Tuesday, June 10, 2008

You Sexy Thing

I am still lazy, but I'm also stealth. You can find me this fine day over HERE , giving you an intelligent breakdown of some fine disco lyrics.

Don't say I never teach you anything.

Oh! Hi! You're looking fine today!

Monday, May 26, 2008

Bite Sized Thoughts 2

Inside the mind of celebrities: Courtney Love

Oh shiny stuff you got any druggs can i have some omg people justr dont get me at all you are all monsters i might need to have surgrey again as I dont look enuf of a freek yet theres alwayss room for improvment and oh is that prada i like prada i am classy you people need to shut the fuck upp i didnt kill kurt why would i do that he was my true luv and you suckas will never know luv like it so fuck you all sideways. i stripped in japan you know i no how life works and you suckas have no idea what its like to be me frances give momma her fuckin speedballs you lil fucknut.

Thursday, May 22, 2008

Finn The Cat

I’ve been a little out of the loop lately blog wise. No updates or ridiculous pie charts or swearing profusely and calling people names. I’ve been a little down you see. A little bluer than my normal, rosy self.

You see, the other day – Sunday to be specific and late Sunday night to be completely accurate – I lost my baby Finn-the-Cat to an illness of the respiratory nature. She died in the taxi two blocks from the animal hospital. It was a hopelessly horrific thing to witness, especially when you are unable to do anything to help. She has had trouble breathing for a while now and been treated a lot recently to help her feel better.

I’m not a people person so much as an animal person. I can read about famines and floods and earthquakes and feel sympathy for people, but they don’t touch me like animals do. Losing my Finn-the-cat (that is her full name!) is the same as the loss of a person to me. For ten years she has ceremoniously grunted, shattered my crockery with gay abandon in an attempt to suggest to me that maybe I might like to feed her dinner, lay on my chest and purred when I went to sleep at night and attacked my ankles as I’ve walked through the living room in the dead of night on route to the bathroom. She has dispatched of rogue bugs, the occasional mouse and lots of cheese with admirable efficiency. She has sat on the feet of guests and slept on their beds at night. She’s protective you see. She used to chew my hair. Freaky cat.

On Sunday, while I was organizing some stuff I had in storage, she hindered my attempts at every turn by getting in the storage boxes and sitting on my clothing piles. Afterwards she cuddled with me on the bed while we procrastinated doing any more work because we’re a team you see. I work and she gets in my way, It’s an arrangement we have.

Then a few hours later she was gone, just like that.

She is beautiful. I say is, because she is. Not was. It sucks losing a friend of any species. But I wanted you to meet her, so here she is. My Finn-the-cat. An awesome force of nature.

Sunday, May 18, 2008

Bite Sized Thoughts

Inside the minds of celebrities.

Today: Gary Busey

"Hey I'm lookin' goooood! Hey baby nice ass, swing that sweet thang over here! Dang, let me tap that! Since when is gin cheaper than gasoline? Where's my hairdresser's phone number? I totally look great for a dude who drinks his bodyweight in Scotch every day...whoa my chompers are HUGE! Hey, I'm still relevant, ok? This Cover Girl Age Defying Foundation is da bomb! YEEEEEEEEEEHAAAAAA! Hook me up to a vodka IV! I wonder if Mickey Rourke and Nick Nolte wanna come over and part-ay?"

Wednesday, May 14, 2008

The True Story of the American Civil War

Let’s get one thing straight. The American Civil War was long and included a list of battles as long as shit. Allow me to condense it into tasty, bite-sized morsels for you.

In 1860, Abraham Lincoln – he’s the tall, gangly dude with the beard and funny hat, who looked like Jimmy Stewart - was elected president, despite only managing to garner 40% of the popular vote. He was the guy who said, regarding slavery, "Government cannot endure permanently half slave, half free...", which pissed off a lot of people in the South, who immediately polished their muskets and rushed to the dry cleaners with their white robes and pointy white hats, all in a tizzy.

In the first few months of Lincoln’s presidency, South Carolina, Mississippi, Florida, Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana and Texas, all seceded from the Union, unhappy with all that Yankee claptrap about all people being equal, regardless of skin color and human beings not being permitted to “own” other human beings. I'm unclear what baseball had to do with anything however.

