My Precious

I woke up early yesterday and decided to walk to work. Not my best idea. Lovely Midwest weather has left layers of ice on EVERYTHING. It took my twice as long as it should have to get to work, and I had to geisha-walk the whole way. Since it was warming up to above freezing, even at 7:00 a.m., there was water draining everywhere on top of the ice. It was so bad at one point, I literally had to cross running water. So bad in fact that if I had been protecting a precious ring forged in the darkest pits of Mordor, the ringwraiths chasing me wouldn't have been able to follow. Yes, I am a nerd. Dork. Dweeb. Geek. What? I'ma still cutcha, bitch! I think a picture of Ryan Seacrest is more than appropriate. He's kind of like a hobbit, right?

Dopplegangers

Famous twins separated at birth. . .
Flavor Flav and Gollum:



Steven Cojocaru and Chastity Bono:

It's Like I'm Walking On Sunshine

Awesome. The best part is what she says at the very end. . .

I'm Going to Sit at the Welcome Table One of These Days, Hallelujah!

Note: The following occurred the week of 10-20-2008

My dad is dating this woman who's totally cool, and we get along great. On Monday she found out about some course that was offered through some odd self-help type "life center." I know, totally sounds like a cult. She didn't know much about it other than it was a class for people who want to understand more about addictions. She told me this Tuesday morning, and it started Tuesday evening. I wasn't really interested, but I couldn't think of a good excuse so I agreed to check it out. She warned me that it might mention God a few times, which is cool with me. She also said it was held in a church, but only because that way they were able to host the classes there for free, also not an issue for me. So I get there, enter, and feel relieved that I didn't burst into flames. The class is free, but you have to buy the workbook, which is $20. One of the guys running it told me I could pay the next week, so I figured I would just do that even though I had cash on me. Now the class meets once a week, men on Tuesdays, women some other day. There were maybe 10 people including the 2 facilitators. This totally hot guy sat next to me (this was his sescond time taking the class), but everyone else was middle-aged, bald, and all kinds of BUSTED. The older teacher introduces the "Genesis Process" as a way to deal with and overcome addictions and spiritual maladies. Including: gambling, drugs, alcohol, sex addiction, HOMOSEXUALITY, ETC. I was like "uh oh." Then I started wondering, "maybe this dude next to me is here to overcome his RAGING homosexual urges." He had a wedding band, and it WAS his second time through the course, so maybe he could easily be swayed to deviate! Anyway, I let the instructor do his thing and talk while I started skimming through the book to see what I'm in for. The intro of the book is all about how "we as Christians" blah blah blah, "let Jesus into your heart" yada yada yada. Shit. I read more, and it specifically mentions homosexuality as a "sin," "loss of control," and "coping behavior." A "symptom of an underlying problem." Fuck. there are tons of prompts and exercises like "What would Jesus say about this?" Or "read Romans 10 and respond in light of your own coping behavior." I was just about the only person who didn't bring a personal copy of the New Testament to refer to. My dad's gf was sorely misinformed. The book even mentioned "demonic influences." And there was pseudoscience bullshit that the author clearly had no real grasp on. It was some cult shit. I was thinking, "shit, bring on the cynide kool-aid!" After 10 minutes I knew it was NOT for me. But I tried to be polite and stay. But I kept seeing myself in my head closing the book and leaving. Finally after 45 minutes, I was like "fuck this." I laid the book on the table, grabbed my bag, and went to the exit without saying a word. I got to the door and thought "damn, it's cold." I realized that I had left my sweater in the room. My first instinct was to leave it and chalk it up to the price I had to pay to get the hell out of there, but it's one of my favorites and so cute! I pulled my phone out to pretend like I was doing something important with it and went back in the room. No one says anything, and no one's paying attention to me. Then I grab for the sweater from the back of the seat causing the chair to nearly tip over. Everyone's looking at me, so I wiggled my phone as if to blame it for the interruption, got the sweater, and whispered "sorry." Then I bolted out. I'm glad I didn't pay for the book, but I kind of wish I had so I could prove to people just how crazy it was. Anyway, as usual, there's no lack of ridiculous shit happening in my life.

Dirty Fingers

boredom + filthy mind = this:









Isn't it fantastically disgusting?!? I love it. And the possibilities are only as limited as your imagination. Don't put any hair on it, and it's Lindsay Lohan! Then add a c-section scar, and it's Britney Spears! Now remove the scar, add some red dots, and you've got Paris Hilton! Or make one on each hand, and have them scissor--LiLo and SamRo! The fun never ends.

Once Upon A Time

The only girlfriend I ever had was when I was 11. It lasted a couple weeks, and the most we did was go to a movie together. I was surprised when I got a note from her in school one day stating that she had "seen my true colors." Bitch. What does that even mean for an 11-year-old? Was I stingy with my markers? Or did I suck too bad at dodgeball? It's not like I tried to steal second base or anything. Maybe she saw my rainbow before I even knew it was there. She's a full-on dyke now. Irony.

