Holiday Scar Tissue

Well, my finger wound is healing nicely. However, it’s in the joint, so every time I put gloves on/high five/ grab my member I agitate it and it begins to seep. Now, I’m no fool, but I imagine yellow is not a healthy tone for seepage. My nipples are getting hard just thinking about another stinging iodine bath. Joy of holiday joys.

Last night I decided to go to an Indian Party. I had chutney and watched a Bollywood flick called “Mission Kashmir” or some such. Little did I know that the damned thing was nearly 5 hours long or something. To top it off, I had no idea what the hell the genre was, because every time I turned my head I’d come back to find a completely different film! One minute, love story… rosy and sweet, then, a gunfight, then, a dance number… then, comedy… in the same frigging film! But that was not the best of it. The leading actor had THREE THUMBS!

Can you believe it…? I couldn’t. We kept pausing looking for the errant digit. An already convoluted film was made all but unwatchable due to the constant rewind looking for that beast of a digit. It was like he had a claw for a thumb! Poor Hrithik Roshan (his name). How the hell do you pronounce his first name? I feel the vowels are misplaced.

Here I was blubbering about my finger issues.

Apparently, I’m invited to a family dinner for New Years. The hits just keep on coming. Plumes of cigarette smoke and boxes of wine that would be left untouched at a meeting of town drunks. Turkey. Again.

…and here I am, fifth floor, and the windows don’t open wide enough to allow me to hurl myself into the street below. Perfect.

In Regards to Your Thoughtful Christmas Greeting...

"Fuck off!"

Just a quickie here, but what the fuck is wrong with that stupid bitch of an ex-girlfriend, the one who fucked, and then ran off with that goat-faced freak of a man (formerly 'friend')? I mean, I was having a perfectly miserable holiday without her memory, but that was too much to ask, i guess.

So, what does she do? She sends me an idiotic Christmas card with a barely legible greeting going on about hope and best wishes and so-on-so-forth. Well, though I'm flattered you stopped sucking his hairy ass for three minutes to scribble out that grade school level greeting, but next time do me a favour, keep you head buried deep in his ass and leave me in peace.

...You just don't see what is so very wrong with all this, hm? That fact alone is testament to the extreme stupidity of your existence.

It mattered not to me when we were going out that you dressed in the manner of a Bankok whore, or that your level of literacy was that of a garter snake. It didn't bother me that you had the breath of a cancerous street person, or that you often smelled of mothballs. Yes, my friends caught you pissing on public toilet seats. Yes, you were a lousy receptionist. And yeah, you were way too easy but sexually vacant. I could then, but I cannot overlook any of this now.

I'm not your friend. So, piss off.

Verily, my Christmas wish to you and your blathering idiot of a boyfriend:

"May a drunken rubby dressed as Santa break into your home, tie both you and that wretched midget of a boyfriend up and allow 8 tiny reindeer to first sodomize, then trample you both to paralysis. Wishing you the best with your new catheter,

Blogmonkey"

Christmas Eve of Destruction II... Use Your Delusions

Well, seems I jumped the gun on that last posting as Christmas Eve was not yet done with me. So, here we go with an addendum to the ‘festivities’ for that fateful of all evenings.

Things got invariably worse. Of the eve, this I can say in all certainty, my sister tried. She tried to make an enjoyable evening for all, but you know, my family as an entity will not have it. One member actually stayed behind simply due to the fact that he would not be allowed to smoke in the car on the way to Toronto, that’s how dysfunctional we are.

Yes, cigarettes take precedence over kin in my family. I’m still hacking and coughing due to the blue haze I’ve had to subside in over the holiday.

However, booze is the true catalyst for fireworks in my family. There are two camps. Those who can live without the booze, and who drink only rarely… and those who have developed gills, practically consuming more booze than oxygen in any given day. My mother is the latter.

After a fine meal (which my mother forewent in order to save space for copious, no, ‘stupid’ amounts of alcohol) my brother and I, bored with the slurred speech and pathetic attempts to elicit ‘dancing’ (i.e. drunken stumbling), went for a stroll. We returned to find my sister pacing tearfully outside her home, guests hurriedly packing their cars to exit and my mother fitfully screaming in a shrill stupor in the kitchen. The pitch was so deafening it briefly interrupted radio broadcasts in the area.

Now, she knows she turns into a pant-wetting, annoying retard when she tastes liquor, but she refuses to stop. We’ve been told in the past she would rather give up her family than give up drink, because nobody who truly loved her would make her give up such a pleasure. Uhhh, yeah. Mr. Sense Takes a Holiday. A quiet nip now and again is okay, but her type of binge guzzling is enough to make the stumbling reservation drunk hang his vomit-encrusted head in shame at the sight. Oh, sweet baby Jesus… When will it end? When, damn your eyes… when?