By spring of 1861 the South was so pissed off, their grits were going sour. Some French-named idiot, Pierre Beauregard, got a bee in his bonnet about something or other and dragged his Confederate derriere to Charleston, South Carolina where he opened fire with some big, scary cannons. At whom or what I don’t know, just pretend you’re with me, people. Anyway, somehow that started the Civil War.

It’s sort of ironic when you think about it, because the French are normally running away from wars, or surrendering in the first hour, so old Pierre was something of a rarity.

Lincoln, slightly alarmed by this rudeness, called a meeting of Congress and asked for 75,000 men to come and help kick some Confederate butt. This dude named Robert E. Lee, who held a high post in the U.S. Army, and who rode around in an orange 1970s’ car with a Confederate flag emblazoned on the roof (I can’t remember if he was the blonde or the brunette though…), was offered charge of the Union army. He spat on the ground and said, “Bite me, Abe!” or words to that effect, causing Lincoln to turn white and call for his mama.

Just after this, Virginia, Arkansas, Tennessee, and North Carolina seceded from the Union also, which left the Union holding only states where people had proper dental hygiene and professional hairdressers. This however, meant that the Confederacy held eleven states, all of dubious orthodontic merit, with a population of nine million people and four million slaves, who, as we all know, are not people at all.

Nine million people with mullets is a pretty scary concern for any attacking army.

Lincoln, getting ticked off with these shenanigans, unleashed a medieval ass whooping in the form of a blockade on Southern Ports, blocking supplies to the south for the rest of the war, causing people to eat their own grandmothers' ear lobes and wear clothing made from leaves. You might not read that anywhere else, because not everyone is as in the know as I am. Word!

In disgust, Robert E. Lee resigned his post in the U.S. army and ran away to Richmond, Virginia, where he had a little girl hissy-fit, before taking over command of the military and naval forces of Virginia for the Confederacy.

Meanwhile, Congress thought, “Oh shit!” and immediately called up 500,000 more men for the Union.

The Union army, headed by a huge Yankee, Irvin McDowell (must've been a pitcher I guess) got their asses handed to them on a platter at Bull Run, southwest of Washington D.C. and Abe replaced McDowell with George B. McClellan, whose head immediately swelled to the size of a large beach ball, with all the power he thought this meant he held over Congress, the president and the country. He was a little bit like Bill O’Reilly today, only with more guns and minus the designer ties.

For the next three years a whole lot of stuff happened. Frequent bloody battles were to the Civil War, what large lapels, armpit sweat, perms and disco were to 1977. In the war there was little dancing but the choreography was eerily similar…

On January 1, 1863, the Emancipation Proclamation went into effect. This was the declaration of freedom for the slaves in those Confederate states not held by the Union, and which people in the South didn’t care for one iota, mainly because it meant they’d have to either pay their slaves, or learn how to wash their own frigging dishes.

The same year Lincoln gave his famous Gettysburg Address which lost me after the second line but which basically called upon people to continue kicking ass for the Union in honor of all the dead soldiers, whom he dedicated the Address to. He then buried all the dead soldiers in General Lee’s back garden and called it Arlington.

In 1864, Lincoln put Ulysses S. Grant in charge of the Union army. This was way before some other dude put him on the fifty dollar note. Grant decided to go after General Lee and some heavy scene went down in Richmond, but I fell asleep during that part in history class and all I can remember was some Confederate ass took a kicking and Lee surrendered like a Frenchman.

That was pretty much the beginning of the end for the Confederacy, since the North had effectively and spitefully cut them off from the vital supplies they needed to continue the war. The last Confederate army surrendered in 1865 in Indian (feathers not dots) Territory, giving the North its victory.

In April 1865 some asshole actor named John Wilkes Booth, who had a lithp lovey, took exception to Lincoln’s support for voting rights for blacks, crept up behind Lincoln in the Ford’s Theater in Washington and shot him in the back of the head. What a gentleman. Lincoln died the next day and as a consolation got his face printed on a five-dollar note, in a portrait that makes him look seasick for all eternity.

Monday, May 12, 2008

Today's Ejamacashunal Essay

You know what’s weird? Beefeaters!

No, I don’t mean Texans or rampant carnivores who like to tear the flank off a cow with their bare hands and teeth, I mean those guys who guard Buckingham Palace. They might even walk the corgis, because someone has to stop the royal dog poop from staining the antique Persian carpets.

