"Oh My God, Stephanie Had a Retarded Baby and Her Husband Turned Gay and She Doesn't Change Her Retard's Diapers.. Sooo Sad"

If I hear one more person complain about cell phones and loud cell phone conversations I'm going to make a razor blade smoothie and give myself an enema.

I LIKE TO OVERHEAR CONVERSATIONS! Never before has eavesdropping been so available everywhere. EAVESDROPPING RULES! You people that don't like cellphone conversation are the same types that complain when the neighbors are stabbing each other. Neighbors stabbing each other RULES! Would you be bummed if Quentin Tarantino was next door sawing off some gay kid's dick with an electric toothbrush and you could hear every word and vibrating whatever? NO. Why? Because that would RULE!

You cell phone conversation haters suffer from one or more of the following disorders:

1. You're not creative.

2. You hate that people have friends.

3. You want all the attention for yourself and it makes you mad that people aren't trying to listen to YOUR conversation because the hot chick on the cell phone crying to her abusive boyfriend is stealing "YOUR" spotlight.

a. You fail to imagine her getting a beating when she gets home.

b. You fail to imagine that her boyfriend is a midget or Kobe Bryant.

c. You fail to imagine that she is just talking to a dial tone because she is sick to death of your STUPID CONVERSATION WITH YOUR SISTER'S BOYFRIEND'S CO-WORKER ABOUT THE SALAD DRESSING.--- USE YOUR IMAGINATIONS PEOPLE.

Not me, I don't get mad at all. I WANT half of the details. If I could have my way I'd have everyone use speaker phone so I could hear the whole thing. I like that people can enjoy a good fight over a plate of spaghetti with someone who isn't even there. I like it even more that I can sit in the next booth and silently judge them as I make up the other side of the conversation. I like sitting there thinking, "oh you should totally tell her this or that awesome zinger of a remark"

Like I said, what you're mad about is that a one sided conversation is more interesting than the meathead you brought to lunch which is why you can't seem to ignore it. More likely is that you went to lunch alone and nobody is trying to call you at all and their conversation is a painful reminder of that fact but all this is just because your attitude sucks. You have yet to realize that the faggot screaming into his phone about his festering anus is your perfect opportunity to ignore the fuck out of your dumb date or your dumb boring life.

If you don't like overhearing people, build yourself a 12x12 cabin in the woods in Wyoming and send old people package bombs or something.

As for me, I will continue to rush to the window and peek out the blinds everytime I hear people chatting or shuffling their feet outside. I like being a nosy old woman.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught imagining that at the other end of every single cell phone conversation is a naked and oily Osama Bin Laden.
Your Master of Dare-emonies,
Horton (dude who heard the who)

Nearly Every Fight I Ever Had With Any Girlfriend Was on The Subject of Dinner

merkley???:
fil and samir get along right?

raymi:
yes they exclude me

raymi:
samir was my friend first

raymi:
they gang up on me and get me super fucking annoyed

merkley???:
i can see how that might happen

raymi:
next time they piss me off im gonna pull a ditch on them

raymi:
first order a bunch of shots on samir's tab then disappear

raymi:
hahahaahhahahahahaa

merkley???:
ha

raymi:
fuckers

raymi says:
u love each other so much TAKE THAT FAGS

merkley???:
then go stumbling off into the fog

raymi:
yeh all mysterious

raymi says:
"oh what u wanted to eat steak with me tonite awww", then i spit in the marinade and watch them exclaim to me how marvelous everything tastes

merkley???:
then come home with no shoes and a new tennis racket

merkley???:
with the price tag still on it

raymi:
and a bunch of fone numbers with no names

raymi:
and some numbers missing

merkley???:
pants on backwards

raymi:
speaking in french

merkley???:
bandaids on every finger

raymi:
broken glass on my shoulders and in my hair

merkley???:
a dozen eggs under one arm -- NONE BROKEN!!

raymi:
hahhaaa

raymi:
ok im gonna go grocery shopping now

raymi:
be back later

merkley???:
bye

That's all for now,
Don't get caught, ah fuck it, you think of one, I'm too lazy.
Your, ah fuck it, you think of one, I'm still too lazy,
Regis Philbin

Come On Down and Get Frisked By Gigantic Gangster Looking Negroes

That's right, you heard me, all you trust fund whitebread hundred dollar haircut honky cokeheads from the suburbs have the chance to turn society on it's ear!! Yes you can be frisked by a gigantic gangster looking negro man as if YOU are the threat to HIM in the middle of the butthole crackhead ghetto of our great city. I think this is the dream Dr. Martin Luther was talking about.