Apparently, she was being ‘ignored’ and decided to let the neighborhood know. A house full of kids and the only one throwing a tantrum is a 55-year-old former housewife. Bloody hell. Since she was in the kitchen, and I wanted to avoid her as much as possible, my plans for grabbing the largest knife in the drawer and attempting to carve my head off were dashed. It has been this way for way too long, so, next year I will volunteer for mine sweeping in Iraq or masturbating rare man-eating zoo animals during the holiday period. It’s bound to be less stressful.

Next year it’ll be different, I promise!

Cristmas Eve of Destruction

Why, what an interesting Xmas eve. Not only did I risk life and limb driving through a freak snowstorm on my was to visit my sister in the 'World's Dullest City', Toronto, but today I nearly hewed a digit off whilst performing an improvised demolition project at my sister's house.

The washing machine and dryer did not fit, so we cut away half the wall and part of my index finger. Thank crap I'm an awful typist or I'd be worried, but seeing as I type about four words a minute to begin with, I can rest easy knowing my future in the office service and reception field was not in the cards to begin with.

At this time of the year, when I'm not bleeding and screaming at inanimate objects, I'm reflecting on the past year, which, if you do not know me, was not quite 'shit' but somewhere well south of that. If next year ain't better I'm going to move to Nepal, build a hut out of old tires and eat rocks.

So, Santa, you fat bastard, gimme what i want for Christmas or I'm waiting up to kick you in the hairy beanbag from behind as you squat to enter the fireplace.

Be warned.

Holiday Message to All

I Agree With This Person, But Not With These Scissors.

Diane Lane is a hottie. Other than that, I do not agree with him (the Author I've re-routed you to) on any other points, save the look of the donkey. It's accurate, I admit.

I've had a crush on Ms. Lane since Judge Dredd. Sigh. It's cold here.

In other news:

Fans of loud country music, bad short/t-shirt combos, baseball caps and unhealthy proportions at cheap buffets (Okay, "Americans"...) should look here. See, I got something for eveyone this holiday season.

For my jewish friends, i performed a 'bris' on myself! Now, I'm no Mohel, but I think I did a half-decent job. To minimize injury, I used childrens' safety scissors, which, in retrospect, may not have been the best idea. Lachaim, and pass the bandages!

Salma Hayek is Better Than Everything

I love Salma.

Salma, If you are reading this, dump the above monkey and come hang with a real ape.

What Chuck Norris is to men, Salma is to women, but sans beard. However, she would be equally as hot in a beard, and all women are acutely aware of that fact, so they don't even try when she is around.

In fact, women are so awed by her sexuality, that not only do they accept it when she takes their boyfriends, but some women actually offer their boyfriends in advance to her when they hear she will be in the area.

Her hotness is considered a bio-weapon. the pentagon has been keeping tabs on it since 'desperado' with the help of the CIA. alone, they could not contain said hotness, but as a tandem they at least have hope.

Her smile has actually been proven to have the ability cure world hunger, herpes and jock itch. more studies are being planned as they suspect it could eradicate polio and obesity as well.

Even though she is merely five-foot-two, her legs are six-feet long, a stunning anomaly, one that even has the worlds' pre-eminent scientists baffled and aroused.

her figure is so perfect that the corpse of Marilyn Monroe has vowed revenge for displacing her as 'the most perfect figure'and has raised an army of the dead to eradicate Salma. However, these soul-less creatures eventually gravitated to politics, leaving the skeletal remains of Marilyn to plot alone.

Salma's breasts saved countless souls left floating in the debris of hurricane Katrina. Their buoyance, not to mention 'hotness' was able to sustain four thousand, six hundred and thirty needy and aroused victims.

Salma ended world war two by smiling and tossing her hair. Hitler, realizing she was not aryan, shot himself, his fiancee, all his handlers, dogs, a ferret and four mice dead in his underground bunker.

Mexico is paying off it's world debt by selling vouchers to allow people to legally masturbate whilst thinking of Salma.

Bin Laden has vowed to call off the terror attacks if America sends him a pair of Salma's panties and a vial of her saliva. However, Bush's refusal, "nothing is worth that price.", is understandable. The attacks continue.

Salma's panties were elected as President of Iraq.

The Earth's rising temperatures, previously blamed on global warming due to carbon emissions and over-pollution were recently dismissed when scientists discovered Salma sunbathing topless in her backyard. More research into the phenomenon is being planned in a "very succinct, detailed and aroused fashion".

