Lots of folks seem intent on teasing the tiger today (not that I’m a tiger or can’t take a fair bit of teasing but it’s a saying). Either that or there is some sign hanging over my head that says “It’s Annoy the Ever-loving Shit Out of Floyd Day – Step Right Up, It’s Your Turn To Take A Poke!”
So, gentle reader, I submit for your consideration the following folks:
1. The “I’m Going to Tell You a Story that Has No Point or Redeeming Value Whatsoever” Person. You know the one – the one who wants to tell you that her daughter had peas last night for dinner. And so I sit here with a feigned look of interest on my face and wait for the point of this titillating legume drama to have a point and then it slowly dawns on me that whatever she last uttered was the conclusion of the story. Apparently, I, being a dumbass, missed that the whole point was that “precious [INSERT QUEER ASS NEW-AGEY NAME HERE] ate her whole plate of peas!”. I digest this information and not wanting the humorless twit to feel awkward (cause that would just be wrong even though by boring me to tears she is committing same said awkward atrocity against me), I then add some little pearl of wisdom like, “Peas are good for you.”
However, what goes through my mind is a little something more like this - Hey, dumbass, catch a clue. Story is not funny and has no point. It does not make your kid cute nor does it make your kid particularly clever. And the fact that you tell this story while chuckling makes me concerned for your mental health and overall well-being. Give me a call when you serve the kid peas and she says, “Suck it, Mom, I’m gonna use my peas as ben-wa balls on my Suzy Pees A Lot Doll”. Now, that’s a story I want to hear.
2. Mr. “Yeah, You Let Me Over In Bumper to Bumper Traffic But I’m Not Going to Give You the Thank You Wave”. Where has civility gone, people? When you are the recipient of a driving courtesy, you need to render the obligatory little thank you wave in your rearview mirror. That’s all I ask. Is it too much? Too much to throw up your little limp wristed, pussy whipped hand? Too tired from running errands for you wife? Well, if it is too much, fair enough but I don’t want to hear you complain when I yell “FUCK OFF” to you even when you seem to have a load full of little girl scouts with you in your minivan – they were late delivering my cookies anyway and their little green uniforms are creepy.
3. The “I Somehow Got Your Cell Phone Number” Bill Collector Guy. You know what, guy? Causing my cell phone to play Jay Z’s Brush That Dirt Off Your Shoulder ring tone in the middle of my quiet-as-a-crypt office does not make me want to pay you any faster. In fact, since you are too chicken shit to leave a message, I don’t even know which one of you jackoffs I’m supposed to pay. I realize in your little harassment manual it says to simply “don’t leave a message, keep calling - the deadbeat has to answer her phone sometime” but I am here to tell you that is simply not true. I managed to avoid the student loans folks for years and let me tell you – YOU ARE NO STUDENT LOAN PEOPLE. While I am a pushover in real life, I play the phone games like no other – I am the master and I have a little secret weapon I like to refer to as “caller ID”. This means suck it, Bill Collector Guy. You’ll get your money when someone dies and leaves me some.
And,oh yeah, family returns from spring break tomorrow....might have something to do with my crankiness today.
Thursday, March 31, 2005
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
Smooth Talker
You ever have one of those conversations that starts to get a little uncomfortable or you just don’t know what to say next but then your brain, that really didn’t check in with you first, blurts out something completely obscure.
Let me give you an example, gentle reader.
Boss pops in to follow up on some work. Pleasant conversation (for once, thank god). He, being the nice person that he is and remembering that Princess of Darkness is in Florida this week, says “So how are things at home? Enjoying some time by yourself?”
Now, attempting to complete the circle of small talk, I say “Things are good. It’s been nice to be alone.”
But then in my “must analyze every single little statement death” freak out mode I start to worry cause I don’t want folks to think I don’t love the Princess, so I then say “But I miss her.”
We’re all okay up to this point. Things are smooth. Appropriate pleasantries have been exchanged and if I just keep my mouth shut for 2.7 seconds, I can get out of this conversation and return to contemplating the snot that is dripping down the back of my throat.
But then in my usual “can’t leave any spec of dead air unfilled” obsession, my brain feels compelled to add one more little gem…..and WAAAAIIIIT FOR IT…..
“You know I miss her….kinda like a dog”.
Yeeeaahhhh. Boss just tilts head to the side, kinda looks at me oddly and walks out of office. I’m expecting a call from Child Services any minute now.
Let me give you an example, gentle reader.
Boss pops in to follow up on some work. Pleasant conversation (for once, thank god). He, being the nice person that he is and remembering that Princess of Darkness is in Florida this week, says “So how are things at home? Enjoying some time by yourself?”
Now, attempting to complete the circle of small talk, I say “Things are good. It’s been nice to be alone.”
But then in my “must analyze every single little statement death” freak out mode I start to worry cause I don’t want folks to think I don’t love the Princess, so I then say “But I miss her.”
We’re all okay up to this point. Things are smooth. Appropriate pleasantries have been exchanged and if I just keep my mouth shut for 2.7 seconds, I can get out of this conversation and return to contemplating the snot that is dripping down the back of my throat.
But then in my usual “can’t leave any spec of dead air unfilled” obsession, my brain feels compelled to add one more little gem…..and WAAAAIIIIT FOR IT…..
“You know I miss her….kinda like a dog”.
Yeeeaahhhh. Boss just tilts head to the side, kinda looks at me oddly and walks out of office. I’m expecting a call from Child Services any minute now.
Tuesday, March 29, 2005
Elvis and I at Talladega '04
P.S. No breastuses were shown in the acquirement of these beads. However, I think Elvis got a few in honor of his gut.
Posted by Hello
So Enough About Me...How 'Bout We Talk About Me?
Okay, so in blogworld, everyone has done this "100 Things About Me" sort of project so I thought I would give it a whirl.
I will not be posting 100 outright as I do intend to keep my day job but I'll throw a few out there and then add on as we go along. I also intend to not count the basic facts so rest assured that you're only getting the more obscure issues of my personality.
So without further ado....100 Things About Me That You Probably Didn't Know (Or Don't Want to Know)
1. My fear of clowns is only surpassed by my fear of balloons (this despite the fact that I worked in a balloon store for three years in college for a guy that dressed up as a clown for deliveries).
2. I cry at each and every Extreme Makeover: Home Edition...and not just at the end...I weep through the whole damn thing.
3. I follow the rules. Hate breaking the rules. Never break the rules.
4. I think people who allow hairs to grow out of their facial moles should die a slow and painful death. (Seriously...how do you miss a 4 inch whisker sticking out of your growth?)
5. I like peanut butter AND syrup on my pancakes. Don't knock it 'till you try it.
6. Despite the fact that I am a lawyer, I have little or no opinion on the following items and anything I'm telling you on these subjects, I'm probably pulling it out of my ass and saying them just to piss you off :
a. the Terry Schiavo case
b. O.J. Simpson case
c. prayer in schools
d. buring the flag
e. the lady who won a quadrillion dolllars for spilling McDonald's hot coffee in her lap
7. I used to have a serious addiction to Afrin nosespray....seriously....a serious addiction. Love that stuff.
8. I think the Beatles are overrated....yeah, I said it...sometimes enjoyable but OVERRATED.
9. I drink Bud Light. And no, I will not enjoy your Guatemalen Fruit Bat Beer nor will enjoy something you whipped up in the basement from some micro-brewery kit you mother-in-law gave you for Christmas. It tastes like donkey dung.
10. While I drink Bud Light, I occasionally visit my friends Jim Beam and Jose Cuervo. And if you're lucky, I won't visit them on the same night.
11. My mother, Captain Nutty, used to refer to Oprah (whom she worships with a cult-like reverence) as the "Big O" until I informed her that particular phrase has another meaning.
12. I dress like the bastard love child of JCPenny and Old Navy....with perhaps a little post-coital rubdown by Lane Bryant.
13. I think the only places you should be barefoot are in your own house or at the beach....never in the office....NEVER, EVER IN THE OFFICE.
14. I can recite all of the the lyrics to Beastie Boys' License to Ill album.
15. I know mountains upon mountains of useless trivia and if we are playing trivial pursuit, you want me on your team. (Please note: this in no way is any indication of my intelligence as all this information is completely unnecessary in the real world)
16. I'm good with babies and always a little shocked that my friends find this so shocking.
17. I have the handwriting of a serial killer.
18. I was kinda hit by lightning once so I am now petrified of it (and if you're following along, you know now my worst nightmare would be to be chased by a clown in an electrical storm with my only weapon being a bunch of overinflated balloons).
19. If you listen carefully and pay close attention, I will contradict myself on numerous occassions.
20. Deep, deep down, I am convinced that I will marry Dale Earnhardt, Jr. (or at least, Elliott Sadler).
21. I'm always checking my nostrils to make sure I don't have bats in my cave.
22. There is a distinct possibility that I am the laziest person you know.
23. I used to read a lot of books - then only magazines could keep my attention and now I'm down to catalogs with pretty pictures.
24. I am a Nascar fan and while I realize that you may not be, I do not have the time nor inclination to explain to you "what is so exciting about watching cars go around and around?". Guess what? You're not the first person to say that, it wasn't funny when they said it and it's still not funny coming from you.
25. I let my little sister, the Princess of Darkness, paint her room black and I actually kinda like it.
26. I really thought I would be famous by now....I don't know for what, but definitely thought I would be famous.
27. I cuss like a sailor, drink like a mick and my only words of wisdom are to suck my .....a little shout out to Kid Rock.
28. My favorites sayings are many but two top ones are "Just because I'm paranoid doesn't mean someone isn't out to get me" and "Denial ain't just a river in Egypt, baby".
29. I have found myself listening to the easy rock radio station more and more lately and this frightens me on a deep and fundamental level.
30. When I was 8, I attempted to smell the bottom of the pool because my cousin came up out of the water and told me it smelled like strawberries. I almost drown.
31. Just because in your words, I'm "sooooo outgoing" does not mean I want to date your [INSERT - brother, brother-in-law, cousin, husband's old roomate, guy you work with, lawn man, kid's little league coach, guy you pass at the bus station every day who keeps asking you for change] "who is sooooo nice but just a little shy". NEWSFLASH - outgoing people don't like shy people. Shy people are beedy-eyed and creepy. You can't know what's going on in their heads since they don't talk so they're probably thinking about ways to slap a piece of duct tape over my mouth. Set the shy guys up with the ugly girls - they don't mind as much.
Well, on that note, I'll shuffle off to hell where after this little exercise, I'm sure I'm destined. I think I've scared myself a bit. If I haven't chased you off with my own pathology, please share a tidbit or two about yourself in the comments section. The more obscure, the better.
I will not be posting 100 outright as I do intend to keep my day job but I'll throw a few out there and then add on as we go along. I also intend to not count the basic facts so rest assured that you're only getting the more obscure issues of my personality.
So without further ado....100 Things About Me That You Probably Didn't Know (Or Don't Want to Know)
1. My fear of clowns is only surpassed by my fear of balloons (this despite the fact that I worked in a balloon store for three years in college for a guy that dressed up as a clown for deliveries).
2. I cry at each and every Extreme Makeover: Home Edition...and not just at the end...I weep through the whole damn thing.
