the ad says:

"How does Jello fit all that chocolaty taste in just 60 calories? Who cares!" well bitch, now that you mention it, i fucking care. what kind of growth hormone or carcinogenic additives are you putting in there?

but that's not why i'm really here. you know that warm feeling you get that makes your soul feel nice and cozy? that feeling that only comes from getting a government worker fired during a recession? yea, i'm there. and it's making me aroused.

Princess of the asphalt heifers

About a week ago I left the Barnes and Noble book store which shares a parking lot with Whole foods. This is when I was met with a delightful sight. Though it sounds absurd I can assure you that I saw this beautiful occurrence at the very back of the parking lot where I went to retrieve my car. A young girl probably around the age of seven with her picturesque yuppie parents returning from their overpriced escapades at the Whole Foods Market. The girl was all dolled up in a princess outfit complete with a tiara and pink dress adorned with lace and speckled with sequins. All at once the spectacle began, out of nowhere she began projectile vomiting wave after wave of a cotton candy pink substance that was about the thickness of a milk shake. I thought to myself, how perfect, this girl had the princess thing down so well that she even barfed pink. That kid is going to be good at whatever she puts her mind towards, those parents must be proud. Anyway, this got me to thinking about parking lots. I often park my car at the very back end of the parking lot because I am well versed in the manners of fat lazy people whom endlessly disrespect other people’s property. They drive around incessantly waiting to find the closest spot to their destination in an effort to be spared from the minimal but oddly enough much needed exercise that would occur if they were forced to walk all the way from the back end of the lot. They spend so much time driving around in search of the nearest spot to become vacant, that they could have walked the entire span of the parking lot three times over had they just parked on the far reaches of the grid. Then, because of the fact that they have become so obese that their own muscles cannot lift their blubbery body mass, they are forced to swing their car door open as wide as possible without regard for the vehicles next to them in turn denting doors and scratching paint all so they can use the arm rest of the door to steady themselves for lift off from the comforts of their car seat, obliviously leaving a wake of destruction behind them only to achieve fewer paces to the food dispensary so that they may buy more vittles to shove into their cavernous feed holes. It is always in the news how America has become plagued with portliness so why not bring about some legislation to curb this epidemic starting with a fresh law for the parking lot. We can go ahead and let the handicap keep their spots in the front so long as we stop giving fatlings disability and or the chance to be considered handicapped. Then the next several rows back will be given to persons whom weigh in at 200 lbs or less, the next set of rows to follow would be reserved 250 lbs or less and continue down the lot in this manner. Lest saving us all from the auto body shop and needless dings on our doors, at the same time we would be achieving obligatory exercise for these mammoth sloths by actually forcing them to walk a hundred or so feet. We can go ahead and forget about towing these vehicles, as punishment for breaking this parking lot law all offenders would be forced to follow a strict grapefruit/celery diet for a 2 week period. If you disagree with what I am proposing, please come visit the lunch room at my work and try to accomplish the simple task of keeping your lunch down when there are four women sitting next to you that are pushing the structural integrity of their XXXL sweat pants while simultaneously gobbling down some of the most disgusting chow I have ever seen or smelled. I can almost guarantee that you will change your mind.

seriously?

only in mesa. arizona's own little utah.

Spandex abuse

This weekend while driving around with my roommate, we became privy to a new and hilarious form of child abuse. The afternoon began with a terrible hangover, the kind where anxiety is high and you can’t seem to find much that makes you happy aside from the Gatorade that is only dampening the effects of the negligent alcoholic excess of the night before. Then it happened, a little piece of hilarity that actually brought a smile to my face. This moment was brought to me by a teenage boy, fairly overweight and most certainly a kid who gets picked on at school daily. Now imagine this sad being on the back of a tandem bicycle (which I now refer to as “The misery vessel”) with his Father piloting the front half, both of them decked out in full matching gear complete with spandex and those ridiculous helmets that look like Nerf footballs. Now comes the part of this story that is the most difficult to paint with words. I can only say that I am blessed to have been fortunate enough to catch the magical moment that occurred in a split second when this kid raised his head up from his shame slump to look me straight in the eyes. The look on this kids face can only be described as sheer terror and humiliation in its purest form. It was so miserable that I almost felt bad for the little guy before I started pointing and laughing hysterically at him. I then informed my roommate to follow them so that I could try to get a picture with my phone. I thought if I had photo documentation of this kid’s face staring back at me with tears in my eyes as I convulse with laughter I might actually have a fail proof technique of completely ridding myself of depression. If I was feeling down I could simply refer to this picture and feel great just bathing in the solace that if all else fails, I’m not the sad little spandex kid praying that his friends don’t see him looking like a buffoon on the back of a tandem bicycle with his sick and depraved Father. Unfortunately I was unable to capture anything worth saving…I guess I was too distracted to concentrate on steadying my hand and finding the patience to wait for the perfect moment. So we gave up on the photo part but this only lead to our imaginations running wild with scenarios of how this kid got forced into this shameful torture.

