Tuesday, April 25, 2006

I Give It 2 Thumbs Down

Liz channel surfs, via the net:

While checking my Yahoo! News online, I looked at the TV listings to see all that I was missing. Amazingly, I saw that the following movie is coming on American Movie CLASSICS. What is the world coming to?

Killer, I miss your blog entries. Get off your lazy ass and entertain me.

K-9 (1989)
120 Mins. * (Rated PG-13)

A police detective with a girlfriend gets stuck with a new partner, a German shepherd dog.

Adult Situations; Language.
Cast: James Belushi, Mel Harris, Kevin Tighe, Ed O'Neill, Jerry Lee, James Handy, Cotter Smith.

Saturday, April 22, 2006

Missed Opportunity

Frustrated, Liz comments:

I'm a freakin' idiot.

Tonight I was so busy trying to "connect" with a guy who had made other plans that I totally missed out on what could have been the perfect booty call. DAMN ME.

This little hottie was sitting there, all buff and 8 years my junior, telling me how awesome I was and how all he wants in his life right now is a woman that will love him and leave him. Do you know what I did? I counseled him. I went into this whole speech about women's needs versus the desires of men. I was like an ABC after school special.

He was going on and on about my pros; how I thought like a man, but was so much a woman that it frightened him. He said several times that he's always admired my cool, laid back attitude and that if he could meet a woman like me he would love to have a relationship that was purely based on sex. That's something that I've never had- I may think like a man, but when push comes to shove, I'm a freakin' nun. It sucks and I know you have a hard time believing that, but it's true.

Here was the perfect opportunity to step outside of my comfort zone and nail this absolutely handsome, clean cut little man. He did everything right, and the whole time I talked to him like I was his fucking sister. He was scared... in that good way that I should have pounced on and tore his little blonde ass up. DAMN IT. I am a freakin' idiot- sitting at my computer at 11:00 on a Saturday night when I could be working on the next blog entry. The one titled "Make me breakfast, you cute little blonde sex toy."

What is my problem?

9 Things I Need Help With

Liz admits:

There is a lot that I'm not good at doing. I'm not using Killer's blog to solicit volunteers to do any of these sundry tasks, I'm just looking for tips to get better in the areas where I fall short.

  1. I'm organized... but I'll be damned if I can get my CDs in order. I've got around 250 and no space in my house for a CD rack. I have a cabinet totally dedicated to CD storage, but all this means is that my discs are crammed in there- no order to the chaos- and when I have a pulling need for a little Beck, Al Green, or Neil Young I end up settling for Squirrel Nut Zippers or Jane's Addiction. Great tunes, but not what I was yearning for. Alphabetizing is for nerds, so I can't go that route. Plus that would take SO long. I just don't have the patience for alphabetizing.
  2. I give up easily. See above. I mean, I have really quit caring about a lot of things that I used to be tenacious about. Speaking of, I have a Tenacious D CD somewhere.
  3. I hold on to things that have sentimental value to me- even after they no longer hold sentimental value. I have notes from high school that I've saved. I'll bet I've got 70% of the notes that were passed to me during my senior year. WHY can't I part with these scraps of bullshit? A whole trunk, which could be used for CD storage, is cluttered with high school memorabilia like spirit ribbons and student newspapers. If I were Eudora Welty or Mr. T, these items might hold some historical record that was of some value, but currently I do not see legions of fans clamoring for a piece of my history.
  4. I need help understanding that not everyone is cool. I actually offended a guy recently when I called him "my bitch". When he confronted me about it, I called him a pussy.
  5. I need help installing sink fixtures in my bathroom. I know I could do this on my own, but I don't want to learn how. I guess that's really the issue. I think I've learned enough technical things to satisfy me. I don't really WANT to know how to change a flat or use the edger on my lawn. That's probably just lazy, because I still enjoy learning very much. Let me put it this way, if I'm ever attacked by a shark I know JUST what to do but if my pipes burst I'm going to have to call my dad to tell me how to shut the water off.
  6. It takes me 10 minutes to eat a piece of fried bream because I can't debone a fish. Yesterday we had a cookout and, luckily, I got one hunk of meat that didn't cause me to choke because a man at the table felt sorry for me and passed his fish fillet to me. It's annoying, I know! Helpless Liz- she's just too stupid to figure out how to eat a bream. Have you ever had tiny fish bones stuck in your teeth and throat simultaniously? I thought I was having my last supper. It's just not worth it!
  7. I need help understanding the value of being awake. I love life- let's milk it for all it's worth- but I'd rather be milking after I've had 10 or 11 solid hours of snooze time. Someone said, "Never sleep as long as you want to." Why the Hell not? Sometimes my hips ache because I've been in bed so long. That's the best worst feeling I know.
  8. Seriously, HELP! Why does our species love babies? They are scary and all they do is shit and cry. They're like a guy I once went out with that crapped 3 or 4 times a day. Everytime he'd get drunk he'd end up crying about something. Maybe frequent shitting stimulates the tear ducts.
  9. How can I become more limber? I have NEVER been stretchable. If I drop something and no one else is around to pick up, I sometimes stand there and evaluate how much I really, really need the dropped item. That's an exaggeration, I guess. But seriously, I'm very rigid. I took gymnastics as a kid. My parents still consider those recitals the funniest things they ever witnessed in their lives. And I can't dance either. Not at ALL.

