for herpes medicine.
Who knew that sores on your penis could be so liberating?
The Butthole
Surfers said that it’s better to regret something you did than
something you didn’t do, but I’m not sure that statement extends to
people. Because really, there’s a lot of people I think I’d regret
more if I actually did them. My high school principal Gus, for
example. Not that I had a chance with Gus, but I don’t know, I never
really tried. I think it just would have made things awkward.
Only in Dreams
Dream Interpretation
Last night I
had a dream that my ladyfriend and I were helping three ghosts that died
in a car accident during the 1950’s find their way to, I don’t know,
wherever ghosts go, in this case, I guess the big malt shop in the sky.
Anyways, long story short, the lady grows a penis and asks me to give
her a park bench handjob, I’m a little puzzled, but I do it anyway,
because hey, what are friends for? So, my question is this, what is the
significance of the fact that my dick was bigger than hers?
I apologize for that last post, and Tapas Bar
True stories
are seldom funny. I guess you had to be there.
Moving on,
I am going to
open a tapas restaurant. I’m going to call it, "Dry Humpers." If
anyone here has ever been to Hooters, you get the general idea. More or
less, a good looking guy will come to your table with a delectable
spread of Mediterranean appetizers and grind his package into your Mom’s
thigh until you accidentally end up ordering twice as much food as you
want just to get him to go away. This will be a mystery to your mother,
who will think that the young gentleman in the booty shorts actually
views her as a sexual being, which is something that no one on Earth has
done since your dad died. (Sorry about your dad.)
But here’s
where Dry Humper’s will be better than every other Sexuality/Bar Food
fusion restaurant, not every waiter will be physically attractive.
Don’t worry, they’ll all be hung like churchbells, but some of the
waiters will just have great personalities. They won’t be pushy, and
they won’t look that great in the outfits that we make them wear, so you
will get to feeling sorry for them, having to work in a place like this,
and then maybe you will take them back to your place and blow them or
just show them your collection of ceramic cats before telling them that
you are saving yourself for Marie Francois Girbaud himself. I’m not
speaking directly to you, Chris Waelti, but I highly doubt that the
architect of the early nineteen nineties exceedingly high waisted pants
craze is going to fly his jet to Central Wisconsin in his quest for true
love.
So come on down
to Dry Humper’s! Gay or straight, we can make you salivate. (I paid
fifty grand to get that slogan dreamt up, so I’m going to fucking use
it.) I’m not saying that I’m opening up a den of male prostitution
disguised as a family restaurant, but I’m also not saying that I’m not.
The codeword is, "Ramblin’ Ample Sampler," I know it’s a mouthful, but
so is Terry.
Hangover Cures
I know what you did last night and you should be
ashamed.
What am I saying? I can’t stay mad at you. Let’s get
you fixed up with these hangover cures.
1.
Hair of the Dog. Get drunk enough to make out with a
dog, with no one else to talk to, you’ll pass out
mid-afternoon and wake up feeling perfectly refreshed
the next morning.
2.
Hangover Pills/Powders - Don’t work unless they are
cocaine and meth, respectively. They also have the
added bonus of making you feel like an invincible
genius while you obsessively clean your home.
3.
Bedrest - Highly Dangerous. You could be whisked, bed
and all, on a fantastic adventure through Slumberland
or the Land of Nod. Magical journeys such as those
are the reason that I always sleep balled up in a
corner on the floor. Or at least that’s what mother
tells me.
4.
Fried Foods - The right amount of grease would have
saved you some chafing last night, and it will save
you some dry heaving today. So rub french fries on
your butt while you dry hump a stranger for the double
whammy. It’s hard to throw up while you are aroused,
I’ve only done it like, once.
Happy Saint Patrick's Day!
Happy St. Patrick’s
Day, or as my father calls it, Amateur Night.
Yes, once or
twice a year, on New Year’s Eve and St. Paddy’s Day, all sorts of bush
league substance abusers come out in droves to try and convince
themselves that they are still as fun as they used to be in college.
