Fuck, I hate that song. I hate this day, too. It is the soul of an aborted baby kind of day. No real purpose, just floating around. "Momeeee!" Momeeeee!"
Sorry about that.
You're right, no I'm not.
No penises were harmed during the making of this movie.
I don't know why I am so...bummed? Burnt? Something. Or other. A generous reader has made it possible for me to buy a pack of fireworks for my kids. Oh, okay, for me, too. Check entries for this time last year. I'm stoked.
I think my neighbor across the way has murdered his wife. He has his cranky face on, and is cleaning his car most assiduously. I mean ADD, OCD assiduously.
It is a new(ish) car, but he is after it like Rainman, vacuuming and spritzing and scrubbing, like he is trying to remove...
Maybe he watches too much CSI. If shit really worked that way, there'd be no criminals left, instead of what we have now, bodies stacked like cordwood in freezer trucks in the parking lot of the morgue.
Too bad. His wife was hot. Five foot eleven or better, big titties, and a great butt. I'll miss her.
He is walking his dog a lot. More than usual. I wonder if he is recycling her through Fido's digestive system? The perfect crime, and saves money on dog food, as well. Probably best to not fall asleep with Fido untethered, though, methinks. He has had a taste...
So, I'm feeling about as useless as a limp dick at a gangbang about now. Bummed. Flaccid. A shot of bourbon might perk me up. As if.
As if I weren't broke; and even a millionaire can't buy whiskey in this state today or tomorrow, because the State owns all of the liquor stores.
I need to keep a box of Emergency Puppies, so I can pull one out, PRN, and strangle it to cheer me up.
The following is the (short) list of creatures I would not, could not kill to cheer me up:
Nut Hatches (it's a bird, stupid)
Turtles (except for snapping turtles...I would fuck a snapping turtle to death)
Bunnies (except for Jack Rabbits, which I would also fuck to death)
Red-Wing Blackbird. I dearly love them. They might even be my totem, although I have been informed that mine is the owl. Can one have two totems? Why not...
I think that's it. I would jam a number two pencil into your earhole and thence into your brain for even so much as annoying one of these in front of me.
Pandas? I'd shoot one, just to watch them die. Dolphin? Why the fuck haven't you evolved out of the water, dumbass? I want extra dolphin with my tuna. Retarded, horny fish with dicks...who needs that shit.
Fuck, I needs me some football. Do all of them beach volleyball bitches get breast reductions, or something? Fuck, the guys have bigger pecs than those twats.
Nat loves to watch it, though. I tolerate it, hoping for a random shot of clam, though anybody who has ever had sex on the beach knows the deleterious effect sand has as a lubricant modifier, and is, quite properly, repulsed.
I am a whore.
You photogs (yes, I'm talking to you, Sports Illustrated!) who think it's sexy to show some hottie with her ass caked in sand, well, it's not. Cut it out.
Where was I? I need to pull this train of thought into the station.
I don't like Sundays.