The Wheels on the Bus

I was on the bus today, and some jackass who boarded reeked of Abercrombie cologne. Eau du Douche, and not French douche as in shower. Douche as in -bag. It makes me think of the horrible few weeks that I worked there. I was a stockboy slave and had to work many of my shifts until 2 a.m. It was a terrible environment, the pay was shit, and employees hated it (managers included, I really pitied them). I remember seeing a laminated sheet detailing how to odorize the store with the FIERCE room spray. It came in big bottles because you were supposed to use half a bottle every day. There were diagrams showing how close you need to place the bottle when you spray it on EVERY single mannequin, display, and pile of clothing. Customers would regularly complain to me that the smell gave them headaches and affected their allergies. Sorry, but there are three things you're gauranteed when entering an Abercrombie & Fitch store: an overwhelming FIERCE smell, unnecessarily loud dance remixes of songs that should never have been mixed, and pretension. I vividly remember using the employee bathroom in the stock area. Someone took such a toxic, punishing dump that I could smell it from the sales floor. On the policy poster that was curiously hung in the bathroom, someone had changed the name of the company to Fagercrombie and Fitch, and no one cared enough to do anything about it the whole time I worked there. I found it funny and took a picture of it with my phone, but thinking back, maybe I should have sued them. My time there ended when I left early one day and didn't go back. I just didn't want to! I figured I could easily get some other shitty temporary job. From then on, I avoided the store like the plague whenever I was at that particular mall. Then I remembered they still owed me a paycheck, and they didn't do direct deposit. I waited long enough that maybe they would forget who I was. The employee turnover there is sky-high anyway, but I had to do the walk of shame through the store, ducking behind clothes racks to get to the backroom and retrieve what turned out to be a measly thirty-five dollars.

On the subject of the bus. When I got on today, out of the corner of my eye I saw a little old man at the very front. He had a cane: the kind with four supports at the bottom for extra balance I guess. His cane was wrapped with a ribbon of Santa Clause so that from far away, it looked like a candy cane!!! So cute. Then when he turned around, I realized he was actually pretty young, I'm guessing 30. His grizzly beard and small stature misled me. I think he had MD. Or MS. Maybe a palsy? I don't know. If something is medical and not in the realm of vagina, I am ironically lost. Anyway, it was adorable.

That reminds me of this one time I saw a hot midget. I'm sorry, little person. We were walking in opposite directions on the sidewalk, and he was so fine! He had a very handsome face, "normal" torso, and disproportionate arms and legs. He was wearing a suit and tie, and I like to think he was on his way home from his successful career as. . . I don't know, something only big people are traditionally good at. But in that brief moment of passing each other, I imagined our lives together complete with picket fences and stepladders.

I Heart Slang

Anybody who knows me knows that I find the humor in every situation. Abortions included. Please to read:
Falcon Punch :
The act of intentionally punching a pregnant female in the stomach, so as to cause miscarriage. Shouting the phrase "Falcon PUNCH!" is optional.
Man A: "Oh man, I got this chick pregnant..."
Man B: "How about I do you a favor and give her the ol' Falcon Punch?"

OR as I like to call it, THE ANGELMAKER!

A Ballad About Female Genital Mutilation

This is something I started a long time ago, but never got far into until tonight.
*thanks go to CK for the title and 1st half of the chorus*
This is a very special song about female circumcision to the tune of Plain White T's' "Hey There Delilah." Thanks to a CS105 class I cheated my way through in college, I'm quite competent at copying and tailoring html code, so here is an instrumental version of the song (start singing in your head 10 seconds into it):

"Cleaver to My Clit"

The Serengeti was so peaceful, oh so quiet
Buffalo roamed in the place
I called my home and were my diet
Life is tough
So is the meat, I've had enough
My time is up

I'd like to move and
Go to Oprah Winfrey's school
But my father, he says no
It costs too much to buy a mule
Wish I were grown
Then I could strike out on my own
This makes me moan

Oh cleaver to my clit
But they let me keep my tits
Oh it's such misery
To have a clitorectomy
A clitorectomy

And then my tribe says
It is time to be a woman
There's a little extra part
You'll have to part with very soon
Put the dolls down
Spread your legs, get on the ground
It's over now

I fear the butcher
While he tries to comfort me
He says it only hurts a little
But will burn when you go pee
I'll miss it so
Tiny mound of flesh I hardly know
Say it ain't so

Oh cleaver to my clit
But they let me keep my tits
Oh it's such misery
To have a clitorectomy

They chopped it off, and it flew far
Now all that's left is an ugly scar
And a throbbing phantom pain between down there
The blade was dull and smelled like rust
Another man I'll never trust
The sight of one will now cause such a scare
A silent tear rolls down my cheek
And I've decided I need to seek
A place where I can start to become whole
And mend my soul

So now my sexual
Relations are for function
I've no sense of what is pleasurable
Even when they're munching on my cunt
I'll find a good man on my hunt
Who doesn't see me as a machine
To breed his children and to clean
I miss my bean

Oh cleaver to my clit
But they let me keep my tits
Oh it's such misery
To have a clitorectomy
Clitorectomy

Is it wrong to make fun of dead people?

Sadly, I'm a foolish enough sheep to watch MTV's A Double Shot at 15-Minutes-of-Fame, I mean Love. Kandice "Kandi" Hutchinson was rejected on last night's episode by two skanky bisexual broads known as the Ikki Twins. She was a makeup artist whom Tyra Banks would probably refer to as "plus size." Meaning, she had a totally normal body, but looked huge compared to the praying mantis competition. She sobbed in her exit interview, "I have so much to offer. I have a really good heart--it's there--it's so big. Maybe it's a little bit hidden." Well maybe she meant "enlarged" instead of "big." And I can imagine how obscuring GGG tits can be. Vikki and Rikki (apparently "Rikki" comes from the name Erica) have already kicked off all the people of color, so why not go after the fatties? HEY! Are any of you tools or lesbots Jews? You're next!

Kandi died in a car crash October 21st shortly after production on the show wrapped, and MTV edited her scenes to limit how much of her outrageous behavior aired. Why? If she's a crazy bitch, show us just how crazy. What could be in the unaired footage that would change the audience's opinion of a boozy, slutty mess? She must have been lighting orphans on fire and punching pregnant women in the belly. Maybe she was shitting on cars and paying bums to fight each other. Or worse!

Let it be known that I found out she died after I planned to write this. Not that it would have stopped me from posting. And I did get the whole burning orphans thing out of it. . . so thanks, Kandi?