You must be at least this tall to ride this ride

::Tip Jar::


View My Stats

eXTReMe Tracker

Crusader for Christ Crusader against Islam

This blog is protected from memes by Grundir the Implacable

Creative Commons License
This work
licensed under
a Creative
Commons License


email me


Pat Dollard

James Lileks
(My Idol)

Sharp Knife
(My Other Hero)


Now With Best ofs!

Haunted Soldier

Curses & Chrome

All Atwitter

Maiden Magnetic

Random Bits of Pomposity


Vox Day



Doc in the Box

Protein Wisdom

Atlas Shrugs

Twenty Major




  • On Turds, And The Manufactury Thereof...

  • ::Past::
  • September 2002
  • October 2002
  • November 2002
  • December 2002
  • January 2003
  • February 2003
  • March 2003
  • April 2003
  • May 2003
  • June 2003
  • July 2003
  • August 2003
  • September 2003
  • October 2003
  • November 2003
  • December 2003
  • January 2004
  • February 2004
  • March 2004
  • April 2004
  • May 2004
  • June 2004
  • July 2004
  • August 2004
  • September 2004
  • October 2004
  • November 2004
  • December 2004
  • January 2005
  • February 2005
  • March 2005
  • April 2005
  • May 2005
  • June 2005
  • July 2005
  • August 2005
  • September 2005
  • October 2005
  • November 2005
  • December 2005
  • January 2006
  • February 2006
  • March 2006
  • April 2006
  • May 2006
  • June 2006
  • July 2006
  • August 2006
  • September 2006
  • October 2006
  • November 2006
  • December 2006
  • January 2007
  • February 2007
  • March 2007
  • April 2007
  • May 2007
  • June 2007
  • July 2007
  • August 2007
  • September 2007
  • October 2007
  • November 2007
  • December 2007
  • January 2008
  • February 2008
  • March 2008
  • April 2008
  • May 2008
  • June 2008
  • July 2008
  • August 2008
  • September 2008
  • March 2009
  • June 2009
  • July 2009
  • August 2009
  • October 2009
  • November 2009
  • May 2011
  • September 2012

  • This is my Blog...There are many like it, but this one is mine...

    This page is powered by Blogger.

        Monday, May 21, 2007

    On Turds, And The Manufactury Thereof...

    Pondering Nat's contribution this morning, and my own proud megaliths, got me to thinking about stinking, and what goes in, in proportion to what comes out, and in what form it does so.

    As I've said, the wife cannot cook for four ('Honey, there's only four of us, and three of you are little short fuckers!') so she cooks for the army she doesn't have, and is too penurious to allow me to give it away, so we have had to eat spaghetti for three nights in a row. And Garlic bread.

    Literally, I suggest that we bag something up that fills an entire shelf in the fridge and give some to my parents or something, and she gets a look in her eyes like you'd see in a state prison, just before you get shanked for reaching for an extra biscuit.

    And spaghetti, I think, forms the perfect ass-bat. I mean, you could take one of mine, polish it up a bit, add some metal studs to the tip, and have a serviceable weapon. Though I doubt anyone would care to fight you, because whoo doggies, they stink. I mean, stink like you have to go to the other bathroom and gargle to get the taste out of your mouth stink. The kids come to the closed bathroom door, hold out their hand to the knob, hesitate, think better of it, and go elsewhere.

    A closed bathroom door is a hazmat warning in this house. Excuse me, I have to go change this shirt. Funk is coming off it in waves, I'll go drop it in the machine...

    There, I'm back. Where was I...

    Oh yeah, we eat a lot of poor people food, which means ethnic, and a lot of it is Mexican(ish). Now, that diet can lead to crapping out special sauce so hard you shit on the back of your balls.
    'Wet cleanup on aisle 13!' And you gotta clean the bottom of the seat. Italian? Nope, just good solid loaves and fishes. A miracle.

    Steak is best. All the loaf, very little of the odor, and wipe like Cheryl Crow. Chinese is worst. Just go to the cupboard and dig out an extra roll of two ply, cuz whatever's hangin there ain't enough.

    Oooo! The wife made scratch Tapioca pudding, my absolute fave. Easy to make, but it burns like a bitch if you look away for a second. Of course she only has two speeds on the stove-top: off, and smoking post apocalyptic wasteland. I am forever phoning downstairs and saying 'honey, you're about to burn something', and she has given up calling bullshit on me, and now just runs and lifts it off the burner, because I can smell that tipping point where the item being tortured has absorbed all the calories it can, at least at that temperature.

    Man, I feel frisky, like I want to scoot around on my asshole on the carpet.

    Probly shouldn't...