Friday, February 25, 2011

Yell At Me Like You Mean It

I love being yelled at.
No, really, I mean it.

Nothing beats the sound of a good old-fashioned, "bull horn screaming at" that reminds me of being right back at home.


I know, for me, I always feel like an odd man out, you know..never really fitting quite in during public meetings or neighbor sightings or just plain old conversation. I hate people smiling at me or making me welcomed in their puts me on edge and makes me wonder what in the hell they expect in return for sharing their bread and shining my shoes.

I walk around, maybe 99% of the time feeling in a haze..wondering why I don't fit in...

and then, it happens, that god-send 1% of the time when someone just rip-roaring rages at me an I can finally exhale and feel I'm right back where I belong...

When I hear that piercing scream coming in my direction, It is almost as if the hairs on my spine rest, even the hairs on my mole fall from attention for a moment, and I just want to put on my bedroom slippers and light a cigarette.

Now, that is all fine and good; I mean, I will take a phone screaming at or a road rage yell any old day, but there is NOTHING..and I do mean NOTHING like someone getting all up in my face and tell me in a roaring yell how pissed they are at something I may or may not have done....
That kind of comfort makes me want to roll out my cot, make my pau d'arco allergy tea and start reading my Twighlight books.

Right at home.

I just can't help it. I love a plain-old yelling at, especially when it lists my faults in alphabetical order in a way that leaves me not even able to hear myself think...Maybe it's unfair that I have such a gift or have been given such insight into the true road to happiness; or maybe my momma just spoiled me. Who really knows about such good fortunes?

All I know is, if you want to be my friend, then yell at me like my momma would.

Thursday, March 18, 2010


Why is everything funnier with puppets?


Friday, March 12, 2010

When I Turn 153...

I wanna look as good as Joan Rivers.

Monday, March 8, 2010

Why Does Everyone Want to Make Roseanne Look Mean?

Roseanne Bar is NOT mean. I'll say it again. Roseanne Bar is NOT a big, fat mean, haggardly woman who says crazy things and then regrets them. Okay, well maybe the last part(s) is/are true, but the first part is a skinny little bitch of a lie...

She is back in the news again about saying something insensitive, however; doesn't anyone realize that people that don't look like Greta Garbo on a sun-kissed, pouty-lipped, good hair day get to be a bitch every now and again? Especially when they/she doesn't even look as good as what was probably Greta Garbo's dungeoned, and much uglier sister...

It just isn't fair to pick on someone who was made famous for having a nasaly voice, being in-and-out of psyche wards and had to endure years of fat-on-fat sweat-sex with Tom Arnold.

Come on people. Isn't knowing she nestled her nose in Arnold's salty, pubic-like armpit hair enough repentance for any wrong-doing she may ever commit for the rest of her life?

Robbery vs. armpit hair? Armpit hair. Lying vs. armpit hair? Armpit hair. Telling your boss you are sick when you are watching the re-release of "White Knights" and wearing your tap shoes? Armpit.

See? Nothing compares.

No amount of "Our Father's" or having to endure pergatory for all of eternity could POSSIBLY be as bad as Tom, I mean, that....

Why can't the media pick on someone there own size?

Someone like Rosie O'Donnel, for instance....

Not only is Rose O'Donnel MUCH uglier,and MUCH more controversial than Roseanne; but she was getting sex from a very cute, tight-assed blonde for the last decade.

Sex with a hot chick alone cancels out the Greta Garbo protection factor for the ugliness rule and means that she has NO RIGHT to put her two cents in every time Tom, Dick, Harry or well, um Jane takes their panties off...

And, besides, like Chrissy said, her ass is hairier than a Wooly Mamoth's in December.

So, please, pick on Rosie, but not Roseanne anymore.

And if you don't ease up on Roseanne, be careful what you ask for. God may just punish you with some gnarly, dandruff-filled armpit hair to suck on for all of eternity.

Sunday, March 7, 2010

Breaking News Out Of Hollywood:

This Just In:

Breaking news out of Hollywood today, where sources confirmed that Tom Cruise is, undeniably, a woman.

Rumors began circulating last year when Tom was spotted alone at Dr. Gloria Bender's office, a well-known gynecologist to the stars. Followed then by a sighting of Cruise alone again in aisle seven of Whole Foods, opening packages of maxi pads. Cruise was escorted out of the store after he reportedly put a few of the sanitary napkins in his coat pocket.

The rumors were confirmed this morning as Cruise was sitting poolside at the Hotel Bel-Air, a favorite to the star. Cruise, reading the morning paper took notice of a crowd of fans gazing his way as he sipped his beverage. As one got up and headed in his direction, Cruise seeming uncomfortable, stood up quickly in an attempt to walk away. As he did so his towel shifted, revealing his vagina.