Now I was under the impression that this was a beefeater right here:

However, no, he’s just a guy in a big, fey chapeau who stands emotionless at the Palace gates to scare off ne'er-do-wells and intruders who want to maybe touch the Queen's bottom or like...perverts who want to see Prince Charles.

We like to say things to these fur-hatted fellows, as they aren't allowed to respond or react to anything. You can taunt those guys all day long and insult their mothers and they won’t even be TEMPTED to make you into a kebab with their bayonets. Well they might be tempted, but they're not allowed to do it, so if you go to visit the Palace be sure to greet them with a hearty “FUCK YOU, Q-TIP HEAD!

No, honestly, they like it!

I don’t understand why it’s necessary to have such a large fur hat though. What does he keep in there and is it something useful like a bottle of gin? ( Beefeater Gin maybe?)

Also, what if that guy has to pee? Maybe he has an elaborate hidden system full of pulleys and secret chambers that direct his pee-pee into a convenient hot water bottle type contraption strapped to his leg?

I mean, it’s a thought, right? And even if this isn't true someone should market that pronto, because there's obviously a huge demand! Someone should open a Cafe Press store and sell them with the Queen's crest emblazoned on them. Because a royal pee vessel is superior to your ordinary, run of the mill pee vessel.

Incidentally, on second thoughts I'm totally patenting that so don't think about it.

This is actually a Beefeater here:

They’re totally gay looking. In fact they look like they are straight out of a “Blackadder” episode in their little lampshade hats and ruffly, frilly shirty things.

You can insult them too but they’re liable to strap you to a cannon ball and launch you at Scotland, so I don’t recommend it. Plus they might LOOK flaming, but they’re ex-military and won’t think twice about decapitating you if you even suggest their mom has a penis.

Friday, May 9, 2008

Haiku Friday

I'm feeling lazy and boring so it seems fitting that I present to you my Friday so far, in haiku:

Rain can bite my ass
Where is my precious sunshine?
Why is life so hard?

Grilled cheese for the win
Greasy, tasty and so good
Now who's on the phone?

You are strangely mad
Not in a good way either
Shove it up your ass

Hey man, don't feel blue!
You deserve a giant hug
Just come over here

Jesus Effing Christ
Vermont and New Hampshire suck
Which way round are they?

Monday, May 5, 2008

Who is Mike and Why Is His Booze Hard? Because I've Drunk a Lot of It and It's Pretty Soft!

Dear Mike:

I don't know who the hell you are but you know your shit when it comes to alcoholic goodness, let me tell you. Your Hard Lime in particular is a Guv'ner favourite - filled with tart yet sweet, sultry, citrusy sexiness and sass. Yes Sir, it puts a spring in my jaded old step that's for damn sure. Then I fell over cos things got all blurry after four bottles.

Not that I wish to pick favorites. Your Hard Cranberry also does the trick nicely in a pinch and I see you have a Hard Berry now too, you wicked, wicked boy. I will suck the neck of one of those pretty soon, I am certain.

I'm not a whore though. Sure, I've had dalliances in the past with Corona Light (flighty and only in it for the good times) and Labatt Ice (brooding and incomprehensible), Smirnoff Ice (confused as to its identity - is it vodka or is it a malty lemony drink or something else entirely, I couldn't take the anxiety or ambiguity) and even Scrumpy Jack cider, which used and abused me and made me dance to Bon Jovi IN PUBLIC. Well naturally, that was a fling that had to end.

Since I met you Mike and your Hard goodness (!) I know I never need stand alone amongst the Miller and Coors and substandard alco-pops ever again. I just wanted to say thank you. And that wasn't a burp it was merely the chair.

And your catch phrase there: "Cold, hard and refreshing"? You know what else is cold, hard and refreshing, Mike? ANNA NICOLE SMITH! (Well ok, two out of three ain't bad...)


Monday, April 28, 2008

Redneck EHarmony Profile Rejects

1) Billy-Bob - Arkansas

Hi their ladies. I am Billy-Bob from Arkansas and here is a fine pictor of me in my swimming pool that I done built myself with my uncle Phil. It keeps the old jewels nice n cool in the summer months when I can't git to the creek. OK so it's really my pickup but don't worry none, I done gone insulated her with a little plastic so her innards don't git all fucked up. I'm looking for a lady of breeding who appreciates corn dogs, the state fair and pig farming and who ain't bothered about gitting on down in the mud or gitting it on in the mud. Yeeha. I'm looking for a big ass, some o'them big boobulas and legs that don't quit. I like's the little chillun, animals and killing pigs with my bear hands.