They probably are, because I doubt very many of these people were any
fun ever, seeing as they have confused wearing funny hats with being an
interesting person. Before you dress yourself tonight, remember, this
is what you will be wearing in your mugshot. So you have a choice,
either class it up a little by switching out your "Kiss Me, I’m Irish"
sparklypin for a necklace full of shamrocks and penises, or just go all
in and write, "Hi Mom, I’m Gay" on your forehead now. It’s all about
stepping into the punch, and sober penmanship, I guess.
That’s neither
here nor there, what is important, folks, is that these weekend warriors
of drinking make it nearly impossible to get a drink in a bar on a
Monday night. Now, I don’t know if any of you know the type of people
who normally drink in bars on Monday nights, but when someone comes
between us and the blissful haze we get when Jack Daniel’s finally
shushes all our worries away, we don’t ask a lot of questions, we just
get straight to the stabbin’.
And yes, I will
stab you. Don’t worry, I won’t aim for any major organs, but let me
promise you, if you are too much of a dick, I won’t not aim for them
either. It’s a rare breed of alcoholic that knows not to hit someone
over the head with a bottle in a barfight, not because he’s a peaceful
drunk, but because he doesn’t want to be the third person he knows who
ended up taking a six-year ride for manslaughter when the bottle breaks
on his opponent’s head and slashes somebody’s throat on the downstroke.
Mostly the
reason true boozehounds hate these special days is that they remind us
of what we thought drinking every day was going to be like. None of us
anticipated sitting in pregnant silence while the three other people in
the bar wait to see what Dr. Frasier Crane has to say about Niles’ new
coat before going back to their game of sexually transmitted infection
one-upsmanship. Cheers is a really great show, and a lot of people love
it, because they never show the four a.m., inexplicably bright-eyed
bouts of self loathing in the flickering glow of an infomercial that
grip Cliff Clavin on a weekly basis. If George Wendt’s character owned
two belts, I can guarantee, one would have been around his neck. But he
just didn’t have a broad enough wardrobe to go out gracefully, so he
stayed and hid in his beer. It’s a beautiful and desperate thing when
the only thing that keeps you from ending your own life is an
unwillingness to be discovered in sweatpants.
I'm a Spacy Ditz
Come with me to my
planet!
The best part
of having Alzheimer's disease has to be never having to go out and get
new magazines. The worst part is probably not being able to remember
which son you taught your family's most secret and deadly karate
maneuver. Or pretty much the whole melting brain business in general.
If you are
going to another planet where you are going to encounter a new alien
species, it would probably pay to bring some gifts with you. But not as
much as it would to bring a mind control ray, because not everyone likes
sweaters.
The Sharper
Image is an ok catalog, if you like worthless shit. But you will find
better prices in your local Worthless Shit Trader Magazine. I
still read both, as I, like F.B.I. Director J. Edgar Hoover, happen to
enjoy catalogs.
Do you
ever meet a child, and because of their haircut, and they way they are
dressed, you can't really tell if it's a girl or a boy? I have that
same problem, but with panda bears.
Poetry Corner ill doo chay.
Freedom Isn't Free (Social Awareness +
Awesome)
Last night I
heard a bell ringing in the darkness,
the bell**
was singing a song of danger,
saying
freedom isn't free.
So I learned
myself some karate,
and bought
myself a gun,
And went
about standing in line at McDonald's,
hoping that
the terrorists would invade,
McDonald's
Franchise 34765
so I could
kill them all on security cameras,
and
fingerbang the hot cashier,
before going
on Larry King,
to talk about
my book.
Yeti - A
Song of Hearts
Why,
E.T.
I?
Oppresses the
Spanish Man.
Why,
E.
T.I.,
Can't rap for
shit?
(This is the
part where I bang on a table.)
I hate
crinkly bread!
I hate
crinkly bread!
I am a
Southern Lesbian.
(Here is
where I fold my arms in birdform and then come to rest in a squat
position.)