“Daaad, I don’t want to put this stupid spandex outfit on…”

“Son, I don’t want to hear this droning and blubbering! Put the god damn outfit on and get on the fucking bike!”

“But Dad, what if the guys see me?”

“Son, I have had enough! You want to keep playing that World of Warcraft thing you do? Do you?! Well then get on the fucking bike! It’s about time you start losing some weight and spend some quality time with your old man! Now shut up and start peddling!”

“Why?! Why?! Why?! I hate you Dad! I hate you!!!!”

It’s sick. It’s just plain sick. Dear gracious hangover God, thank you for easing my pain and making my week palatable with this display of wickedness.

Tastes like I should be a prick at the coffee shop

So I was so moved by Undfined's beautiful poetry that I decided to take a stab at it myself. So I dug deep into my emotional side this morning and this is what I shat into a word document...I didn't think I was capable of doing this without a Mac...I guess you can be a beatnik with a P.C. too. So here you go.

The white sox in your sandals will soon be red
Your Purple Crocks will soon be red
Your Ugs crimson

Your religion and your mouth are my urinal
I piss petrol, time to flush matches

My eyes are filled with piranhas; my ears are leaches; gobbling up your wounds to the bone
Starving to feast on your emptiness
Every bit of your soul I devour makes mine stronger

You bummed a cigarette from me
You are not my new friend
You should be shamed not coddled
Please direct small talk to other transients not me your nicotine savior

My wallet is a jail cell
Once a month the debt warden lets my little green inmates out
Then my cell is empty and sad, fuck you warden

My vein makes the efforts
My efforts are mostly in vain

B.C. Rich guitar with your custom neck and mother of pearl inlays
Your unholy vibrations are orgasmic, when amplified you are a fire escape for my hatred
I would sleep with you if you weren’t so stringy, solid and pokey

Scotch
The potent topical cream for heartache
You are the jagged bumps that knock me right off the back of my boring wagon
You make smiles on the outside of my mouth and tastes buds aroused on the inside
You make ugly people beautiful if only for a night, they should make mirrors out of you
You make love and war and my back less sore
When I dine in Valhalla the Valkyries will keep my goblet full of you and Odin will wink at me and say “Cheers!”
I love you scotch, you are so cool

Some Haiku

Fuck off. I use the word "Haiku" loosely.



To the fat girl at
The dry-cleaners nearby home
Please shower you whore
+
Your twat smells from here
Even through the chemicals
And shame of this place

Surround sound, I like
But something's not right. Red-head!
He turned off the sub

Thanks I like to play
With myself while you all sleep
Or while you're awake

A community
Is so far away from here
Phoenix sucks like that

I want to find all
Secrets to female big O
I don't mean Oprah

A girl self indulged
Bought pants uglier than chode
Boyfriend has no shame
+
Persistent winter
Season of relationship
Pants host DNA



And my personal favorite:

Fuck you, fucking fuck
Fuck the fuck you fuck so much
Fuck both fucking fucks

That's all.

You can't make this shit up

My wife took our daughter out east for a week to spend some time with family, leaving me here at home with our 2 year old who would like nothing better to do than to watch the same episode of Dora over and over again. And he'll let you know that's what he'd rather be doing. I even took the little shit to the bookstore today and he found the one book based on the particular Dora episode in question.

Anyways, my family likes to get some sort of an update from me on a daily basis and since I don't really enjoy talking to people Facebook has become a convenient way to say what I want and ignore the blathering mind-numbing comments, criticisms, and whatever passive-aggressive vitriol comes my way.

So I put on the Dora DVD while making dinner and tidying up, then I post this:

"MyRealName dropped off the laundry and the stew is on. The boy is eating and winding down. The dishwasher, washer, and dryer are all running. Pool is clean. Now what?"

Shortly thereafter, I get a few comments that I'll summarize:

1.) "Nice work, have a glass of wine." - Brother-in-law.
2.) "Good job! Pat yourself on the back." - Spouse
3.) "Way to multitask! You can do all those other things while being on the computer communicating with us!" - Sister

It's not like I really need the encouragement. I'm happy enough just getting the little fucker to bed on a daily basis without him losing a limb.

But now I'm thinking they are all in cahoots with each other, trying to tell me I'm inadequate in bed and need to get drunk and touch myself in front of the computer.

And I'm the sick one.

It was a good day...

Yes my friends, the day is finally upon us. Slayer day. Unfortunately I was not previously enlightened to this glorious day, but I sure as shit am now.

I chose to celebrate by hacking up limes for drinks by the pool in a bikini... with a machete. Not going to complain. I rang in the new Slayer year right. Please go out and do the same because remember, God hates us all. He fucking hates me.