What's Wrong With That?

Liz theatrically questions:

Why do I think historical reenactors have to be dorks? I like history and I like theater, but something about combining the two makes me gasy.

My boss was in charge of his small-town's founder's day program this year. Part of the reenactment included "Civil War soldiers" and "townsfolk" standing by "their" graves and speaking to the assembled crowd by candlelight. There is a chance this could be interesting and educational and fun. There is another chance that this could be the lamest event in the history of mankind- and I'm including Jim J. Bullock being chosen center square in that assumption.

I don't really hate reenactors but I do hate reenactors who refuse to step out of character. The guards at Buckingham Palace? I understand why they have to stare straight ahead and not be part of a normal conversation; that's their full-time gig. But a guy standing around in a pilgrim's hat, wearing black Rebok's and smoking Marlboro Lights? Come on! Don't use the words "thine maiden" when you're on break.

I think I would enjoy having an alternative character that I got to release on occasion. I do not, however, think my alternative character would show school children how to turn lard into soap or use a washboard. Think of the social network that would throw you into. I already have enough trouble getting a date with a normal guy. The last thing I need is to go out with someone who only wears shoes that buckle.

To Do List

Killer, getting #1 out of the way.

Things to do today, and the probability they will be accomplished:

1. Write a post for blog. 90% chance for success, but it will probably be pulled out of my ass.

2. Start long awaited exercise regiment. 0.5% chance for success. My only real hope of exercise is to have someone chase me down the street with a rusty knife, and even that isn't guaranteed to elicit running.

3. Go eat at Indian restaurant. 99% chance for success. I am highly motivated when it comes to eating, which is why I need #2. I would give this a 100%, but if I can't find one easily I might switch to Thai.

4. Find way to convince my old gym in Memphis to cancel my membership. 30% chance for success. I have never had trouble with this before, but these guys are membership nazis. Considering my gym manager was stalking me, you would think she knows I moved away.

5. Drink beer and watch NFL football. 100% chance for success. The only thing I am more motivated about than food is drinking beer, and the fact that I can eat as well makes this an unstoppable combination. I don't even care about Baltimore or Cincinnati, but football season is nearing an end, so I can not afford to be picky.

6. Discover solution for peace in the Middle East. 0.6% chance for success. I would like to point out the higher probability for this than exercise. There is a stipulation, if the solution for peace involves a lot of walking on my part, than it's probability should be reduced.

You're Thankful? Me Too!

Liz says:

I've been hearing a lot about being thankful for stuff. I guess because it's the holiday season and THANKSGIVING was this past weekend. I am thankful for things too. Those things include:

• Never having any sort of crotch issue- no yeast infections, rashes, or worse. Thank you.
• Only having two nipples that belong to me. I once knew a girl who everyone SAID had 3 titties. So does/did Marky Mark. Yet he managed to be a Calvin Klein underwear model. I'm still glad it was him with three nips instead of me.
• Not having the money to get that tattoo Jody and I went to get. Hell, I was only 20. It would have been some dumbass hippie-looking tattoo that I would now see as an ever-fading reminder of my ever-fading youth. I'm GLAD I thought $12 was all I would need. The blessing of stupidity.
• I have excellent teeth and I know how to use them. No braces, no cavities since 11, and little effort when flossing. I'm really lucky on this one.
• I am very thankful that I can drink until past sunrise and still not puke. I've only puked from drinking maybe 5 times in 20 years. I think that's a pretty lucky record. The last time I DID puke from drinking, however, was BAD. I think it took over 12 hours before I had totally purged. That was unlucky, but fortunate in that I did not cause my kidneys to shut down and my liver to go into toxic spasms. I also left the place I had been with $160 more than I walked in with. Lucky.
• I've never gotten a speeding ticket, yet I speed everytime I'm in the car. In related news, I've given a lot of blow-jobs on the side of the Interstate. Double thank you.
• I'm also thankful that I can make a blow-job joke and you're not quite sure if I'm kidding or simply exaggerating...or neither. ">:-[

Here's to you Mrs. Robinson

Killer blogs while wondering what could have been.

This is an open letter to the 85 year old woman who made several inappropriate comments to me last night.

Dear old lady,

I appreciate you still clinging to your sexuality. It is a noble effort that, after all else has failed you, your libido and perseverance have stayed intact. It is true that you don't have teeth, a uterus, or a full head of hair, but you seem to be trying to make up for it with a constant barrage of thinly veiled innuendo and a willingness to grab whatever is within your reach.

It is understandable that when you see me walk into your room you immediately get turned on, but you are old enough to be my Great Grandmother, and although I often joke it would be great to have a woman who can "take her teeth out and give me a gummer", but now that it has been offered, I am balking.

Frankly, I am having a hard time believing some of the things you propositioned me with are actually feasible given your frail frame and the fact you are attached to a face mask for oxygen. You can not stand up without getting short of breath, so your claim, "I used to be a gymnast, and that comes in handy in the bedroom," does not seem realistic.

It was quite comical how your gown kept "falling off" when I was in the room, but not the female nurses aid. That never seems to happen when I have a 19 year old hot, Swedish patient, it must be a fault in the "cheap hospital gowns" like you proclaimed on numerous occasions.

Finally I would like to commend you at your quick and stealthy hands. I had managed to dodge them all night, until early morning when you feigned sleep and reached through the bed rail to, "see what I was packing." I hope I did not disappoint. It was like someone grabbed my groin with a pair of dry twigs.

Congratulations on making a relatively boring night into an exciting adventure. My favorite line of the night, "You are a big man, I want to climb all over you and explore." After a brief glimpse through your medical history I see you have had both hips replaced. I can only imagine what you were trying to do when you broke them.

I am actually single right now, and my capacity for being so selective is waning. Let's just chalk this one into the "maybe" column. It would be an ideal relationship. If things did not work out, I could probably just wait a few years, months, or maybe days until you kicked the bucket. If only you had a younger sister. Although 85 is a bit elderly, a horny 75 year old is open season in my book.

Sincerely
Nurse Killer

God, I hope that's a mole.

Killer, following the trends

I read a few blogs by my peers and have noticed a startling trend today. It started when I read Othur-me's post at: Immunopressed, and continued when I read Mist1's guest post at: Sarcastic Fringehead. It only become more obvious when I checked out Margaret's brief post to:Praying for the depraved soul of me, Margaret. It seems there is something in the air today. Something turning all my fellow bloggers into sex crazed maniacs.

I don't begrudge them this new found sexual proclivity. I am just wondering what has brought it about. Do blogs have a sweeps week? Am I going to fall behind in the ratings because I was not smart enough to spice things up during the single most important time of the year?

Well, I am not one to miss out. I am stripping naked as I type in order to get in the mood to spew out some really provocative stuff. Oh yeah, I can feel the juices beginning to boil. This is liberating. I am going to say some things that I usually have to pay $2.95 for the first minute, and $.95 for each additional minute, to say. You had better stand back, this might get messy.

Oh Lord! I have a mirror right next to my desk, and man is that what I look like naked? This is quite disturbing. You should start counting your blessings that this is not a video blog. I can't think of any evolutionary purpose for me to have hair in some of those places. Maybe if I turn this way I can find a better angle... EWWWWW...That only made it worse.


So, I am definitely not in a sexual mood any longer. Sorry, I hope I didn't lead you on. Maybe we should just be friends, it's not you it's me. Don't quit reading just because I couldn't get you all turned on with my writing. I promise to try harder, and I also promise never to post any nude photos.

Sunday's Second Post: Movie Rant

Liz is not Happy:

Happy Feet. The number one movie for two weeks in a row? The movie Rotten Tomatoes gave high praise to? Uhhhhhh... Awful.

I took my BFF's daughter to see Happy Feet Friday. You would think by the title that Happy Feet was a light-hearted romp. You would be wrong.