2) Randy, Alabama

High there ladies, Randy here from Alabama and don't be a feared cuz I might look like a real badass motor scooter and I truly am when it comes to bar fighting and hog wrestling but when it comes to you ladies i am a big old pussycat meoooww! Here's one of my special home made horseshoes for you lovely lady and it will bring you much luck, yes ma'am. It done brung me luck that one time after I snorted down half a hog after a hoe down and needed a place to sit to fart out my inners. Don't worry though, i done sponged it down since. I'm looking for a lady who likes a good time, can handle a moonshine still and who can ride the mekanical bull at the rodeo for more than 30 seconds that's how I know she the lady fur me.

3) Clarence Filburn IV, Louisiana

Goddamit. My buddy Keith wants me to git my ass on here to find me a wimmens. I'm just sick of looking after my damn self when there is perfectly good wimmens out there who kin do it fur me. I've a lot to offer the right wimmens like my castle here behind me and I got the built in air conditioning espeshly in the latrine area as shown above. I used to have the shitter inside the castle but then the damn vermins moved in and shit all over the place and i had to move outside for a spell. I'm looking for wimmens who will pay attenshon to my pecker and cook grits. Maybe you kin do it at the same time? She also need to be stacked like a water melon cart and she needs to know how to shoot a gun cuz the vermins move fast and I ain't got the time.

4) Cletus, West Virginia

Hi there! How yoo doing! Cletus here, good ole boy from West Virginny, yes ma'am. This pitcher is me after the town clam bake and hog roast back in summer 0h sevin. Was a scorcher that day yip. That there in my claw is a little special lemonaid made by Dolores Masterson and full of Jesse Oak's moonshine juice. I thought I had a shot with old Dolores as she a hottie. Wore my special occashun overalls and everything but she done gone made the beast with my cuzzin Fred. Well I say cuzzin but he's also my grandpaw. He says I should come here and find me a hottie of my own so I figure I'd like a blonde with big waps and tiny shorts and some spunk. I'll give her some spunk yes sir. I likes them gals with the sass and the gum. If yous one of those gals gimme a call on the blower with your bra size and bank account details.

5) Lurleen, Texas


Thursday, April 17, 2008

Six Word Memoirs

My good bud CHRIS kindly tagged me to do this here meme type thing and naturally I cannot refuse because a) it's only six words long (i.e., my kind of meme!), b) it's all about me (again, MY kind of meme) and c) Who can resist Mr. Radloff's crazy ways? Not I that's for sure. So here it is. I'm not going to go around tagging folks so I say you all do it and do it now.

The rules:

1) Write your own six word memoir
2) Post it on your blog; include a visual illustration if you’d like
3) Link to the person that tagged you in your post, and to the original post if possible
4) Tag at least five more blogs with links
5) Leave a comment on the tagged blogs with an invitation to play!

My Six Word Memoirs (I did six of them to be all about the six. Like the 666 tattooed on my forehead)

My Life Is All About Freedom
Loves Animals But People Must Die
Overly Fixated On Simple Pie Charts
Living Through Mirage of Good Cheese
Expecting The World To Worship Me
Loves Space: Too Lazy To Go

Your turn? Do it in comments if you like! I'm all about the freedom as I said.

Monday, April 14, 2008

How NOT to Write a Blog Entry

Have you ever wondered what a blog entry written at 1:45 in the morning, while drinking tequila might look like? Well wonder no more! Hi!

I should be going to bed now, I've been told, as it's work in the morning, however, I don't feel like it and since I am not ten years old any more, I don't have to. So there. So instead I thought I'd type some stuff as it comes into my head, which will be an exercise in how not to write anything, ever.

For example, I could tell you that late night Adult Swim is full of cartoons where giant asses talk, deformed, radioactive families live among the normal and giant boxes of French fries float in the air and have a beard and talk and stuff. It's like life on acid except...it's real. Well ok, it's a cartoon, but it's a real cartoon. What? Shut up Guv.

I could also tell you that 1:45AM is the official time of day you most would like to eat onion rings because I suddenly have an enormous craving for them.

