No matter how frustrated you are with the circular, nonsensical and completely illogical argument presented to you by your significant other, it is never, ever a good idea to say the following;
“If it’s so simple and easy to do, then why can’t you put the toilet seat down your own damn self?”
Doing so will only lead to the loss of Sweet Loving Privileges for a length of time of no shorter than, “When I say so and not before.”
That is all.
Ahem.
I am both proud and horrified to announce that I am now an official Big, Stupid, Blogging Loser. I now know this to be a completely true statement because I am being published in a book. Yeah, as in paper pages and everything. And not just any book mind you, but one about web logs and Blogging entitled, “We’ve Got Blog”.
Oh, the humanity.
The book is basically a collection of Blog entries about Blogs and Blogging from Bloggerdom’s best and brightest, among which I definitely do NOT count myself. You might be asking yourself what I, a lowly, pathetic, immature, intellectually and emotionally stunted member of the online community, could possibly have to offer these shining stars the Blogging elite. Well, my fine faceless friend, I am happy to answer this excellent question.
In a word, “Nothing.”
Luckily for me, the publisher failed to notice that I am a complete and utter moron and actually used my Credo within the pages of their otherwise wonderful and intelligent tome of well written essays. I can only hope and pray that they don’t realize their mistake and remove my chapter (#19) before sending the book out to the stores. If anyone out there, aside from my mother, wishes to purchase this great and powerful archive of knowledge, you should take some anti-depressants immediately and go lie down.
There are far less painful ways to commit suicide.
If, after all of these warnings, you still want to purchase the book then all I can say is “Bless you.” I would wish you a long life and prosperity, but you’re obviously psychologically unstable and will most likely wind up selling all your worldly possessions and moving to Sri Lanka to become a used llama salesperson.
Ew. Now that’s just sad.
[looks left]
[looks right]
Is anyone still reading this?
Anyone?
No?
Good.
Hot DAY-UHM! I’ve been published!
It was going to be his lucky night.
The boy checked himself out again in the bathroom mirror and smiled. His black Dockers and black, silk button-down shirt looked lint-free and perfectly ironed. Bringing his attention back to his freshly shaved face he inspected the damage of his earlier shaving mishap. Turning this way and that he made sure that the multitude of tiny nicks and scrapes on his face had stopped bleeding before carefully removing the wads of red-tinted tissue paper and slapping on some after-shave. His screams of pain as the alcohol based lotion burned into his face left him breathless.
He swore never to shave using a cheap disposable razor and cold water again. Ever.
Quickly rinsing his face until the burning feeling subsided, our hero muffled his sobs in an oversized, fluffy and soft towel. He gave himself another spritz or five of his favorite cologne (Drakar Noir, because he was cool like that. Yo.) and moved into the living room to look for the final piece of his New Years Eve Celebratory Party-Crashing Outfit.
He needed to find his hat.
As he moved through the newly furnished, Bachelor Pad of Sin and Seduction, he noted with great satisfaction that it was primed and ready for action should any female companion(s) wish to follow him home that evening. He went through his mental checklist of Lures and Mood Setting Paraphernalia one last time.
He nodded to the room in general. The room, of course, ignored him. He was as ready as he could be for a night of sexual pleasure if only he could find his special hat to complete his outfit, and so lure an unsuspecting woman to his Magnificent Den of Amazing Sexual Pleasure.
The hat was vital to his Top Secret “Get Some” Plan.
Knowing that he would be out on the town with a group of eight other virile young men all looking to meet Miss Right(Now), our hero had concocted a plan to make himself the most memorable of the group. Since our hero was a Geek of stupendous magnitude, it was a given that his friends were better looking, smarter and more charming than he. With that in mind, he had come up with a sure-fire method of catching a woman’s eye no matter how many other suitors she might have during the night. The plan was perfect in its simplicity and it was practically guaranteed to work. The beauty of it was that it involved nothing more than introducing himself to a woman while wearing a hat.
More specifically, a multicolored, oversized jesters hat. With bells.
He grinned to himself at the perfect simplicity of his plan. The women he met at any of the partys he would crash that evening would have no choice but to remember the crazy guy in the jesters hat who introduced himself to anything with breasts and a pulse. And, as every man knows, being remembered greatly improves ones chances of getting some sweet loving from drunk women at a party.
Or, of being rejected with mortifying regularity. Whatever.
He finally finds his hat sitting complacently on top of his neatly made, ready for action, queen-sized bed. Placing it upon his hard-as-a-rock, Aqua-Net covered hair, he heads for the door and leaves his manly sanctuary. All he has to do now is take the train into the city and meet up with his friends and the night of revelry and debauchery could begin. He allows his mouth to curl into a knowing smile one last time as he locks his door and heads to the subway, his hat jingle-jangling on his head.