The movie experience started off badly. In the advertisements before the previews (which is a whole other RANT) they showed these still photos of real estate agents, local boutiques, etc. but the background music was SCARY. Like that music when Darth Vader enters the room or the snake rattle you hear on Deal or No Deal when someone has selected the $750,000 case. A very poor choice for a movie geared toward little kids.

Then came the push for Pirates of the Caribbean DVD. They showed the ghost ship and the guy whose face looks like an octopus and it too was booming and loud and bone-chilling. DAMN! We're here to see HAPPY FEET, not SHIT YOUR PANTS.

Finally the movie. This movie was not joyful holiday fodder. This movie was not funny. This movie was not happy. This movie was an ethical lesson on how humans have destroyed the ecosystem and, through our carelessness, are killing cute furry wildlife.

OK. I agree, but I don't want to pay Warner Brothers $12 to teach me and my 6-year old Godchild that lesson. I was depressed when we left... which means I had to stop and get a 6-pack, which means there's one more six pack ring floating in a landfill to get wrapped around some bird's neck.

And I will officially claim that I now hate Robin Williams. He needs to stop trying to be a black voice-over actor, take some Ritilan, and retire with his millions. He quit being funny once he stopped being Mork and once I got older than 9. The best thing he ever did was a guest spot on Happy Days. For most us, that would be more than enough.

Sunday's First Post: My Kryptonite

Liz informs:

I put ice cream in my coffee this morning because I'm an adult and I can do whatever the hell I want to do.

My Kryptonite:

I have been thinking about what makes me weak. There is a long list. Cigarettes are number one on that list. I took my BFF's son to the park this week and when I pulled out a smoke he (being 3) stared at it and said, "Liz's candy". Yep. Just like a child molester could lure him into the car my offering him a Tootsie Pop, a stranger could lure me with a pack of Virginia Slim Super Slim Menthols (even though I recognize that the name brand sounds like something you find on the feminine products aisle, I do not smoke tampons).

You know some of my weaknesses: office supplies, quality lotion, and cold beer. But there are more.

1. The themes to Magnum PI and Sanford and Son
2. Carbohydrates
3. Neon
4. Soft sheets
5. Clean cut men with two-days of scruff
6. Moss hanging from Live Oak Trees
7. The smell of the forest
8. Harmony
9. Pyrotechnics
10. Waylon and Willie duets
11. Candles that smell up the room
12. Mirrored disco balls
13. $10,000 Pyramid reruns
14. Spa days
15. Shows of creativity
16. Danny's cole slaw with peanuts
17. Women with HUGE hair
18. A trip to big cities
19. Walls that aren't beige or white
20. A clean house
21. Men shaking hands
22. Jeans that fit just right
23. 2 for 1
24. Days off
25. Immaculent public restrooms
26. Ice cream in my coffee

My Cat is an Example of the Cosmic Order of the Universe

Meow.... purr.....hiss

So, I write this post that outlines my questioning about God and religion and other light fodder. That's a good thing. Thinking, good, right? And I'm still thinking about it... because there is nothing good on TV and it's too early to start cleaning the house.

I thought I'd take this opportunity to tell you how I met my cat, Leon, and how I think that he was destined to be my cat. At risk of sounding like a man "Pussy made me believe in God," I reveal for you the story of one cat and his journey to being my feline soul mate.

I had a roommate. He was a good roommate. He took out the trash, he mowed, he kept his part of the house relatively clean, he paid his bills, he did not fart in my presence. What more could a girl ask for? But he moved away. And when he moved there was an opportunity.

I grew up around pets and I love animals, but a dog is too much work for me. Sometimes I don't come home for over 24 hours and I do NOT like having my carpet shit on, so I knew I would need to get a cat. Plus, in all honesty, I like cats better. They don't have the heart of a dog but they also aren't needy with big breath and obnoxious odors. I am a cat person.

I had mentioned my "desire", my musing, my consideration to some co-workers. Mistake. If you say you are thinking about getting a cat people are on you like white on rice. "my mom's cat JUST had a litter of kittens...." "my neighbor's cat JUST had a litter of kittens...." "my brother sells Siamese kittens and his cat JUST had a litter...." "my cousin is moving and has a cat she has to give away..." Damn. Back off! Why don't people act this way when I say something like, "I'm thinking about buying a new dishwasher"?

I knew exactly what I wanted. I wanted a kitten, not a cat. Male, short-haired, long tailed, and gray. Pretty specific. Once I provided those specifications, there was no cat to be found. I told people that was ok, I was in no rush. I'd find him.

Fast forward two weeks.

I'm standing in front of the Clarion Hotel (don't ask why) and I hear this "meow"- prompted for no reason. I follow the sound to a 25-foot long PVC pipe laying against the building. I look in and see the silhouette of a tiny little fur ball. Obviously it is either a ventriloquist rat or a kitten. Some men exit the hotel and I enlist their services. Within 5 minutes the fur ball has been shaken from the pipe and out pops a male, short-haired, long tailed gray kitten.

LEON!


This kitten started out psychotic; afterall, he was totally "street"- he had no manners. Over the past 4 years, he has found a rhythm that synchs perfectly with mine. He's my heart! He knows my moods, he knows my hot buttons, he knows when to seek attention and when to back away. We jive and I love him. He's EXACTLY what I wanted. He's smart, intuitive, and funny. He's independent and "high order". He's not an idiot cat like my other one. It's like Leon is higher on the evolutionary scale or something. He listens and understands some things. Sneaker just eats and poops and is an animal. Leon is a friend.

Coincidence or divine intervention?

An Atheist Christmas?

Liz writes (with no help from above):

I've run across a lot of "news" about Atheists lately. Billionaire genius Bill Gates, Atheist. The insightful and intelligent guy that writes Dilbert, Atheist. Cancer-kicker Lance Armstrong, Atheist. Sigmund Freud, Godless. Deist: Thomas Jefferson and George Washington. The molesting priests and pedophile congressmen, Christian. The guy (Ashcroft, I think) that draped clothes over the Greek statues in Washington, Christian. Mel Gibson... well... alcoholic Christian.

Not that I'm prone to follow in the footsteps, but when I look at the impressive list of brainiacs that do not believe in God, I have to wonder: Am I in the wrong camp?

I went through some serious questioning about God and Christ and all that is holy when I was in high school and college. I spent several years believing in nothing, but that didn't work for me once I got older. I want to believe in something other than ME. I'm telling ya, if I am the benchmark of my own universe, we're all in a heap of trouble. But I have to confess, I don't live each day wondering how my actions will pay off or not pay off in the long run. When I ask "WWJD" or "Am I going to Hell for this?" it's more tongue-in-cheek than a serious exploration of the ramifications of an unethical act.

I have a core set of values which I occasionally disregard and do the wrong thing anyway. Believers call that sinning and give you an OK for it, we are human we sin. Atheists call it "Friday" and you get a pass too.

I have not been to church on purpose in something like 24 years. I've gone for funerals and christenings oh, and the holy union of marriage... which lasts on average of 8 years.

This leads me to the heart of my question. If my soul searching leads me to the revelation that I do not think Christ was the son of God, born of a virgin, able to perform miracles, walker on water is it unethical to celebrate Christmas?

Thinking.... Thinking.... Thinking...

No. It is not unethical. Seriously. Who REALLY takes Christmas in the spirit in which it was intended? Who invented Christmas anyway? I know Coca-Cola "invented" the image of Santa that we worship until we're 6. Who REALLY thinks more about renewing their faith in God and their strict adherence to Christian behavior more than they think about what sales are going to be going on prior to Christmas Eve?

So, if this Christmas I announce that I'm Jewish that should not affect your obligation to provide me with a Christmas gift. As a matter of fact, I think that Jews get 8 DAYS worth of presents, so please start buying now.

I sincerly hope that the God your choice blesses you with happiness this holiday season. Even if the God of your choice is you.