I could point out that my neighbour is not long for this world and I know this because I am going to kill him for being a noisy motherfucker who is probably cutting up bodies in his living room judging by the thumping and buzzing sounds coming from in there.

My belly button is itchy, that must mean something.

Finally, who thinks having sex in an igloo sounds like a fun idea? I'm not offering or anything, I just mean in general. I can't explain where that thought came from but I thought I'd throw it out there regardless. Sex in igloos, discuss.

Wednesday, April 9, 2008

Bring It

April 24th will be "Bring your Son or Daughter To Work" day once again. I never understand this day. People bring in a bunch of hyperactive little people who don't do any actual work, wear a bunch of oversized free t-shirts and buy the last soda in the cafeteria when you've been looking forward to it all morning and are about to expire from dehydration. I feel that there needs to be similar catering to other, more childless entities like myself when it comes to invading your work day with foreign outside influences.

"Bring a Keg To Work Day" - I would approve this day heartily. A keg would fit under my desk nicely and a long straw running from said keg straight into my mouth would be a good way to spend any day. When you're mainlining Heineken normal workday hassles seem irrelevant. Or so I'm told...moving swiftly on...

"Bring Your Dog To Work Day" - Again, far superior to children, dogs could actually make your day more productive. For a start he can shred documents pretty well. Granted, not usually the ones you had in mind, and sure you still had a couple years wear left in those shoes, but hey. A dog can also finish any lunch scraps you didn't eat and chomp enthusiastically on the cajones of your boss when he's being a giant ass. What's not to like?

"Bring An Attitude To Work Day" - For me, this occurs every day but I'd like to make it official. A whole day where you are not only permitted, but expected to be an ass. "Expense reports you say? Why don't you shove those right up your poop chute and maybe they'll come out the other end making sense."

"Bring a Devious Friend To Work Day" - I can think of no more fun way to spend a day at work than with a similar bad influence. You could play poker (or Canasta if you're over 60 and still devious) smoke doobies, drink absynthe and belch at callers. Bring in a blackjack table and a few hookers and you have yourself a work party.

"Bring a Cake To Work Day" - The world would be a better place if, when you get a little stressed out or flustered, you can put your whole head in a cake. Tell me I'm wrong. You can't can you? Because I am correct.

Wednesday, April 2, 2008

Get More Intelligent With The Guv'ner

I thought it was about time I taught all your uneducated heathens a bit about history. Forget what you read in text books, people, this is the story you won't get in school.

Note: This entry is where I manage to singlehandedly insult a) the French (repeatedly) b) Napoleon c) English people d) Sacred September 11th victims and e) George W. Bush (although this one is generally acceptable)

The Guv'ner's Essay on The French Revolution

I’ll keep this as short as possible, because the French Revolution was really, really boring, full of lots of constitutions and extremist groups and who the f*ck knows what else! And besides, let’s face it, who cares? It’s France. Cheese eating, surrendering assmonkeys.

Anyway, Louis XVI - that’s a whole metric shitload of Louies, no? - was the dude who invented the Estates-General in the eighteenth century. Don’t ask me what they did, or what the point of them was, because 1) I don’t know, and 2) I don’t care. All I can tell you is, they apparently disagreed on virtually everything from voting procedures to how much garlic to put in their boef bourgignon.

Anyhow, there was a whole bunch of flea-ridden commoners who controlled this other organization called The Third State – it was never clear to me what in the name of Elvis the other two states were, but whatever, like I said before, it’s France, ok? – and the Third State ended up surprising everyone by gaining control of the Revolution by doing something bogus to someone else, sometime, regarding something or other. It's really not important. I had trouble staying awake that far.

So, anyway, these Third State people took all the privileges away from the Aristocracy and made them cry and wear pink, frilly panties, which would usually be a completely bodacious thing to do, however, despite their “power to the people” philosophy, once the commoners got the power, they didn’t actually bother using it to help any of the poor people, who, as a result, ended up covered in pox and dirt and weeping sores and sleeping in their own feces and not liking it one bit. (A little like rednecks today, except they didn’t have any sofas or a rusty 1955 Chevy with three wheels and a guy in a wife beater scratching his balls, in the back yard.)