    Just so you don't feel sorry for me and all I can't do, know this: Homemade meatball subs, color coordinating, and penmanship are talents. It's only a matter of time before one of these skills brings me the fame and fortune I so deserve.

Friday, April 21, 2006

The Alpha Male

Liz shoots 'roids as she writes:

I know a dude who is on the verge of being a muscular physical freak. He's not QUITE to that point yet, so he's actually pretty fine in his kakhis and tight cotton shirt. Plus, he's been blessed with the dark hair, blue eyes combo. Nice one, God.

Anyway, I was struck by this guy's obsession with his body. He actually came back to work from working out during lunch- fully dressed for business- with his gym towel draped over his neck. He wasn't going to his desk, either. He was just strutting around with this white towel hanging around his 28-inch neck. This reminded me of John Mitchell, a black guy I went to Jr. Hi with.

John had a brother named Willie AND another brother named Willie. I always found that funny. John was very heavy-handed with the Jeri Curl and kept a white towel draped around his neck too. During the hot months I couldn't make myself look at anything but John's eyes because I was so distracted by the dripping of his hair oil onto his grease cloth accessory. I hope John never took up smoking. Remember Michael Jackson and the Pepsi commercial fiasco?

The Alpha Male eats snacks like a dish of spaghetti. Notice I didn't say bowl or plate, I said dish. Even though he really is a handsome man, in peak physical condition, I see him as a grunting idiot. Am I hatin' on this man because he's beautiful? Does that make me a snob? Don't steroids make a man's penis shrink?

I have known and been friends with a few physically ideal men in my time. Always liked 'em. Never held it against them that they were hotties. As I've aged, my perspective about what is attractive has changed I guess. Living with a man that worked out all the time would mean excessive laundry to wash. Who the fuck needs THAT? I'm looking for a man who will wear the same shirt for 3 days before he throws it in the basket. I respect a guy that takes 15 minutes to get ready; not one that is competing with me for the mirror, hairspray, and tanning cream. I also think that men with perfectly formed eyebrows are scary. Yes, control your unibrow, but if you're a man that is going to a salon and getting your eyebrows shaped, you are way too into you. Same goes for chest and leg shavers. I don't care if you're a swimmer or a cyclist, it's still a little too gay. Hell, I hardly shave my legs. I don't need a man showing me up in this arena!

I guess the question of the night is "When does perfection become less than perfect?" It's like vanilla in a cake- one drop too much ruins a wonderful thing. The other question I pose is "Is this an age thing, or a woman thing?' After all, I don't know any man that would criticize a single thing about a physically perfect woman. I will make an exception for gay men. I have a friend who likes his guys overweight and balding. Far from what society sees as the ideal. But you stick a really, really pretty woman in front of him and the first thing he'll say is, "Look at that skany bitch."

I love him.

