Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Toys. OH NO WAIT

I'm taking a crack at customizing my very first vinyl toy [in this case a Mighty Mugg] and it's making me crazy.

I've learned that the paints we have are crap, my hands shake way too much, and I bite the bejesus out of the inside of my lip while concentrating. Hurrah.


Also, I'm a member of The Mighty Muggs Forum, primarily so that I can look at attached pictures since some people are too fucking dumb to figure out photobucket, but also because there are some pretty talented folks there and I'd love to get their feedback once I start cranking out customs faster than an Irish-Catholic woman has babies. That wasn't funny.

Anyway, I doubt I'll ever grow the stones to post pictures of this first mistake anywhere. Not even here. Boo.

Nothing new. Still waiting on my unemployment checks and Washington state medical license to show up. Boo to that, too.

Dorian is mad because I hurt her back today. I feel fucking terrible, but I doubt she knows it. I'm bad at comforting people. Especially big stupid cry baby people that are stinky but I love anyway. Those kind of people are the hardest for me to comfort.

Anyway, radio city.

Monday, March 23, 2009

The bear went over the mountain.

I'm in love with Green Jell-O all over again. To hell with calling them Green Jelly. Fuck you, general foods.

You know what irks me? People who don't know who Gary Cooper is. What bothers me even more is the fact that I just said irks.

Despite general loathing of her character in general, I am worried about my younger cousin. She's not quite retarded. Hell, I wouldn't even call her slow. I guess developmentally stunted is the term I'm reaching for. Anyway, here's a quick breakdown of what's got my forehead wrinkled:

She's having a ton of unprotected sex. I mean, a ton. Now, I'm certainly not one to wag my finger in the face of promiscuity, but the last thing this kid needs is a baby. She can barely handle her shitty job handing out pizza hut pizza to fat pasty tourists.

Also, her choice in partners is questionable. The buzz is that she's taking most of her cervical beatings from the white trash and 'wigger' types.

When I called to gently encourage her to be safe, and get used to getting tested for STD's on a regular basis, I caught a ration of shit and a fifteen minute temper tantrum about how I should just 'mind my own stupid business'. Now, if we were close, that comment might make me chuckle. It's fairly accurate. My business is often stupid. However, being the distant 'let's make small talk and I'll sneak you the odd beer at family functions' relatives that we are, it just bummed me out.

That aside, her latest 'boyfriend' is in a medically induced coma. See, she got kicked out of her Mom's house because she was tired of hearing her daughter being railed. So, she moved in with her Dad. Dad somehow got her a job at the aforementioned pizza hut, and then bought her a car so she could drive to said job.


Well, she quit. Just walked out. Dad took the car away, so she decided to blow her savings on some piece of shit firebird. Flash forward a week, and she got herself a lovely five hundred dollar ticket for driving without insurance. A ticket she could not pay. Apparently you can get out of them if you go to court and show them that you have learned the error of your ways and purchased insurance for your vehicle, so, being the grand enabler, her mom took care of that for her.

Now let's flash forward another week. Her boyfriend, who at this point was living with her at her Dad's house, needed transportation to his shitty McJob. Despite warnings from both of her parents, she let him drive her car to work. Naturally this winner was lacking a license and insurance [hence the warnings], and when the cops tried to pull him over for whatever reason, he tried to outrun them. Needless to say, this did not work. He hit another car containing a mother and her two small children, then careened into a telephone pole.

Enter medically induced coma. Now this shitbag's family is going to try and sue my aunt to cover the medical costs, as, here comes a shocker, they don't have medical insurance.


My cousin, in between hanging out in his hospital room, writing nonsensical myspace bulletins about being heart-broken and moping, is apparently stuffing as many cocks into her vagina as possible.

Oh, it gets better. We'll be moving to Washington state in a matter of days, and as this is where my cousin lives, the task of getting her on the right track has been tossed into my corner.

This honestly amuses me. Up until the past few years, I've been the family fuck up. Now I'm getting the new fuck ups back on track. I'm like the white, hairy, flabby version of Dee West. Maybe Maury will give me a job. I could definitely scream at people for a living.

Thursday, March 19, 2009

Pew Pew.

Photobucket


Best St. Patrick's Day ever.

Monday, February 23, 2009

Those cylon boogie blues.