They decided it would be good ethics and like totally outstanding, to take the monarchy away from Louis, but Louis had a great big girlie huff about not being king anymore, because not being king sucks I suppose, and so he did what any real man would do faced with the threat of being denounced – he ran away to England to eat caviar and do rich man, nancy-boy things, with lots of gay looking dudes in white wigs and tights. However, he never quite made it as he was captured near the French border and made a prisoner of the French people who tickled his balls with a feather, or something equally gay and French.

Because of all this hilarity with the monarchy, monarchs in other countries like Prussia and Austria got their panties in a knot and decided to make a big French stew. They marched on France with their armies, causing France to run out of bread and start to panic. Well, you would wouldn’t you? During the whole September 11th 2001 thing, we here in lower Manhattan ran out of bread AND milk, and pizza went up 50 cents a slice! It wasn’t pleasant at all!

Then in some manner, that escapes me right now, a bunch of French radicals, known as “The National Convention”, took over operations in France. The most famous radical of this group was Maximilien Robespierre, who had a silly name that was also spelled wrongly by the looks of it, and he and his cronies demanded help for the poor by taking over the government and commencing an almighty “reign of terror” against their enemies.

Right on Maxie!

This reign of terror was a major can of whoop ass, which killed 250,000 people in nine months, which is more than even Kraft Macaroni Cheese!

After this, things got a little out of control, although I can’t remember how exactly, and to be perfectly honest, I couldn’t care less, but Robespierre ended up being executed by his own justice system, which must have been a bit of a bummer to say the least. The French like to execute people almost as much as George W. Bush. Whether they also enjoy cowboy boots, barbecuing and butchering the English language as much, remains to be seen.

Anyway all this palaver led to a new constitution being written in 1795, which annoyed a bunch of people, which, in turn, induced some sort of a coup d’état by none other than tiny, snack-sized, odd hat-wearing crazy man, Napoléon Bonaparte, and mama, at Waterloo Napoleon did surrender, whoa yeah.

This is already more than you need to know.

Honestly, you can thank me later.

Saturday, March 29, 2008

There Is A Porcupine Living In My Head

Notes from last night and despite what I said, the typos have been removed for the good of humanity:

12:10AM: Damn, these margaritas are good. And a little on the potent side. I wonder how long it's going to take to get a buzz from these suckers!

12:20AM: Oh yeah. There it is! That was fast! Tequila is the devil's drink. The devil and I have so much in common. I don't have horns though. I'm not touching that...

1:00AM: What the eff are "tenichlatilies" Danny? I'm thinking someone's even more buzzed than I am. Long Island Iced Teas, jeeze. That dude is going to hit the deck hard, later. Victory is so mine.

1:19AM: My toes are feeling odd. Like they're not really part of the rest of me. Sort of like Monaco and France. My toes are a principality, yo! I can still type though so far. I've only corrected 300 typos so far...

2:05AM: I can still spell "thalidomide" with a buzz on. Anyone would think I'd typed that 500 times this week already or something. Haha no one will ever know how funny that is.

3:00AM: Haha, this conversation is about fourteen different kinds of inappropriate right now. I'm not sure there's anyone left to offend on Earth. It's also a new record I believe. Normally ten is my limit.

3:33AM: Yeah. There is no way this transcript is going public. Like, EVER. Can the FBI monitor these things? Should I move?

3:46AM: Note to self: Your pants are inside out.

4:02AM: Other note to self: Do not close eyes at any point. Think riding on a moving freight train. Also? Do not admit this to the enemy.

4:04AM: Like the enemy is at all coherent.

4:59AM: Holy freaking shit. We are not right. Current topics of conversation: drugs, pick up trucks, oil fields and something totally unprintable about George Bush and Saddam Hussein's forbidden love.

5:12AM: I wouldn't bet money on it but I have a feeling my tongue is too big for my mouth.

5:25AM: I am about 300% certain there is a foreign hostile takeover going on inside my head that will come to a point during most of tomorrow.

6:06AM: Drinking water now. I think I'm getting away with it...

6:38AM: What's that huge light outside my window. Turn that thing off! Oh....it's the sun. Fuck!

7:00AM: I already have a hangover and I haven't gone to bed yet. This is alarming.

7:29AM: Hahaha Dan is like...seventeen sheets to the wind right now. It looks like a Tasmanian Devil on crack has taken over his keyboard. I'll spare you the details. Plus he's typing what looks like a load of left over Scrabble letters. Looks like a town in Hungary.