3. I follow the rules. Hate breaking the rules. Never break the rules.
4. I think people who allow hairs to grow out of their facial moles should die a slow and painful death. (Seriously...how do you miss a 4 inch whisker sticking out of your growth?)
5. I like peanut butter AND syrup on my pancakes. Don't knock it 'till you try it.
6. Despite the fact that I am a lawyer, I have little or no opinion on the following items and anything I'm telling you on these subjects, I'm probably pulling it out of my ass and saying them just to piss you off :
a. the Terry Schiavo case
b. O.J. Simpson case
c. prayer in schools
d. buring the flag
e. the lady who won a quadrillion dolllars for spilling McDonald's hot coffee in her lap
7. I used to have a serious addiction to Afrin nosespray....seriously....a serious addiction. Love that stuff.
8. I think the Beatles are overrated....yeah, I said it...sometimes enjoyable but OVERRATED.
9. I drink Bud Light. And no, I will not enjoy your Guatemalen Fruit Bat Beer nor will enjoy something you whipped up in the basement from some micro-brewery kit you mother-in-law gave you for Christmas. It tastes like donkey dung.
10. While I drink Bud Light, I occasionally visit my friends Jim Beam and Jose Cuervo. And if you're lucky, I won't visit them on the same night.
11. My mother, Captain Nutty, used to refer to Oprah (whom she worships with a cult-like reverence) as the "Big O" until I informed her that particular phrase has another meaning.
12. I dress like the bastard love child of JCPenny and Old Navy....with perhaps a little post-coital rubdown by Lane Bryant.
13. I think the only places you should be barefoot are in your own house or at the beach....never in the office....NEVER, EVER IN THE OFFICE.
14. I can recite all of the the lyrics to Beastie Boys' License to Ill album.
15. I know mountains upon mountains of useless trivia and if we are playing trivial pursuit, you want me on your team. (Please note: this in no way is any indication of my intelligence as all this information is completely unnecessary in the real world)
16. I'm good with babies and always a little shocked that my friends find this so shocking.
17. I have the handwriting of a serial killer.
18. I was kinda hit by lightning once so I am now petrified of it (and if you're following along, you know now my worst nightmare would be to be chased by a clown in an electrical storm with my only weapon being a bunch of overinflated balloons).
19. If you listen carefully and pay close attention, I will contradict myself on numerous occassions.
20. Deep, deep down, I am convinced that I will marry Dale Earnhardt, Jr. (or at least, Elliott Sadler).
21. I'm always checking my nostrils to make sure I don't have bats in my cave.
22. There is a distinct possibility that I am the laziest person you know.
23. I used to read a lot of books - then only magazines could keep my attention and now I'm down to catalogs with pretty pictures.
24. I am a Nascar fan and while I realize that you may not be, I do not have the time nor inclination to explain to you "what is so exciting about watching cars go around and around?". Guess what? You're not the first person to say that, it wasn't funny when they said it and it's still not funny coming from you.
25. I let my little sister, the Princess of Darkness, paint her room black and I actually kinda like it.
26. I really thought I would be famous by now....I don't know for what, but definitely thought I would be famous.
27. I cuss like a sailor, drink like a mick and my only words of wisdom are to suck my .....a little shout out to Kid Rock.
28. My favorites sayings are many but two top ones are "Just because I'm paranoid doesn't mean someone isn't out to get me" and "Denial ain't just a river in Egypt, baby".
29. I have found myself listening to the easy rock radio station more and more lately and this frightens me on a deep and fundamental level.
30. When I was 8, I attempted to smell the bottom of the pool because my cousin came up out of the water and told me it smelled like strawberries. I almost drown.
31. Just because in your words, I'm "sooooo outgoing" does not mean I want to date your [INSERT - brother, brother-in-law, cousin, husband's old roomate, guy you work with, lawn man, kid's little league coach, guy you pass at the bus station every day who keeps asking you for change] "who is sooooo nice but just a little shy". NEWSFLASH - outgoing people don't like shy people. Shy people are beedy-eyed and creepy. You can't know what's going on in their heads since they don't talk so they're probably thinking about ways to slap a piece of duct tape over my mouth. Set the shy guys up with the ugly girls - they don't mind as much.
Well, on that note, I'll shuffle off to hell where after this little exercise, I'm sure I'm destined. I think I've scared myself a bit. If I haven't chased you off with my own pathology, please share a tidbit or two about yourself in the comments section. The more obscure, the better.
Thursday, March 24, 2005
For Those Following Along At Home...
So I went and added a little counter/statistics thingy to my little blog project and well, smack my ass and call me Sally but I had 74 hits today! Now, excluding the 58 times I checked in to see if anyone actually posted a comment (yes, loser friends, that is directed at you - post a comment, please!) and the like 8 of my pals that know about this blog, that still leaves at least a few folks that are new and complete strangers!
So a big shoutout to all my new internet pals! I thought I would help you out and give you a bit of a run down on this shitbag I am currently referring to as my life. You know - just to help you understand the bitterness and rampant cyncism. For those of you who already know me, well, just settle down, Skippy, we'll get back to new stuff soon.
I'm single. I'm 34. I'm bitter.
Okay, all done.
No, just kidding. Let's see - I find my profession a wee bit stifling (read: mind numblingly boring) but as yet I can see no way to make money whilst sitting on my ass on my couch all day yelling at the various talk shows- yet. So for now, I work. Okay, I go to work....actual output of quality product? Minimal.
You'll often see me refer to the Princess of Darkness or POD. POD is my 14 year old little sister that is currently living with me. She has a few little quirks and issues which are we dealing with as they pop up (you know - a little mental illness plus a little love of the goth life - what kid doesn't have the same thing going on?). Our parents live in the North away from our madness as they are focused on their own particular chess match with insanity otherwise known as my mother, Captain Nutty.
Cowboy Dan, Kitty and Fat Baby's Mamma are all my best friends even though they live in different cities. And no, those name aren't aliases - it's really what I call them. I'm a firm believer in nicknames since when drinking, I'm apt to forget your god-given name but will remember to call you something inappropriate and occassionally witty.
Hobbies....let's see....drinking, cussing and going to Nascar races. Aren't I a peach? I'm really not as redneck as that sounds but hey, you stick to your knitting and I'll stick to my drinking. Your hobby probably sucks since it doesn't make you puke on a regular basis.
Okay, so there's your update! I'll eventually copy this into my profile once I figure out how to do shit on this shit (see that? random, pointless cussing - I'm all about random, pointless cussing).
I don't know how to list my favorite blogs on the side in a neat little category yet but these are the folks that make me laugh every day. (And no comparing how funny they are compared to me - bat rastards)
Dooce
Deborah (my new friend, Deborah, who might not know she's my new friend)
Bad News Hughes (funny as all hell)
Pixie (my other new pal)
So guess who learned to put a link in her blog today? You're damn skippy, ME! (see? more random, more pointless)
So a big shoutout to all my new internet pals! I thought I would help you out and give you a bit of a run down on this shitbag I am currently referring to as my life. You know - just to help you understand the bitterness and rampant cyncism. For those of you who already know me, well, just settle down, Skippy, we'll get back to new stuff soon.
I'm single. I'm 34. I'm bitter.
Okay, all done.
No, just kidding. Let's see - I find my profession a wee bit stifling (read: mind numblingly boring) but as yet I can see no way to make money whilst sitting on my ass on my couch all day yelling at the various talk shows- yet. So for now, I work. Okay, I go to work....actual output of quality product? Minimal.
You'll often see me refer to the Princess of Darkness or POD. POD is my 14 year old little sister that is currently living with me. She has a few little quirks and issues which are we dealing with as they pop up (you know - a little mental illness plus a little love of the goth life - what kid doesn't have the same thing going on?). Our parents live in the North away from our madness as they are focused on their own particular chess match with insanity otherwise known as my mother, Captain Nutty.
Cowboy Dan, Kitty and Fat Baby's Mamma are all my best friends even though they live in different cities. And no, those name aren't aliases - it's really what I call them. I'm a firm believer in nicknames since when drinking, I'm apt to forget your god-given name but will remember to call you something inappropriate and occassionally witty.
Hobbies....let's see....drinking, cussing and going to Nascar races. Aren't I a peach? I'm really not as redneck as that sounds but hey, you stick to your knitting and I'll stick to my drinking. Your hobby probably sucks since it doesn't make you puke on a regular basis.
Okay, so there's your update! I'll eventually copy this into my profile once I figure out how to do shit on this shit (see that? random, pointless cussing - I'm all about random, pointless cussing).
I don't know how to list my favorite blogs on the side in a neat little category yet but these are the folks that make me laugh every day. (And no comparing how funny they are compared to me - bat rastards)
Dooce
Deborah (my new friend, Deborah, who might not know she's my new friend)
Bad News Hughes (funny as all hell)
Pixie (my other new pal)
So guess who learned to put a link in her blog today? You're damn skippy, ME! (see? more random, more pointless)
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
Forgive My Absence As I Was Celebrating A.S.S.
Hello, gentle readers. I have missed you. Sorry for my absence but rest assured I have spent the past few days wallowing in the beer filled paradise that is my life – in other words, I’ve been bogged down with the details of functioning and couldn’t find time for you, gentle reader, but have no fear, I’m back and semi-sober to boot.
Spent the weekend at the Atlanta Race with Cowboy Dan, Kitty and my father. That’s right – my father accompanies us to all Atlanta Races to ensure I do not besmirch the fine family name….but he’s rarely that successful at it.
We managed to worm our way into the Victory Lane celebration after the truck race and generally made large, loud redneck asses out of ourselves by telling Ron Hornaday (winner of said truck race) to move his little victory party over so we could get a picture of ourselves with a cell phone camera. Please note – carting around all your beer goodness in a little cooler on wheels does not garner the respect and admiration you may initially think in Victory Lane.
On Saturday, we celebrated A.S.S., the new holiday known as Anal Sex Saturday. Now, let me be perfectly clear, by celebrating I mean I used the phrases “he clearly took it up the poop shoot last night” or “her’s is soooo NOT an exit only orifice” or “he’s got an ass for loving and a face for the pillows” on several occasions. I find if you really want to get a party rocking and get the folks a movin’ – mention a little ass play and watch the mayhem ensue. Please note - I in no way support or condemn folks’ interests in the anal arts – your backdoor, your choice – I however do not practice such tomfoolery as I am not married and am therefore still a virgin (that one’s for you Daddy!).
I tried to kill myself with a new drink concoction made be a track friend of ours – it’s called a Whopatoolie or the Whatoosie or the Whopapoolooza…depending on stage of drunkenness and general feelings of wittiness the drinker enjoys. This elixir is made of tequila and sugar….and frankly, that’s about it. Like Lucky Charms, it is magically delicious and may cause you to see elves. Please note – the amount of Whoppaponoosies I consumed may explain my invention of A.S.S. and the fact that I felt the need to carry Anal Sex Saturday over into Anal Sex Sunday.
As usual a fun time was had by all. There was some racing – hats off for Carl Edwards, Mr. Horse Teeth himself for pulling both a Busch win and a Cup win out of his hat – and there was a lot of drinking and appropriately, even more laughs.
So, let me just say a big “thanks for the memories or drunken lack thereof” to Cowboy Dan and Kitty….and next time, the dinette set is all mine.