I wrote about this place before wherein I said I'd never return to that shithole, But here I'm involved in this art show tonight. So much for sticking to my gums. Come on down if you're around. I plan on being there for at least 20 minutes.





That's all for now.
Don't get caught waiting till you're crowning before getting in line for the toilet.
Your Master of Sideways Hair-emonies,
Dick Cheney

If I Was an Older Wiser Experienced Pee Splatter in Some Gas Station's Men's Restroom Out On The Highway...

If I was an Ordinary, Run of The Mill Fart, I'd be a little miffed that nobody really knows how to write down what I sound like yet everyone seems to be able to impersonate me like a total pro. I'd also be a little bummed that "pfffft", which is the closest anyone ever really came to accurately writing out what I sound like, just means miffed or put off which is exactly what I'd be at this very second.

Shannon

If I was Really Bad Breath and Also Kinda Dickish, my favorite words would be words like "WHO", "HOW", "WHY","HARRY" and any other super windy word that'd unleash me into your face and I'd probably often think about how clever I was to mostly take up residency in the hot jerky holes of interrogators and such.

Cimi

If I was an Older Wiser Experienced Pee Splatter in Some Gas Station's Men's Restroom Out On The Highway, and some new young pee splatters were complaining and generally being ungrateful about this or that, I'd probably lecture them about how lucky they were to be wiener pee splatters and not vergeena pee splatters and then I'd go on and on about difference between the dude's bathroom and the chick's bathroom and how the chick's bathroom was certain death for the likes of them and so on and so forth but I'd make damn sure to be funny and entertaining while I was doing it because it's important for young pee splatters to have role models and it's important for older pee splatters to remember what it was like to be young and drippy.

My neice Shanelle

If any of you fuckers talk shit I'll kick your face in.

Also, I can't seem to stop being Lou Reed.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught pretending the urinal pellet is Ellen DeGeneres or a sandwich or something.
Your Master of I Don't Care-emonies,
Laci Peterson

And That's What It's Like Being Friends With a Totally Self Aware Sometimes Resentful But Honest Drunk.

So you call me up and go on and on about missing me and can't wait to see me and have been thinking of me all the time and where have you been merkley and i thought you didn't like me anymore merkley and how come you don't return my calls merkley and on and on and on until i decide to somewhat reluctantly meet you out for drinks because it is next door to where i was going anyway and then i avoid direct eye contact with you and pat you on the back while you try to hug me and i shrug off explanations about where i have been and why i don't call back and then i slip out to go to another bar because i can see you are getting drunk and i don't have any interest in you when you are drunk which is nearly every single time i have ever seen you but then i see you again because you end up at the same bar of course and i wish you wouldn't have because i was just trying to have a good time with people who don't feed me a line of bull for their own selfish reasons and by that time i am pretty drunk and having a good time and of course you are having a fabulous time hitting on every dude within sight and you are avoiding further self serving speeches about how i am the number one coolest chap in the history of the world because now it's time for you to get attention from dude one billion and five and finally about closing time i get my thumbs moving all text message style and you get the following text messages which you will never see because you lose five billion phones every two nanoseconds because you are always drunk:
Me (1:28 am): yours is a sober love but you my lady are a drunk.
Me (1:28 am): No wonder i'm a ghost.
Me (1:29 am):dude. You are all talk. More than words and shit. Not waiting by the phone so don't worry. It's all you. It always has been. No big whoop.
Me (1:39 am): Stop feigning interest. Seriously. Stop it.

And that's what it's like being drunken insincere friends with a totally self aware, self righteous, sometimes resentful but honest and sincere drunk. ME.

That's all for now!
Don't get caught casting the first stone and blahbbity blah,
Your Master of Glaremonies,
Bonnie Hunt

A Blossom Fell...

Back in the old country, I used to keep a beautiful old radio from the 40s in the bathroom humming out an AM radio station that played the warm golden oldies music that originally came out of it's beautiful Bak-o-lite and gold speaker grill.

When pooping, I always tried to time my plops to the crescendos and changes in the music --- I still try not to poop out of rhythm.

Anyway, once I timed my poop to emphasize Nat King Cole's lyric that goes "...a blossom fell and touched two lips that lied.... ..... .... plop!" it had a really good hollow splashback sound too. The kind that sounds like a cartoon sound effect or something. It was awesome.

This story originally appeared as a comment on one of Raymi's moving poop tales. THANKS RAYMI!!