Thursday, April 20, 2006

Employment Opportunities Abound

We have been discussing gift ideas for a fellow employee who has worked here for the last 33 years. My only thought was to kidnap this poor person and drive them to a different job. 33 years at one occupation is terrifying to me, but 33 years at the same location, doing the same job, makes me want to curl up in the fetal position and whimper uncontrollably.
I don't like to buy dairy products because the expiration date is too much of a commitment. If I don't have a defined exit strategy from all jobs then I get nervous. I start to wonder, am I going to wake up ten years from now and still be doing this exact same thing?
This has brought me to begin considerations on my next career change. I need to have some fall back options in case my dream of joining the Olympic Curling team does not pan out, and since it is extremely hard to find a frozen pond or lake in the South, much less one with a curling rink on it, it is becoming less and less likely.
These are my current leading options including the pros and cons for each:

1. Male Stripper (because becoming a female stripper would require a bigger commitment)
I should never have a lack of one dollar bills
I always knew I was born to dance
Frequent reaffirmation of how hot I am
G strings get really tangled in my butt hair and hurt when coming off.
Being ogled and man-handled by crowds of horny women. (No wait, that's a pro)
Fear of being hired to strip for the Duke Lacrosse team (keep up with current events)

2. Long Haul Truck Driver
No annoying co-workers to complain about blog not being funny
Getting to sit in one spot for eight hours at a stretch
Having a career that does not require bathing is a dream of mine
No co-workers means no one to impress with my flatulence
High risk for hemorrhoids, and having to sit on hemorrhoids for eight hours at a stretch
I don't like Country/Western music, and I am pretty sure it is mandatory

3. Ice Cream Truck Operator
All the ice cream you can eat.
Driving through neighborhoods, but not stopping so the children cry, is funny to me
I am lactose intolerant
After one hour that song would make me kill myself

4. Homeless Person
The ultimate no-bathing-required profession
Being drunk all the time is expected
Absolutely no experience needed
Not a very good benefits package
Having to get to the park early to claim the good bench to sleep on
Pooping in public is not as easy as it sounds

All of these have good and bad qualities, so it is hard to choose. Feel free to make your own suggestions, and don't be afraid to choose one of these careers for yourself. Some would be a lot easier if I had a friend in the same profession. It always helps to have someone else to hold the dumpster lid open while you scavenge for old doughnuts outside of Krispy Kreme.

Wednesday, April 19, 2006

Free Range Rant

Squeezed out of Killer's constipated mind:
Many of the rants that I write have a central idea, but are allowed to develop as they are being written. This one, however, has no pre planned idea, or direction.
Writers block is a bitch. I have been meaning to write a blog for over a week now, but have not been able to think of anything to write about. So I am free balling it here, this is off the cuff.
I work in a profession in which everyone has a specific uniform to wear. I don't work at McDonald's or Disney World, but in a hospital. For the last seven years everyone I meet at work is wearing scrubs. Until you run across this in your life you will not realize how much you judge people by their clothes. When everyone wears scrubs every time you see them you never get a full exposure to their personalities. Many times, and I mean MANY, I have met people from work and quickly demised that I would not normally hang out with this person. If a person shows up and is wearing a western shirt, stiff wrangler jeans, pointy cowboy boots, a belt buckle with a rebel flag emblazoned across it, and is a female, this is a personality unlike my own. It is always a great expectation to meet work people and see what their clothes say about it them. This also creates a lot of stress when I am getting dressed to meet people from work. I met a group of workmates this past weekend to see a baseball game. Now, what do I want my clothes to say about me? I usually wear a Hawaiian shirt or some goofy camp shirt or the like, but this is a big occasion. This is my chance to make everyone think I am cool. So, to begin with I took a shower, this is a big deal for me. If I am off work, I don't want to bother bathing. I contemplated wearing cologne, but: A: I would have to dig through a couple of boxes to find some, and B: All the females present are way too good looking to date me. Which takes a great deal of pressure off. As a long shot, I shaved my legs and wore a pink shirt, hoping to make them think I am gay. Amazingly enough, this increases the possibilities of my picking up chicks. Or, when gay guys hit on me, it is a great ego boost and I get to skip going to the gym for a few days.

Tuesday, April 18, 2006


Liz Smith writes:

And another thing, who gives a CRAP about Tom Cruise and Katie Something having a baby? Seriously. This is all over the news... and I can't figure out why. There was even one headline about how Brooke Shields BEAT Tom Cruise by having her baby earlier today than he did. Battle of the torn twats. How loverly.

I do think the whole "quiet birth" thing is INSANE and therefore noteworthy, but it's interesting at the same level that stories about anerexic starlets are enthralling- Hummm. She's skinny. NEXT!