Alien attacks on earth were recently called off when the invaders inadvertantly tapped into a communications satellite broadcasting "From Dusk Til Dawn". Salma was presented a badge from the UN stating her to be "The Hottest Savior of Earth". It took over forty delegates to pin the honor to her chest. The aliens may have afflicted all delegates with a sort of nerve-virus before they left as the delegates all experienced difficulties in walking and speaking clearly.

KING KONG: And They Called it Monkey Love... Review/ Discussion

"T'was beauty killed the beast". There you have it; KONG was killed by toxic lipstick in Lancome's animal testing lab in an unspecified locale in the Philippines. You heard it here first!

Saw "KING KONG" last night. Even though it did not deliver the depth I had hoped from Peter Jackson's previous exploits, i feel the film had enough merit to recommend it as an entertaining foray. Now, that being said, do not for a moment believe that i wholly recommend it. If you have issues with sitting for three hours (leaky bowel, restless leg syndrome) you may want to skip it. If you have issues with poor character development and highly cliched plot mechanics, skip it as well. And, lastly, if the idea of a love story between a rampaging, testosterone fueled simian and a comely damsel puts you ill at ease, I say, skip it as well and perhaps use that time to visit a professional, as you have larger issues at play.

firstly, I offer you two options, conveniently labeled "A" and "B", in order to gauge the viewablitity of said film. The former is a patent pending "one word review", and is specially formulated for those with either low attention span or a hurried lifestyle. If you have a hurried lifestyle, stop here, as a three hour foray into filmdom would not work with your current lifestyle just as, apparently, oral and physical hygiene. The latter is a two-person conversation and review of the film (with requisite spoilers) that degrades rather quickly to a spatter of feces humor and breast references. As I am desperate for content, I will print it in it's entirety, I'm sure it's skewed logic is good for something, and not just wrapping fish.

first:

ONE WORD REVIEW FOR 'KING KONG':
bananas.

secondly:

DISCUSSION OF KING KONG (With esteemed and well-endowed critics 'Blogmonkey' and 'Sinkchicken'):
taped before a live studio audience comprised of three fish and a duvet. May not have happened.


SC: ...And where were the bowel movement scenes?
To my recollection, that's all the original King Kong films were about.

BM: More 'poo'?

SC: I thought that's why they were considered classics.
"…The 8th wonder of the world! Giant Ape Poo! Watch as he screams so hard at his damsel in distress that he shits himself (course, it's been a little more of a torrent than turd as of late since his American diet consists of little more than vats of banana puree and lowgrade dog food.)

BM: I imagine the size of pooper-scooper required would easily constitute the 9th wonder. "see! Watch four grown men, strapping lads all, tremble under the weight of a single turd!"
personally, i found jack black a little over his head; ill cast.

SC: Yeah. his best line was "i'm drying my wings off and trekking across the bowl" or, across the seat lid rather or whatever it was.
Now there could have been some excellent J.B. repartee as he starts to formulate his plan on skull island and we think he's planning on exploiting the ape directly and then he steps around the fallen ape that everyone else is oggling and says "look at the size of this brown beauty!" or something funnier still.

BM: I thought philip seymore hoffman would have worked better.

SC: yeah, cause he can play dark and funny within a hairs breadth of each other

BM: Yep. also, I find his heavy breathing humorous. I know it means he'll probably die soon, but it's still funny.

SC: I think it would have played better if JB and co. and the captain even, had had a secret plan all along to get the ape, that they were just doing the picture as pretense to lure him out...maybe that survivor they spoke of could have revealed it to them and then they came up with the scheme. Could have made for a bit of tension in the "you'd planned this all along you shit, people have died" vein that could have been part of what defined Adrian Brody as the morally correct hero

BM: No, you are stupid. It would truly have worked better to play black's character as a reluctant accomplice to the 'hidden nazi'. You see, he is broke and will be arrested on his return. Kong is his only way out of the bind. His character had no crux. he starts out with a hidden decency and becomes a collous beast in a hair's breadth. it didn't work.
He should have been more desperate and less of an opportunist.
...and don't fucking argue with me.

SC: no you are stupid. My idea would have worked just as well. And not more desperate, more sinister, more manical, stop at nothing to make himself famous, then he could have represented more clearly the antithesis of what Kong represents so manical and sinister that he goes to bed with the Nazis to accomplish his scheme. his "devotion" to film making was weak.

BM: Idiot. I said 'don't argue'! In all, character development suffered due to the reliance on big effects. however, kong himself was well done and quite expressive.

SC: Yeah, very cool, very "koko" realistic

BM: Yeah, however, the compositing was weak in a few scenes.

SC: ...With him?

BM: Yes, too 'cut out'. Imagine had he tried to bone her?

SC: When she was with him, you mean?

BM: Yes... How the hell would it work otherwise?