He stoically ignored his fellow snickering passengers on the train.
He meets his friends and they begin their sorry, pathetic march from party to party hoping against hope that at least one of their number will get the ‘hook-up’. None do. By the time they approach what will be the final party of the evening even our hero is beginning to wonder at the plausibility of his Hat of Remembrance theory. He’s beginning to think he should just call it a night, go home and masturbate. He was even thinking of keeping the hat on while doing it.
You know, for the novelty.
But he doesn’t call it quits for the night. He and his friends climb up the four flights of stairs to reach the apartment where the party is being held and it’s a good thing they did. I say it was a good thing because this party just happens to be hosted by the girl of his dreams. Beautiful, witty, funny and smart, she was everything he had ever wanted in a woman.
And most importantly, she was drunk.
At some point during the evening they are introduced and the sparks fly almost immediately. After the firemen arrive and put out the fire in the kitchen, our hero and his new infatuation go to her bedroom a quiet spot to sit and talk. She compliments his choice of headwear and he makes a mental note to laugh in all his friends faces. They look deep into each others eyes and, as he leans towards her for a kiss, she giggles as the hats little bells jingle. What happens for the rest of that evening is a blur of happiness better off not brought into closer focus.
And by better off, I mean less painful for me.
Whoops! I didn’t mean that. What I meant to say was, our hero. Yeah, that’s it. Our hero, not me. Because this isn’t about me and you honey. It’s just a story. You know, make believe? Because, uh… we’re not like that, right?
…
Right?
…
Honey? You know I was just playing, right?
…
Sweetie? Where are you going…?
…
Damn.
This was not going to be his lucky night…
What’s a Geek to do?
I want to Blog almost every day, but every day something new crops up that demands my attention and I need to put off updating my site for just a bit longer. It’s almost like a conspiracy. A massive government cover-up to thwart my every attempt to corrupt the minds of the world with my amazingly inane and pathetically un-humorous drivel.
I can just imagine what the secret meeting would be like.
“OK Dick, thanks for coming to my office.”
“What are we doing today Dubya?”
“Well Dick, it seems that GeekMan is trying to write another one of his silly little posts and we don’t want to let him do that. National Security and all that.”
“Why the hell not? He seems pretty harmless to me. He’s not even that funny.”
“No he’s not. But he’s not harmless, either. He tries to hide it, but we now know he’s really an agent working for the elite forces of the New Guinean National Bureau of Super-Duper Top Secrets. How else can you explain how he knew I was using Miss Cleo?”
“Ok, so what should we do? You want he should ‘disappear’?”
“Nothing like that. Let’s just keep him so busy that he can’t take the time to write anything.”
“OK, so I gather you want me to get him hired for work somewhere or have some of our ‘people’ show him some promising new apartments and then snatch them away at the last minute?”
“That sounds good. And also, you should make sure his girlfriend, the one he calls biscuit-something…”
“HoBiscuit, you moron.”
“HoBiscuit?”
“Yeah, HoBiscuit.”
“That’s a stupid name.”
“No worse than Dubya.”
“I wouldn’t be so quick to judge, Dick.”
“Listen you idiot…”
“Whatever. Just make sure that his girl has a couple of really bad days at work so she can be cranky. That always makes him forget to post.”
“Ok. Fine. Is that all?”
“No, Dick. That is not all. I also think I should do another speech or something. You know, something about the evil people over there in Saudi Afghanistanabia. Or Al Kay-duh.”
“Yeah right, Dubya. As if anyone actually listens to you and your little speeches.”
“That’s enough out of you, Dick. I’m the President of the YOU-nited States of ‘Merica and you’d better listen to me or you’ll be in trouble.”
“I’ll listen when you can spell ‘President’ without a teleprompter.”
“You think you’re so smart. Let’s see you out-think the back of my hand you old, ugly sum-bitch.”
“Bring it on you dumb, monkey-looking daddy’s boy.”
“Don’t talk about my daddy!”
“Or what? You gonna call him and cry, sissy-boy?”
I don’t need my pappy for the likes of you, Dick!”
[Dubya slaps Dick]
“Your daddy’s not here to bail you out this time, Dubya!”
[Dick slaps Dubya]
“I’m calling my daddy!”
“I’ll kick his ass, too!”
[begin sissy slap-fight sequence]
Dear god, what has become of me? I promise, my next update will be more entertaining than dumping a bucketful of live prawns into your pants.
And who doesn’t love doing the Prawns-In-My-Pants Dance?