Much love,
Vladimir Poopshoot
P.S. I have returned home where Captain Nutty is visiting for the week and is thus driving myself and the Princess of Darkness into general “in need of a straight jacket” land. Next week, Captain will be taking the Princess to Florida for spring break and I will be enjoying a return to single, childless land. To celebrate, I may just have to break out a Whapparoozie.
Spent the weekend at the Atlanta Race with Cowboy Dan, Kitty and my father. That’s right – my father accompanies us to all Atlanta Races to ensure I do not besmirch the fine family name….but he’s rarely that successful at it.
We managed to worm our way into the Victory Lane celebration after the truck race and generally made large, loud redneck asses out of ourselves by telling Ron Hornaday (winner of said truck race) to move his little victory party over so we could get a picture of ourselves with a cell phone camera. Please note – carting around all your beer goodness in a little cooler on wheels does not garner the respect and admiration you may initially think in Victory Lane.
On Saturday, we celebrated A.S.S., the new holiday known as Anal Sex Saturday. Now, let me be perfectly clear, by celebrating I mean I used the phrases “he clearly took it up the poop shoot last night” or “her’s is soooo NOT an exit only orifice” or “he’s got an ass for loving and a face for the pillows” on several occasions. I find if you really want to get a party rocking and get the folks a movin’ – mention a little ass play and watch the mayhem ensue. Please note - I in no way support or condemn folks’ interests in the anal arts – your backdoor, your choice – I however do not practice such tomfoolery as I am not married and am therefore still a virgin (that one’s for you Daddy!).
I tried to kill myself with a new drink concoction made be a track friend of ours – it’s called a Whopatoolie or the Whatoosie or the Whopapoolooza…depending on stage of drunkenness and general feelings of wittiness the drinker enjoys. This elixir is made of tequila and sugar….and frankly, that’s about it. Like Lucky Charms, it is magically delicious and may cause you to see elves. Please note – the amount of Whoppaponoosies I consumed may explain my invention of A.S.S. and the fact that I felt the need to carry Anal Sex Saturday over into Anal Sex Sunday.
As usual a fun time was had by all. There was some racing – hats off for Carl Edwards, Mr. Horse Teeth himself for pulling both a Busch win and a Cup win out of his hat – and there was a lot of drinking and appropriately, even more laughs.
So, let me just say a big “thanks for the memories or drunken lack thereof” to Cowboy Dan and Kitty….and next time, the dinette set is all mine.
Much love,
Vladimir Poopshoot
P.S. I have returned home where Captain Nutty is visiting for the week and is thus driving myself and the Princess of Darkness into general “in need of a straight jacket” land. Next week, Captain will be taking the Princess to Florida for spring break and I will be enjoying a return to single, childless land. To celebrate, I may just have to break out a Whapparoozie.
Friday, March 11, 2005
Be Afraid, Be Very Afraid
Seriously, it’s all just too much pressure. Feel the need to post something and say something amusing but I’m concerned that all my thoughts are not humorous but really quite alarming in that “she’s gonna get a pistol and take out her neighbors” sort of way. But then I think, “hey, gentle readers can’t REALLY know me unless I share”….so I think I’m going to share.
Here are some thoughts that literally, all joking aside, have gone through my head today. I think I may be in need of some medication:
Is it just me or does “pistol whip” sound dirtier than it actually is?
Why don’t we say “bat whipped” or “lead pipe whipped”?
How does a guy shoot 3 people on the 8th floor of the freaking courthouse and yet still manage to avoid capture and continue to run rampant through the city?
Did he ride the elevator down?
Did he not encounter several other deputies with guns?
Did they not know he was in the elevator? Someone should have told them that he was either in the elevator or in the stairwell. Would have made for an easy capture.
God, I need a beer.
What are the odds that I will spot said crazed courthouse gunman on the expressway and have to drive my car into his thus resulting in a horrifying car accident which would wreck my classic good looks but would surely save humanity from further death?
Wonder if there would be a reward for such a selfless yet disfiguring act?
Perhaps a marble bust put up in some town square in my honor?
Would the bust be of me pre- or post- disfiguring accident?
Wonder if my plastic surgeon would fall in love with me…
If I went crazy, who would I shoot? (No need to actually warn the FBI or anything, I’m just curious as to who would bear the brunt of my frustrations...several candidates pop to mind)
I would shoot this ass munch in front of me who thinks 46 miles per hours is an appropriate speed in the fast lane.
God, I need a beer.
I really, really hate riding in elevators with strangers.
I really, really hate riding in the elevator with the woman who regularly stinks up the bathroom on our floor.
I bet people living in Rhodesian mud huts don’t have to deal with people who have poor public bathroom etiquette.
God, I need a beer.
I’m still unclear as to exactly all the word “sodomy” encompasses (and no, this is not a request for you to fill me in on this topic).
This time next week, I’ll be drunk at the Atlanta race.
Wonder what size Michael Jackson’s weiner is.
Wonder if it’s white.
Wonder if he’s had plastic surgery on it.
God, I need a beer.
Hmmm…I wonder if the receptionist has noticed how many times I’ve hit the candy dish.
Has the boss left yet?
Hope there’s not traffic between me and the bar.
Hope there’s not a crazed courthouse gunman between me and the bar.
Hope I don’t have to skip drinking because I’m in a disfiguring accident with a crazed courthouse gunman.
God, I need a beer.
Here are some thoughts that literally, all joking aside, have gone through my head today. I think I may be in need of some medication:
Is it just me or does “pistol whip” sound dirtier than it actually is?
Why don’t we say “bat whipped” or “lead pipe whipped”?
How does a guy shoot 3 people on the 8th floor of the freaking courthouse and yet still manage to avoid capture and continue to run rampant through the city?
Did he ride the elevator down?
Did he not encounter several other deputies with guns?
Did they not know he was in the elevator? Someone should have told them that he was either in the elevator or in the stairwell. Would have made for an easy capture.
God, I need a beer.
What are the odds that I will spot said crazed courthouse gunman on the expressway and have to drive my car into his thus resulting in a horrifying car accident which would wreck my classic good looks but would surely save humanity from further death?
Wonder if there would be a reward for such a selfless yet disfiguring act?
Perhaps a marble bust put up in some town square in my honor?
Would the bust be of me pre- or post- disfiguring accident?
Wonder if my plastic surgeon would fall in love with me…
If I went crazy, who would I shoot? (No need to actually warn the FBI or anything, I’m just curious as to who would bear the brunt of my frustrations...several candidates pop to mind)
I would shoot this ass munch in front of me who thinks 46 miles per hours is an appropriate speed in the fast lane.
God, I need a beer.
I really, really hate riding in elevators with strangers.
I really, really hate riding in the elevator with the woman who regularly stinks up the bathroom on our floor.
I bet people living in Rhodesian mud huts don’t have to deal with people who have poor public bathroom etiquette.
God, I need a beer.
I’m still unclear as to exactly all the word “sodomy” encompasses (and no, this is not a request for you to fill me in on this topic).
This time next week, I’ll be drunk at the Atlanta race.
Wonder what size Michael Jackson’s weiner is.
Wonder if it’s white.
Wonder if he’s had plastic surgery on it.
God, I need a beer.
Hmmm…I wonder if the receptionist has noticed how many times I’ve hit the candy dish.
Has the boss left yet?
Hope there’s not traffic between me and the bar.
Hope there’s not a crazed courthouse gunman between me and the bar.
Hope I don’t have to skip drinking because I’m in a disfiguring accident with a crazed courthouse gunman.
God, I need a beer.
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
Why You Want To Be Me - You Really, Really Do
Alas, I realize that it has been quite some time since I last posted which does not really bode well for the readers participating in Reader Participation Day 2005. But to know me is to know my chronic procrastination and general empathy of all things pressing.
Without further ado, I have to give a shout-out to Cowboy Dan who correctly pegged the “Despite all my bitching and moaning, I’m still a corporate attorney” as the most annoying factor of my life on that particular day. So, a big whoop-whoop to Cowboy Dan. Despite her relative youth, she is oddly in touch with the bitterness that is the inner me.
Honorable mentions must go to Kitty and Fat Baby’s Mamma who spotted the close runner-ups of dog dying and kid I babysat getting married. Note to all concerned – dog is not dying, he is merely diabetic meaning no more twinkies for him and a lifetime revolving around giving him insulin shots for me.
I apologize for the delay in posting but it has been busy this past week or so. I have spent my time attending to the following:
1. Keeping Princess of Darkness away from the darkness…..go to the light, Princess, go to the light!
2. Trying to convince Captain Nutty that the best way to help was NOT by moving down here to live with me and thus driving me insane as well. My family has a need to make everyone around them mentally unstable. If you dare to stop smiling, my mother will calmly suggest that you need an anti-depressant….and then she’ll throw in a “it will help with your weight as well” which is really just the same as saying “hey, fattie, some pills might help that obsessive love affair with French fries that you’ve got going on so why don’t you fake a little mental illness and belly up to the pill bar with the rest of the family”.
3. Been keeping my job. Have become somewhat paranoid considering all the articles that seem to be popping up everywhere about people losing their jobs because of their blogs. Thus no references to job will be made and the threats on the health and welfare of Anal Coworker’s family will herein be restated – I know where you live and I know how to take a hamster and rig an Easy-Bake Oven to make it all look like an accident.
So now I would like to interrupt this recap of last week to share with you, gentle reader, the phone conversation that I just had with the Princess of Darkness ("POD"):
POD (in general funeral dirge mode) : “hello”
Me (in admittedly annoying peppy mode): “Hi!”
POD: “oh hi”
Me: “How was school?”
POD: “why?”
Me: “because I want to know how your day went”
POD: “why?”
Me: “because I love and care about you”
POD: “why?”
Me: “IT’S CALLED SMALL TALK – GET OVER IT. now, how was your day?”
POD: (heavy sigh) “fine”
Me: (and here you can just see me begging for punishment) “what are you doing?”
POD: “why?”
Me: “because I love and care about you”
POD: (heavy sigh) “watching tv”
Me: “do you have any homework?”
POD: (heavy sigh) “why?”
Me: “screw this. I know monkeys with better conversational skills – clean the kitchen”
POD: “fine” click
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, envy me….envy me.
Without further ado, I have to give a shout-out to Cowboy Dan who correctly pegged the “Despite all my bitching and moaning, I’m still a corporate attorney” as the most annoying factor of my life on that particular day. So, a big whoop-whoop to Cowboy Dan. Despite her relative youth, she is oddly in touch with the bitterness that is the inner me.
Honorable mentions must go to Kitty and Fat Baby’s Mamma who spotted the close runner-ups of dog dying and kid I babysat getting married. Note to all concerned – dog is not dying, he is merely diabetic meaning no more twinkies for him and a lifetime revolving around giving him insulin shots for me.
I apologize for the delay in posting but it has been busy this past week or so. I have spent my time attending to the following:
1. Keeping Princess of Darkness away from the darkness…..go to the light, Princess, go to the light!
2. Trying to convince Captain Nutty that the best way to help was NOT by moving down here to live with me and thus driving me insane as well. My family has a need to make everyone around them mentally unstable. If you dare to stop smiling, my mother will calmly suggest that you need an anti-depressant….and then she’ll throw in a “it will help with your weight as well” which is really just the same as saying “hey, fattie, some pills might help that obsessive love affair with French fries that you’ve got going on so why don’t you fake a little mental illness and belly up to the pill bar with the rest of the family”.