SC: ...Or even just jacked it all over her. there's a reason for a sequel! she's inseminated from his semen shower! ...and she could have laughed and laughed and twirled around as if it were a romantic rain storm in the summer!

BM: Also, It would have been a sentimental touch had the crowd all gawked in amazement at his giant wanger after he fell from his lofty perch to his doom. "holy shit! 'tis the size of a well-nourished man!"

SC: and just as rosey!

BM: However, we all know that apes are not very well endowed, and it would have been pointed out by simian penis purists.

SC: (Baffled)...I didn't, I don't study all that much animal genitalia as of late, too much else to do.

BM: I know from reading, you from first hand experience (or is it, 'right-hand' experience?).

SC: i know it only orally.

...from hear say, I meant.



...really.

BM: I don't think that requires a retort. So, whaddya give it? i give it seven bananas on ten.

SC: I'd like to give it 8 (bananas), but one would be a browner shade (over-ripe banana reference), almost ready to toss or use in a banana bread recipe....and only 8 because I loved LOTR so much.

BM: Poor character development, stilted acting and too many vfx sequences took away from the interesting stuff that truly worked. And, not enough titty. However, i like the giant ape.
I almost cried when he fell.

SC: ...He (Kong) had titties. yeah, everytime he was on screen pretty much i almost cried because you know exactly what he represents. Same thing that got me with that Diane Fossey Gorillas in the Mist and such like material.

BM: Innocence?...or just 'monkeys'?

SC: ...We shouldn't have been so afraid to show our emotions in front of each other and that huge crowd, we should have bawled like insane children, stood up and screamed "Don't you see! Don't you see!"
"We do this everyday! IN everything we do! He is the planet crying out against our madness and cruelty and we are the true monkey's covering our sense holes!"

BM: I was too busy eating my bushmeat sandwich to jump up like a pussy.

SC: You still like to pretend your candy is other types of food? I outgrew that at 2 (ish).
But have to admit i could eat another bag of 'fuzzy peaches' right now.

BM: I have to shit.

SC: No no, do it here in front of me. i don't mind.

End of transmission.

Ode to Johnny Cash

Johnny Cash was a man, my momma told me. She told me on a hot day in July, while the fan creaked and the breeze drawin’ through was only a sweet whisper of what nature could do.

So there we was, I’s picking my teeth, cussin’ about the heat, hair all matted but we didn’t care, it’s not like we was goin’ anywhere. Momma poured a cup of cheap vermouth, put it to her lips once or twice, but her eyes didn’t move. She seemed intent on not movin’ at all, but I still had some piss left in me being young some, so I turned and called,

“Momma, who’s a man? To you, I mean. not 'what’s a man', I know that, I ain’t dumb, who’s the realest man you ever seen?”

Her eyes closed and she sighed, like it were too much to think, but I knew something was turnin’ inside, with momma it always did. She thinks when she sleeps as well as awake, remembers all birthdays, weddings, wakes. So she looks over at me after a mighty long spell, wiped her brow, lowered her cup and proceeded,

“Hell.”
…

“It weren’t yer daddy, he took off and ran, never paid for you kids, he wasn’t no man.”
“It wasn’t old pappy, he was whipped like a calf, did what momma always wanted, he weren’t better, that half”

“I’d say a real man stands up to his ghosts, don’t cry in the face of any old folk, is tender when needed, when healin’ a sprain, but ain’t soft in the head about it, just eases the pain. Gets up to his feet when knocked straight down, but don’t run into that fist again, just holds his ground.

Maybe he been to jail, spent time in the poke, but he learned from the slammer, it weren’t no joke, he’ll get his shit straight, be man about town, we’ll all know he’s better for it all, we’ll want him around.

He’s stared good and bad straight in the maw; he can tell the difference all right, he knows what he saw. He knows the bad ain’t worth it (cause he’s been there) and the good’s only worth it if it’s ready to share.

He’s long and lean, don’t give in to his sins, he keeps a fit mind about him, and the vessel it’s in. He keeps movin’ along, takes comments in stride, does one thing well, but handles his pride...

A voice like thunder rollin' slowly in, hands big enough to cradle a little baby in...

He don’t need no woman, but with one he’s fine, devoted 'til death, he walks the line.”

With this she laid back, issued a sigh and went back to nappin’, not aware of the impression on this young boy that happened. A real man’s an solid oak of humility, tenderness and class, a gent none other than the great Johnny Cash.


...I'm still tryin', Johnny, but it's hard.

Need More Games Like This, By Gum.

A new computer game for kids promises not be an influence of any kind! Click! See!


I think we need more computer games like this. ...Such as these bland, uneventful titles:

"Office drudgery: The Cubicle Journey"

"Dinner at the Kid's table III, the vegan edition"

"Floating in the tub, alone, unloved."