Shalom.

How About Some Sane Posts, Killer Rants?

Liz asks:

Is Killer Rants quirky humor or disgusting beyond belief?

I think we've pushed the envelop too far. Killer has posted about a man humping an "incapacitated" animal and I have posted about how you can go from confused to cannibal in .5 seconds. Maybe it's because I'm almost sick from all the leftover dressing I ate earlier, but these posts seem tasteless (that is not a reference to my cannibal posting).

It's the holiday season. I think people are looking to Killer Rants for a little light-hearted spin on musing and wonderings- not a trip to the dark side of humanity. We need to keep it light and bubbly not dark and disgusting; which reminds me:

How come a 45 lb. dog can push out a turd bigger than Webster?

After Thanksgiving lunch, I went out into my parents yard and I swear I thought I was going to have to put one of them in a home THAT AFTERNOON because it was so obvious one of them had shit in the yard. There was a turd in the grass that would have convinced you that a village of giants had stopped by on the way to mountains to crap in my parents' back yard. I stared in wonderment and started considering how to brooch this subject with my folks. "Ummmm... which one of you dropped trow in the backyard and then neglected to wipe?" is what I had settled on. Luckily, I saw Pete in that humped over position that can only mean one thing and I knew instantly that that turd was, in fact, not human.

Thank God.

If you can't have sex with a dead animal, what can you have sex with?

Here is an example of our government clamping down on our freedoms. If we really are a "free" country, shouldn't we be able to do what we want? Dead Deer Sex.

Apparently a guy was driving down the road and noticed a hot, sumptuous, and apparently dead, deer in a ditch on the side of the road. He stopped, quickly assessed the situation and decided to take advantage of an available sex partner. It seems to me like a victimless crime. I don't think the deer is going to mind, and it actually keeps this nut job from going after some human. Where is the crime?

It does raise an interesting question. What happened in this guy's life to make him find road kill uncontrollably sexy? It is not like you can use the old, "my mom dressed me like a girl until I was twelve." It has to be something really traumatic. Maybe he was molested in a taxidermy.

The sad thing is, he would make most otherwise freakish people look normal. If you knew your neighbor was often found running around his back yard wearing woman's underwear, rubbing chocolate pudding in his hair while enjoying the moonlight, but on the other side was a guy who has been arrested for having sex with a dead animal, which one are you going to let watch your kids this Friday night? Unfortunately, our archaic societal mores say that humping dead animals in a ditch on the side of the road is almost at the pinnacle of bizarre and unacceptable behavior.

The next time you are flying down the interstate and see a big steamy pile of road kill take a second to think about how somewhere there is a guy who would be really turned on right now.

Pass the Chianti and Farva Beans, Please

Liz shamefully asks:

Is it just me, or does this heart look like a mouth-watering fillet, just waiting to be grilled medium rare?

((Don't hate me. Pitty me.))

I cannot help that before I clicked on the picture to enlarge it and read the caption I thought this was going to be a blurb about Kobe beef. Imagine my disgust and guilt once I realized that I had just had a "food moment" over some kid's heart.

You don't think you get sent to Hell over things like this, do you?

In this photo released by the Holtz Children's Hospital University of Miami Jackson Memorial Medical Center, baby Naseem Hasnis heart is shown outside of his body. Hasni was born with his heart outside of his body Oct. 31, 2006, at Holtz Children's University of Miami Jackson Memorial Medical Center. The condition called ectopia cordis is very rare that occurs in about 5.5 to 7.9 per one million live births.

(AP Photo/Holtz Children's Hospital University of Miami Jackson Memorial Medical Center)

DIY: Funny Blogging and Boobs

I was asked recently, "I think your blog is funny, how do you know what to write?"

I'm not very smart, so it's actually a simple formula that I use. I just decide upon a random topic and plug in the appropriate words, kind of like a mad lib, but not as creative.

Magicians don't like to tell their secrets, but there is no real magic here, so I am going to let you see just one of my many "funny blog" templates. If you just follow these steps I guarantee (not legally binding) you too can write a blog that you and atleast 8 other people will find funny.

1. A catchy title is important. It should grab the reader and make them want to know more. It doesn't actually have to pertain to the content of the blog, and if you mention something sexy, all the best.

2. Open with a self deprecating statement. Since you have a "blog" the non-blogging readers already have a pre-conceived notion that you think you are better than they are. You want to set the tone that, although I am web savvy and can type, it is basically a matter of excess free time.

3. Now is an important moment. You have to set the stage for the rest of the post. What is it about, what do you hope to accomplish, and you should make it funny. If you haven't said anything funny by now the reader is already scrolling down to see how long this is and if they are willing to stick around to see how it turns out.

* Important side note: NEVER say anything remotely serious. You don't want to get drawn into the over populated world of "real news re-hashers". That is what Yahoo news and CNN.com are for. Does anyone really want to hear what Ed, from accounting, thinks about the new federal reserve interest rates.

4. Here is the body of your post. It should point out everyone else's short comings, while making you look clever and witty. Ask a few simple questions, and then answer them yourself.
If you don't think you have enough funny, add an unrelated statement about something that is universally funny, like making fun of the handicapped or ingesting shaved gerbils rectally.

5. This is possibly the most important part, or atleast in the top five. Here you bring it all home. The closing statement should sum up the whole post and if it doesn't bring the funny, you might as well go back to posting cute videos you found on youtube. If you get to the end and realize it is not shaping up like you hoped, then you need to break out the big guns. Just finish up with a reference to you balls. I have found that is always a winner. If you don't have balls, you can't be funny anyway.

Thanksgiving: Let the Turkey Fly!

Liz whisks this:

My mother has had a rough year. Chemo- a couple of different times- surgeries, etc. So, being the awesome first born I am, I offered to the whole Thanksgiving deal at my house this year.

Me on the phone with Lil Bro: OK. So, we'll do Thanksgiving at my place. I'm doing a ham instead of a turkey.

Lil Bro: WHAT? It's TURKEY DAY! You CANNOT do a ham on TURKEY DAY.

ME: I'm doing a ham. Can ya'll bring rolls and broccoli-rice casserole? If you'll do that, I'll fix green beans, mashed potatoes, a stuffed cranberry sauce, pumpkin something, corn, and I'll do the dressing.

Lil Bro: YOU'LL do the DRESSING instead of Dad? Great. Thanksgiving is ruined. I'll just call ya'll from deer camp and wish you a happy Thanksgiving. This is the worst holiday ever. RUINED. Why don't you just have sushi and be done with it? How more could you fuck up the holiday? My God. I look forward to this holiday all year and now it's going to all "metro". Great.

Long Pause.

Lil Bro: Will there be leftovers for me to take to deer camp?

Now the plan is as follows:

Lil Bro brings broccoli casserole and rolls
Mom and Dad do: dressing, gravy, lemon merigune pie, sweet potato casserole, mustard greens, ham... AND turkey
Liz brings two cans of corn and a pumpkin pie.

Don't you just love it when a plan comes together?

How Can I Get Google To Appreciate Me?

Liz spies on herself and doesn't like what she doesn't see:

Recently, National Public Radio had a story on how potential employers use Google and My Space to "snoop" on perspective employees. Hummmm... although I'm not looking for a new job it did make me wonder what is floating around in cyberspace about me. So, not having a My Space profile (this is a perpetual statement, by the way) I Googled myself.

I am nowhere to be found.

I was once on the first page of "Liz" hits. I had a job and a fancy title and was pretty easy to locate. Now that I've left that job my Internet identity has apparently left too. My stock has plummeted.

What if a potential suitor is using the Internet to make sure I don't have any adult films for download or have a notorious reputation for living outside the law? Will he be disappointed, even discouraged, if there is NOTHING out there about me?