3. Been keeping my job. Have become somewhat paranoid considering all the articles that seem to be popping up everywhere about people losing their jobs because of their blogs. Thus no references to job will be made and the threats on the health and welfare of Anal Coworker’s family will herein be restated – I know where you live and I know how to take a hamster and rig an Easy-Bake Oven to make it all look like an accident.
So now I would like to interrupt this recap of last week to share with you, gentle reader, the phone conversation that I just had with the Princess of Darkness ("POD"):
POD (in general funeral dirge mode) : “hello”
Me (in admittedly annoying peppy mode): “Hi!”
POD: “oh hi”
Me: “How was school?”
POD: “why?”
Me: “because I want to know how your day went”
POD: “why?”
Me: “because I love and care about you”
POD: “why?”
Me: “IT’S CALLED SMALL TALK – GET OVER IT. now, how was your day?”
POD: (heavy sigh) “fine”
Me: (and here you can just see me begging for punishment) “what are you doing?”
POD: “why?”
Me: “because I love and care about you”
POD: (heavy sigh) “watching tv”
Me: “do you have any homework?”
POD: (heavy sigh) “why?”
Me: “screw this. I know monkeys with better conversational skills – clean the kitchen”
POD: “fine” click
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, envy me….envy me.
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
Reader Participation Day 2005
Well, gentle reader; it’s time to determine how well you know me. That’s right! For shits and giggles, it’s reader participation day. I’m going to list a few things that are currently bugging the crap out of me. Your job is to see if you can rank the top five, in order, and then you will win a nifty prize (to be determined later but don’t be expecting more than a shoutout cause I’m thinking it’s gonna be a shoutout).
So without further ado, welcome the Reader Participation Day 2005.
Please rank the following in order of overall "buggin the crap out of me":
- Hey, ABC, it don’t take no 3 freaking hours to tell me Jen dumped both Bachelors, you rat bastards! Jen deserves to be in a disfiguring automobile accident and I think old weak-lipped John Paul may be just the guy to do it.
- The Princess of Darkness is still….well….dealing in the darkness.
- If it’s true that money can’t buy happiness, then why do I have savings accounts? DAMMIT!
- People who have to use exclamation points in order to get their point across. We get the goddamn point! Stop being so fucking excited!
- Captain Nutty is still….well….dealing in the nutty.
- I think my dog is dying or else he’s just faking it so I’ll leave his old ass alone - which would mean I’ve now been officially rejected by the only male in my life that hasn’t run screaming from me. *This excludes Daddy as he don’t run much…or scream much.
- Hey, Tracy Chapman, I got a fast car and it’s fast enough so we can drive away….. but I still ain’t got no better life, you lyin’ bitch!
- I hate people who aren’t creative enough so they use song lyrics from the late ‘80s to make their point.
- Hey, Fox, it don’t take no 3 freaking days to eliminate a couple of lounge lizard singers, you rat bastards! You can take your text message voting and shove it up your crack pipe.
- Despite all my bitching and moaning, I’m still an attorney….or as Billy Corrigan likes to say “despite all my rage, I’m still just a rat in a cage.” True words, Billy, true words.
- So I’m driving by this pasture the other day and this Holstein cow sees me and goes, “hey fattie, lay off the cheese products”.
- I’m not recycling so I’m surely contributing to the downfall of the environment….oh wait…I don’t have kids so why do I give a fuck?!? Go hump a tree, you patchouli smelling grapenut.
- A girl I used to babysit when I was a teenager is getting married in the Hamptons this fall…and unless some sort of nuclear blast that disfigures the whole world except for me occurs and I am the only remaining female with viable eggs (which let’s be frank – we’re not all too sure of that NOW)… I will most likely not beat her to the altar…..hell, odds of me finding a date prior to September? Nill.
Please submit all answers to my email. Have fun gentle reader as I must stop now before the temples in my head explode leaving an unsavory mess on the office walls.
Much love,
Vladimir Poopshoot
P.P.S. Anal Coworker has informed me that it is not Billy "Corrigan" so much as it is "Corgan"...clearly Anal Coworker is focusing too much on the literal meaning and not so much the overall picture conjured. His youth must have been spent banging his head along with various other malcontents at Smashing Pumpkins concerts. Name change, duly noted
So without further ado, welcome the Reader Participation Day 2005.
Please rank the following in order of overall "buggin the crap out of me":
- Hey, ABC, it don’t take no 3 freaking hours to tell me Jen dumped both Bachelors, you rat bastards! Jen deserves to be in a disfiguring automobile accident and I think old weak-lipped John Paul may be just the guy to do it.
- The Princess of Darkness is still….well….dealing in the darkness.
- If it’s true that money can’t buy happiness, then why do I have savings accounts? DAMMIT!
- People who have to use exclamation points in order to get their point across. We get the goddamn point! Stop being so fucking excited!
- Captain Nutty is still….well….dealing in the nutty.
- I think my dog is dying or else he’s just faking it so I’ll leave his old ass alone - which would mean I’ve now been officially rejected by the only male in my life that hasn’t run screaming from me. *This excludes Daddy as he don’t run much…or scream much.
- Hey, Tracy Chapman, I got a fast car and it’s fast enough so we can drive away….. but I still ain’t got no better life, you lyin’ bitch!
- I hate people who aren’t creative enough so they use song lyrics from the late ‘80s to make their point.
- Hey, Fox, it don’t take no 3 freaking days to eliminate a couple of lounge lizard singers, you rat bastards! You can take your text message voting and shove it up your crack pipe.
- Despite all my bitching and moaning, I’m still an attorney….or as Billy Corrigan likes to say “despite all my rage, I’m still just a rat in a cage.” True words, Billy, true words.
- So I’m driving by this pasture the other day and this Holstein cow sees me and goes, “hey fattie, lay off the cheese products”.
- I’m not recycling so I’m surely contributing to the downfall of the environment….oh wait…I don’t have kids so why do I give a fuck?!? Go hump a tree, you patchouli smelling grapenut.
- A girl I used to babysit when I was a teenager is getting married in the Hamptons this fall…and unless some sort of nuclear blast that disfigures the whole world except for me occurs and I am the only remaining female with viable eggs (which let’s be frank – we’re not all too sure of that NOW)… I will most likely not beat her to the altar…..hell, odds of me finding a date prior to September? Nill.
Please submit all answers to my email. Have fun gentle reader as I must stop now before the temples in my head explode leaving an unsavory mess on the office walls.
Much love,
Vladimir Poopshoot
P.P.S. Anal Coworker has informed me that it is not Billy "Corrigan" so much as it is "Corgan"...clearly Anal Coworker is focusing too much on the literal meaning and not so much the overall picture conjured. His youth must have been spent banging his head along with various other malcontents at Smashing Pumpkins concerts. Name change, duly noted
Monday, February 28, 2005
Another Day, Another Dollar
5:13 Must leave before boss realizes how stupid I am, must leave before boss realizes how stupid I am....uh oh....too late.
5:14 I don't suppose having the General Hospital soap opera update on the computer screen helps much....doesn't he know Faith got shot!
5:15 How long does one have to stay when it's Mexican Food Monday Night?
5:16 Adios.
5:14 I don't suppose having the General Hospital soap opera update on the computer screen helps much....doesn't he know Faith got shot!
5:15 How long does one have to stay when it's Mexican Food Monday Night?
5:16 Adios.
Thursday, February 24, 2005
2005 Daytona 500
What exactly is there that can be said about my recent travels to the Daytona 500? Considering the motto of “what happens at the track, stays at the track”, not much. But of course I do have a few observations.
When driving 87 miles per hour down Interstate 75, it’s best to have a set of hooters in order to get out of a ticket. And hats off to Cowboy Dan for hiding her beer, rolling down the window and popping gum in her mouth in 5 seconds flat.
You want to shock the hell out of some little convenience store clerk in south Georgia? Go in and ask for 9 cases of Bud Light and 4 pack of cigarettes and let the fun begin.
We have a buddy….his name is Chicago….seriously….his name is Chicago. He managed to track down Kitty within 5 minutes of her setting foot in the infield. Leading one to think that Kitty has been implanted by some homing device which draws all fans near and far to her in droves. To me, this is simply further proof that Kitty is the by-product of some alien love experiment.
Cowboy Dan can drink 12 beers on a road trip to Daytona and then still feel like she has to tell people that she is drunk…..like the jackass grin and glazed eyes weren’t clue enough. Impressive by anyone standards.
While I can get out of speeding tickets, my hooters have no sway of force over Officer Buzzkill when he pulls over your golf cart. Also represents the first time I’ve been pulled over by a dork in his own golf cart – one wonders how easy it is for him to be all tough when he’s sitting in a mini-form of transportation with a go-cart engine. Apparently, tough enough.
Kitty will spend oodles of money on a new r.v. but won’t fork up the $20 a month to have satellite in that r.v. (And a hearty shout-out to Endora, our new styling digs)
The truck racing at Daytona is 10 times more exciting than the cup cars – especially if one could withstand that cold temps on top of the r.v. to actually watch said truck race….well, we can go in and catch it on t.v…..oh wait! NO SATELLITE.
The track has added a real nice fan deck where the common folk can stand and watch the goings-on in the garage. This is especially helpful when we are actually in the garage so the common man can watch and envy us…..which is all we ever really live for.
When running into Mathew McConaughey in the garage area, make sure you are not standing next to Kitty as she will simply hand you the camera as she and Cowboy Dan go wrap their greedy little mitts around said stud muffin. (This was clearly Kitty’s way of calling me fat)
Without a doubt, I will always be parked next to the r.v. with the weirdo guy who decided to bring a stripper as his date for the weekend. I have no real issues with that and especially appreciated when she started sucking his nipples in public which was only slightly less offensive then when she picked the lint out of his belly button. No jokes here, people, all true.
Occasionally, I will be parked next to a really nice couple who will feed us and ply us with racing foolishness. Apparently, despite our collective girth, all people at racetracks feel compelled to feed us like we are the starving children of Cambodia that our parents so warned us about.
Nice couple will also allow Cowboy Dan to put on their authentic Dale Jarrett helmet and drive her around the infield to stir up the masses….but apparently the masses weren’t fooled as Cowboy Dan is way taller than Dale Jarrett.
Here again, despite our collective girth, if there is a wagon holding a cooler, Kitty and Cowboy Dan will take that as an opportunity to ride atop said cooler to avoid having to motor under their own speed. So they ride everywhere….doing a parade wave….not embarrassing at all. (Of course, I walked alongside like a fat kid waiting for them to toss some candy from the float)
Well, that’s about all I can share, other than I had a great time and Atlanta infield here we come!
Much love,
Vladimir Poopshoot
When driving 87 miles per hour down Interstate 75, it’s best to have a set of hooters in order to get out of a ticket. And hats off to Cowboy Dan for hiding her beer, rolling down the window and popping gum in her mouth in 5 seconds flat.