"Naptime: Soft pillows, 'blankey' and a non-threatening, non-stereotypical hypo-allergenic stuffed gender-neutral toy"



They'd be such hits. Remember, overprotection can't go far enough, so get to dulling those butter-knives.

Oooh...Ooooh..(flings poop)

I want.

Uplifting Pic of the Day

Must be all that holy concrete or something. There's an allegory in here somewhere.

...Either that or I'm moving to a church basement or something. Better'n my parents' basement.

'Merica, Where Have You Gone?

Well, as bad as things get in this country with the impending election, horrid snow squalls, language unrest and raging holiday idiocy, at least things haven’t taken a twist toward the utterly bizarre and surreal as they have in the republic to the south.

Let’s see, a laundry list of interesting and disturbing items making news in the south.

A: They transport prisoners to countries that condone torture. Perhaps that’s too light a description. Okay, I’ll give it another go. They cut the thumbs and nuts off people in other countries. The land of freedom actively pursuing the heinous act of torture? Don’t act so surprised, the CIA has been torturing people for years in South America. They trained the death squads there! Only now, it’s kind of out in the open, which doesn't make it better.

B: The dollar is falling faster than a ten-dollar tramps' panties. Who’d have guessed the Yuan would quickly become the note of choice? Bet old wobble-bottom Nixon didn’t visualize this when he switched from a gold to an oil based economy. Speaking of which…

C: The country is run by an oil baron, and all that implies. Take the greediest type of personality on earth and put them in charge of the richest and most heavily armed country on earth and let nature take its course. You bet your ass that the search for more Texas tea will lead you to…

D: WAR. And lots of it. The most warring nation on earth has finally bit off more than they can chew. Under the guise of ‘battling terrorism’ and ‘protecting America’ they have annexed more land than one thought possible. But it’s a quagmire. How are they gonna pay to maintain it all with…

E: a national debt of 40 TRILLION DOLLARS, or $136,479 per man, woman and child. Pay up, people! You think ‘freedom’ is free? Dubya’s wartime spending spree is racking up the debt like a college kid in a computer shop, with no chance of abating. Now with the dollar slumping and markets drying up for hideously constructed American goods, you think it’s all gonna get better? Not without taking over another countries’ wealth it won’t! But that is not likely to happen without someone backing you up… and that isn’t about to happen anymore because…

F: Old friends are quickly becoming foes. All you have on your side, thanks to your cock-heavy rampage through the Middle East is Great Britain, Israel and some other god awful banana republics like East Timorangoria (or whatever). So, the U.N. is no longer a happy hut for you guys. Well, not like you listen to the Security Council in the first place. Actually, why the hell were you there, anyhow? Oh yeah, to force American resolutions on the rest of the planet while you did WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU WANTED. Now, egg is on the wrong face and you wanna take your toys and go home. Boo hoo. Well, your parents are ugly.

G: The world is ganging up over the Kyoto accord, which ol' bushie and his oil-hungry pals refuse to sign. According to the gospel of Bush, global warming does not exist. Environmental degradation, deforestation, depletion of resources? Exaggerated. American corporate dominance takes precedence over a sustainable and livable planet. Wanna know how he knows? God fucking told him so. Uh-oh… speaking of which…

E: The birth of the ‘New Puritanism’. God and state are now re-intertwined. Not since the pilgrims did the good old U.S. of A did religion play so high a profile in American political arenas. In a country of a million and one denominations only one takes precedence… oil... er, God. Sounds sinister? Don’t worry, God loves all his creatures… except the ones in Alaska where Bush wants to drill for oil. Those creatures can go fuck themselves.

F: Did you know that the U.S. is a) the only Western nation with the death penalty and b) on a list of those that do that includes practically every other fundamentalist/enemy nation on the planet? Now, doesn't the torture thing makes sense,hm?

G: Fox news and other propaganda spewing, state controlled media. This one doesn’t need a description.

H: Americans are getting even fatter. Possible? Maybe, but let’s blame everyone and everything but ourselves! Let’s sue McDonald’s because they forced us to eat twelve Big Macs in one sitting! Let’s force cruise ships to install bigger seats! Let’s get our stomachs stapled! Let’s take pills made of dog piss and squirrel shit to make us lose weight! Let’s do everything… but exercise and eat healthier. Why, that’d be un-‘Merican.

I: you guys actually voted for Bush. ‘Nuff said.

Don’t get me wrong, I love you guys, but you’re more whacked out than a Ritalin-infused tot on sugar smacks smoking crack in a closet.