To summarize: You can find pictures of rhinos humping, instructions for growing mold, dozens of websites dedicated to Three's Company, and pictures of the wonderful world of deli meat on the Internet but NOTHING about me? I can understand Googling your grandmother and getting "nada" hits, but I'm a product of the technology-driven, information-geared generation. We THRIVE on knowing that we're being marketed without our own consent. Yet I have somehow been left anonymously behind.

Am I a........ loser?

How can I get back in this critical loop without exposing a breast, leading a revolution, getting an award for quilting or being arrested?

**Friends should not interpret this post as an invitation to put pictures or stories on the web.

Something is Fishy

A: Blogger sucks. I tried to post last night, but blogger was down for a few hours and I could never get it in.

Today I learned an interesting fact about California health care that has changed in the past year while I was away in Memphis. Now, with left over narcotic drugs, they have a special container that has a large sponge in the bottom for wasting into. In the past, when you had a 8mg syringe of Morphine, but your patient was only ordered 4mg, you gave the patient 4mg, and shot the rest down the sink. Or, if you were less than upstanding, you shot the rest into your ass.

It appears the Hippies-without-a-cause around here, which there apparently are many, decided that the practice of sending small doses of narcotics down the drain, would add up to a large drug problem for the aquatic life at the receiving end of the drainage pipe.

Was there a big problem with drug addicted fish that had been discovered the last few years? Maybe a seedy underbelly of fish society has been exposed. A growing number of fish dropping out of their schools and hanging out around the old drainage pipe looking to get high. A group of fish who are no longer contributing to the fish society of eating, swimming and pooping. What else do these damn fish have to do besides get high? I say let them have the drugs.

All we are doing by not giving the fish free drugs is increase the criminal element that will now be involved with fish drugs. We have gotten them addicted over the years, and now we expect them to stop cold turkey? All we have done is create a group of desperate fish giving little fishy hand jobs in the bad part of the ocean in order to score the next high.

I think we should not jump the gun. Keep the fish with their drugs until they start showing some negative drug problems. Lets wait until there is an increase in domestic violence, increase in fish on fish crime, or atleast until some celebrity fish overdoses in a rock star type fashion, maybe Nemo will turn up in a French hotel dead after choking on his own vomit. Show me a petition being passed around by MADS (Mothers Against Drunk Swimming). Who are the human nut jobs who seem to have an insight into the drug addictions of the animal kingdom?

I for one intend to keep sending my extra drugs down the drain. That is better than my previous plan of keeping them until the next time I go SCUBA diving and try to get a fishy hand job.

It's a Whine, Not a Rant

Liz wants to know one thing:

WHY WASN'T I INVITED TO THIS??

Beefcake: It's What's For Dinner

Liz asks: Am I a gay man ?

As I searched for images to add to this post, I found that "beefcakes" appeal more to gay men than to 35-year old sexually deprived women. I was surprised to learn that images such as this are considered "homoerotic". Really? Is there something sexy about a man who cannot rest his massively pumped arms on his side?

Yesterday I went to a very dangerous place- a junk store. Unfortunately I love junk yet have no additional room in my house for junk and no additional funds in my pocket for purchasing more junk. Yet, $25 later, I was leaving the musty store having struck a deal with the black man reeking of bourbon with 10 vintage 8x10 images of muscle men; pictures straight from the late '50's and early '60's. They're GREAT.

I love the poses of the beefcakes from the 50's- one man is standing in the waves on a surfboard with a harpoon in hand- poised to strike, one guy is in "The Thinker" pose except his left leg is pointed out in front of him as if to say, "all shall be mesmorized by this calf", one man is standing in the brush, flexing to the point where his veins are popping just beneath the skin all over his body. I worry that he suffered a stroke as soon as the photo was taken.

All the pictures have titles that were typed, likely 40 years ago, on standard white paper and glued to the pictures. They give the competition titles of the men and the year that they were "Mr. Universe" or "Mr. America". I love this about the photos. The typing was done on a typewriter in that font that can never be replicated. The pictures have that hint of yellow that comes with age and the tight boy shorts and loin cloths the men are wearing truly are classic.

I am going to spray-paint matching hot pink frames and hang the pictures in my house. An homage to men so pumped that they do not have time for women. I plan to add the photo of Killer in the Playboy bunny suit in the mix, just to see who is paying attention.

After some pondering, I think it's safe to say that I do not find these images erotic as much as cheesy(not you, Killer). Adding the point that I cannot stand Streisand or more than 15 minutes of Techno music, I can safely conclude that I am, in fact, NOT a gay man.

If I Wrote This Blog; This is How I Did It.

Really?!? Only in America can you kill two people, but pay enough money to get off, and then write a book about it. And only in America can you get a prime time TV show talking about what it was like, IF you had killed your ex wife and her friend. But that of course is on Fox.

It's not like this can ruin his image. It is not as if Hertz is going to put O.J. back in T.V. commercials.

Opening scene: A busy airport
O.J. comes running through the airport hurtling chairs and spinning deftly around frantic and frightened people. They pan back more and show he is carrying a bloody knife and pulling bloody gloves off as he runs.
Tag Line: Hertz, for when you REALLY got to get away fast.

One issue being debated by the television pundits is, who is going to advertise on this show. Who is confident enough in their product that it wants to be tied to this media debacle. Below I list some possibilities and motives for advertising with OJ's pseudo confession.

1. Ginsu knives: I mean come on, think of this commercial. A non descript man, hacks up one person with ease. The second person tries to block the knife with a tin can, but the ginsu knife carves through it like hot butter before severing his jugular. Then as he is about to flee, he stops and cuts a tomato in to perfect thin slices. These knives can do ANYTHING!

2. Prego spaghetti sauce: All you see is a silhouette stabbing and then red fluid splattering the walls and running down the ground, over the edge of the sidewalk and on to a steaming plate of spaghetti. Pan back and OJ has just butchered a bunch of tomatoes. Tag line: No matter how bad your day, Prego will make it better.

3. Budweiser: Any commercial really, these guys just advertise with anything, they don't give a shit. I guess if you want something clever: Four frogs sitting in a swamp, croaking, "O"..."J"....."O"..."J"....."O"..."J"..."Did"..."It".

4. Icy Hot Patch: OJ brutally kills two people, turns all bloodied to the camera and winces in pain and holds his shoulder. "At my age, it is getting harder and harder to kill the ones you love. That is why I wear Icy Hot."

"It ain't too late, Killer in 2008"

My fellow Americans, President Killer

I like taking money for doing favors. I like flying around the country to smile and shake hands. I like calling anyone who opposes me, "a terrorist loving, tax raising, homosexual." This is why I am officially announcing my intention to run for President of the United States of America in 2008.

I have been following politics for quite a while now, and I paid especially close attention last week when we upset the status quo in Washington in order to replace it with the new status quo that we will most likely replace in about six years with another group, shockingly similar to both of these groups. What did all this political study teach me? It taught me that I want in on the action. I like to think I am a good public speaker, and people generally like me. So why not enter the wonderful world of politics?

I haven't really decided which party to run with yet. I think it is best to wait until the dust settles. Americans are very fickle. 20% are die-hard Republican conservatives and 20% are un-wavering Democratic liberals, but another 20% don't follow current events enough to know what the hell is going on, and which party stands for what. They just have friends in the other two groups who steadily barrage them with inane talking points until they decide to choose someone based on what color tie they are wearing. Oh, the remaining 40% is a chaotic mix of morons, slackers and illegal aliens. The kind of people who think Super Tuesday is "two for one lap dances" at Terry's Titty Town Cabaret and Oyster Shack.

My platform for Presidency is going to be solidly built on telling everyone exactly what they want to hear. If I go to a rally in Mississippi, I am a born again Christian who hates gays and loves shooting animals in the woods, and sometimes gay animals. If I go to a rally in San Francisco, I am a recovering alcoholic who wants strict gun control and, although not gay, I did experiment a little in college, so I can support that lifestyle. When I go to a swing state, like Florida or Ohio, I am going to say as little as possible and just smile a lot. Those people can't even decide what they hell they want, how can I.