Yeti won't
let me comb his hair!
Yeti thinks
he looks fantastic!
Conform,
Yeti!
Conform!
I am society.
(By then, the
audience is usually too impressed to be able to see, but for those
that were not paying attention sufficiently, or are just negative
people, I toss a bucket of my own urine at this point. It is a big
finish, and a good litmus test. If a coffeehouse does not appreciate
the value of my art, then I don't want to be allowed back there
either.)
The
Pussycat Dolls all have the Clap (non-iambic pentameter* version)
Oh, last
night we all had a party!
And the
Pussycat Dolls all got the clap.
There were
sodas and cakes and candy and gum!
But all the
Pussycat Dolls brought was the clap.
As the night
went on and we danced and sang,
Then Nicole
from the Pussycat Dolls gave the clap to my friend Scott.
Old Man Jason
heard us singing,
That the
Pussycat Dolls all have the clap.
So he brought
a jug of homemade penicillin,
and a
pamphlet about safe sex practices.
*Because I
don't know what Iambic Pentameter necessarily is, I am pretty sure
that this poem is not.
** The "Bell"
in this poem is my television, which our culture has come to revere.
Actually, it's not. I made that up afterwards, because symbolism is
for losers.
How to Start Performing Stand Up Comedy/Hide a Body in the Woods
A lot of people
have been asking me how they can start doing stand up comedy. "Mike,"
they say, "why don’t you put your penis away and get out of my
hardware store before I have to call the police again?" And to them I
say, "It’s easy, just write every day and find an open mike in your
area." But for those of you who would like a longer answer, I have
set aside this time to tell you;
I don’t know.
What I do
know, however, is how to hide a body in the woods. So I will tell you
about that. Whether you are a genius loner with an inability to
connect with other human beings or a more enterprising type of
sociopath, there are some things that only come with experience.
First and foremost, when hiding a body in the woods, you must keep in
mind the seasonal traffic. Hiding a body deep in the woods of
Northern Wisconsin might seem like a good idea all year round, but
every November, tens of thousands of people tramp down every twig and
branch in the state over the course of their deer hunting season.
This is fine if you are hiding a body in the Springtime, but if you
kill someone in the late fall, Mother Nature and her hungry
friends might not have enough time to erase the evidence of the
specific and horrific method that you have chosen to dispatch your
victims.
Second, the
woods can be cooler and more damp than the side of the road or the
center of town, so if you are not used to being in the woods in the
middle of the night, you should take the time to make sure that you
are dressed accordingly. Dark colors are de rigeur, as are watertight
boots in a size and a half too small. Be sure to lace them up tight,
you don’t want to twist your ankle and have to limp all the way to the
shallow grave that Moloch, Eater of Children, demanded you fill with
the lamentations of the unworthy.
This brings
me to the third point, "Always keep in mind your own physical
limitations." Sure, you might be stronger than the hooker or drifter
that you have lured out to this lonely highway, but are you strong
enough to carry them a mile and a half after choking the life out of
them with one of your mother’s favorite scarves? Probably not. That
is why you should take care to get your victim to transport themselves
as far into the woods as possible. A well timed lie about a family
member or clearing where you can see the moonlight will usually do the
trick, but remember to stay between your new friend and the road,
incase you aren’t quite as convincing as you would like to think.
This will save both time and energy. Some people like to bring a
candy bar with them, for a quick pick me up, but be careful, as that
can be as obvious as taking a bite out of the corpse if you are sex
offender on the registry who happens to be somewhat notorious for his
love of a specific, off brand candy bar.
Lastly,
whether you decide to bury, dismember, or arrange your work, take
special care to note the local fire departments wildfire advisory
board. Some people like to light a few candles around the body, while
others prefer to torch it. Everyone is different, I guess. But one
thing is always the same, and that is the fact that a poorly managed
fire in dry conditions can easily slip out of control and damage trees
and nearby homes.
And if
there’s one thing you are about, it is remaining in control.
Happy
Hunting!
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