You want to shock the hell out of some little convenience store clerk in south Georgia? Go in and ask for 9 cases of Bud Light and 4 pack of cigarettes and let the fun begin.
We have a buddy….his name is Chicago….seriously….his name is Chicago. He managed to track down Kitty within 5 minutes of her setting foot in the infield. Leading one to think that Kitty has been implanted by some homing device which draws all fans near and far to her in droves. To me, this is simply further proof that Kitty is the by-product of some alien love experiment.
Cowboy Dan can drink 12 beers on a road trip to Daytona and then still feel like she has to tell people that she is drunk…..like the jackass grin and glazed eyes weren’t clue enough. Impressive by anyone standards.
While I can get out of speeding tickets, my hooters have no sway of force over Officer Buzzkill when he pulls over your golf cart. Also represents the first time I’ve been pulled over by a dork in his own golf cart – one wonders how easy it is for him to be all tough when he’s sitting in a mini-form of transportation with a go-cart engine. Apparently, tough enough.
Kitty will spend oodles of money on a new r.v. but won’t fork up the $20 a month to have satellite in that r.v. (And a hearty shout-out to Endora, our new styling digs)
The truck racing at Daytona is 10 times more exciting than the cup cars – especially if one could withstand that cold temps on top of the r.v. to actually watch said truck race….well, we can go in and catch it on t.v…..oh wait! NO SATELLITE.
The track has added a real nice fan deck where the common folk can stand and watch the goings-on in the garage. This is especially helpful when we are actually in the garage so the common man can watch and envy us…..which is all we ever really live for.
When running into Mathew McConaughey in the garage area, make sure you are not standing next to Kitty as she will simply hand you the camera as she and Cowboy Dan go wrap their greedy little mitts around said stud muffin. (This was clearly Kitty’s way of calling me fat)
Without a doubt, I will always be parked next to the r.v. with the weirdo guy who decided to bring a stripper as his date for the weekend. I have no real issues with that and especially appreciated when she started sucking his nipples in public which was only slightly less offensive then when she picked the lint out of his belly button. No jokes here, people, all true.
Occasionally, I will be parked next to a really nice couple who will feed us and ply us with racing foolishness. Apparently, despite our collective girth, all people at racetracks feel compelled to feed us like we are the starving children of Cambodia that our parents so warned us about.
Nice couple will also allow Cowboy Dan to put on their authentic Dale Jarrett helmet and drive her around the infield to stir up the masses….but apparently the masses weren’t fooled as Cowboy Dan is way taller than Dale Jarrett.
Here again, despite our collective girth, if there is a wagon holding a cooler, Kitty and Cowboy Dan will take that as an opportunity to ride atop said cooler to avoid having to motor under their own speed. So they ride everywhere….doing a parade wave….not embarrassing at all. (Of course, I walked alongside like a fat kid waiting for them to toss some candy from the float)
Well, that’s about all I can share, other than I had a great time and Atlanta infield here we come!
Much love,
Vladimir Poopshoot
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
Monday, February 14, 2005
Someone Shoot That Little Fat Bastard Cupid
Well, yippee skippy, it’s Valentine’s Day ….again.
Top Ten Reasons Valentine’s Day Sucks Donkey Balls
1. My mother signs my cards not “Love, Mom” but with her full god-given name as if I don’t know who she is and why she is sending me a card.
2. I’m 34 years old yet my grandmother has once again sent me a cutesy little card with a kitten on it. Are kittens the universal sign of Valentine’s? Are they the official animal of Valentine’s Day? Are they sponsored by Hallmark? I think not.
3. Tonight, I will go to eat Mexican with my cousins and have to witness joy and happiness in other people’s faces which makes me want to stab them with my fork after tossing my sizzling fajita plate in their smiling little faces. (Please note – I say “eat Mexican” as in Mexican food, not as in “eat a Mexican” which has an entirely different meaning.)
4. Someone seriously asked me if I had gotten my dogs Valentine’s gifts – yes, yes I did…it’s called food and shelter. Like I don’t feel guilty enough for not giving them heartworm medication, now I have to worry that their little feelings are hurt?
5. Princess of Darkness is boycotting spending any time with me today in order to celebrate Valentine’s Day over the phone with her friends in Chicago – cause even losers over the phone are better than hanging with me. Nice, real nice – that’s the last time I paint her room black.
6. The only flower I got was single pink carnation from building management which they handed out to everyone this morning. And let’s talk about pink carnations, shall we? This is the white trash version of the rose. The carnation says “Look! I’ll give you a flower but only a cheap ass one that I can buy in bulk. And to make it festive, I’m going to dip into some sort of flower dye to make it a color not found in nature. Cause nothing says ‘I care’ like something that glows in the dark.” Save your nickel, you trailer living, wife beating yutz.
7. I did receive a Winnie-the-Pooh valentine from Anal Coworker (have no fear – Anal Coworker’s Wife is well aware of Anal Coworker’s pity valentine – his 4 year old daughter however is extremely pissed at Daddy for dipping into her card stash so rumor has is she put a rat poison cake through her Easy Bake Oven for a treat for Daddy). (Please note – this only qualifies as sucking since it is the ONLY one I received – it does not suck that Anal Coworker risks his child’s wrath to be nice)
8. Somewhere, somehow, millions of folks will be knocking boots tonight….and I’ll be sleeping with two dogs who apparently are pissed at me for not purchasing heart shaped bones for them.
9. Everyone seems to think it necessary to wear red or pink and be all “happy valentine’s day!”…..listen…take you cheerful ass self and your little well-wishes and shove up your posterior region cause you look like tomato and your false bravado makes me want to shove my boot up your valentine.
10. Despite my Grinch attempts, this holiday keeps coming and coming…it comes without cards, it comes without flowers….it comes without balloons, it comes without candy….it simply keeps coming and so I will not join in the festivities but instead will drown myself in margaritas and hope to hell the waiter doesn’t wish me a Happy Valentine’s Day cause I take no responsibility for the blood bath that will surely follow.
Much love,
Vladimir Poopshoot
Top Ten Reasons Valentine’s Day Sucks Donkey Balls
1. My mother signs my cards not “Love, Mom” but with her full god-given name as if I don’t know who she is and why she is sending me a card.
2. I’m 34 years old yet my grandmother has once again sent me a cutesy little card with a kitten on it. Are kittens the universal sign of Valentine’s? Are they the official animal of Valentine’s Day? Are they sponsored by Hallmark? I think not.
3. Tonight, I will go to eat Mexican with my cousins and have to witness joy and happiness in other people’s faces which makes me want to stab them with my fork after tossing my sizzling fajita plate in their smiling little faces. (Please note – I say “eat Mexican” as in Mexican food, not as in “eat a Mexican” which has an entirely different meaning.)
4. Someone seriously asked me if I had gotten my dogs Valentine’s gifts – yes, yes I did…it’s called food and shelter. Like I don’t feel guilty enough for not giving them heartworm medication, now I have to worry that their little feelings are hurt?
5. Princess of Darkness is boycotting spending any time with me today in order to celebrate Valentine’s Day over the phone with her friends in Chicago – cause even losers over the phone are better than hanging with me. Nice, real nice – that’s the last time I paint her room black.
6. The only flower I got was single pink carnation from building management which they handed out to everyone this morning. And let’s talk about pink carnations, shall we? This is the white trash version of the rose. The carnation says “Look! I’ll give you a flower but only a cheap ass one that I can buy in bulk. And to make it festive, I’m going to dip into some sort of flower dye to make it a color not found in nature. Cause nothing says ‘I care’ like something that glows in the dark.” Save your nickel, you trailer living, wife beating yutz.
7. I did receive a Winnie-the-Pooh valentine from Anal Coworker (have no fear – Anal Coworker’s Wife is well aware of Anal Coworker’s pity valentine – his 4 year old daughter however is extremely pissed at Daddy for dipping into her card stash so rumor has is she put a rat poison cake through her Easy Bake Oven for a treat for Daddy). (Please note – this only qualifies as sucking since it is the ONLY one I received – it does not suck that Anal Coworker risks his child’s wrath to be nice)
8. Somewhere, somehow, millions of folks will be knocking boots tonight….and I’ll be sleeping with two dogs who apparently are pissed at me for not purchasing heart shaped bones for them.
9. Everyone seems to think it necessary to wear red or pink and be all “happy valentine’s day!”…..listen…take you cheerful ass self and your little well-wishes and shove up your posterior region cause you look like tomato and your false bravado makes me want to shove my boot up your valentine.
10. Despite my Grinch attempts, this holiday keeps coming and coming…it comes without cards, it comes without flowers….it comes without balloons, it comes without candy….it simply keeps coming and so I will not join in the festivities but instead will drown myself in margaritas and hope to hell the waiter doesn’t wish me a Happy Valentine’s Day cause I take no responsibility for the blood bath that will surely follow.
Much love,
Vladimir Poopshoot
Friday, February 11, 2005
Like Sands Through the Hourglass...
8:15 It’s Friday. Where the hell is the free breakfast?
8:19 I love McDonald’s biscuits.
8:26 What’s for lunch?
8:36 Maybe I should do some work….
8:47 Hmmm…perhaps I should have gotten the last name of the family where Princess of Darkness is spending the night.
9:14 Why is Cowboy Dan the only one that works this early in the damn morning?
9:15 I bet Fat Baby’s Mamma is still asleep, that cow.
9:22 It’s only 9:22, plenty of time to work later.
9:47 Pretend to work. Pretend to work. Pretend to work.
11:30 Lunch – Anal coworker and I must go early to beat the crowds….not going early to avoid working, honest.
12:48 Need 5th Diet Coke of the day to avoid post-luncheon food coma.
1:08 Wonder if Princess of Darkness remembered to take along the good dried chicken bones? She’ll need them for the ritual sacrifice.
1:34 How long 'till it’s beer time?
2:29 Hmmm…email from stepfather reveals Princess of Darkness has run up 4,000 minutes on her cell phone.
2:32 Punishing Princess of Darkness is always fun…..perhaps I should paint her room pink…that would learn her.
3:06 This time next week, I’ll be Drunky McDrunk at Daytona and living the redneck lifestyle.
3:07 God, I wish it was next week.
3:48 Seriously, how much longer do I have to sit here and play good worker?
4:03 Wonder if they’ve posted the General Hospital update on TV guide online yet.
4:04 Nope…damn their slow asses! Don’t they know Jason has been shot?!
4:05 I hate people who use exclamation points in their writing.
4:46 My friends who don’t work are already sitting at the Paradise drinking. Damn this capitalistic society that makes me work! Bring on Communism, you pinkie bastards! I want to live off the government teat!
4:47 I bet Fat Baby’s Mamma passed out with a bourbon bottle in her hand around 2 this afternoon.
4:54 Apparently, the only other person not working is Cowboy Dan with whom I have now exchanged my 56th email of the day – and we’ve included Fat Baby’s Mamma on all them. She’s going to have a lot of reading to do when roused out of her drunken stupor.
5:03 When did the work world go from standard 9 to 5 days to 8:30 to 5:30? I wasn’t consulted, I didn’t agree. Who’s bright idea was this crap?? Anal Coworker already escaped to his family – why can’t I have a family that lets me escape? Blast you, Princess of Darkness!! Can’t you use one of the 4,000 minutes to call me with some emergency?