I already feel sorry for the kid. It's tough starting life off with a single mother.

The Tanning Bed Diaries

Liz doesn't exaggerate one bit:

Around 10 years ago I was going to a tanning bed that I did not know was a front for a house of ill repute. Seriously. I was tanning at a whore house. Once I found out what they meant by "massages in the back room" I had a decision to make. The "girls" never charged me for my visits and it was the closest tanning bed to my house. What's a girl to do with this dilemma? I'll go ahead and admit that I kept on going; only ceasing my visits after I was propositioned in the parking lot by an obviously nervous and very married middle aged man. It wasn't much longer before the cops shut the place down.

It's 10 years later and I thought my tanning issues would be far behind me by now. I've started going to a place in my upscale "home"town and I've run into a whole new world of freakishness.

This salon is run by a bisexual man who is out there. He's currently dating an AIDS looking froo-froo fag that I absolutely adore, but worry about. They are often drinking screwdrivers before most people are having lunch. For Easter they gave the hair stylists plastic eggs filled with pills. One of them has a shirt that mentions touching his monkey. The owner is always wired and his boyfriend is always drunk.

Tonight I went in and it was ON. Now, you have to remember that this salon is in a high-end town with mostly middle aged mothers as clients. I come in and the radio is thumping loud dance music and it's Fire Island! These dudes have invited 4 or 5 kids under 18 to the salon and probably 3 additional strung-out looking adults, including one she-man that made me a little uncomfortable. All are sitting around with their drinks and cigarettes (inside the business, of course) and they are CELEBRATING the froo-froo's birthday. I have no issue with the homosexual lifestyle and I'm certainly a fan of people having fun, but the bumping, grinding, and humping that I witnessed may have stolen years off my life. It was GRAPHIC. At one point the owner asked me to take of my clothes and stay a while. Ewwwww.

I don't have to ask if skin cancer is worth it. Of course! After all, every 5th time I go to this tanning bed I am rewarded with a complimentary cocktail of my choice. I do worry though- this may be the second time I've been surveillanced by the police for my tanning bed activities. Look ma, no tan lines!

Sunday, April 16, 2006

Choosy Moms Choose Jiff

Almost not posted by Killer

I am off for a few day this weekend and would really like to live it up. I need a hobby. I want to do something fun and exciting, but I don't want to spend any money, nor do I want to start doing any addictive narcotics. I don't have a dog so rubbing peanut butter on my testicles for the dog to enjoy is out of the question. Plus I am not sure what kind of peanut butter dogs like. Do they want creamy or crunchy? Jiff or Peter Pan. If I still lived in San Francisco it would not be hard to find a person who could answer these questions, but here in Memphis no one talks about these kinds of things.
Hunting is a popular past time down here, but it is really not for me. Don't get me wrong, I have no problem with someone going out into the woods and shooting small furry animals, birds, or capping Bambi's mother, I just don't have the patience to sit around all day waiting for one to walk by. It also seems unfair to always use a gun or bow. They should have to be randomly assigned a different item every time in which to use to kill the animal. "Jimbo, today you get to use one chopstick and three feet of dental floss. Good luck!" Now that is a hunting show I might actually watch.
I will probably end up just walking around downtown Memphis trying to find some excitement. On the weekends all the bars on Beale St. Have live music, and there is no lack of stumbling drunk people to watch. They have ducks that live in the lobby fountain at the Peabody hotel. I could go chase them around the lobby until someone throws me out.
I wonder if ducks like peanut butter.

Saturday, April 15, 2006


Liz Barely Pieces Together:

I think the wisdom that you get from "age" and experience takes a toll on the rest of your intelligence. I'm getting dingy in new ways lately. When you combine this with my usual set of "stupid" I'm really starting to stack up an ample list of things I'm too dumb to do.

I've always been awful with directions (meaning that I have to start from home everywhere I go- which can make a day of errand running very laborious) and I'm mathtarded. This is not an exaggeration for comedic affect. I am pretty sure that I have a medical retardation when it comes to understanding mathematical concepts. Although these conditions may have prevented me from excelling in life they haven't really handicapped me. However lately I'm doing things that old people do right before they get shipped off to the home. I'm not really worried or anything- worry would mean that I had the where-with-all to understand cause and effect relationships. I don't really get those. Besides, they make me tired of thinking and they're no fun.

