Wednesday, March 21, 2012

Lady Boners

know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking I’m going to tell you what you’re thinking. But I’m not. I just did. You see my magic?

I bet your neighbors would be pissed if you lined your home with fly paper – on the outside. It’d be one hell of an eyesore, but your house would be fly free. Except for that one that got in through the pipes. I think his name is Henry. I have to check. Wait. Yep, Henry. He plays squash with the mice.

You come to that point in your life where you feel you can afford a home, it’s called 65.

If I was a kangaroo I’d always keep a pouch inside my pouch just to be condescending to other animals that can’t carry all their groceries home.

The thing that bugs me about the Alien movies is what do they eat? I’ve heard all sorts of stories and, of course, the obvious answer – humans, but really, it never shows it. Anyway, there’s cokes in the fridge and Jeremy needs to be put to bed at nine.

They said he was punch drunk: sitting in the bar drinking punch all night he succumbed to over hydration. That and I really laid into him.

The thing about women is that…wait, I know this.

A hotdog is just a taco that has his shit together.

They should make a wind up toy that requires all sorts of tools and plans in order to wind it up. That way people would take better care of their wind up toys.

If you are destined to live in the zoo, then you are destined to be some sort of animal.

My favorite year is that one with the Macarena. That was a good year.

I’ll bet you that Space Mountain was once part of a habitable planet until they started using chloroflourocarbines….colorfloralhardons…those green house things.

What would be cool is if at a Monster Truck show they showed kids how evolution works. You know, like with a Toyota, a Hummer, and Truckasaurus. But I guess there’s that whole separation of Church and State thing. So, you know…

There was once a lady that literally danced all night. We called her The Girl with Epilepsy.

The thing about popcorn is that it can get stuck in your teeth. Other things about popcorn: it comes from corn, it can be microwaved, I have eaten it once or twice.

Why no sneeze guards in gardens?

The other day I was really wasted and started thinking about how come there’s no edible forks. And I don’t mean the kind that fall apart while your eating your pasta or whatever. I mean a fork that will last. That will be able to be doused in spaghetti sauce and still keep its integrity. That way you don’t have to – wait, we’d need an edible bowl, too!

It would be cool if they made a bunch of really tiny mustard packets. Like there’s about 20 that fit inside a regular size mustard pack. That way you could really make everything proportional on your hotdog or hamburger.

You ever pick your nose and a whole cheeseburger comes out?

I regarded the apple with curiosity: say there, apple – how do you be?
The apple then wrenched itself from my hands and hopped to the floor and just sat there. And sat there. Finally I had to kick it. There was nothing left to do.

I, too, have been spurned by lady love – spurned by her man boner!

Thomas cared not for the material life he had created and left the big city to go live in the mountains. After years of living off of the land he decided he was tired of living in the wild and built a spaceship and lived in space. From there on, no one heard from him. Until now: GUUYYYYYYS! GUUUUYYYYYYSSSSS!

If I were a betting man, I’d probably say the Earth will be totally fine for a few more years.

There was once a forgotten palace – a forgotten palace of underarm deodorant. Years ago, before the TV show Sledgehammer, there were a race of men who had advanced to such a degree that they were able to create and manufacture deodorant. They were Gods among men, until that day when the dinosaurs came and ate them.
Does the palace smell good? No, it does not. But that was the wisest guess.

Friday, March 16, 2012

March Madness

March Madness is a term for the time of year in Northern England when mystical mushrooms approach humans promising salvation.
Great crops of fungi approach the local English and sing a siren’s song of gold plated dreams and escape from boiled food.
To some, like late singer/songwriter Layne Staley, this was known as the Mad Season.
This is all according to a wiki on the interwebs that believes in oil futures and large pig-headed goats that roam the streets of New Orleans in search of “the best brunch around”.
Regardless, in America, it’s the time of year when St. Patrick’s Day and college basketball collide in an orgy of alcoholism and gambling.
Alcoholism and gambling go hand in hand like Democrats and Republicans. Everyone wants to get involved and everyone loses.
Here in the Western Washington, we have a number of Native American Indian casinos. It’s important to remember that in Washington our Indians are so hard core they are not only Native, they are also part of the West Indies. This involves lots of tax shelter information that I can’t explain right now – but our Native American Indians are LARGE. The casinos are a monument to Jack Nicholson suffering White Man’s Burden in a lodge somewhere in Colorado or Oregon, depending on your frame of mind.

It was early afternoon when we arrived with dumb smiles on our faces and printouts of brackets that would promise money.
You approach a casino like a new dog – with dog food.
And that’s the kind of money I brought with me – dog food.
That errant 300 that you can’t afford to lose, but figure you’re being good for leaving your debit card at home – which is a large mistake considering you will probably borrow money from your friends with the lame promise that “my cash card is back at my house”.

You start drinking coffee or coke and figure you’re not one of those diabetes riddled men in a wheelchair pushing your oxygen tank from machine to machine in the hope for just enough to be able to eat at Sizzler on Saturday.
And you aren’t. C’mon, you’re 35 and have plenty more life to waste.

Smart people play games with good odds, like craps. But, winners play machines.
From Dean Martin’s Wild Party to Lucky Lamps, there are plenty of animated games that scream WHEEL OF FORTUNE at you. And at first it’s funny. So ironic. And yet so dangerous. Pretty soon Pat Sayjack isn’t so funny.

Roulette is an ugly game. The type of people that play will sell you crack from the nearest homeless person’s pocket. They hang on the glass dividers around the table and slur insults at waitresses while drinking left behind Manhattans.

Blackjack is where you find junior high guidance counselors and other assorted pedophiles that enjoy hanging off furniture like dead fish as they tell you about that time they got a free room at the Flamingo and met Dolly Parton in a Chik Fil A.

Poker is where you find the degenerate gamblers that imagine they are gifted with a lethal dose of kickass to the point they spend their 401K loan on a pointless hours of trying to make their sunglasses more intimidating.

The rest of the games are things I can’t pronounce; ugly foreign version of Yahtzee and Sorry where everyone loses and they throw you down staircases taxi cabs away.

The handsome bar is where you learn to spend a little more for your drinks. Like when you order two glasses of absinthe and end up handing the waitress a 100. You think about it and there’s a perverse sense of satisfaction knowing you paid that much for drunky fuel and don’t realize that 2 + 2 equals you make 30 grand a year and don’t have a car.

There’s an ugly moment when you feel water fill your nose and you’re on your 18th beer and you’re rambling on to an old man about how a server works and how if you had been back there in 48 you’dve been just like him.

But then he starts coming on to you and threatening he’s the ex governer of the state and if you could put 1000 on black for him he’d be very happy. You turn and walk out of the bar and run into a Russian waitress with tits like Mt. Si. She offers you a drink, but you know better, you’ve awoke to that feeling of your kidneys not being there way too many times.
And you only had two.

It gets late and you decide to leave. Then you stare at your wallet and the contents and then figure it’s only 103 till you’ve lost a solid 300.

So, you go gamble some more. The whole time thinking about how well your brackets are you lose half the grand prize and then search around for an abandoned Manhattan at the nearest roulette table.