This post has no theme; no direction; no point; no reason for existing, really, except that it's Sunday morning and football hasn't started yet, and the games they're showing suck jizz anyway. I'll just offer a few things that are on my mind right now, 'kay?
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Being me is no fucking picnic. Actually, it is a picnic; a picnic in which I sit alone on a blanket and eat fried chicken until my hands are so greasy I can't even masturbate. But it's not a fun picnic. I've always had a hard time fitting in with specific cliques. I think that's because I like individuals but despise groups. Any congregation of people I associate with has to have at least an 80%-20% cool-to-douchebag ratio.
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I'm now glad I'll never be a Blog of Note. Most of the people who are defending a particular former Blog of Note seem to be easily-amused dullards; people who use "thinking outside the box" like they invented the term and relate way too much to the hilarious hi-jinks of Dilbert. I like the cast of characters who comment regularly on my blog. I only have to explain myself on occasion, which is nice.
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For the last few days I've been listening to a group called Freakwater, which is a modern-day band that plays depressing "Oh, Brother Where Art Thou?"-style music. I'm not depressed, though. I'm just hankerin' for a chicken-fried steak smothered in sawmill gravy.
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I watched the old hockey comedy "Slap Shot" last night. It's hilarious, but also watch it for the slammin' disco soundtrack and eye-gouging seventies fashion rapes. If Paul Newman couldn't make the naugahyde suit work, what the fuck made regular guys think they could?
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I'm not saying I'm getting fatter, but the other day I was chased by rogue Nancy Kerrigan fans who thought I was former Tanya Harding bodyguard Shawn Eckhardt. I'll admit that I'm not as fat as Mr. Eckhardt, but I am too fat to outrun a group of Nancy Kerrigan fans. They beat the Christ out of me.
******
It's been weeks since I've called out Lindsay Lohan for being a formerly-hot-but-now-anorexic cokehead. I hear she's slated to play Skeletor in the new He-Man movie; if she doesn't overdose in a Hollywood gutter and have her organs harvested by drifters in the meantime.
******
Being me is no fucking picnic. Actually, it is a picnic; a picnic in which I sit alone on a blanket and eat fried chicken until my hands are so greasy I can't even masturbate. But it's not a fun picnic. I've always had a hard time fitting in with specific cliques. I think that's because I like individuals but despise groups. Any congregation of people I associate with has to have at least an 80%-20% cool-to-douchebag ratio.
******
I'm now glad I'll never be a Blog of Note. Most of the people who are defending a particular former Blog of Note seem to be easily-amused dullards; people who use "thinking outside the box" like they invented the term and relate way too much to the hilarious hi-jinks of Dilbert. I like the cast of characters who comment regularly on my blog. I only have to explain myself on occasion, which is nice.
******
For the last few days I've been listening to a group called Freakwater, which is a modern-day band that plays depressing "Oh, Brother Where Art Thou?"-style music. I'm not depressed, though. I'm just hankerin' for a chicken-fried steak smothered in sawmill gravy.
******
I watched the old hockey comedy "Slap Shot" last night. It's hilarious, but also watch it for the slammin' disco soundtrack and eye-gouging seventies fashion rapes. If Paul Newman couldn't make the naugahyde suit work, what the fuck made regular guys think they could?
******
I'm not saying I'm getting fatter, but the other day I was chased by rogue Nancy Kerrigan fans who thought I was former Tanya Harding bodyguard Shawn Eckhardt. I'll admit that I'm not as fat as Mr. Eckhardt, but I am too fat to outrun a group of Nancy Kerrigan fans. They beat the Christ out of me.
******
It's been weeks since I've called out Lindsay Lohan for being a formerly-hot-but-now-anorexic cokehead. I hear she's slated to play Skeletor in the new He-Man movie; if she doesn't overdose in a Hollywood gutter and have her organs harvested by drifters in the meantime.
16 Comments:
You DO NOT look like Shawn Eckhardt!
I'm still reeling from the fried chicken...
Didn't you bring napkins?
by the way, if you ever feel down, consider the fact you aren't still hung up on Starsky and Hutch.
A douchebag must always be present for the mere enjoyment of unintentional comedy.
"Who oooowwwns the team?"
pants,
I know, I know. Just making a point.
real,
that might be the bird flu.
ubie,
I left my napkins at home. I'll admit I used to think that car was cool, but then something happened: My eleventh birthday.
shannot,
yeah, okay; like that tattoo of Aaron Carter just "magically appeared" on your forearm.
brooke,
I'm a wack-off perfectionist.
joint,
if you lived in Vegas, you would quickly tire of douchebags.
That shit about Lindsay was the funniest shit ever.
Do you ever get tired of us just quoting something that you wrote and telling you that it was funny?
I'm serious though it was so funny I called my sister and read it to her on the phone.
Great chicken analogy, there's a Popeye's down the road from me and boy do I love that place.
I LOVE Slapshot! Paul Newman wearing a turtle neck, a gold chain with bling and using the word cunt. Ahhhhh...classic!
You do not look like Sean Eckhart! I think you are fabulous and I can't wait to hang out with you in a few weeks! I had someone tell me the other day I looked like the chick from the Dixie Chicks...the "chunky one". Great.
I wish there was somewhere decent to get chicken fried steak in Vegas but it is a southern thing...we have to go South the get the real deal. But overdosing on Mexican carbs and margaritas ain't exactly a bad day either!
See you in a few weeks!
loved the bit about the chicken grease masturbation.
am i the only straight guy on the planet that never thought lindsey lohan was hot?
nick,
I'll never, ever get tired of people just quoting something that I wrote and telling me that it was funny. I have nothing in my life. Nothing.
crystal,
ummm, popeye's.
blonde,
have I told you you're freakin' awesome? Well, you are. Looking forward to meeting you.
dan-e,
Lindsay wasn't Jessica Alba or anything, but now she looks like an albino Karen Carpenter.
I feel like I'm twelve. I seriously couldn't pick Shawn Eckhardt out of a line-up with a dozen midgets.
I'm definitley not a Blohan fan, no skinny greasy meat for me. And no fried chicken.
so you do you have picked for tonights gaem Dallas or Philly? Personally I hope Philly does not win another game since they got rid of there best player TO
wuneye,
no fried chicken? I'm originally from just far enough South to find that offensive.
doggrrl,
please don't bring the Jar o' Cocks to Vegas with you. I believe Blonde will be here the following weekend.
bob,
the picnic comment was meant to be meloncholy, damn it.
evil,
at least she was at Taco Bell, trying to put some meat on those bones.
crazy dan,
I'm a lifelong Cowboys fan, so I hope they win. It's hard for them to win in Philly.
princess,
you can never say too much. I'd like to invite you to the next picnic.
Princess,
oh, I love you.
Sorry, no fried chicken. And living in South Carolina, I've discovered what a travesty that is. I think I can walk to 3 chicken places in under five minutes from our apartment. Triple that if I'll walk ten.
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