I am dumbing down at a shocking rate.

I have no idea what the date is and I cannot remember the date for longer than 15 seconds after it's told to me. I do know that it's April and I know that it's Saturday- but I only know that much because cartoons came on this morning. I also have stopped reading expiration dates on dairy products. This used to be a critical point in all grocery outings and refrigerator visits. Now... whatever. All I know is that if it's chunky, it's skunky. That's it. I have missed trash day at least 4 times in the past 90 days. I keep forgetting my login to my computer at work- and I've reverted to attempting to use the original login that I had almost 3 years ago. This hasn't been the correct login since 2003, yet I type it at least once a week. I forget to check my mail. I don't mean that I intentionally leave mail sitting in the box. It doesn't even cross my mind to get my mail. This means on the rare occasion that I think about it, the box is crammed full and every bill in there is DUE. It's like I'm living someone else's life...

There has to be some advantage to idiofying at warp speed like this. Maybe the opposite sex will find me more approachable now that I am obviously helpless. Maybe I'll be given the "easy" jobs at work. Maybe I'll make a whole new set of stupid friends and become one of those people I used to make fun of when I was smarter. I might even start liking songs like "Honky Tonk Badankadonk".

Who knows what the world of stupidity is holding for me?

I don't know how much longer I'll be able to remember how to navagate to this blog, so my entries may be even fewer and farther between. In the meantime, if you know how to stop me from turning into Homer Simpson, your advice (if I understand it) would be appreciated.

Friday, April 07, 2006

Famous Last Words

Funneled out by Killer
I am sitting in my apartment, the news is continuously spouting off warnings about impending doom and destruction at the hands of tornados that are about to strike, and now the civil warning sirens are going off outside. So, either a tornado has been spotted, or the Japanese have finally decided to bomb us. I have a dangerously low level of concern with weather warnings. I have never been scared in bad weather. During tornado threats, back in the good old Southern, public school days, when all the kids were forced to sit in the hall with your head between your legs, I was never worried about a tornado actually crushing the school. My thoughts were more troubled with whether I was wearing clean underwear. I did not want to spend the next thirty minutes with my nose stuck between my legs smelling three day old tighty whiteys.
I spent almost three years living throughout California and I am still pissed off I never got to experience an earthquake. I came close once. I was across the bay from San Francisco in Berkeley, getting my drink on, when a small tremor shook San Francisco. A good friend of mine was in her apartment, asleep on the couch, when it hit. She woke up and immediately thought her blind, geriatric guinea pig had gotten out of his cage, found his way under the couch and started shaking it. She did not even realize it was an earthquake until hours later. All I wanted was for one chance to have to dash to the nearest doorway and stand there, because that is apparently what you are supposed to do.
We spent the summer traveling through Thailand not too long after the giant tsunami hit. We got to see a lot of the destruction and hear plenty of first hand accounts, but missed the big show. I am not saying I would want to be in a huge devastating tsunami, but maybe a small one. Maybe one that, while sitting in a beach front bar, a small wave knocks me off my barstool.
The threat of tornados has not deterred the downtown traffic yet. I can see all the people filing into the Fed Ex Forum to see the basketball game tonight. Maybe they can not hear the racket.
I don't know why these damn civil warning sirens are blaring. It has not even rained here yet. It is actually nice out. A cool breeze, with a few dark clouds, that is how I like it. I think I will go up to the roof and toss ice cubes down to the street and make people think it has started to hail.
For official purposes, if I end up getting carried away by a tornado today, give Karma a big high five for me, etch this blog entry on my head stone, and thank Darwin that I made the gene pool stronger by not getting to reproduce.