Sinkford P. Chicken (new member)

Hop on over Sink Chicken and check out his posts. He is the gent I have those meaningful MSN conversations with. his wit and blandness show through in every word that issues forth from his soft, gelatinous mind.

I do not condone putting poultry in sinks, however.

Not only is he a smart man, but he is also a charter member of the "Blogmonkey Club', and has recieved his sock and bong kit. He is not to be trusted with children.

Read him... Love him.

Blogmonkey Club EXCLUSIVE!

Hey Kids!

Now that you've become a member you can partake in all the exclusive offers that membership has to offer!

If you've done as you were told, and robbed a family member at knifepoint (you know where to send that cash, right? You'd better, ha ha!) you are elegible for this one-time only offer! Made from the best bear-shaped honey jar I had laying about and some other useless junk I had laying about, a fabulous bong!



That's right, a BONG! Be the first addict on your block! Get ready for the dizzying highs and soul-crushing lows that addiction has to offer! Limited warranty! See? I told you you'd get stuff if you 'do as you're told'!

Get it now, and they'll stop pulling your pants down in public and making fun of your 'wee-wee'!

Clarity is Wrong, but Plagiarism, Not So Wrong.

Another interesting conversation was had with a friend (nameless, of course, unless he follows through with his blog intentions) about blogging in general, readership, promotion, accepting critisizm and the imbibement of copious amounts of alcohol. The results are copied below.

Somehow, he managed to be complimentary and call me a plagiarist all within the same breath. The beautiful bastard.

Read. It's easier for me to post conversations had on MSN rather than type anything meaningful. Otherwise, this blog would quickly erode toward a quagmire of women's breasts, penis humor and copied recipes from old cookbooks my mother has lying around. Who needs that? I'm here to enlighten.

Some items/statements were edited for clarity. For instance, all the stuff about me being hung like a horse was incorrect, so I edited that. The correct term was 'Hung like a rhino'.

Today's entertainment:

‘Yours truly' says:
Gonna do a blog?

'He' says:
I’m thinkin' of it, though you've set the bar pretty high.

‘He’ says:
Not sure I could be as surly/funny as you...I could go for something different of course, but still, you come off as a professional in many respects (not that I read all that many blogs...but still...I have done some reading in my lifetime)

‘Yours truly' says:
Eh?

‘Yours truly' says:
What? I suck, sir.

‘Yours truly' says:
Nobody reads it!

‘He’ says:
Then I have no critical faculties.

‘He’ says:
And you should stop listening to anything I say other than sheer facts.

‘Yours truly' says:
Your 'facts' are a skewed as your grip on reality; I won't be heeding them any time soon.

‘He’ says:
I find it witty, funny, creative

‘He’ says:
Angry

‘He’ says:
When u say nobody reads it, how would people find out about it anyway? How is it promoted?

‘Yours truly' says:
It is not promoted. Therein lies my complaint, I suppose. When one doesn't have a front man besides a pixilated simian, I guess one shouldn't bank on an audience. …why does no-one listen to the pixilated primates?

‘He’ says:
Because there are still too many living ones in the world...soon there will not be. You should tag buses and metro interiors with an advert.

‘Yours truly’ says:
Perhaps you have a point. I could accost strangers and threaten them to 'read it or else'?
At this rate, pixilation will be a thing of the past. Everything is too clear. Clarity is wrong.

‘Yours truly' says:
I don't want to know what anyone is thinking, ever.

‘Yours truly' says:
I’d rather assume, and accept the ensuing fisticuffs.

‘He’ says:
So funny that you’ve gone for this monkey/sock monkey thing...that fisticuffs thing sounds like something right out of the maakies (the more adult version of the sock monkey character by the same creator)

‘He’ says:
Maakies

‘Yours truly' says:
I see. (At this point i broke into silent tears, the hint of plagiarism rising in my craw like bile.)

‘He’ says:
Don’t worry, I know you're not a copycat, just pointing out the remarkable similarity...and this guy, raging alcoholic from what I understand, is respected for his work.

‘He’ says:
So you just need to drink more.

‘He’ says:
Then people will love...er...respect you.

‘He’ says:
(Fear you?)

‘Yours truly' says:
Loathe.

‘Yours truly' says:
Loathe, but still buy me drinks. Mainly to appease my rampaging temperance.

‘He’ says:
Or that, that could happen.

‘Yours truly' says:
It could, that. I’d also like them to love me for being human.

‘He’ says:
HAHAHA!

‘Yours truly' says:
Yeah, what the hell was I thinking... ass-hat.

‘Yours truly' says:
It’s good to be king.

Fun for Tots! Join up! Send Money!

Hey kids, join the newest club! Don't be left out, you're unpopular enough as it is! They call you names behind your back! They do! I heard them! I do it myself! Honest!

