Tuesday, December 03, 2002
Props to Webster, whoever the hell he is, for leaving me a comment, even though he says I’m gay. He also said have another beer, which I like when people do that. It makes me happy because usually the next step after that involves me drinking a beer, which makes me happy. Fuck I already said makes me happy. That’s not good blogging. You’re supposed to like use different words. For example I should have said makes me gleeful. But gleeful sounds kind of faggy, which would go back to the people calling me gay part, which really doesn’t bother me that much, as long as they offer me a beer and don’t like attempt to touch me inappropriately. So props, Webster, who I think I know, but I don’t know. Yep.
There’s a new blog in town called madpony and it’s making waves in bloggerville and it’s these two chicks in Oklahoma and it seems pretty interesting, so check it out. I mean for something from Oklahoma, it’s got some very redeeming qualities. Not that I’ve ever been to Oklahoma, but it’s not high on my list of tourist destinations to tell you the God’s honest truth. In fact I think Idaho is higher on the list, and I’m not really even that into potatoes. But if you want the real insides scoops on Oklahoma and wacky sorority hijinx, well, tell ‘em Alfred sent you and, yeppidydeppity you’ll get hooked up.
Meesh seems to be on an extremely extended hiatus or very light blogging schedule and it’s really causing me some inordinantly high pharmaceutical bills as she is like one of only three blogs in the world that rule way way harder than the rulons and that is like a triumvirate that is very delicate yet powerful at the same time, and when the balance is broken my meds need to be adjusted accordingly. So blog meesh dammitt. Stop snowboarding all day, I mean all you have to do is take a 5 minute break from the slopes and Sven or whoever norse god of Colorado-ness you’re hanging with and his $80 haircut and thor heyerdahl kon-tiki wine-cellar action and nestle down in front of the computer and type for just a bit, just a teeny weeny bit. Please? We understand that you’re a local celebrity and in demand and you’re not working and it’s all play and no work and there’s mass snow and you’re the newly installed ski-bunny-goddess, oh sorry snow board bunny goddess, but BLOG, typety-typety-typety and I won’t lose my shirt in this Longs Drugs fiasco.
Is it me or are the holidays the time to get in touch with your inner schizophrenic? Have you ever felt like seriously offending someone just to see their reaction? And then just when they expect you to say, “ah dude, (or ah, dudette) just jokin’, ha ha,” ya know, you just leave ‘em hanging and walk away, like a total fuckin’ asshole. That would be really funny. I gotta find someone that I want to get rid of and do that. If only I’d thought of that in High school. Oh yeah, I did.
In high school, why was it that all the chicks I wanted we’re like my good friend that there was no way we could ruin our friendship and all the girls that we’re obsessed with me I was like, ok, um, it’s not gonna happen? For example there was this one chick that was on my jock like salt on popcorn but I just wasn’t into it, and there was this other chick that I was ultra-obsessed with but she saw me as like her funny buddy. Ah who gives a fuck, I’ve got the most bomb-ass girlie in all the land now, so the world is copacetic. All the peeps that thought I wasn’t gonna amount to shit and thought that my records wouldn’t sell and that I’d be on park row sellin’ t-shirts, you can new jack swing from my nuts, cuz it’s rasta-time, bitches.
Ya know, that’s it. I’m done. I’d like to do more for you here on this one, but I really think that you and I both know that this is going in a direction that we hadn’t anticipated and frankly neither of us are comfortable with. I feel like it’s closing time and I’m that guy that is harassing the bartender for one last drink, and you’re that big muscle dude bouncer that is gonna stomp on my head and you back there, you’re that chick that was dancing with the marine all night but then said, ooh I’m tired, time to go home and watch deeprak chopra infomercials. Ya feel me? It’s time to pack up your boar’s head and skeedaddle. As for me, I’ll be here poking the fire and doing lines of drano. Not snorting them you sick fuck, I’ll be painting them on my wall, the stuff drips down the linoleum and makes nice patterns.
Perfect. Just perfect. I couldn’t have written it up any better. Oh, wait, I did. Ha ha. Bye.