5:16 I can literally hear the sweet, sweet siren call of the Bud Light.
5:28 Screw this. I’m out of here.
8:19 I love McDonald’s biscuits.
8:26 What’s for lunch?
8:36 Maybe I should do some work….
8:47 Hmmm…perhaps I should have gotten the last name of the family where Princess of Darkness is spending the night.
9:14 Why is Cowboy Dan the only one that works this early in the damn morning?
9:15 I bet Fat Baby’s Mamma is still asleep, that cow.
9:22 It’s only 9:22, plenty of time to work later.
9:47 Pretend to work. Pretend to work. Pretend to work.
11:30 Lunch – Anal coworker and I must go early to beat the crowds….not going early to avoid working, honest.
12:48 Need 5th Diet Coke of the day to avoid post-luncheon food coma.
1:08 Wonder if Princess of Darkness remembered to take along the good dried chicken bones? She’ll need them for the ritual sacrifice.
1:34 How long 'till it’s beer time?
2:29 Hmmm…email from stepfather reveals Princess of Darkness has run up 4,000 minutes on her cell phone.
2:32 Punishing Princess of Darkness is always fun…..perhaps I should paint her room pink…that would learn her.
3:06 This time next week, I’ll be Drunky McDrunk at Daytona and living the redneck lifestyle.
3:07 God, I wish it was next week.
3:48 Seriously, how much longer do I have to sit here and play good worker?
4:03 Wonder if they’ve posted the General Hospital update on TV guide online yet.
4:04 Nope…damn their slow asses! Don’t they know Jason has been shot?!
4:05 I hate people who use exclamation points in their writing.
4:46 My friends who don’t work are already sitting at the Paradise drinking. Damn this capitalistic society that makes me work! Bring on Communism, you pinkie bastards! I want to live off the government teat!
4:47 I bet Fat Baby’s Mamma passed out with a bourbon bottle in her hand around 2 this afternoon.
4:54 Apparently, the only other person not working is Cowboy Dan with whom I have now exchanged my 56th email of the day – and we’ve included Fat Baby’s Mamma on all them. She’s going to have a lot of reading to do when roused out of her drunken stupor.
5:03 When did the work world go from standard 9 to 5 days to 8:30 to 5:30? I wasn’t consulted, I didn’t agree. Who’s bright idea was this crap?? Anal Coworker already escaped to his family – why can’t I have a family that lets me escape? Blast you, Princess of Darkness!! Can’t you use one of the 4,000 minutes to call me with some emergency?
5:16 I can literally hear the sweet, sweet siren call of the Bud Light.
5:28 Screw this. I’m out of here.
Thursday, February 10, 2005
Ode to Cowboy Dan and Kitty
It has been brought to my attention with the subtlety of a sledgehammer that I have been remiss in failing to discuss my racing buddies, Cowboy Dan and Kitty. Apparently, my previous ramblings have left Cowboy Dan and Kitty with the impression that the entire Internet world views them under a false light (the "entire Internet world" otherwise known as my readership of 9 people –who by the way already KNOW them). So I would like to take this opportunity to clear up two of the many myths surrounding the legends of Cowboy Dan and Kitty.
Myth #1. Cowboy Dan and/or Kitty are my lesbian lovers.
Let’s make something perfectly clear. IF I was to start playing for the other team, I would leave them far behind and aim for some type of macho biker chick who could make me look all fragile and ladylike. Always wanted to look ladylike but with my propensity for swear words, it's not bloody likely to happen anytime soon.
Further, Cowboy Dan and I could never date as she is 7 feet tall and I simply am not as vertically blessed. Our Christmas card pictures would look like the Chrysler Building standing next to a Rhodesian pig farmer’s mud hut (and no, I don’t know if Rhodesians live in mud huts but I also don’t know if they farm pigs…so what’s your point?).
I also could never date Kitty despite rampant rumors to the contrary (hey people, just because we attend all weddings and family functions together doesn’t mean we’re planning on our commitment ceremony). Despite many discussions, Kitty and I have never been able to agree about who the man would be in our relationship. One would think that Kitty with her love of guns, recreational vehicles and all things mechanical would be the obvious choice but she refuses such a role in our hypothetical world. She feels her lipstick beauty trumps my short and dumpy existence to make her the June Cleaver to my Ward (fighting over the Beaver! Get it? The Beaver?!?). Besides, Kitty’s poor taste in men is legendary in these circles and I would hate to break her streak of dating non-drinking, personality lacking paramours.
Myth #2. Cowboy Dan and Kitty were recent candidates for Extreme Makeover due to their horse-like teeth and bad bangs.
Despite what you might think, Cowboy Dan and Kitty are NOT one knuckle dragging moment away from being two big old homely gals. Far, far from the truth. Both of my peeps are very good looking (and if I ever learn how to post pictures on this thing, I ‘ll prove it – anonymity be damned).
Cowboy Dan’s lumberjack ways attract many a fella to her manhands. Matter of fact, Kitty and I consider Cowboy Dan our “magic”. Her presence alone guarantees an onslaught of male attention at any racetrack. Thus explaining why Kitty and I dumped Fat Baby’s Mamma and replaced her with the younger, baby-less version known as Cowboy Dan. As an added bonus, Cowboy Dan always prefers to pick up the Ugmo (i.e. the ugly jean short and manjewelry wearing guy) in any given group of young (or heck, old) men. This of course leaves the better pickins open to mine and Kitty’s subtle charms.
Kitty is also very pretty as anyone in the Juniors department of Burdines can attest to. Kitty is a sly and tricky creature. She has been known to draw an occasional, impressionable19 year old into her web and has also managed to ensnare a few folks with NASCAR connections as well (Kitty’s always looking to share her NASCAR obsession). Men are often drawn to the fact that she owns her own deluxe R.V. (and right about now you should be able to picture the type of man I’m talking about…..yep….he’s a winner). Luckily, I keep the coast relatively clear as I often threaten to drunkenly “pop a cap in their ass” (you should be aware that when drunk I often turn either real ghetto or real Cajun – hard to figure, I know).
Soooooo….where does this all leave me? I seem to get all the drunken rugby players and a 24 year old that must be the illegitimate love child of Ward Burton.
Nuf sed.
Love to all,
Vladimir Poopshoot.
P.S. Princess of Darkness is here and she gives a "shout out" to you all and a "hail, Satan, prince of evil" as well.
Myth #1. Cowboy Dan and/or Kitty are my lesbian lovers.
Let’s make something perfectly clear. IF I was to start playing for the other team, I would leave them far behind and aim for some type of macho biker chick who could make me look all fragile and ladylike. Always wanted to look ladylike but with my propensity for swear words, it's not bloody likely to happen anytime soon.
Further, Cowboy Dan and I could never date as she is 7 feet tall and I simply am not as vertically blessed. Our Christmas card pictures would look like the Chrysler Building standing next to a Rhodesian pig farmer’s mud hut (and no, I don’t know if Rhodesians live in mud huts but I also don’t know if they farm pigs…so what’s your point?).
I also could never date Kitty despite rampant rumors to the contrary (hey people, just because we attend all weddings and family functions together doesn’t mean we’re planning on our commitment ceremony). Despite many discussions, Kitty and I have never been able to agree about who the man would be in our relationship. One would think that Kitty with her love of guns, recreational vehicles and all things mechanical would be the obvious choice but she refuses such a role in our hypothetical world. She feels her lipstick beauty trumps my short and dumpy existence to make her the June Cleaver to my Ward (fighting over the Beaver! Get it? The Beaver?!?). Besides, Kitty’s poor taste in men is legendary in these circles and I would hate to break her streak of dating non-drinking, personality lacking paramours.
Myth #2. Cowboy Dan and Kitty were recent candidates for Extreme Makeover due to their horse-like teeth and bad bangs.
Despite what you might think, Cowboy Dan and Kitty are NOT one knuckle dragging moment away from being two big old homely gals. Far, far from the truth. Both of my peeps are very good looking (and if I ever learn how to post pictures on this thing, I ‘ll prove it – anonymity be damned).
Cowboy Dan’s lumberjack ways attract many a fella to her manhands. Matter of fact, Kitty and I consider Cowboy Dan our “magic”. Her presence alone guarantees an onslaught of male attention at any racetrack. Thus explaining why Kitty and I dumped Fat Baby’s Mamma and replaced her with the younger, baby-less version known as Cowboy Dan. As an added bonus, Cowboy Dan always prefers to pick up the Ugmo (i.e. the ugly jean short and manjewelry wearing guy) in any given group of young (or heck, old) men. This of course leaves the better pickins open to mine and Kitty’s subtle charms.
Kitty is also very pretty as anyone in the Juniors department of Burdines can attest to. Kitty is a sly and tricky creature. She has been known to draw an occasional, impressionable19 year old into her web and has also managed to ensnare a few folks with NASCAR connections as well (Kitty’s always looking to share her NASCAR obsession). Men are often drawn to the fact that she owns her own deluxe R.V. (and right about now you should be able to picture the type of man I’m talking about…..yep….he’s a winner). Luckily, I keep the coast relatively clear as I often threaten to drunkenly “pop a cap in their ass” (you should be aware that when drunk I often turn either real ghetto or real Cajun – hard to figure, I know).
Soooooo….where does this all leave me? I seem to get all the drunken rugby players and a 24 year old that must be the illegitimate love child of Ward Burton.
Nuf sed.
Love to all,
Vladimir Poopshoot.
P.S. Princess of Darkness is here and she gives a "shout out" to you all and a "hail, Satan, prince of evil" as well.
Tuesday, February 08, 2005
Nubbin Ventured, Nubbin Gained
I’m not going to lie…I have issues with some physical deformities. Not the big ones – not the paralyses or muscular type stuff or the really big stuff that would make me insensitive to the plight of others….just the nubbins. As all the enlightened know, a nubbin is a diminished appendage or perhaps a superfluous third nipple. Nubbin also of course includes small unexplained growths and other tidbits that seem to branch off one’s body at odd angles. For example, “he grasped his hot dog with his wee little nubbins which frightened me to my core.”
I bring up my nubbin fascination (as opposed to my fearful fascination with clowns which is for another post) to share a grievance. A grievance about an acquaintance I’ll call Nubbin (and no, it’s not any of you so stop checking your appendages).
Nubbin is the type of “friend” who thinks you two are much closer than you consider yourself to be. For instance, while I find the topic fascinating in others, I have no interest in her college exploits or the functioning of her digestive tract. She thinks she’s your best pal even though she is unaware that you never make such decisions without the heavy, heavy influence of your best friend, Bud Light. But I digress. Suffice to say, that if I see Nubbin coming, I start to search around for a hot poker to shove through my eyeball in the hopes it may lessen conversation time. However, knowing Nubbin, a hot poker protruding from any orifice may not disuade her.
Now, let me be clear. Nubbin is not a BAD person. She really isn’t. She is very nice in a plain oatmeal sort of way – you know what I mean - oatmeal is better than starving but it certainly isn’t bacon (my all consuming love of bacon is a subject to be covered in another post). Her problem is that she is mind numbingly boring. She likes to engage in long inane conversations about her satanic children while all you can do is look at her nubbin and wonder in your head “why doesn’t she get that fixed?”