7:34AM: The quiz to decide the winner's going to have to wait until I can think a coherent thought again. Plus I'm not sure Dan knows where he is right now.

7:40AM: Yeah, bed time. I may already be asleep. I know my toes are. And I know my dignity died about 3 hours ago.

Thursday, March 20, 2008

The T-Shirt Tag

My good bud Suze made me…I mean…asked me if I’d be so kind as to do this t-shirt meme thingy. The idea is to pick five t-shirts you own and write something about each, or something to that effect. I don’t do well with instructions, I just see “blah blah blah” and dive right in. Anyway, my response was, "ONLY FIVE?" because really, all my t-shirts are splendid and tell a story and I could go on for probably three weeks!

OK, I’m suddenly seeing the point of choosing five now.

I believe I’m supposed to tag some people to do similar, so I tag, you and you and oh yeah…you! Have at it. Seriously, all of you go do it, I want to see what crap you all have in your wardrobes then we’ll see who gets to be all high and mighty.

So here, with no further ado – The Guv’ner’s T-shirts

  1. Bobz Bunz – Best Bunz in Town

    I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, "Guv, I honestly am having a hard time seeing a cultured, educated, classy, upper class toff like yourself wearing something featuring such a crass slogan!" And you would be at least partially correct, my friends. I have never actually worn "Best Bunz In Town" in public. Not because I wouldn’t wear such a fine piece of high-class garb, so much as the fact the shirt is almost the exact same color as my skin, therefore wearing it in a public place might cause cars to crash into rivers or something, when drivers with short attention spans think I’m walking around topless sporting a tacky tattoo on my chest. It was an oversight on my part when I bought it.

    In my defense, Bobz Bunz is from the fabulous Islamorada diner in the Florida Keys and I did fall heavily and truly in love with Bobz Bunz on my visit. His buns were huge, sticky and brimming with cream cheese, so given those filthy odds I defy you not to have bought his t-shirt. Plus, it reminds me of long hours of sunshine, ocean, palm trees, liquor and getting my ass evacuated by a hurricane the very day after I arrived. Thanks Rita, you punkass bitch. And the moral of this tee? Never go on vacation with The Guv’ner. She will get you either, a) arrested, b) killed, c) evacuated, or d) chased by an alligator. Of course if you like adventure, hell, gimme a call!

  2. Small Stars

    Austin’s Small Stars are one of my favourite bands, maybe my favourite. I know, I know, you’ve never heard of them. No one has. But what’s the point in having a favourite band that everyone knows? Hmmm? Then I couldn’t pull an "I am better than you plebs in my hipster superiority!" type of defense. I wouldn’t be a quarter as awesome as you all know I am, if I liked Bryan Adams or something, right?

    Naturally, you should go check The Small Stars out immediately anyway because they rock to an almost epic proportion of fantasticness. Their song "Bombarderos Y Pistoleros" especially, makes my entire world rock out with its cock out. That song just lights my fire. And believe me. You will be lying there one night, just about to drop over that line into a deep, relaxing slumber when boom, the intro to "Bombarderos" will start pounding in your brain until sleep is futile and you have to get your ass out of bed and dance around the house in your underwear, playing your imaginary washboard. Yes, I said washboard. Do you wish to say something?

    Sure, they’re a real band made up of fake characters but they write a mean, catchy song and so my friends, this is why I have the t-shirt. It’s a fairly small babydoll shirt so I can’t eat for about a week before I wear it or it gets a little tight and things get a touch obscene in the breastular region. Let’s just leave it at that...

  3. Mello Yello

    Mello Yello is the coolest soda on Earth. Except Barr’s Irn Bru. But that’s in a league of its own. Mello Yello is the best American soda on Earth, how about that? Not only does it boast a cunning use of pineapple, but it’s harder to find in NYC than a straight waiter. In fact, one of the Subway Sandwiches franchises, right here in downtown, by the World Trade Center is the only place in Manhattan I know who offers its wondrous fizzy nectar for sale. Before I discovered this, I used to actually head to Chuck E. Cheese in Brooklyn to find heaven. Now tell me that’s dedication! Or desperation. Whatever, who asked you? Oh wait, I did. Anyway, yeah, it’s basically a trade off. One cup of Mello Yello cost 99 cents and about two thirds of your sanity because you have to drink it surrounded by 80 shrieking six year olds. On the way out they give you a free gallon of the stuff and a medal for perseverance. At least on the days you’re not handcuffed and on your way to the slammer…

