Sick Bastard
There’s a commercial that shows a sick dude in a hotel room. A bell boy is tryin’ to convince him to take NyQuil. He finally gets this poor sick bastard to take it by tellin’ him it’ll make him feel like he’s home. The man imagines bein’ in his own bed with his wife peacefully cuddled up next to him. He immediately takes the NyQuil.
I saw this commercial while workin’ my ass off on an elliptical runnin’ machine down at the gym. I was feelin’ strange and giddy and tryin’ hard not to puke. I imagined what that commercial would be like if I were the sick dude.
“It’ll make you feel like you’re home.” Dissolving into my imagination, here’s what I see: First, there’s a cat sleepin’ on my head. She’s 375 degrees. Her breath feels and smells like hot landfill garbage water. Another cat is runnin’ ‘round the house ‘cause she thinks she’s on fire. She yelps and moans and cries as if some demon shoved a cactus up her butt. Double L looks like a giant burrito ‘cause she’s tucked and rolled all the covers in and around herself, leavin’ me bald and freezin’. She’s snorin’ like a lumberjack. She’s snorin’ like a lumberjack that likes show tunes. In fact, she’s snorin’ the melody to “I Gotta Be Me”.
Krogers Nightly Meat and Greet
Dang man, there’s some serious cruisin’ goin’ on out at the Kroger. I haven’t seen a collection of horny people like this since, well, the last time I was in Joseph Beth. It isn’t all that surprisin’ that a book/gift store would be a good location for hot action but who’da thunk to look for cheese in the Kroger meat department? Not me. But it’s happenin. It’s a scene man. Next time I go out there I’m gonna wear my “Wanna Go Back To The Honey Bunch Of Oats Cereal Aisle And Rut?” t-shirt. Believe me, I’d still be one of the more subtle cruisers in the crowd.
Red Rover Red Rover, ah shit I never get picked!
I’m disappointed that my entries into Kentucky’s state slogan contest went more or less unnoticed. I mean, I worked hard on these damn things. ByGod I’m makin’ my own bumper sticker and slappin’ that baby on somebody’s car. I have several choices: “Kentucky-Get The Hell Outta My Marijuana Patch”, “Kentucky-Where The Oxy’s Flow Like A River”, “Kentucky-We’re That Ignurnt”, “Kentucky-If It’s Green, We’ll Pave Over It”, “Kentucky-Redder Than Hell”, and my personal favorite “Kentucky-Here Comes Da Sludge”, in honor of the Martin County coal slurry spill. As always, vote early and often. It’s the way we do it ‘round here.
SuperSize, My Pee Pee
We watched SuperSize Me this week. I found it disturbing. I also found myself gettin’ hungry as this dude wolfed down burgers and fries and cokes and shakes and pies and biscuits. I felt like a newly reformed junky watchin’ a novice take on herion to demonstrate it’s evil nature. Yeah I know it’s bad and I shouldn’t do it anymore, but goddman, it’s so good. It reminded me of that wonderful, comforted feelin’ I get when I peel the wrapper off my fish filet and discover that somebody in the McD’s “kitchen” shares my tarter sauce fetish. Yeah, this shit’s bad for me, but watchin’ SuperSize Me gave me a quarter pound boner for some rowdy oozin’ clown lovin’.
Nailin' It, For The Lord
On our way back from Nashville, we were dialin’ around the old XM radio lookin’ for somethin’ cool to listen to and lit upon this cool gospel channel. You know, upbeat, kickin’ it gospel. The kind where the bass is walkin’ all over God’s green earth, a fat B3 organ is jammin’ behind a righteous choir and the lead singer sounds like she’s gonna explode any second. I’m tellin’ you, we were flat gettin’ the ghost out there on I75.
But after three or four songs, this guy came on talkin’ ‘bout how we’re all God’s tool. Dang man, don’t get me all riled up then call me a tool. I’m all about good deeds and shit but you ain’t gonna get the full monty if you call me a tool. It just ain’t right, man. Then I turned to double L and said, “hmm, God’s tool, guess that explains why I spit so much!” To which she replied, “damn dude, something’s wrong with you!”
IQ In The Red
On a recent trip to Nashville somethin’ strange happened to me. As soon as I crossed the state line into Tennessee, I felt my IQ droppin’. I suddenly found it difficult to speak in complete sentences. My thoughts became shallow and fruitless. I found myself pondering which fireworks outlet actually has the best stuff. I noticed time and again that my chin had dropped, leavin’ my mouth open. I’d become a mouth breather. I began to daydream about NASCAR. I wondered why the Volkswagen Rabbit Diesel isn’t the one and only official NASCAR car. Then we’d find out who the best driver and mechanic really are, byGod. I worried that I should have written my country hit in the key of D instead of G. I guess it doesn’t actually matter which comes first. After all, I mean, I used both chords in my song. I even through in a C chord for a little somethin’ extra. As I neared Nashville my real worries set in. I had to make a final decision about which record label would get the pleasure of receivin’ my demo and how in the hell was I gonna find the address where I had to drop off this lumber.
Park, Parks and Parks LLC.
I hate it when a new shopping center or subdivision gets named for the thing that got torn down or paved over. What a bunch of shit. If I had the resources I’d bribe the local political machine to condemn every greedy developers tacky shit box of a house so I could tear them down and build parks in their place. I’d give them names like: “Hoover Park, A Place Where The Paranoid Can Wear Their Panties With Pride!” and “Reagan Park, A Place Where Even The Sun Isn’t All That Bright!” and “Bush Park, No Entry On Account Of All The Land Mines And Quicksand!” C’mon PowerBall!!!
KA-RAZY
I don't like bumper stickers. I really don't like political bumper stickers. Religious bumper stickers give me a rash. I especially don't like these "Support Our Troops" ribbon magnets every yuck nut seems to have on their pickup or SUV. I don't believe this particular group supports our troops. You can't support our troops and be gettin' 12 miles to the gallon. Plus, I just don't like bein' told what to do. "Save the Salmon", "Get Right with Jesus", "W",...ahh, why don't you people shut the fuck up?
While waiting to pay for something the other day, I looked at the ribbon magnet shown below. It felt icky and dangerous. It felt wrong. Then I noticed something that made me laugh my ass off.
This is the best example of the insanity going on in America I've seen in more than a week! We are so cheap, so needin' a good deal that we won't even pay an American to make our "Support Our Troops" stickers. There is something evil going on and this is a good example of it. We're crazy! I just don't know whether to laugh or cry or invest heavily in foreign markets.
Four Not Five Words To Live By
The first motto I came up with for this new year was “2005, the year of experience not accumulation.” I thought this was pretty good. You know, simplify. Break free of the shackles of consumerism and embrace the magic that life reveals to us each day. But I’m a hick and hicks can’t resist a good furniture sale. Especially when you don’t have to put any money down or make a payment ‘til next January. So I studied on this before fading off to sleep last night and came up with what I think is an even more positive and realistic maxim. “2005: More porn, less CNN.”