I'm munching a chocolate chip granola bar and thinking about Battle Star Galactica. Well, I'm actually chewing on about three quarters of the granola bar. I was curious as to whether or not I could fit it in my mouth.

Because I have a small mouth.

I'm selling a lot of my stuff. Or trying to. Let's just say I'm making a vague effort. Anyway, one thing I definitely want to sell is my autographed copy of I feel Sick #1. It's signed by Jhonen vasquez and Rikki Simmons. I don't want to go through the fucking hassle of Ebay, but I'm not sure how else to get rid of the fucking thing. I was never into Vasquez in a big way, so this comic isn't gracing my wall like the works of Mr.Sam Keith.

If you've stumbled across this blog and you just have to have a signed copy of IFS, drop me a line. And get your check book ready.

Other than that, nothing to report.

I think I want a hedgehog. I'm not really 100% on that yet, so I'll have to get back to you.

Back to Battlestar, I really enjoyed the way that four of the final five cylons were revealed. I'm also looking forward to watching Razor in a few hours.

SciFi.com has a cylon toaster that I want. I also want the 1:1 Cylon prop they have. Dorian says it would be too scary. Fear is a common side effect of being exposed to raw, untreated awesome. It's a fact of life.

We're supposed to be hit with a major thunderstorm today/yesterday. So far the clouds have only managed to piss out a few drops of rain like an old woman with a UTI camped out on her porcelain throne.

That didn't make sense.

Monday, February 16, 2009

I think it's funny.

Dorian spilled soda all over my fucking carpet. My gorgeous, 'I just have to rub my naked flesh all over it' green carpet.

Actually, it is not gorgeous, and I would be afraid to rub my naked body all over it. It's just some shitty rough office carpet that my landlord put in, judging by the look of it, around ten years ago. I think movie theaters and waiting rooms have nicer carpet than my apartment.

Also, Dorian was kind enough to give me a list of things that make me a huge nerd.

They are as follows:


- Not only do I have a ton of toys, but I collect them.

- I know a lot about animals. "You know, bugs and reptiles."

- I have a 'half-assed' jew fro.

- I watched all of the Star Wars movies. In one sitting.

- I like comic books.

- I enjoy a good Sci-Fi novel.

- I'm a 'video game snob'.

- I have a beard.

- I've been a member of the same forum for eight years now. An active member.

- I have poor posture.

- I find the writings of Mr.Hawking to be quite interesting.

- ...Yeah, and I call him Mr.Hawking.

- Dinosaurs. I love them.


So say we all.

The big finish.

"So, when you're with a man, where do you typically like him to finish?"

"...Well, [laughter] he'll usually finish on himself, and then I'll...I'll lick it off."


That, my friends, is what you call good radio.

Thursday, January 22, 2009

The rabbit.

Dear electronic [slightly robotic?] diary,


Our rabbit, Floppy Puff-Puff, is insane. Dorian is at work, and I'm not. Floppy is out running around the apartment, as she typically does all night, and I was playing Fallout.

Was.


I had just finished up about three quests that all had the same turn-in location, and I was feeling pretty good. I had a fresh smoke, an incredibly refreshing glass of ice water within reach, and a level-up for my character in sight.

Then Floppy took it upon herself to ruin my fun. Apparently she had grown tired of tearing ass on the carpet, peeling out on the tile, and doing huge Binkies.

No, she decided to hide under the couch and attack the back of my feet ninja style. No biting, really. Just lots of digging and head butting. So, I did the sensible thing and pulled my feet off the floor so I could sit 'indian' style on the couch.

You would think it would end there. You really would. Well, you're wrong. For the most part, while she's out doing her thing she has access to a bowl full of mixed veggies and fruit. Well, in an apparent fit of rage, she zoomed out from under the couch and proceeded to do a kamikaze binky right into her food bowl, shooting bits of apple, carrot and broccoli every where.

Did it stop there?

Of course not.

She then ran around the couch, thumping her back foot as she went. When a rabbit thumps, it's generally a sign of fear, frustration, or anger. I'm going to assume that these thumps were a combination of the last two. Anyway, I can take a hint. I paused the game and got down on the carpet. This usually means that it's play time.

Oh no. Not tonight. No fucking way. Floppy means business.