    The shirt’s awesome but virtually unwearable. I mean look at the colour. I’m crazy but I’m not howling at the Moon, crazy! I’m a reddish haired pale chick, if I wore that shirt in public I’d get arrested for crimes against fashion. All it needs to complete the felony is some royal blue pants with suspenders and some big, red clown shoes. It's actually a junior's t-shirt but I'm not proud. Because, it’s Mello Yello people. I sleep in it, because it’s awesome. The shirt I mean, not the soda. That would be pervy.

  4. Homosassa Springs

    I got this t-shirt in Florida from the Wildlife Preservation park there of the same name. It’s a man’s t-shirt actually and way too large, so it’s pretty much sleep material. I have worn it on the odd occasion with some leggings to run a swift errand in the neighbourhood, when I’m 100% positive I won’t run into someone I know. In fact, the last time I wore it was on a warm summer’s day last year which just happened to be the same day as the Gay Pride parade which runs through my neighbourhood. I went out, ran an errand, bought a drink and sat down in the park near my apartment to enjoy the weather. The park was full of me on my own and 100 people draped in rainbow flags who’d been enjoying the parade. It wasn’t till I got up to leave and glimpsed my reflection in a store window, I realized my messenger bag strap cut across the logo, splitting it in two, so it looked like I was wearing a shirt that said "Homos" and "ass". Nice. Hey never say I’m not topical.

  5. Let’s Play Global Thermonuclear War

    C’mon people, this shirt is the bees knees. Am I wrong? Who doesn’t fill their pants at that line in "War Games" when Matthew Broderick realizes the computer isn’t playing a game? Plus it’s a real geeky t-shirt and I’m a real geek. Nerd. Dork. I know, you’re thinking "Really Guv? You hide it so well! We’d never have realized if you’d just kept your trap shut!"

    Like the Small Stars shirt it is very fitted so it might as well say "HERE ARE MY BOOBS!" OK it’s not that bad. It’s short though. You have to be careful when you reach for stuff unless you want the world sticking things in your belly button. And really, who wants that? I mean I usually charge for that service.

Your turn!

Wednesday, March 19, 2008

Homicide Haiku

Guv'ner is pissed off
Damn loud neighbour must die now
Butcher knife in heart

Thursday, March 13, 2008

The Excellent Files

OK I promise this is the last X-Files post for a while and it's brief. Mulder's been dispatched to the desert to find a downed alien spacecraft. This is the trailer.

"Hey Scully! Can you hear me? Can you hear me now?"


"What's that? No, I'm not wearing eye shadow Scully. I just haven't slept in three days. I'm in the desert. Yeah, the desert. I've had reports of a downed alien spacecraft. I brought my pointy alien killing thingy just incase! What's that again? No, it's the weirdest thing. I have 30 points of articulation and I still can't get this damn cell phone all the way to my ear. I'm not yelling!"


"Sh*t Scully, I think I found it. It's...it's amazing. No sign of life though. What should I do? I know! I'll recite a really long paragraph full of impressive jargon and intellectual phrases in a serious monotone, then I'll approach it cautiously! I got my piece out. OH...and my gun!"


"Scully! I know I hung up five minutes ago, but I need to talk to someone. Hey, there's weird alien hieroglyphics on the side. It....It says....I.K.E.A."


"HOLY SHIT!!! What the f*ck!? Where'd the sun go? The craft is glowing!"


"Goddamn it Scully. The sun's back and there's an alien in front of me. He's already dead. I never even got to use my pointy alien killing thing! I never get to have any fun."


To never be continued....

What? Do you think I have all day for this crap?

Wednesday, March 5, 2008

The Sex Files

In this episode of "the Guv'ner has too much time on her hands", I bring you - The Sex Files. I actually posted this at Live Journal before, but I thought you all might like it. Don't say I never show you nothin'.

I've managed to get hold of the secret, never seen before episode of "The X-Files" that Fox tried to ban. Would I lie to you? Tsk! I am hurt you doubt me.

If you're still on dial up, what the hell is wrong with you? Also, I'd quit now.

SCULLY is in the morgue late at night about to perform an autopsy

So now you know...