Don't be a 'homo'! Just snip the coupon below and send it to me with your parents' checkbook or wallet and I'll do the rest. I may even have an old tube sock lying around so that you can make your own damned sock puppet, then they won't laugh, will they?!

CLICK ON 'COUPON' TO 'ENLARGE'

Yes, they'll pay. They'll all pay. But, don't forget to pay me first, or they'll continue to call you 'faggot' and 'douchebag' and 'pissy-pants' behind your back. I know, I hear them!

Clip! Send! Make the voices cease!

Poop, cowpokes and Star Wars

Lovely day here. On the day that the cafeteria gets adventurous and serves up the jalapeno special is the day the building decides to shut the water all day. hence, no toilets. Walking the halls is like traipsing through a Romero feature as pale forms shuffle stiffly past, contorted, reeking, with pained expressions of desperation and rage...

Hence, I have responded, in turn, with a well-placed packet of my own 'rage' in the stall on 5th floor. I call it my silent (but deadly) protest.

Oftentimes, I spend hours chatting on MSN. Here is a typical transcript.

After discussing his liver issues, the gentleman I was having this particular chat with learned of my newfound outlet, this blog. Now, I have a focus for my anger, desperation and fanaticism. He seemed smitten with the idea of a forum of his own, and the following conversation ensued (my notes in parentheses).

'him' says:
I’d like to start a blog too, but mine would be totally serious and depressing about how people don't smile enough anymore and people don't give up their seats on buses and subways to old people and that the oceans are dying and I’d have to have the suicide hotline link to my site and it would be so much fun to do! (I grudgingly agree, though I’d be hard pressed to give up my damned seat unless there was a missing appendage involved, and not just a finger or ear.)

'him' says:
Oh, and also how you can never find the SW action figures you really want because all the insane "serious" collectors have got there before you making both you and the children the toys are actually intended for weep and curse the hidden name of God! (again with the Star Wars. Insert eye roll here.)

'him' says:
…and what's up with female "letter carriers" anyway?

'yours truly' says:
I don't know. (I didn’t)

'yours truly' says:
god, I just don't. (I really didn’t)

'him' says:
see! see! it's a blog that's just gotta be written! Or else the world will keep getting away with such shit as this!

'him' says:
or is it "shits as these"...hmmmm...

'yours truly' says:
what, (women) carrying letters? damn them!

'him' says:
and they don't even come in to have sex like mailmen do for women!

‘him’ says:
where's our equal rights!?

'yours truly' says:
…women, and mail... diabolical!

'yours truly' says:
the nerve.

‘him’ says:
(though most of them are stubby and manly so...not so sure I'd actually accept the offerings, but still, it's just the principle of the thing!)

‘him’ says:
I say "letter carrier? I don't even know her!"

‘him’ says:
or better: "Letter carrier? I don't even know her or her!" (I have no idea where this is going. I think it alludes to the fact that some ‘people’ are not ‘affected’ by ‘diseases’ they are ‘carrying’. (If so, how droll, mon frere!)

'yours truly' says:
sheer madness. you would be spurned if such a blog would be made public.

‘him’ says:
spurred?

'yours truly' says:
yes, and well-chapped.

‘him’ says:
tea time. (at this point I was left to ramble, and vigorously, I might add. A generous helping of pseudo-sexual homosexual fantasy came in to play, of which I am not ashamed. Screw you, Pat Buchanan.)

'yours truly' says:
…you'd be a strapping cowpoke, waiting patiently for your mail and hard, strapping masculine love.

'yours truly' says:
..that only our letter carriers in their well-appointed and revealing shorts could 'deliver'.

'yours truly' says:
you still there?

'yours truly' says:
I’m putting this on my blog.

‘him’ says:
sorry, I really did go for tea time...

‘him’ says:
stick that on your blog and steep it! (I did. Steep that.)

I should charge admission for such cerebral entertainment. Hm. Send money and/or food.

Muffle This!

Frigging exhaust fell out of my car today. SON-OF-ACOCK-BITCH-CUNT-MONKEY-HUMPER! ass fragger! melon tits! crackwhore stage jumper! monkeytoucher!

dragged it for blocks! spunkguzzler! the part is specialized! CACK! MOTHER CACK! Rust! Salt! By gum!

So, no post for you. I vent. Baby jesus hates my car.

What the Hell is Wrong with Bai Ling?

Check this cavalcade of fashion mishap.

When good actresses go blind

Seriously, what the hell is wrong? When did 'porn slut' chic come into style? I think she's a great actress, though marginalized, and can actually look nice when dressed down (see 'The Beautiful Country'). She's in decent shape for a 35 year old, though she's starting to look a bit reedy. I wouldn't kick her outta the sack, is what I think I'm saying. Maybe.