BTW, I am bringing back the term "I crap you negative" but I am changing it to "I crap you neg". Now THAT'S what 2006 is all about.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught accidentally pooping before Patsy Cline gets to the part where it seems like a poop needs to be.
Your Orchestral Bowel Maneuvers In the Park,
Mel Torme

merkley??? Hated Lou Reed Until merkley??? Walked a Mile in Lou Reed's Flip Flops

Seriously, I always hated Lou Reed but now that I have BEEN Lou Reed, I can't help but love him to death.

These were my experiences as....

Lou Reed.

Lou Reed Wants To Be On Oprah

Lou Reed is Capable of Forgiveness

Lou Reed Spoke Too Soon

Lou Reed Woke Up With Patti Smith

Lou Reed Has 43 Stitches

I can only hope for you that someday you get your chance to be Lou Reed.

That's all for now!
Don't get caught eating heroin!
Your Number One Mortage Broker Break Dancer Biker,
Debby Harry

So I Bumped Into All The Slutbag Contestants of The Bachelor In The Lingerie Department at 7-11

So I bumped into all the slutbag contestants of The Bachelor in the lingerie department at 7-11.

"Hey ladies lookin good, what are you all doing here in the lingerie department at 7-11?"

"Must slurp pee, must slurp pee, must wear yummy panties and must slurp pee," they chanted as they all turned their heads, tweeked their nipples and responded in one singular voice which creeped me the fuck out.

"Those aren't edible panties. That's just beef jerky. Don't wear it. It looks like you all have scabs on your unmentionables. Also, I think it's called a Slurpee, just one word, it's sounds like you are saying that you want to drink urine or something. Why are you all talking in unison?"

"We slurp pee to be what we be, submissive dumb sluts times one hundred and three."

"Whoa, weird. I was kinda thinking that you gals weren't really aware how stupid, slutty and retarded you all are, so now I'm a little confused because now it seems like you're all super aware or something or like you are part of some pee guzzling submissives cult or something. What's the deal?"

"GET OUT OF HERE HOT DOG WANTER!!" a voice screamed from near the cash register.

"Who said that? I actually came in for nachos not a Big Dog." I said as I inched toward the Jerry's Kids donation bucket."

"GET OUT OF HERE NACHO BUILDER HOT DOG DREAMER OFer"

I leaned over the counter to see a really shiny completely naked fat woman with big gulp cups on her oblong boobs. She was on all fours and Camille Paglia was spanking her with a bible.

"Camille? is that you? Why are you spanking the naked 7-11 cashier with a bible? Do you know why these Bachelor contestants are hypnotized and wearing jerky thongs?"

"Have you read my book Sexual Personae?"

"Umm I tried but it was too wordy so I sniffed it a bunch and licked a few pages so I think I get the gist of it."

"You jizzed on my BOOK? AWESOME!!!"

"No I said GIST"

"Oh, well at least you sniffed it and licked it, you'd be surprised at how uptight academia is about experiencing books in any way other than "reading"...."

Then she went on and on talking at a million miles an hour for one billion minutes and the earth started rotating in the opposite direction and Pope John Paul came back to life and Superman crawled out of his grave and found the horse that turned him into a useless gimp and he killed it and stretched his intestines to the moon and told everyone it was a giant cheese yo yo and then Camille finally took a breath and I was able to get one word in edgewise.

"VAGINA!"

Camille looked at me waiting for me to complete my thought.

"Sorry, you just made me feel like shouting VAGINA"

Then Camille launched into another forty billion word essay about the vagina and the whole population of earth was interested for exactly 2 nanoseconds and then the entire globe fell into a deep sleep wherein everyone on earth (including black people) had the exact same dream about a far away oh so peaceful pond with a slow swimming carp named Gerald that spoke slowly with a soothing warm voice that bubbled with comforting non abrasive non-scrubbing bubbles.....

"WAKE UP PEOPLE!!" Camille screamed "Don't you people see the genius behind the BACHELOR? It's exactly what I was trying to say in Sexual Personae!! I'm the spiritual mother of The Bachelor!"

Just then a gang of 13 Dykes on Bikes came crashing through the glass store front. The head Dyke on Bike was none other than Rosi O'Donnel and she wasn't wearing a shirt.

"We want us some jerky and we want it NOW!!" Rosi huffed as she stroked her beard, tickled the adopted Mexican kids she had crammed in her army boots and stomped over to the empty jerky dealie by the cash register.

"WHAT in THEEEE HELL???!!!" She snorted upon finding the container empty. "SOMEBODY IS GONNA DIE!"

Camille made a mad dash for the Slurpee machine where she doused her head with the blue flavored Slurpee stuff. The adopted Mexican kids laughed.

"Do you like my blue hair?" She yell asked as she very slyly and sneakily pointed to the jerky thongs being worn by The Bachelor contestants. "I said Do. You. Like. My. Blue. Hair?" Wink wink.