I am not above running dirty campaign ads. I might try to run the dirtiest campaign around. A campaign ad with Hillary in a explicit menage a trois with McCain and Giuliani. There is no limit to the things I can do with photo shop. If it is one thing I have learned from politics, "if it is not true, just show it over and over again until it is." You don't have to convince everyone, just that undecided 20% who only get their political information from 30 second commercials between "Desperate House Wives" and "Andy Griffith" reruns.

And don't forget my secret weapon, I am going to offer free Hot Wings at Terry's Titty Town, every Tuesday while I get up and campaign between strippers. Then come the real Super Tuesday, I bring a couple of buses and bring all those idiots to the polls. That 40% of the population just might be stupid enough to send me to the White House. Stupid enough is all I need.

Where Did Martha Go?

Liz explains:

For those of you wondering where WWMD went, I remembered that the person I was writing about might actually read this blog! Damn it! I hate it when that happens! Censorship!

In the spirit of the Holiday gift being kept top-secret, I elected to remove the post. I don't want to ruin her Christmas surprise... the way my neighbors ruined Christmas for me when I was 6. ((shudder)) ((should have gone to therapy)).

Thanks for your comments and harsh judgements against the woman in question. At least I know that my efforts have been appreciated by some! By the way, my right hand is cramping from overuse. I can't remember the last time I actually WROTE so much. My office supplies are coming in very handy. Justified, at last.

A Shining Beacon of Superiority

Posted down to you by Killer

Now that I am in California I feel I should be blogging with more sophistication and social awareness. No more pointless ranting. No more random comments about my genitals.

As I set out today, my first day of working whilst in California, I noted a special feel in the air. A feeling of superiority in how the world should be run and of how it should be preserved for future generations. It was like in highschool when I would watch the cool kids plan out the homecoming celebrations, wishing I was part of the "in crowd", but now, oh yeah, I am part of the in crowd.

So, those of you in the semi cool places on the East Coast and everyone in the relative obscurity of the middle areas can sit back and watch us Californians set the future trends for everything from fashion to corporate eateries. You say you really like eating at "On the Border", well too bad, the new cool place is "Chevy's". Keep up, or get out.

Our gas is more expensive because we like to add more stuff to it. Our food costs more since everyone here is in a union, and that mentally disabled kid bagging your groceries is getting paid $20 an hour. Hell, we're so far ahead of the rest of the world, if you stop on your way to work to pee on the side of the street you can go to jail, but if you are a homeless person and want to shit on the sidewalk in broad daylight, all the cops can do is hand you some toilet paper. Never underestimate the voting potential of a bleeding heart.

I feel a need to help the rest of America catch up with the progressive ways of the West coast. The start could be a good brewery in every town that qualifies for a Wal-mart. From now on maybe all of you should watch the O.C. and take notes. The next time you try to pick out an outfit or buy some music say to yourself, "did I see this on the O.C.?" If the answer is no, put it back. I want so bad to make a lasting impact on our great society, but every time I really get out there to work for change I remember, all this charity work makes my balls itch.

Oh well, some habits are hard to break.

Does This Cape Make Me Look Fat?

Voodoo Momma Writes:

Since the impressionable age of 6, I've had this thing for superheros. It started with Superfriends and the whole League of Justice. Wonder Woman, of course being my favorite. Superman, of course, being the guy I want to get to third base with. Until Clooney played Batman- but that's a whole other world of conversation.

As I have matured I have kept some of my desire to be a superhero. I've even narrowed down the power that I want; and this is difficult to do. Laser beam eyes with X-Ray vision? Invisibility? Teleporting? Time Traveling (oooohhh I like this idea!)? Super strength? Flying? Nope. None of these.

I want to be able to read people's minds.

And then change them.

I would have to be very careful not to become corrupt with this power; careful to use this power for the good of mankind and not be self-serving. I could have 1,000 shirtless 25 year old men gladly building me a palace on the side of mountain, a massure, chef, and yard boy working for nothing more than a smile, free couture fashion, a jet at my disposal, no need for money and, hence, no need to have an 8 to 5 job, all the office supplies I want... the list goes on and on.

Eventually, I would put "World Peace" on my agenda, but I honestly can't say that would be the first issue I'd tackle. I think the first thing I would do is have Brittany Spears and Paris Hilton banned from media coverage and put an end to spam mail. Those are key steps toward making the world a better place.

I would want to have a superhero costume; a little ditty I'd wear once I became president of the world. An elegantly tacky Vera Wang number provided to me by mere suggestion. I would have the moniker of "goddess" on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and "her majesty" the other days of the week. Of course there would be a media room where Indiana Jones movies played non-stop, 24 hours a day.

I'm positive that, regardless of how you felt before reading this post, you now have changed your mind and realize that those too are key steps toward making the world a better place.

You're welcome.

Why You Should Date Me

Liz tries to save her tarnished image:

In a previous post I went on and on and on listing the characteristics that make me undateable. When am I going to learn to let OTHERS point out my faults instead of doing that myself? I was kidding with 6 of the reasons, but I won't tell you which 6 they are.

Add that to the list: Keeps secrets only when the secrets do not matter.

Because obviously no one is going to do it for me, I'll give you the reasons you SHOULD hook me up with your handsome, wealthy brother with the "massive killer cock" (see Killer's post below to better understand where THAT came from).

Here is a sampling of some of the wonderful things about me as your girlfriend:

• Cooks well
• Owns a variety of perfumes and lotions
• Action movies and comedies
• A man's woman
• Loathes nagging
• Encourages you to sleep at your own place
• Beer
• Football
• Baseball
• Poker
• Wants you to be happy
• Gives a mean back rub
• Good hair
• Not clingy
• Will always have cereal available
• WANTS you to hang out with your friends more
• Your good deeds get noticed
• Will let you drive
• Does not experience PMS

Now see? From Grade-A, independent, strong-willed bitch to affectionate, thoughtful, domestic kitten in two blogs. Just call me Sybil. But here is the one thing that trumps all others:

• Big boobs with ample cleavage

There. I feel good about myself again. The match-making may begin NOW.

Uganda is full of Pervs

Killer, thinking of a new career.

There have been posts written recently, and in the past, by some of my contemporaries, that delve into the seedy under belly of blogging and the ability to track the different ways random web surfers are finding their way to a blog. I too have an almost unhealthy obsession with the site tracking tools and decided to investigate my own referrals to see where everyone was coming from. Most were links from fellow bloggers (Thanks Guys!) but some where from google or blogger searches. A few were bizarre yet unamazing: "Head gear and braces" (I could have some ad sense ads for dentists), "Getting in touch with your inner bitch" (Liz is popular), and "Room for rant and Memphis" (This one would seem like a normal typo, but after doing the same google search my site did not pop up until the third page. Why did this person keep looking for a rant room?)

Then I stumbled upon my favorite and most disturbing one, "Massive killer cock porn". Oh yeah, that is awesome, but it gets better. I clicked on the information and found out that the search originated from a computer in Uganda. They have computers in Uganda? This must be a government employee, maybe the President of Uganda himself, Yoweri Museveni. The only thing better than knowing the Ugandan President is checking out my blog would be if it was Idi Amin himself, although dead, I bet he really enjoyed the "Massive killer cock porn."

For those who don't know Uganda is in that awesome portion of East Africa that everyone is always raving about. With neighbors like Congo, Sudan, and Rwanda it is only a matter of time before the tourists start flooding into Uganda. They were smart enough to get their mass genocide out of the way back in the 1970's, courtesy of Idi Amin, back before genocide was so nuevo riche.

This new generation that survived the mass executions might have grown up to have a slight S&M fetish. That could explain the search for "Massive killer cock porn". I can only assume they were bitterly disappointed when they chose my site above the others. There is a distinct lack of massive cock, but me and Liz are working to improve that.