I also find a high correlation between the presence of a nubbin situation and the lack of a humor situation. Perhaps whatever energy the body put forth into producing its nubbin resulted in turn to a depleted humor resource. Cause folks, let me tell you – Nubbin ain’t funny.
Do Nubbin and her kin know this? No. They often chuckle at their own little witticisms while you feverishly wonder what would happen to your dog if you threw yourself out the old high-rise window – which of course would be a very dramatic statement – at least until you realize that the tempered shatter-proof glass would most likely propel you backwards onto your ass with resounding force. Then of course you would be forced to explain to Nubbin that "no, you were not trying to commit suicide but that you were suffering from some sort seizure that inexplicably threw you against the window". This of course would be followed by a story from Nubbin about how her Great Uncle Pete suffered a seizure once while driving to Poughkeepsie in his ’74 Impala.
Lesson learned? When conversing with a nubbin, best to escape to fantasies of marrying Dale Earnhardt, Jr. and hope the nubbin doesn’t ask you a question.
P.S. Editing supplied by my friend, Good Coworker. Good Coworker is the only one at the workplace who is aware of my little hobby so if I get fired, I will be posting his home address along with pictures of his wife and child for all to extract their revenge upon.
P.S.S. I feel the love. This is Good Coworker's response -"That's "EXACT their revenge upon." Dumbass."
P.P.S. Good Coworker has informed me that the above "P.S.S." should have been "P.P.S." to which my response is Good Coworker shall be known as Anal Coworker from henceforth.
I bring up my nubbin fascination (as opposed to my fearful fascination with clowns which is for another post) to share a grievance. A grievance about an acquaintance I’ll call Nubbin (and no, it’s not any of you so stop checking your appendages).
Nubbin is the type of “friend” who thinks you two are much closer than you consider yourself to be. For instance, while I find the topic fascinating in others, I have no interest in her college exploits or the functioning of her digestive tract. She thinks she’s your best pal even though she is unaware that you never make such decisions without the heavy, heavy influence of your best friend, Bud Light. But I digress. Suffice to say, that if I see Nubbin coming, I start to search around for a hot poker to shove through my eyeball in the hopes it may lessen conversation time. However, knowing Nubbin, a hot poker protruding from any orifice may not disuade her.
Now, let me be clear. Nubbin is not a BAD person. She really isn’t. She is very nice in a plain oatmeal sort of way – you know what I mean - oatmeal is better than starving but it certainly isn’t bacon (my all consuming love of bacon is a subject to be covered in another post). Her problem is that she is mind numbingly boring. She likes to engage in long inane conversations about her satanic children while all you can do is look at her nubbin and wonder in your head “why doesn’t she get that fixed?”
I also find a high correlation between the presence of a nubbin situation and the lack of a humor situation. Perhaps whatever energy the body put forth into producing its nubbin resulted in turn to a depleted humor resource. Cause folks, let me tell you – Nubbin ain’t funny.
Do Nubbin and her kin know this? No. They often chuckle at their own little witticisms while you feverishly wonder what would happen to your dog if you threw yourself out the old high-rise window – which of course would be a very dramatic statement – at least until you realize that the tempered shatter-proof glass would most likely propel you backwards onto your ass with resounding force. Then of course you would be forced to explain to Nubbin that "no, you were not trying to commit suicide but that you were suffering from some sort seizure that inexplicably threw you against the window". This of course would be followed by a story from Nubbin about how her Great Uncle Pete suffered a seizure once while driving to Poughkeepsie in his ’74 Impala.
Lesson learned? When conversing with a nubbin, best to escape to fantasies of marrying Dale Earnhardt, Jr. and hope the nubbin doesn’t ask you a question.
P.S. Editing supplied by my friend, Good Coworker. Good Coworker is the only one at the workplace who is aware of my little hobby so if I get fired, I will be posting his home address along with pictures of his wife and child for all to extract their revenge upon.
P.S.S. I feel the love. This is Good Coworker's response -"That's "EXACT their revenge upon." Dumbass."
P.P.S. Good Coworker has informed me that the above "P.S.S." should have been "P.P.S." to which my response is Good Coworker shall be known as Anal Coworker from henceforth.
Friday, February 04, 2005
The Allure of the Buttery Nipple
The allure of the buttery nipple....or how a semi-sane 34 year old can be sucked into doing shots on a school night.
Can someone please explain to me why relatively sane adults revert to their shooter guzzling youth at the words "hey, let's do a shot!"? Let's think this trough - I know not to do shots. I'm a lover of beer and have learned through manyrepetitive toilet-hugging sessions that it is wise if I simply stick to Bud Light and let the rest of the fire water drinking heathens have their little shooters. But like a lemming to the sea, if I hear a "hey, let's do a shot!", I'm following right behind to my inevitable death.
And exactly who is this dumbass that sneaks up on mature adults and decides to let lose the college battle cry of "hey, let's do a shot!"? I have several theories.
1. He's the guy that is positive deep down that if you get shitfaced enough, you will forget his bad combover and askew orthodontry to go have a little fun with him in the back of his Ford Fiesta.
2. He's the guy that has made a small career out of getting plastered but for some reason, does not want to be "THAT GUY" who is drunk all by himself so he brings you down with him.
3. He's the guy that really doesn't know how to drink a real manly drink so he gets his freak on by ingesting small fruity cocktails in tiny little glasses to avoid the embarassment of being a grown man and ordering a Pink Panty Pulldown (okay, and we all know I went here just so I could say "Pink Panty Pulldown").
4. He's the guy who thinks he's being suave cause he's ordering you a drink....newsflash, rocket scientist, a shot is not a drink - it is a bullet straight to your brain which has already checked out of the party after the 7 or 8 beers you pickled it in.
5. He's the guy trying to avoid the carbs in beer so he orders a shot that is 50% sugar and 50% unadulterated brain squeezing alcohol.
6. He's the guy who was recently laid off from his job and he gets his jollies from thinking of you sitting at your desk the next morning trying not to vomit all over your keyboard and simultaneously losing whatever remaining grip you have in your ass cheeks (as Kitty likes to say, "Butt cheeks don't fail me now!" - but the subject of Kitty's digestive system is for another post another time).
7. He's the guy that is 40 years old but mentally is still in college so he sees nothing wrong with the party call for tequilla shots - he is easily identified by the uncut hair, rumpled oxford over a tshirt that reads "Rugby Naked" and says "dude" and "awesome" a lot.
8. He's the Jeff Gordon fan.....nuf sed.
9. He's the guy that owns (and wears) more women's lingerie than I do (not that there is anything wrong with that).
10. He's Satan.
Think I'll go puke now.
Painfully yours,
Vladimir Poopshoot
Can someone please explain to me why relatively sane adults revert to their shooter guzzling youth at the words "hey, let's do a shot!"? Let's think this trough - I know not to do shots. I'm a lover of beer and have learned through manyrepetitive toilet-hugging sessions that it is wise if I simply stick to Bud Light and let the rest of the fire water drinking heathens have their little shooters. But like a lemming to the sea, if I hear a "hey, let's do a shot!", I'm following right behind to my inevitable death.
And exactly who is this dumbass that sneaks up on mature adults and decides to let lose the college battle cry of "hey, let's do a shot!"? I have several theories.
1. He's the guy that is positive deep down that if you get shitfaced enough, you will forget his bad combover and askew orthodontry to go have a little fun with him in the back of his Ford Fiesta.
2. He's the guy that has made a small career out of getting plastered but for some reason, does not want to be "THAT GUY" who is drunk all by himself so he brings you down with him.
3. He's the guy that really doesn't know how to drink a real manly drink so he gets his freak on by ingesting small fruity cocktails in tiny little glasses to avoid the embarassment of being a grown man and ordering a Pink Panty Pulldown (okay, and we all know I went here just so I could say "Pink Panty Pulldown").
4. He's the guy who thinks he's being suave cause he's ordering you a drink....newsflash, rocket scientist, a shot is not a drink - it is a bullet straight to your brain which has already checked out of the party after the 7 or 8 beers you pickled it in.
5. He's the guy trying to avoid the carbs in beer so he orders a shot that is 50% sugar and 50% unadulterated brain squeezing alcohol.
6. He's the guy who was recently laid off from his job and he gets his jollies from thinking of you sitting at your desk the next morning trying not to vomit all over your keyboard and simultaneously losing whatever remaining grip you have in your ass cheeks (as Kitty likes to say, "Butt cheeks don't fail me now!" - but the subject of Kitty's digestive system is for another post another time).
7. He's the guy that is 40 years old but mentally is still in college so he sees nothing wrong with the party call for tequilla shots - he is easily identified by the uncut hair, rumpled oxford over a tshirt that reads "Rugby Naked" and says "dude" and "awesome" a lot.
8. He's the Jeff Gordon fan.....nuf sed.
9. He's the guy that owns (and wears) more women's lingerie than I do (not that there is anything wrong with that).
10. He's Satan.
Think I'll go puke now.
Painfully yours,
Vladimir Poopshoot
Thursday, February 03, 2005
Holy Crap
So I was reading some other folk's blogs and have come to a horrible realization - I'm just not that funny. I agree that I have moments of brevity but in general not that consistently knee-slapping funny (but if you think about it, have you ever seen some really slap their knee when amused? It just doesn't happen.) There are some seriously funny folks out there and apparently the only people I amuse are my moronic friends who apparently are easily impressed - who knew?. Perhaps they need to get out more. Oh well - luckily I haven't told many about this little project so the point is moot.
Good news of the day - Cowboy Dan, Kitty and I have pit passes to the Daytona 500. What this means to you out there who are Nascar newbies is that we now have an official pass to mingle with drivers and harass the shit out of them. This folds in well with my plans to be Mrs. Dale Earnhardt Jr. But who are we kidding - I would settle for Mrs. Elliott Sadler, Mrs. Kasey Kahne....oh hell, I would settle for being Mrs. Fatback McSwain to get a chance to live in the inner circle. I realize a few of you may not know Fatback McSwain but trust me - he ain't named Fatback for nothing.
In my unending attempts to insert myself into the Nascar glitterati, I emailed the guys over at Track Smack on www.nascar.com to once again offer my services as a commentator. As of yet, I have not heard back from them but one can hope. Just so you're in the loop, the following is what I sent:
Dear Track Smackers,
Apparently my last request to join your esteemed company was met with little enthusiasm. Therefore, I am on to Plan B. I think you need a roving infield correspondent and, coincidentally enough, I tend to spend a good deal of time in various infields. I think we all can agree that a glimpse into infield entertainment would provide a much needed perspective of NASCAR life to the average stay-at-home fan.
So, without further ado, below please find the top ten reasons you should recruit me to be your infield correspondent:
1. MartDawg has become way too famous to kick it with the common man.
2. Trust me – together with my two pals we are three blond chicks by ourselves in the infield….you think we don’t get to know EVERYBODY in the infield!?!
3. Nothing like a full description of the infield showers to give that reader the old “in the middle of the action” feeling.
4. The amount of beer we bring into the infield would seriously diminish the reimbursable meals on my expense report for Turner Sports.