But her fashion sense seems to have been stolen from a drag queen on crack. The items she sports are not sexy, nor flattering, nor tasteful. It seems some clothes have been attacked by savage wombats, and left in tatters. The shorts inch down her thighs, her nipples peek from slits and cracks... she wears wigs that Elton John would gladly burn. Jesus, this kinda stuff got you cut from Star Wars III, you know? (The Playboy thing didn't help either, by the by.)



Listen, sweets. If you are competing for attention, this is not getting you the type you need, unless you ultimately want to make a break into hardcore porn. I luvs ya, but the 'ho clothes gots ta go.

...Are you on 'the drugs'?

Director, Producer will 'Know it When They See it'

Yesterday, at the workstation of senior animator Mike Mitchell, production came to a standstill when it was left unclear as to the direction of a particular shot of 'Fuzzy Bunny', a low-profile, straight to DVD animated feature.

"I'm not sure what I'm looking for in this shot.” The director, a talentless hack, was heard saying. This was echoed by the producer, a film school dropout, who added,
"Why don't we do it a few different ways and choose the best one?"

At this point, the studio-appointed creative director stepped in and offered a solution, but sensing that their credibility would be compromised, his vain attempts at restoring a modicum of sense and order were rebuffed.

"I'll know it when I see it", the director stated, confidently, as if that was any decision at all. The producer, sensing an easy way out of actually having to make a solid decision, nodded absentmindedly, his thoughts already on that hot blonde he picked up the night before.

"I'm not sure what the hell the issue is," the creative director, who refused to give his name, was heard mumbling as he walked off, "what a waste of time. Between the two of them they can't decide whether to shit or piss. ...It's not like anyone will even watch the damn thing. It's horrible."


The animators, who haven't had a break since production began, echoed the sentiment, but Mike Mitchell added further, "Maybe if they had've planned the damned show out first, with storyboards and whatnot, we wouldn't be doing this now, trying to figure out what the hell these annoying creatures are doing at this point. I haven't seen my kids in ages. I want to die."

"I want to die too" repeated Stephanie Melnachuk, the project coordinator, "I want to die too. These guys have no idea what they are doing. I was better off as an escort. At least with those assholes you knew when you were gonna be screwed."

The director, a nephew of the studio head, finally decreed to do the variants and he would return in the morning, somewhere "between ten and 2:30, ...I'll be snorting coke of some hookers' tits and I may be too fucked up to come in at any given time. ha ha! ...Kidding!"

"Fuzzy Bunny" is slated to be released to DVD sometime in the New Year. The producers promise it to be "A really great DVD to keep the kids occupied while you sneak in a quick shag with the wife or girlfriend, but not much else."

Mike Mitchell's wife has initiated divorce proceedings.

Cad-atonic

Does anyone out there believe in all of that fate/chakra/karma stuff? I think I might be starting to.

As previously stated, bluntly and openly I might add, I am a cad. Not be self-admission mind you, but through outside-source labelling. If broken hearts be the currency of cad-ism, then rich i must be.

However, in all seriousness, like the conspicuously wealthy, it is truly an embarrassment of riches. I do not wear my conquests like a crown, unless that be some crown of blood and bramble, since in the long term I do greatest damage to myself.

Injury includes a life steeped in near-crippling depression, undulating and unclear sense of self worth, inabilty to bond (hence my pet insect. i barely feed it, let alone play with it), neediness at times, nonchalance at others. I do not have a love life, because love implies sacrifice, which I have never done.

As each relationship grinds to a teary train wreck of a halt, I pick my battered heart from the ditch and try to move on. However, anything lying in a ditch will undoubtedly get filthy, and over the years and through continuous abuse, the filth accumulates and a once raw and beautiful thing is caked in loathing and abuse.

And so I scrub, to no lasting avail. I hold it up to be warmed in the arms of another, only to experience the ultimate recoil and rejection. How to ease the pain? Fuck and forget, give nothing, ask nothing.

I Secretly hope for the glowing soul who sees past the grit and filth whilst I convey the callously pretentious, mock-confident arsehole to all else. Yeah, I'm the guy who fucked your girlfriend, broke up your marriage, etc...

Secretly hope for something that only happens in movies. I've been reduced to this. The women who truly get to know me won't get anywhere near my poison. they know the dark recesses I hide in.

I ain't all that bad. I'm looking to change. I'm looking for love, but have I fallen too far from grace? Time will tell.

Scientists' Lofty Cause

Scientists work feverishly to eradicate the scourge of our modern age.

Monkeys Have Accents Too

Monkey Talk

Well, the header says it all. I know a chimp with a bad put-on Texas drawl, myself.