I went to Wikipedia and immediately noticed the Ugandan flag. It actually appears to have a massive cock on it. I don't know if it is a killer, but I can only assume it is. If they were looking for actual chicken "cock" porn, then that is something that I could possibly provide.

I Now Review Blogs Professionally

Liz is not even kidding:

At least from 8-5 I get paid to sit on my ass.

I think I'm getting a little too obsessed with blogging. I'm not to the extreme- YET- but I will confess that I am spending WAY too much time in front of a computer. If a day goes by and I do not check Killer Rants, I feel out of sorts with the world. I mean, what if Outhur Me replied to one of my replies or Mist 1 took another opportunity to make a mildly suggestive, yet cute comment on Killer's last post? I have these thoughts throughout the day.

Unhealthy.

What is least appreciated about this new hobby is that it is just one more of many reasons you should not date me.

I will post the complete "Why You Should Not Date Me" list below and then check the site compulsively to see what you've had to say about it.

Zero comments and I'll take up reading the blogs I've discovered about ant farms (serious and scientific) or Ace or Base (where you can download their entire catalogue; but why?)

You should not date me because:

• I take my hair very seriously
• I snore a little
• I cannot wallow in your filth or your misery
• My cats will most likely always come before you
• I'm not giving up my boy friends
• I love The Office and will not pick you up if you're stranded on the side of the road or too drunk to drive, answer your phone calls, or look in your general direction during those 30 minutes. Sorry.
• The first time you complain about ANY THING that involves me I will begin comptenplating our break up
• If you try to make me jealous, I will only encourage that you go back to your ex
• I won't find your kids adorable
• I might not invite you to a lot things- including things for couples
• I expect you to be handy around the house
• Ask, ask, punish is how I get things done
• I cook, you clean and if you can't deal with that, you pay for the maid
• I think less of people who don't wash their face and brush their teeth before going to bed
• I only give sideways hugs
• I will resent that you do not understand my office supply and purse fettishes
• I will resent that you think that because I like my cats that I like cat decor
• My pores are getting larger as I age
• I talk a lot and expect you to listen as well as participate in the conversation
• I sometimes like the house to be totally silent- no TV, no music
• Apparently, I cannot give up smoking
• I have a little thing about checking my blog 4 or 9 times night...

Good to Be Back On the Left Coast

"I am a Californian now, bitches!" Screamed by Killer as he crawls through rush hour traffic.

Current Location: Sacramento, CA.!!
Distance Traveled Today: 560 miles.
Time Driving: 8.5 hours.
Photos Taken Out the Window While Driving This Week: 52


Even by artsy fartsy standards this is a pretty damn good shot. I think am going to travel the world driving 80mph and snapping great shots out the window. I will leave a trail of small wooden sticks that used to hold meat in my wake.

Okay, I left Needles, Ca., hauled my happy ass the last eight hours to Sacramento. I am staying downtown at the Sheraton Grand. I decided to splurge and treat myself nice. I should have kept it real and stayed in a Holiday Inn. Why is it the "luxury" hotels don't offer the same basic amenities that smaller ones do? I have to pay for parking, pay for internet, and not a single person of Middle Eastern ethnicity working the late shift behind the front desk. Luckily there are a couple of brew pubs within walking distance, so I am going to power through. Don't cry for me, Argentina.

So far it feels good to be back in California. I did not realize how much I missed the weather, the action and the variety of food types. It is weird to not be able to go two blocks without seeing a barbecue joint or a Waffle House. One thing I am not happy to get back to is the traffic. There are over 36 million people in California and everyone of them seems to always being going the same place I am. No matter what time it is, or what direction I am going, the other side of the highway is inevitably going to be smooth sailing, while mine is backed up like an 80 year old guys bowels.

I start work on Monday, and am using the next few days to find a place to stay and try to relax. I plan on working a lot while I am out here. It is my usual MO. Work a LOT for a few months and then spend a few months gallivanting aimlessly around the world. Doing nothing productive is what I do best.

All In

Liz holds 'em:

Dear blog reader,

You will be happy to know that I came in second place at my most recent poker tournament. That means a cool $60. After taxes, I calculate that I made a $20 profit. Ok, it wasn't taxes, it was the fact that I lost the first game so badly, but I still came out on top to the tune of an almost full tank of gas.

Don't hate me because of my mad card skills.

I have noticed something about the guys I play cards with. They expect ME to be the entertainment but they also expect me to keep my humor between the lines and dispensed sparingly. Apparently I am not good at obliging their comedic restrictions.

I pissed a guy off so much by winning a hand that he wouldn't make eye contact with me. So, I commented on his new facial hair by calling him a bearded clam and inviting him to fuck off. But I said it in a really nice tone. I was kidding- honest! And although most of the guys took it as the trash talk it was intended to be, others scolded me for being so cold. I apologized, but not without making sure that I said it like this, "I'm sorry. I'll try to tone it down for you ladies."

Yikes. That met with more laughs than not, but only turned my black mark to a charcoal gray mark.

Then, a guy seated beside me burped incessantly. After about gas-plosion number 19, I asked, "Would you stop that? My god. You're as annoying as ball sweat!" Apparently men find this term VERY funny, as I guess they are the ones who truly appreciate the annoyance of sweaty balls; Not finding it so funny is the man you are comparing to ball sweat.

Looks of wounded sadness were now darting from both across the table and beside me. I felt sort of bad. Like I had played too rough and somebody got hurt. I'm really a very thoughtful and nice person- but it's a card game; the obligation to talk smack predates me by over 100 years!

Am I really that insulting? So offensive that they're going to make a poker rule that no women are allowed to play, even though I was the only woman (of 14 players) there?

Most poker nights ban women so that they CAN be bawdy. What if I get banned because I am TOO bawdy?

Is THIS my secret weapon? My power? Am I an insult ninja?

No.

I am THE insult ninja, bitches.

Because Celebrity-Themed Products Sell, That's Why

Liz sees opportunity to capitalize on famous figures:

I'm going to go ahead an apologize for this...

• The JFK douche: comes in Camelot scent and Monroe Madness
• Mohammad Ali 35 mm bullets: They fly like a butterfly, sting like a bee
• The Pee Wee Herman line of training condoms
• The M Night Shyamalan circumcision kit: Did some yell "Cut?"
• Ted Haggard Brand So Very Conservative lip stick: Who's had more practice with sticks on his lips than THIS guy? *Only color: blushing nude
• The Ben Stiller merkin: Available in straight or curly
• The Janet Jackson suit of armor: Don't go medieval on someone's ass without one. **Now with easy to remove breast plate!
• The George Bush air matress- self-inflates
• Magnum PI mustache rides (sold only in adult stores)
• Available at Baskin Robbins everywhere: The Beyonce Shake
• The Sadam Hussein Line of Quality Men's Lounge Wear: for hanging out in
• The Tara Reed Line of Sub-Quality Women's Lounge Wear: for hanging out of
• The Shakespear Parkinsons cure: still in trials but works on Chihuahuas!
• The Nicole Richie diet: be so annoying even food rejects you
• Donald Rumsfeld's Guide to Knowing When It's Time To Quit
  

Point taken.

Texas Free Since 12:33

I can not feel my ass. Can you feel my ass?

Current Location: Needles, California
Distance traveled today: 815 miles
Time driving: 11.5 hours
Time spent regretting ingesting sausage on a stick: 11.5 hours


Here is some more random one handed, blind, out the window photos, taken at 85 mph. This one is in Arizona, or New Mexico, I don't know where I was at. Not even when this picture was taken.

I nearly wrecked trying to grab my camera really fast to take a picture of a highway sign for a small Arizona town called, "Shinarump". I had been driving for 11 hours and thought that was the funniest thing I had seen in a long time. It reminded me of the new interstate being built from Canada to Mexico, which runs through part of Mississippi. I-69. I bet they will have a huge chunk of budget earmarked for replacing those signs. I am old, but I still have already stolen two.

