The New Year New Diet

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I really wanted chocolate.
Maybe even some jolly ranchers.
Candy.
I wanted some fucking candy.

But all I had were apples.
Healthy, crunchy apples.

As I stood in my kitchen,
taking unenthusiastic bites
chewing with resignation
I realized

What a poor substitute.

Like going home drunk and alone.
But still horny.
Having to fight through inebriation
for an unsatisfactory climax.

My apple was a sloppy masturbatory attempt at satiation.

*sigh*

Happy New Year.

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Random Thought of 2008

Found this while cleaning out folders… Yep. Still one of my faves.

Obviously, pulling a rabbit out of a hat is related to magic. So, when it became transformed into “pulling a rabbit out of my/his/her/their ass”, we come to understand it means that someone did the impossible when needed right that moment – Voila, MAGIC! However, my mind being the cesspool of ridiculosity that it is, I began to think of a completely different scenario.

One guy says to the other, “Hey, bet I can pull a rabbit out my ass.” The other guy thinking the first guy is either clowning, high or crazy, says “Sure you can.” So first guy (we’ll call him Bob) throws his arm to his back and it becomes very clear to second guy (eh… George) that Bob’s hand is, indeed, reaching up into his butt. After grimacing, grunting and some gathering of a minor amount of forehead sweat, Bob pulls his hand out and presents to George a hand full of feces and says, “Ta-daa!!!” George, quite disgusted yet somehow stuck on the fact that Bob just did what he did, says to him quietly and very matter-of-fact “That’s not a rabbit, Bob. That’s a handful of shit.” Bob looks down at his hand and then at George. He asks, “But it kinda looks like a rabbit, huh?”

And I wonder why I am still single. This is GOLD!!!!

Random Thoughts of An Insomniac

If I were a dog, I’d be a mutt. A medium sized, wiry haired canine who would constantly knock over the garbage can and sniff through the contents for food. Not all food, just the stuff I had a preference for. Also, I’d lay on the bed and lick my butt on the newly washed sheets. Then after the awesome butt cleaning, I’d jump on your chest to be affectionate and to show you how much I loved you, I’d give you sloppy doggy kisses all over your face. That’s right. Juicy, just licked my asshole clean, I love you so much smooches. By the way, the couch is mine and if you try to shoo me off, I’ll just bare my teeth and growl at you until you eventually get the hint that I’m not freaking moving. Once resigned to sharing your comfy sofa with me, I’ll curl up next to you and warm you with my doggy farts, which will smell especially noxious since I just ate the spoiled ham that I dug out from the kitchen trash.

The otters don’t like the dolphins. The dolphins don’t like the otters. It’s like the Greasers and the Soc’s, man! The dolphins are all arrogant, thinking they’re better than everyone else. The otters are just trying to kick back at the Ottery (not to be confused with the Otter House. The Ottery = a couple Oyster Shooters too many, headache in the morning. Otter House = possible need for antibiotics and a REALLY pissed off significant other), minding their own business when the dolphins (always three. Don’t know why, they just travel in trios.) come waltzing in, trying to jack shit up. However, dolphins should never mess with a group (ten or more) of intoxicated otters. Shit gets real.

And in other dolphin related news, the dolphins at the aquarium… hate you. They’re not catching semi-deflated soccer balls in their mouths as a trick taught to them to entertain you. No. They’re exercising their jaws so that they may crush your inferior skull when they finally rise up to take over the world. The cartoon, The Simpsons, covered this fact and actually, unbeknownst to the writers, delayed the Dolphin Apocalypse. Thinking the humans were wise to their plans, they decided to play stupid for another decade or two. You’ve been warned.

My spirit animal is a stray cat with a chewed up ear and a wonky eye that constantly gets into fights. It may or may not have fleas. But most definitely a wonky eye. And a hairless tail. That’s how my spirit animal rolls. And what.

(Time to stare at the bedroom ceiling and come up with more idiocy.)