Personally I thought she should have said something like "I have no idea where the jerky went" while she sneakily pointed at the jerky thongs because I think that would have made more sense to a common dyke like Rosi O'Donnel but I think she was trying to make some pop culture referential metaphor about punk rockers or little old blue haired ladies as she pointed at the jerky clad weehoodles of The Bachelor conestants.

Rosi O'Donnel just stood there with a blank expression on her face as a singular 2 ounce drip of drool glopped off of her bottom lip and stretched down to the floor. A low rumbling hum was growing and by the looks of it, it appeared to be originating from Rosi's low hung FUBU shorts with the wallet chain. The sight of the mostly nude slutbags that she recognized from TV combined with her all time -- umm, I mean EVERY lesbian's all time favorite snack, BEEF JERKY THONG was just too much. Her face turned from confusion, to lust, to slightly pained, back to lust, then back to confusion, then to something that reminded me of a donkey, then back to lust then to a look that I will never forget because it is the look I had on my face the first time I ever saw semen squirt out the end of my penis.

Rosi had popped an actual boner.

She looked down her pants and the most satisfied smile you ever did see slowly crawled across her face. She dropped her drawers right then and there revealing a clitoris that was at the very least two inches long peeking out of her wookie of a fluffy muff. The other dykes, following suit, dropped their shorts to the floor revealing 12 more pudgy weinerish 1 and 2 incher clit dealies kinda like Rosi's. The adopted Mexican kids cried.

The empty headed bimbo Bachelor contestants having been thoroughly trained in the holy ways of cock worship all looked slightly bewildered and they gazed back and forth at each other as the were trying to determine what exactly constitutes a "cock". Sensing their confusion, Camille darted to the hot dog roller thing and grabbed a Big Dog that looked like it had been rolling on there since Adam boinked Eve and Eve pretended to like it. She held it out in the air in front of her, carefully showing it to the all the bimbos while pointing at it.

"Wiener"

Then she bit two inches off the end of it, spit it out into her hairy palm and rushed over to Rosi's shiny pink nub and held out right next to it.

"Wiener"

The bimbos immediately all dropped to their knees like good Bachelor contestants and the Dykes on Bikes all sauntered into position where they received some weird, Big Gulpy, Slurpeeish, interpretations of your basic chick on dude blow jobs while they munched on the best weehoodle flavored jerky of which any butch ass, droopy drawered dyke could ever dream.

With all HER dreams and prophecies having all come to pass, Camille Paglia's head exploded in a pink cloud of pure elation scattering 69 pounds of red white and blue, star spangled candy to the ground and all the adopted Mexican children rushed in to scoop it all up.

Not wanting to be a party pooper, I followed suit. Not for the candy, for the blow job -- duh.

I was so overcome with joy that I left a whole paper dollar for Jerry's Kids.

Afternoon Delight played on the radio.

Everyone was happy.

I fucking LOVE feminism.

The End

btw, I have no idea what happened to the naked fat cashier so don't ask. I'm not into fat bitches.

That's all for now!
Don't get caught submitting junk like this to the local paper sayin' it's like a college thesis about chicks.
Your Balls to The Wall Number One Softball Fan,
Bill Gates

Somebody Stuck a Poll Up My Date

This is an update and a poll.

For whatever reason, I have been dividing this here blog into sections or categories or whatever the fuck. So far I have;

Heavyweight Sleep Champion of The World
My Dreams Kick The Shit Out of Your Dreams

Absolutely 87% True Bullshit
This One Time, This Thing Happened and I Did Some Stuff

If I Was a Pee Hole
I Would Totally Learn To Whistle

and then the main blog here.

other future categories will be for my encounters with famous or otherwise noteworthy buttlickers, my perfectly flawless political philosophies, and perhaps one with just photos. Any suggestions will be duly considered as well.

I'm pretty sure that nobody gives a shit -- but I do have one question, while all of the other categories will contain posts that originally appear both here on the main page and in the respective cartegory, the dream blog shit is, for now, totally separate. Do you think I should post my dream stuff here too? Or do you think I should keep them completely separate? I'm not a person that wants to bother people with my dreams, but at the same time, I have been updating that shit almost everyday and sometimes the main blog feels like a moldy turd just sitting here stinking up the web.

What do you think?

And now I will leave you with a joke by my friend Bridget Schwartz who quit blogging because she is emotionally fucked up or something:

I recently took a poll.

It didn't feel very good.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught asking dumb questions when you'll end up doing it your own way anyway.
Your Flaming Red Headed Master of Batermonies,
Shelly Winters