So there I am, laying on my stomach, arms stretched out, fingers wiggling, and what does she do? Zooms under the couch, then back out, runs up my back, scratches the shit out of my neck and head, and does this big sloppy binky right onto the surge protector that my 360 is plugged into.

Did she get shocked? Thankfully, no. Unplug anything? Nope. Hit the fucking power switch? You bet.

So, yeah. I had to revert to my last auto-save. Which meant I had to re-do two out of the three quests that I had just completed.

I was less than thrilled. And floppy? Pleased as punch. She did one of her overly-dramatic "Oh god, I'm just so bored" flops onto the carpet, and as far as I can tell, went to sleep.

Jesus Christ.

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

Still Alive.

Dear Diary,


I'm very full of spicy V-8. If I could bathe in the stuff, I honestly would. Well, maybe not. I fart a lot, and that might spoil the taste. I don't normally drink my bath water.


The move to Washington draws nigh, and my tummy grows ever tickly. Other than that, there's nothing much to report. Despite being full of the aforementioned V-8, I'm looking forward to the steaks I'll be making tomorrow. I enjoyed prepping them. It's soothing, in a way. It's also kind of strange. Ever since I've been quite small, any sort of cook-prep that requires the handling of raw beef comes with the temptation to pop said raw meat into my mouth and chew on it feverishly.

Once in a blue moon I'll eat some raw hamburger, and yeah, I did chew on a piece of beefy fat that I cut off of one of the steaks, but I didn't swallow it. I don't really know why. I mean, the meat is in my mouth, so it's not like the germs that cover it aren't already in like flint. It's weird.

My silly dog got the rest of the fat pieces, and she also managed to get some of it wrapped around her snout, nearly in her eye. I was laughing, which clearly embarrassed her. I went to take a picture with my camera phone, but only came away with a brindle blur.



Fuck my life.

Sunday, January 18, 2009

Dear Diary-Wiary-Poo,


Today was nice. I woke up before Dorian which meant I played Fallout 3 for a couple of hours. I'm really enjoying that game.


When she woke up we watched a bit of Dexter, which was nice. I'm probably going to be saying 'nice' a lot in this entry. Anyway, we both think that Dexter looks like a monkey, but we enjoy the show despite the simian-esque lead. As proof that I watch way too many movies/television shows, I quickly realized that Agent Lundy is the same actor that portrayed Wild Bill in HBO's Deadwood. Recognizing small time actors like that always brings me a small amount of pride/self-satisfaction despite the fact that Dorian seems unimpressed.

After some more Fallout, we headed to the mall. Doian needs new sun glasses, and I need to get out more [or so she claims], so we browsed and made fun of all of the ugly people we saw. There were a lot of them.

We finished off our outing with an amazing meal at a place called New China. We had never been there before, and despite our initial doubt, the food was fucking amazing. Dorian had a combo plate that consisted of egg drop soup, shrimp, sweet and sour pork, chow mein and fried rice. Being the more adventurous one in the relationship, I tried the Peking Pork Ribs.


Sweet Jesus, were they amazing. I mean, Dorian's food was good, but mine was nerly orgasm inducing. And surprisingly filling. We swung by blockbuster on the way home to get the next Dexter disc, and made nerdy small talk with one of our favorite nerdy clerks that works there. His name is Ken. I like him most of the time.

Anywho, I just got the ole' hairy eye from my better half, so I suppose it's time to sign off and plant my ass next to hers on the sofa.
Dear Diary,

Tonight Dorian made me so mad*. Now, don't get me wrong here, folks. I'm a fucking gentleman. I wanted to poke her guts. Hide the salami. Give her a hot beef injection.

...You know, make love. So, I was pawing at her breasts like the sex-craved animal that I am, and she shut me down. I mean, do I not have needs? Am I not human?

Sometimes I think she just doesn't get it. Maybe I'll switch my masturbation routine from when she's sleeping to when she's in the next room, wide awake. Maybe then my sorrowful, frustration-fueled fap-fap-fapping well let her know that my needs are not being met.












...Just kidding. She wears me out. What a tigress.


* I originally typed 'bad'. Obviously, that doesn't make sense. You know what else doesn't make sense? The god damned spellcheck that blogspot uses. Apparently it denies the existence of contractions. Fuck you, spell check.

A sad story.

I want more pizza.