I woke up around 9am, packed the Jeep and walked down to the lobby for the "free breakfast bar". It turns out the "free breakfast bar" has strict rules that state all free breakfast enjoyment ends promptly at 0930. It was 0932 when I entered the designated eating area. They were beginning to put the delicious looking bagels and cold cereal away, and informed me that I was too late. I debated throwing myself to the ground kicking, screaming and crying, but I did not really have the energy.

I drove a straight line today, after triple checking that I was heading West, through New Mexico and Arizona. My goal was California, so the second I crossed the border, and smuggled my Bonzai tree past the "fruit and plant" check point, I found a hotel. I am now going to sleep so I can wake up and repeat the whole ordeal.

It turns out that sausage on a stick is not as good for the digestive track as I thought it would be. It feels like I ate it with the stick still in. I usually have a no nonsense gut, that does not allow any tomfoolery down there. It must have been over powered by the vile looking sausage.
Sticking with my love for sticked meats, I ate two gas station corn dogs today. Hopefully they get along with everyone better than the sausage.

Magellan on a Stick

Killer, directionally challenged, but great intestinal fortitude.

Current location: Amarillo, TX
Distance traveled today: 900 miles (180 miles unnecessarily)
Time Driving: 14 hours

So, I wake up this morning at about 5am, load up the Jeep, hug my Mom goodbye and set out on, yet another, trek to California.
I was pumped, I had my route thought out in advance, it is not hard, drive West and when you hit L.A. turn right.

I jumped in the Jeep and cranked up some heavy hitting talk radio and pulled out onto I-20. After about an hour or so I noticed a sign telling me how far it is to a town in Alabama. That kind of woke me out of my talk radio induced stupor and I thought, "hey, when I drive from Mississippi to California, I don't have to go through Alabama."
That is when I realized I, in my excitement to get on with the journey, had gone East on I-20.

I have traversed this great country in an automobile so many times, it is not countable. I have never driven over an hour in the COMPLETE wrong direction. I don't know if it is a sign of early dementia, or maybe I am not as smart as I thought. I had a nice time budget of 12 hours of driving a day, but I blew that the first day and had to drive 14 hours.
The worst part was turning around and having to drive back through the town that I started from. That sucks. I was very tempted to just stop and try again tomorrow. Nobody needs to start a massive journey with a brain fart.

I survived, and managed to hit Dallas during evening rush hour, so that was a plus. I really dislike most of Texas (sorry Fringes), if it weren't for Austin and Big Bend National Park, I would be all for letting Mexico have it back. I have nothing against the people, it is just that Texas is so damn big, flat, and depressing to drive through. They should break it up into a few smaller states, that way no one state would have to take the blame for that section of the country.

I became delirious after hour ten and began trying to take pictures of the landscape while driving at 80 miles an hour. This is actually proof against my argument for Texas not being appealing. But, a good sunset can make any place look good.

I stopped at a small gas station, about five miles South of nowhere. They had a very intriguing food product next to the counter. I asked the lady behind the register what it was and she said, "sausage on a stick." Holy shit! Why didn't I think of that. In my 33 years of life thus far, everything, and I mean everything, has been made better when put on a stick. Despite the frightening, and non appetizing, appearance, I bought one.

I have eaten deep fried crickets and grubs, and sauteed ants while in Thailand. I figured I could handle a sausage, so I was told, that has been skewered. It tasted like it looks.

The only thing worse than trying to take pictures out the window at 80 miles an hour, besides text messaging which I did not do very well, is trying to take a picture of a meat product, that has been impaled, while going 80 miles an hour.

Hopefully tomorrow will go smoother and I can reach Southern California before stopping again.

That Post It Note Is Making Me Horny

Liz... TYPES... >:-[

Have I ever confessed my intense addiction to office supplies? I got so ravenously jealous over a set of Pentel Sunburst Metallic Gel pens that my 6-year old godchild had that I went out and bought my own damn pack. The fact that I CAN shell out $7 on a set of gel pens makes me realize how fortunate, and superior, I am.

I seldom allow myself to venture into the "executive" section of a department store. I know what they're pushing in there and I simply CANNOT and WILLNOT allow myself to spend $180 on an ink pen. So it's better if I just stay away. BUT I do sometimes browse. I touch the fine leather planners, the day organizers in the fresh colors of the new season, the heavy paper and the desk sets. GOD.

The other day I was allowing myself that guilty pleasure. Also reviewing the selection was a 60ish year old man, pudgy, bulbous nosed and overweight. I watched carefully as he selected the pen he wanted to purchase; a pretty number, somewhere in the $90 neighborhood. He was so careful about his selection. He perused, he touched, he grasped. He searched for the connection, the balance that a good pen provides.

I gotta tell ya, it kind of turned me on.

I am totally into things that glitter, so I should be able to keep my addiction within my financial parameters. But one day I'm going to marry well and when I do, I'll send the invitations to the BBQ on an exquisite linen paper with neon purple and electric blue writing.

Handwritten, of course.

Wonderjock? Come On. Really?

Liz gets her panties in a wad:

What the hell?

Isn't it bad enough that we taunt our little girls into developing sever image-related paranoia by the time they are seven? Do we NOW have to bring penis size to the forefront of our dresser drawers as well?

Welcome to the Australian invented Wonderjock. Designed to provide the all-important buldge where there is little more than a smooth surface.

I can understand how a man, say in a tight black leotard bunny suit, might want to don a wonderjock but for a typical day at the office, doesn't this seem a little extreme?

Extremely HOT.

"The design of the underwear, separates and lifts. The fabric cup protrudes everything out in front instead of down towards the ground," said "Wonderjock" designer Sean Ashby.

Ashby said the idea for the "Wonderjock" was the result of online feedback from customers who expressed an interest in looking bigger, just like women using the "Wonderbra".

"When you go to a department store to buy underwear you usually get a grandmother serving, which is not the ideal way to get feedback," said Ashby. "Our customers give us feedback. We didn't realize that big is better."

I want to know what department store is allowing customers to try on their jockies. Isn't that illegal in the states? Not to mention GROSS? If I were a man I wouldn't want to buy an extremely supportive pair of underwear that some strange man's nads had been rolling around in less than 40 minutes ago. Unless I was a Christian conservative Republican protesting against gay rights???

*I fully expect Ray to leave a comment where the term "bat wing" is mentioned*

Enough already!

The Wonderjock may make YOU feel better about yourself, but it's going to freak little kids out and disappoint that chick drunk enough to finally go home with you. Keep it real, guys. Don't wear your support jock to the pool.

Unless you look like THIS guy.

Midterm Erections This Tuesday!

Liz invites you to pundit this:

It should be no surprise to you that there are some mid-term elections coming up. My friend E has already made plans to order hot wings and drink beer all night; staying glued to the TV as election results are returned. His landlord/best friend will be right by his side tossing out jeers like, "I TOLD you they were a red state but you wouldn't listen, asshole!" I almost wish I was joining them.

I always try to make it to the polls, but I have not registered in my "new" city yet. This means about a 40 minute minute drive and a 2 hour wait at the old polling place. Ah... the old polling place! Just saying that brings back the memories.

What I love, and hate, about elections is the lengths to which a party will go to smear an opponent. You see, I am an Independent voter- I never vote down party lines- so I pay close attention to the trash talk and the smack down that shows up in the months and weeks before an election. What I have been enjoying lately is the new found knowledge that 69% of all white, Christian, male conservative Republicans are gay. I'm going to have to ask my Dad about this.