5. Have R.V., will travel….okay, really my friend has the R.V. but you get the point.
6. I already have plans for both Daytonas, both Talladegas and both Atlantas – you guys only have to pick up expenses for the other 30 races.
7. The fun I get in harassing folks on Marty’s Mailbag message board is waning – I need to be able to harass them in person.
8. Can supply own video camera and enough film to keep editors at nascar.com working for years (just good clean family fun video - keep the mind out of the gutters, guys).
9. Providing me a safe outlet for creative expression may…just MAY…keep me from harassing y’all on a weekly basis.
10. Nascar.com is sorely missing an interview with that toothless, jean short wearing guy who uses his sock for a beer coozie and keeps blasting Freebird from the stereo in his converted bus with the big 3 on the side.
To further prove my infield fun factor and to show that I’m not nuts, here’s me and Elvis in the Talladega infield…Elvis sends his love. [please note - I'm too stupid to figure out how to post pictures here yet]
I’ll be waiting on your call.
Thanks!
Floyd
Aka Buckshotfan
I'll let you know when I hear back from them.
Good news of the day - Cowboy Dan, Kitty and I have pit passes to the Daytona 500. What this means to you out there who are Nascar newbies is that we now have an official pass to mingle with drivers and harass the shit out of them. This folds in well with my plans to be Mrs. Dale Earnhardt Jr. But who are we kidding - I would settle for Mrs. Elliott Sadler, Mrs. Kasey Kahne....oh hell, I would settle for being Mrs. Fatback McSwain to get a chance to live in the inner circle. I realize a few of you may not know Fatback McSwain but trust me - he ain't named Fatback for nothing.
In my unending attempts to insert myself into the Nascar glitterati, I emailed the guys over at Track Smack on www.nascar.com to once again offer my services as a commentator. As of yet, I have not heard back from them but one can hope. Just so you're in the loop, the following is what I sent:
Dear Track Smackers,
Apparently my last request to join your esteemed company was met with little enthusiasm. Therefore, I am on to Plan B. I think you need a roving infield correspondent and, coincidentally enough, I tend to spend a good deal of time in various infields. I think we all can agree that a glimpse into infield entertainment would provide a much needed perspective of NASCAR life to the average stay-at-home fan.
So, without further ado, below please find the top ten reasons you should recruit me to be your infield correspondent:
1. MartDawg has become way too famous to kick it with the common man.
2. Trust me – together with my two pals we are three blond chicks by ourselves in the infield….you think we don’t get to know EVERYBODY in the infield!?!
3. Nothing like a full description of the infield showers to give that reader the old “in the middle of the action” feeling.
4. The amount of beer we bring into the infield would seriously diminish the reimbursable meals on my expense report for Turner Sports.
5. Have R.V., will travel….okay, really my friend has the R.V. but you get the point.
6. I already have plans for both Daytonas, both Talladegas and both Atlantas – you guys only have to pick up expenses for the other 30 races.
7. The fun I get in harassing folks on Marty’s Mailbag message board is waning – I need to be able to harass them in person.
8. Can supply own video camera and enough film to keep editors at nascar.com working for years (just good clean family fun video - keep the mind out of the gutters, guys).
9. Providing me a safe outlet for creative expression may…just MAY…keep me from harassing y’all on a weekly basis.
10. Nascar.com is sorely missing an interview with that toothless, jean short wearing guy who uses his sock for a beer coozie and keeps blasting Freebird from the stereo in his converted bus with the big 3 on the side.
To further prove my infield fun factor and to show that I’m not nuts, here’s me and Elvis in the Talladega infield…Elvis sends his love. [please note - I'm too stupid to figure out how to post pictures here yet]
I’ll be waiting on your call.
Thanks!
Floyd
Aka Buckshotfan
I'll let you know when I hear back from them.
Wednesday, February 02, 2005
Cast of Characters
So it occurred to me last night that an unassuming reader will need a brief rundown of the characters in my life. You'll notice they often have strange names and you may want to believe that I have changed their names to hide their real life guilt and shame - but actually I pretty much call these people by these names to their faces as well. Wellll, some of them I might not - the crazy ones for instance - never call a crazy person crazy - they might stab you with a pair of rounded scissors. I learned this from Cowboy Dan who called her mother a "fucking whackjob" to her face and we'll just say the results weren't pretty - but have no fear, Cowboy Dan's scars are clearing up real nice. But I digress...
Floyd's Cast of Characters:
1. Floyd - okay, so only a dumbass would identify themselves on their own cast of characters but I thought I would throw in some aliases as well - also known as Lil Bit, Vladimir Poopshoot, Carni - and if we include the voices in my head, Fattie, Dumbass, Idiot and Superstar (one of my voices is really really confident).
2. Kitty - Floyd's best friend and Nascar compatriot. Kitty is a unique individual and frankly, the only thing missing to make her a guy is the old twig and berries. Don't get me wrong - she's quite pretty but has a fascination with guns, cars and all boy type toys. Kitty joins me on all my exploits.
3. Cowboy Dan - Floyd's other best friend and Nascar compatriot. Cowboy Dan also goes by Manhands in that she is quite tall - good farm stock. She's a horse whisperer - shhhhhh. She trains horses when not assisting in fixing the world's plumbing problems through her other job. Cowboy Dan also joins in all Nascar exploits and attracts men like a fat kid to cake - even though Cowboy Dan will always pick the ugmo in the crowd to spend special time with (Kitty and I don't understand this too much but we usually benefit so no complaining).
4. Fat Baby Clan - this invovles several folks so I'm lumping them together. Fat Baby is a fat baby and one in which we are keenly interested in since Fat Baby's Mamma is our best friend and Cowboy Dan's sister. Fat Baby also has a Fat Baby Daddy, Fat Baby Uncle, Fat Baby Aunt whom I expect all to make regular appearances as well. Fat Baby's Mamma occasionally joins in on the Nascar fun when she can pry Fat Baby's grubby little mitts off her.
5. Princess of Darness - my little sister who is 14 and lives with me. Let's just say she's gothic and I'm worried about the cat....we'll leave it at that.
6. Captain Fruitloop - Cowboy Dan's and FBM's mom. Loved by all and feared by most.
7. Captain Nutty - Floyd and Princess of Darkness' mom. Makes Captain Fruitloop look downright sane.
Now, if tradition serves, there will be several guest appearances along the way as we work our way through this year's Nascar seasonso I expect this cast to grow and multiply. It should all be great fun.
Truly yours,
Vladimir Poopshoot.
Floyd's Cast of Characters:
1. Floyd - okay, so only a dumbass would identify themselves on their own cast of characters but I thought I would throw in some aliases as well - also known as Lil Bit, Vladimir Poopshoot, Carni - and if we include the voices in my head, Fattie, Dumbass, Idiot and Superstar (one of my voices is really really confident).
2. Kitty - Floyd's best friend and Nascar compatriot. Kitty is a unique individual and frankly, the only thing missing to make her a guy is the old twig and berries. Don't get me wrong - she's quite pretty but has a fascination with guns, cars and all boy type toys. Kitty joins me on all my exploits.
3. Cowboy Dan - Floyd's other best friend and Nascar compatriot. Cowboy Dan also goes by Manhands in that she is quite tall - good farm stock. She's a horse whisperer - shhhhhh. She trains horses when not assisting in fixing the world's plumbing problems through her other job. Cowboy Dan also joins in all Nascar exploits and attracts men like a fat kid to cake - even though Cowboy Dan will always pick the ugmo in the crowd to spend special time with (Kitty and I don't understand this too much but we usually benefit so no complaining).
4. Fat Baby Clan - this invovles several folks so I'm lumping them together. Fat Baby is a fat baby and one in which we are keenly interested in since Fat Baby's Mamma is our best friend and Cowboy Dan's sister. Fat Baby also has a Fat Baby Daddy, Fat Baby Uncle, Fat Baby Aunt whom I expect all to make regular appearances as well. Fat Baby's Mamma occasionally joins in on the Nascar fun when she can pry Fat Baby's grubby little mitts off her.
5. Princess of Darness - my little sister who is 14 and lives with me. Let's just say she's gothic and I'm worried about the cat....we'll leave it at that.
6. Captain Fruitloop - Cowboy Dan's and FBM's mom. Loved by all and feared by most.
7. Captain Nutty - Floyd and Princess of Darkness' mom. Makes Captain Fruitloop look downright sane.
Now, if tradition serves, there will be several guest appearances along the way as we work our way through this year's Nascar seasonso I expect this cast to grow and multiply. It should all be great fun.
Truly yours,
Vladimir Poopshoot.
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
Welcome to Floyd's Tailgate!
Hello all and welcome to my tailgate.
So I was just sitting here talking to my pal Kitty and she says I should write some stuff - which basically is Kitty's code for leave me the hell alone and go bug other people. Kitty and I had some discussion about what to call this lovely little spot and Floyd's Tailgate won out....mainly because all the ones Kitty came up with sounded dirty. By the way, Kitty wants to make sure everyone knows we're not lesbos (except for that one time Kitty was in college but she doesn't like you to tease her about that).
Sooooooo.....this blog will be a spot for our NASCAR tales - our adventures in infield partying. I'm sure we'll be throwing in other random shit as well as we quite often go off topic.
Kitty thinks it best we start out with a mission statement so here is an itemized list of our goals (by the way, Kitty says missions are one liners but screw Kitty):
1. To share otherwise unsharable exploits at NASCAR brew ha-ha's through our eyes....our eyes being the all girl, all blond crew of me (Floyd or Lil'Bit), Kitty and our pal Cowboy Dan (also known as Manhands).
2. To find something to do that doesn't make me want to shoot myself like my job does.
3. To be able to use this as a cool pickup line for a little redneck at a race, i.e. "come check out my blog".
4. To become world famous, toss our careers out the window and shove it to the man.
Well, this is just a little forewarning here - I'll add more later - most likely while I'm at work pretending to work.
Yours truly,
Vladimir Poopshoot (but you can call me Floyd)
So I was just sitting here talking to my pal Kitty and she says I should write some stuff - which basically is Kitty's code for leave me the hell alone and go bug other people. Kitty and I had some discussion about what to call this lovely little spot and Floyd's Tailgate won out....mainly because all the ones Kitty came up with sounded dirty. By the way, Kitty wants to make sure everyone knows we're not lesbos (except for that one time Kitty was in college but she doesn't like you to tease her about that).
Sooooooo.....this blog will be a spot for our NASCAR tales - our adventures in infield partying. I'm sure we'll be throwing in other random shit as well as we quite often go off topic.
Kitty thinks it best we start out with a mission statement so here is an itemized list of our goals (by the way, Kitty says missions are one liners but screw Kitty):
1. To share otherwise unsharable exploits at NASCAR brew ha-ha's through our eyes....our eyes being the all girl, all blond crew of me (Floyd or Lil'Bit), Kitty and our pal Cowboy Dan (also known as Manhands).
2. To find something to do that doesn't make me want to shoot myself like my job does.
3. To be able to use this as a cool pickup line for a little redneck at a race, i.e. "come check out my blog".
4. To become world famous, toss our careers out the window and shove it to the man.
Well, this is just a little forewarning here - I'll add more later - most likely while I'm at work pretending to work.
Yours truly,
Vladimir Poopshoot (but you can call me Floyd)
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