I have a weird family.

Case in point, MotherGeek calls yesterday and, in between asking me about my day and complaining about how tired she always is, informs me that an aunt I never knew I had died Monday evening, the funeral is this afternoon and would I like to come.

Say wha…?!

During the conversation that follows I also discover that I have a whole other family that I haven’t seen since I was three including, I kid you not, a cousin named Brucie and an uncle named Dr. Phil.

No, not THE Dr. Phil, but even so it still creeped me out.

So, after thinking it over I decided not to go to the funeral because I just didn’t feel right showing up to pay my respects to someone I never knew surrounded by people I don’t remember. Also, I didn’t have anything to wear and lord knows I can’t be seen at a funeral wearing last years mourning suit fashions. I might as well show up in a toga.

Talk about funeral faux pas!

In other news, my little Adam’s Revenge contest seems to be drawing in a boatload of apathy from everyone out there. In the hopes of garnering some response from you people I thought a last minute reminder might help spur some of you closet writers into sending in your entries before tonight’s 11pm deadline. But, if that doesn’t work then maybe I’ll have to resort to another, less pleasant, tactic. That’s right people. If you don’t send me a sentence soon, and I mean in the next five minutes, I’m bringing Bread back!

Oh man, I think I threw up a little in my mouth…

Maybe something’s wrong with me.

This morning I saw Jessica Simpson’s “These Boots Are Made For Walking” video for the first time. Nothing special, right? Just another bad song being sung by another bad singer in yet another bad video on MTV. But this particular video has a stigma attached to it that merited my viewing.

You see, in the video Jessica Simpson wears a string bikini.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m no Jessica Simpson fan. I happen to dislike her on the grounds that anyone who’s that stupid and that rich should by rights be ugly as sin. Hey, look at Anna Nicole before the fad diet. So, simply by existing Jessica defies the natural order of the universe and should be beaten with an ugly stick by schoolchildren outside of a different public school from 3:30-4:00pm every day until even the meanest kid feels sorry for her face.

That would set the universal karma back to right.

Anywaste, back to my mental meanderings. In this video, Jessica wears a tiny string bikini while teasingly washing the “General Lee”, the car from The Dukes of Hazzard movie in which she plays Daisy Duke. Normally, a sexy young woman wearing a string bikini and getting all kinds of wet on the hood of a car would encourage certain parts of my anatomy to stand up and take notice. But, much to my surprise, seeing her on my TV screen had the opposite effect entirely. In fact, when she leaned over the hood of the car exposing her barely bikini covered boobies to the camera, I came very close to vomiting last nights leftover tacos all over the couch.

As it was, I did get to enjoy their hot and spicy taste once again.

Here’s the thing that’s been bothering me all day. Is it normal for a guy to see a woman most would call sexy who’s writhing around in a wet bikini on top of a car and making come-hither eyes at the camera and, instead of sitting back and enjoying the view, he hastily clamps his lips together to suppress his gag reflex? Should I be worried about this? Should I see a specialist? What say you, oh readership of wise soothsayers? Am I going crazy(er)?

In other news, it’s fricking hot.

‘Nuff said.

When I drink too much Coca-Cola I fart.

This is not something I’m proud of, especially since no other carbonated beverage I’ve ever consumed has had this effect on my gastrointestinal tract, but I just thought it was something you ought to know. You know, just in case I’m visiting and all you have to drink in the house is a Coke or a nice glass of watered down bleach with ice. Trust me; you would be doing the world a favor by giving me the bleach. No jury would convict you, my friend. It’s called “self-defense”. Why do I mention this? Well, guess who just had a whole 2 liters of Coke all to himself on an otherwise empty stomach?

That’s right. Mister GeekMan McStinkypants, that’s who.

The gods mock me.

About ten minutes ago, as I stood in front of the bathroom mirror for the 1,000,000,000th time of my life, I looked down at my belly and discovered that my bellybutton is not centered on my stomach like it is for normal people. As far back as I can remember I believe it has been centered. At least, I don’t ever recall noticing it being askew before and believe me, its non-centeredness isn’t something I would overlook when I go through my daily leprosy check. In fact, my bellybutton is now located far enough to the right of center to be obvious to the untrained eye, and it frightens me. In the nanosecond it took for my brain to process the highly disturbing fact that I was most likely a mutant-troll doomed to grow more and more grotesque every day until I am forced by an angry mob of torch-bearing villagers to live in the sewers below my neighborhood and sustain myself by consuming raw rats and small children, another even more frightening thought made its way through my mind and filled me with a dread that I know is going to keep me from sleeping peacefully for the next few years of my life.

If my bellybutton was once perfectly centered on my belly, who was moving it? And why?!
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I just got back from the doctor.

No, no. Don’t get all worried. It’s absolutely nothing to worry about, I assure you. It’s just some routine shots in preparation for some travel I’m going to have to do for work over the next few months. It seems that you can’t go to some countries without getting a plethora of vaccinations to protect you/them from diseases, infections and silly food related illnesses.

That reminds me, I need to pick up some butt cream…

So, after taking five shots in the arm without shedding a single tear, what do I get when I demand my lollipop at the end of the visit? A concerned look and a strong recommendation that I see a psychiatrist, is what. And an appointment for more shots next month.

My arm hurts.

…

I want a lolly, dammit!