Said eyewitness, Timothy Peterson 18, a visiting Quaker from Toledo, Ohio, "I wasn't sure what I was looking at at first. Could have been Suri's toy monkey, or a well-shaved dust mop. Not sure why either would have been hiding there though. But then it hit me, and I knew I'd seen one of those before. Last year when my Aunt Edna slipped on ice while getting the morning paper."

Said another witness, "It was frightening. And, it was shiny. Sort of. It all happened so fast. We just stood there pointing and staring while Tom fumbled around before finally running into the back entrance of the hotel."

Cruise has been reported saying, "This is preposterous. It's simply just, well, just preposterous." He then spelled p.r.e.p.o.s.t.e.r.o.u.s. Then he gave that big fucking cheesy grin as a teared rolled from her eyes.

Katie Holmes has not yet returned any inquiries. And reps and sources close to the star refused to comment. We did, however, get a statement from ex-wife Nicole Kidman, who went, "Ewww!", when we questioned her knowledge of this recent discovery.

New information continues to unfold in this story. And as "preposterous" as this all seems, it explains the bizarre affinity between Tom and long-time admirer, Rosie O'Donnell, who was overheard saying, enthusiastically, "Reeeaally??", when the news broke. And Rosie O'Donnell, as no surpise to anyone, has a big hairy ass...

Friday, March 5, 2010

Why Do I...

Why is it I INSIST on watching shit that makes me sick to my stomach? this show, "I Shouldn't Be Alive," for instance, where men are "SAVAGELY" malled by wild animals (as if being just plain malled by a wild animal isn't bad enough) and young couples are lost in deserts only to find that a man had died in that same spot on the exact date one year prior..or how about the the weird and ugly show where the hyena gives birth through the same hole that you and me go pee pee out of and sometimes dies during birth; or like, and THIS ONE IS REALLY REALLY SICK, watching people like Tiger Woods, John Edwards and another one of those gay conservatives make an apology for living a double life while I could be watching quality programming like "All My Children," local television commericals, or "Celebrity Fit Club," you know, the real top notch television out there.

But no, I waste it watching junk. Junk that makes me nauseated and sad and terrified that my partner or, perhaps, even one of my beloved neighbors may come and murder me in the middle of the night (48 Hour Mysteries)...

I mean, all of these things make me sick when I watch them; like say, nauseated or short of breath or downright paranoid, depending on which one you are talking about, and I CAN'T STOP WATCHING THEM..

In fact, I plan my week around these things, as though it were my job or something.

I love it. I dream about it (when I am not dreaming about missing persons or animals missing limbs or people lost in the wilderness and finding ways to live while doing sit-ups throughout the night in the middle of a canyon with a broken pelvic bone while suffering from hypothermia) and when I am not sleeping my heart beats faster the closer the show is on my tagged film list throughout the night.

I just can't figure it out.

It is love and hate.

Lust and disgust.

Push me pull/me.

See how close I can get you so I can vomit all over your face kind of alluring, you know?

I don't know..Maybe I never will.
But I can guarantee you that if I get lost in the wilderness in arctic temperatures without food, water, or friend in site...I WILL not only know how to survive, but will be able to do so with a keen sense of what a stalker or an attempted murderer would look like, how to avoid killer bees and venomous snakes, knowledge of how to skin a rat, and awareness of the most direct way to get out of a waterfall ....and I'll be able to do it all with the latest American Idol winner's song in my heart...

Thursday, March 4, 2010

Why Can't People Leave Me Alone at the Dog Park?

Dear __________________:
When I go to the dog park a few blocks from my house, ___________, I don't want to be bothered, okay; at least not by people anyway.
I mean, don't you know that it is a DOG park and not a people making friends park or a sell me your latest product park or a blow my alcohol-infested breathe at 2PM on you park? Really.
I mean, I am not against friendliness and stuff, _______________, but why is it that you don't realize that before I go to the dog park, I don't wash my face, brush my teeth or even put on underwear? I actually look my worst so that I DON'T have to hang with you and hear your deepest secrets while my dog is taking a piss on your shoe.

Don't get me wrong, ______________________, I love it when you waive at me from across the park or allow my 12lb dog to share a ball with your 198 lb dog, because you know she will never catch it anyway; yeah, real friendly, ________________. But I DON'T, and I really meant this; want to be part of the afternoon "click" at the park that talks about their dogs as though in refinement school (I mean, I KNOW my dog is a person, I don't need to groom her because she is gonna be ghetto anyway) or about their latest agility feats. My dog is ghetto, and I don't need to hear it.

Don't you know, ____________, that parents of sub-standard children don't want to hear about your retriever going to Harvard or your Pit Bull being chosen for one of those prison rehabilitation programs. Really, we don't. That just makes us hate you. And besides, this kind of parent talk and forced friendliness and need to rub shoulders with the other parents is the reason I don't have children...

Well, at least one of the reasons.