Wednesday, April 05, 2006

Happiness Is Only A Six Pack Away

Slurred incoherently by Killer

I have decided to write a motivational book. I might call it, "Chicken soup for the chicken soup hating soul". I really despise self help/motivational books. If you have enough motivation to get up out of bed, drive all the way to the bookstore, search out the self help/motivational book section, find the one that best fits your pathetic life, and take it up to the counter to buy it, STOP, don't buy the book. You just proved to yourself just how motivated you actually are, good job, now go take a nap.
If, on the other hand, some well intending family member or "friend" gives you a motivational book, use that book and hit them in the eyeball. They have decided to make you aware of how pathetic your life looks to the outside world. You don't need friends like that. As a matter of fact, they are probably the cause of your troubles to begin with.
The real name of my motivational book is, "Drink Yourself to a Better You". It is a warm and inspirational piece encouraging people to find happiness in the bottom of a bottle. Don't waste your time seeking psychiatric help. According to research performed by top Scientology officials and Tom Cruise, all psychiatry is a farce. Tom Cruise would not lie to you. He is a movie star, and if it is one thing our society has shown, movie stars are better people than you. Instead of throwing thousands of dollars and hours of you life away with a shrink, just meander on down to the local liquor store and pick up a six pack of beer, or as I like to call it, "twelve ounces of happy, with five of his happy pals."
Drinking not only makes your spouse/significant other/that stranger next to you in bed look better, it also makes you look better. Drink six beers and strip naked in front of a mirror. Suddenly all those superficial flaws are gone and the only thing left is pure sexy. Hell, drink a few more and go run around the neighborhood naked. You are looking so good right now it would be a shame not to share it with everyone.
Drinking can also quiet those nagging fears and insecurities. If you have been feeling inadequate at work lately just start ending the day with a few heavy drinks. Before long you will no longer worry about the small things at your job like, doing those reports due Friday, wearing clean pants , or even showing up at all. Maybe you are concerned about your boss' evaluation of your performance, well do some shots and call him at home and give him an evaluation of how you think he is doing. I'm sure he will be impressed by your straight forward, no nonsense approach. He might even manage to free up some time so you can spend a LOT more time drinking.
Drinking also helps quiet the voices in your head. Many times I will be sitting around the house and I will hear the voices telling me to put on my girl scout costume, shave my head bald and walk around poking people in the butt with a pickle fork. Luckily for me, I keep beer on hand at all times. The first few beers and they starting talking louder and get angrier, but don't give up. After the ninth or tenth beer and a few shots of grain alcohol, the voices are down to a dull roar. When this happens to you, just follow my example and bottoms up. Believe me, people get pretty pissed when they are jabbed in the buttocks with a pickle fork.
This is just a sampling of the wisdom I will espouse upon you. Just wait until the book comes out. I am just going to have a few more drinks and get back to work.

Tuesday, April 04, 2006

Jokes to never speak again

Spewed by Killer

I have an abnormal amount of jokes that include elephants. I don't know how my joke stockpile gained it's pachyderm problem, but it has grown out of control, and I need to do something about it. I am going to list all my jokes involving these large majestic creatures and then tell them no more.

What is the dark stuff between an elephant's toes?
Slow natives

How do you know if an elephant is sleeping in your bed?
He will have a large E embroidered on his pajamas.

Why did the elephant paint his balls red?
To hide in a cherry tree.
Have you ever seen an elephant in a cherry tree?
It must work.
What is the loudest noise in the jungle?
A giraffe eating cherries out of the tree.

If you are in the jungle and you cum across an elephant what do you do?
Wipe it off, pull your pants up, and run away.

Why did the elephant strap springs to his feet?
So he could bounce into trees to rape monkeys.
What is the scariest sound for a monkey to hear?
Boing, Boing, Boing

How do you know if an elephant has been having sex in your backyard?
The grass is matted down and the trash can liner is missing.

What do elephants use for tampons?
Why do elephants have trunks?
Sheep don't have strings.

**While I am at it, here are some more bad animal jokes.

What do you call the Easter bunny with herpes?
Peter Rotten Tail.

What has a hundred balls and does rabbits in the ass?
A Shotgun.

A bear and a rabbit are sitting side by side in the woods taking a crap. The bear looks at the rabbit and asks, "do you have a problem with shit sticking to your fur?" The rabbit said, "No." So the bear wiped his ass with the rabbit.

What is green and red and goes 200 miles an hour?
A frog in a blender.
What do you get if you add milk?Frog Nog.

What has two legs and bleeds profusely?
Half of a cat.

What do you call cow with no legs?
Ground beef.

What do you call a cow who masturbates?
Beef Stroganoff.

I fully comprehend that many of these are really bad jokes. They came in pretty handy when I was a bartender. My new profession has me spending most of my time with people who are comatose. They rarely laugh at my jokes. Nothing ruins your sense of humor like a subdural hematoma.