Pictured on the left is Ted Haggard, the influential evangelist with White House ties who contacted a male prostitute for "massages" (and blow jobs) and bought crystal meth BUT (he says) never smoked it. There are a lot things disgusting in this story, the most severe being Haggard's previous public denouncement of gay marriage. What IS IT with all these men who are having sex with other men but are aggressively vigilant against gay rights? The hypocrisy is so severe I can't even believe that these are real news stories. It's the Sadam mentality: "I get everything I want, you get punished for wanting the same. Bring me a virgin." And our guys add, "A male virgin- preferably under 17. Shhhhh. Don't tell my wife and kids."

THIS is fucked up.

I wonder what I'm missing out on in life. I don't HAVE but maybe two secrets. And the secrets I have really aren't THAT big of a deal. Who ARE you people that live these double lives and, especially, those of you who are so schizophrenic that the two lives combat each other?

I would like an alter ego and I am soliciting your suggestion on what the "second" Liz should be. Be advised: the Liz writing now might actually be the "bad" one. Don't feel pressure to suggest I become a heroin addict; you might suggest I become a librarian's assistant.

Thanks for your ideas and go vote Tuesday.

A Haunted House, Please

Liz tries to evoke the spirits:

I think that I like the thought of dead people hanging out in my house, riding to work with me, strolling through the cubicles in my office, standing around in line at the grocery store; you know. Being. The only time I believe in ghosts is when I am in the dark in a place where there is supposed to be an extreme level of paranormal activity. And then I believe in them for about 20 seconds before feeling like a total idiot.

But I keep hoping that one day I'll see something that will forever change my doubting mind.

I like to watch TV shows about haunted places and people that have had their homes exercised (that CAN'T be how you spell it) or even had to move because of some bad ass ghost being pissed that the family has moved in. I'm starting to notice a trend. Ghosts are hostile and messy, poor communicators and they totally don't pick up after themselves. I have therefore concluded that all ghosts are male.

I had a friend SWEAR to me that he had a female ghost that lived in his house and she molested him one night. I tired to explain to him that the "activity" literally occurred "in his dreams" but he would have none of my theory. He was sexually gratified by a ghost. End of discussion.

Humm... Maybe there are some perks to living in a haunted house...

I want a pet ghost but I want my ghost to help me do chores. I get TIRED of doing all the cleaning myself. I absolutely hate ironing. It would be NICE to come home and have a hot meal waiting for me. If ghosts are stuck on Earth because they weren't "good" enough to make it to heaven, this could help build up some nice-guy brownie points. If the ghost is bored, why the fuck not help me by making the bed in the mornings? Jeez. He's got an eternity staring him in the face. He might as well make a friend. Doing a load of laundry ever now and then would get my attention. I'd talk to him... and leave him notes (to do lists) around the house and I wouldn't even care if he saw me naked. It could be perfect!

I'm also delighted by some show that I've only seen part of once called "Celebrity Ghost Hunters" or something similar. This show puts "stars" in a haunted place, in the dark, and makes them get into the bowels of the haunted manor; camera of course in tow. The celebrities are supposed to be our eyes and ears; if they see it or sense it, we KNOW it's real. Gary Busey is biggest celebrity on the show. Other than Danny Bonaduce and Paris Hilton, can you think of a celebrity whose "impressions" you would trust less than Gary Buesy?

I'd be interested in your ghostly encounters, if you've ever had one. I'd also like a written commitment that if you have the option to haunt or not haunt upon your demise, you will consider my offer as outlined above.

By the way, Killer was supposed to stop in for a visit this evening but has strep throat. In lieu of cards and emails, you may make a charitable donation to me.

Thanks.

K is for Killer

Killer, kills. It has a nice ring to it.

I was asked a while back, "Do you think you could be a serial killer?" My rapid response was, "sure, why not. I got nothing else going on right now." An uncomfortable, nervous laugh from the inquirer, and then a pause. I just looked at her. It struck me that she was joking when she asked it, but after the pause I was not sure. Maybe she just likes to keep an inventory of possible murderers. Good idea, they say it is always the one you least suspect.

For some reason I thought about that incident today and spent some time contemplating it on a more serious level. Could I really be a serial killer? Unfortunately I came to the same conclusion, sure. I don't think I would be a good one, so I would have to do all my killing in a day or two, because I would probably get caught pretty quick.

Here are some pros and cons I have come up with about my serial killing abilities:

Pros:
Big person: I could over power most victims.
Sunny disposition: They would never see it coming.
Watch a lot of CSI: I have a good idea how to leave a crime scene.
I have a lot of free time: Frankly I need a new hobby.
I have really good friends: If I needed help getting rid of body, they would probably help me.
I move around a lot: I could really spread out the fear.

Cons:
Big person: I am really slow and lazy, the victims would pretty much have be strolling by.
Sunny disposition: I would be more likely to tell really bad jokes, instead of hacking someone up. I could hack them up in a funny manner, that might work.
Watch a lot of CSI: I am a hairy guy, I would probably not be able to avoid leaving a DNA trail of body hair all the way back to my apartment.
I have a lot of free time: I have a lot of free time, because I tend to start a hobby and then lose interest. I would probably kill one person then change to knitting. I want to be a serial killer not some random murderer.
I have really good friends: Knowing my friends they would see the dead body and then start brutally making fun of the way I killed them. Actually, my friends are dicks.
I move around a lot: I would never be able to keep up with my killing and torture implements. I would have to buy new ones every city, and that could get expensive.

Actually after writing it all down, maybe I should not be a serial killer. It is kind of depressing. It is this kind of "can't do" attitude that has kept me back my whole life. At some point I need to take a stand and prove to myself that I can do anything I put my mind to. This might not be the best choice of moments to make that stand, but that is what I always say.

I'll have to add it to my "to do" short list:
Learn Spanish
Write the great American novel
Kill a bunch of people in a ritualistic and disturbing manner

I am like Rembrandt and Bob Ross Combined

Killer, keeping a promise.

A week ago I responded to a post by Liz, Priceless, I don't think so , with a post of my own, The gift that keeps on giving. In that post I promised to post some pics of my previous hand made gifts that my Mother and Sister are indescribably lucky to receive. I have a goal, that may take many years to achieve, it is to fill their homes with an immense number of garish, tacky knick knacks that they can not throw away, since they were pain stakingly made by their own flesh and blood.

I seem to have a skill with making arts and crafts out of any item that can be purchased at Home Depot. I like the idea of using unorthodox materials, it makes me think I am giving a better life to mundane products.

Last year I used rust proof wire, that is used to secure chain link fences. It is pretty pliable and can be used to make many useful things, like jewelry, art projects, or even lingerie, if you are a German bondage dominatrix. Just like Mom.

This first one was for my sister, who loves exotic fish. I really love giving her anything I can find with bright, atrocious fish, because it drives my Brother-in-Law crazy that his house is coated with this crap. Who loves ya' bro?



This one was for my Mother who, along with my Dad, seem to collect a lot of dragon themed objects. I don't know if they are secretly Sci-Fi geeks or something, or maybe they are dressing like magical dwarfs or goblins for sex games. I don't like to dwell on that side of things.


Two years ago, when I first declared the intention to barrage my family with gifts created with my own blood, sweat and tears I had a specific material in mind. Cheap Forks. They have to be cheap, because high quality cutlery is a bitch to bend. My history with fork art goes back to my early college years when I waited tables. I would be drinking with my restaurant friends and I would inevitably get bored and start twisting the forks into satanic looking shapes. When making this butterfly inspired piece I decided to leave the Satanism behind, out of respect for the Christmas spirit.


There are several other fork sculptures, but one is at my Grandparents and the other my sister claims is in "storage". She better be able to produce it by this Christmas, or she is going to be given a hand crafted bag of flaming poop for the holidays.

I can't go into too much detail about this years gifts. I was originally going to attempt to carve some totem poles, but I realized living in an apartment is not really conducive to massive wood working projects. My neighbors complained the last time I tried using a chain saw in my apartment. They have no appreciation for the arts.