Of Wangs and Bleegs
Jen says: You're obsessed with your wang.
Ryan says: "Ah, my sweet, sweet wang." *smooch* *smooch* *smooch* "I love your smooth texture and your bulbous violet head." *smooch* *smooch* *smooch* <--insert Pepe Le Pew voice here.
Jen says: That's gross.
Ryan says: But very funny. You're such a douche.
Jen says: It wasn't funny.
Ryan says: "bulbous violet head"
Ryan says: Nary a snicker?
Jen says: Nope.
Jen says: Only disgust.
Ryan says: It's so sad when a girl depletes her sense of humor and roams the world devoid of laughter.
Jen says: Isn't it, though?
Jen says: I had a fit of giggles at gaming last night, though.
Jen says: so maybe you're just not funny.
Jen says: Did you ever think of that? huh?
Ryan says: I wave my wang in your humorless direction.
Jen says: Bleeg.
Ryan says: Bleeg? What the heck is a bleeg?
Jen says: It's the sound my brain makes when it bleeds.
You Ever Feel "Not So Funny?"
So, I'm sitting here, reading my last two posts, and I realize, "Holy crap, I'm not being very funny." I don't get it. I just haven't felt funny all week. I can't even come up with a funny column idea. It's like I'm suffering humor PMS. I'm just feeling, I don't know, not so funny.
GIRL ON BEACH: Mom, do you ever feel, you know, not so funny?
MOTHER: Sure, honey, we all do at some point. That's why I use Laughasil (TM). It always puts me in a good mood, and I feel funny for the rest of the day.
GIRL ON BEACH: Laughasil? I'll have to try that. Thanks Mom. I love you.
ANNOUNCER: With its patented applicator technology, Laughasil can target the areas that feel the least funny for you. Try Laughasil today and enjoy a brighter tomorrow.
See? Not funny at all. Just for the record, I had to do a Google search on "Douche+Brands" to refresh my memory as to the brands of douches that are out there. And I did the search on company time, so I could be canned for misuse of IBM resources. Whatever.
By the way, I had no idea there were so many brands of douches out there. How many ways can vinegar and water be combined? Well, Massengill apparently found six different ways to do it, including Disposable Douche with Country Flowers, for those women who want to smell like dandelions and baby's breath. They also put out (snicker) Extra Cleansing Vinegar and Water (Twin Pack), for those women who feel so unfresh they have to perform a douche blitzkrieg; as if the extra cleansing formula isn't enough, here's two bottles. I especially like the Vagisil Cleansing Foam, Fresh, Clean Scent, as if there are women out there looking for a douche that smells like pig farts and puppy breath. Of COURSE they want a fresh, clean scent. That's why they're buying the douche in the first place. Speaking of which. . .
Douching is not necessary after a period or intercourse because vaginal tissue is self-cleaning. Hey, just like my oven at home. Douching should never be done after intercourse if a spermicidal jelly (try it on toast, with just a pat of butter), or foam has been used because the douche will wash it away and push the sperm even faster through the cervical opening enhancing chances of pregnancy. Now THAT'S a good marketing slogan: Summer's Eve, The Baby Maker. Vaginal discharge is normal and odour (spell it however you want, it's still funny) can be taken care of with a little soap and water. One study has linked ectopic (tubal) pregnancy to douching. Do not douche if you're pregnant. Better yet, don't douche at all. It's not necessary.
Save the vinegar for cleaning out the coffee pot.
May You Live in Interesting Times
Just a quick depressing snippet of the world we live in today, compliments of the Reuter's news service:
Terror Alert at Utah Chemical Plant
Karzai Survives Attempt on Life
Palestinians Blow Up Israeli Tank
Survey: Nation's Drug Use Increases
You ever get the feeling that, as human beings, we have a long fucking way to go?
Everyone should just get naked. Nude it up and be all naked. That's my solution.
My Father's Voice
My Dad once told me that true art is beautiful, and it has a meaning, and it makes you pause. And, if it doesn't do all of that, it's nothing. That was years ago. Way back when I was in high school. Probably 14 years ago. Somewhere around then.
There's this picture that I keep taped on my desk, with common masking tape, a picture that was, I believe, an advertisement for an insurance company, a picture I tore out of TIME magazine over two years ago. I have no idea what the circumstances were when the picture was snapped, and I don't care. . . I still think it's wonderful.
I only hope this description does it justice:
A young woman, dressed in a snowflake pattern skirt extending to her knees, no shoes, and a gender-neutral white short-sleeved shirt, is cradling a young boy, perhaps three, who is totally content in her arms, despite their surroundings. Their surroundings? They're enveloped in either destruction or poverty. It's totally devastated, whatever it is. A hurricane? A tornado? General poverty? It doesn't matter. The real question, initially, is the relatioship between the two.
Her son? Her little brother? Again, it doesn't matter. They're curled together in an embrace on a one inch thick cushion pillow of "something" that looks dirty, but they don't care, because they're sleeping, despite the nasty apparent destruction around them.
But, there's love, pure, un-diluted love. A love so strong the girl in the picture would defend the frail youth in her arms to her death. You can tell all this from the picture, and I wish I could share it with you with a URL, but I can't.
Rest assured, it's a love I hope I one day feel. A love where I care nothing for myself, a love where the best of me comes through, even if it means my own death, and I don't care, so long as I know someone better than me survives. How will I know that? I just will. There's a picture on my wall that tells me so.
My Right to Write
wondrous day when all pregnant women simultaneously go into labor. Yeah yeah, I know that's not the case, but wouldn't it be totally wild if it were? Emergency rooms the world over would be flooded with screaming birthing women with broken waters and their fingernails dug four inches into the arms of the men who impregnated them. Hospitals would absolutely dread the onset of Labor Day, making sure all available personnel are on hand to deal with a deluge of infants. News agencies would eagerly cover each Labor Day, comparing the number of births with the previous year, commenting on what the increase or decrease in pregnancies means in the context of today's techno-industrial society.
COMMENTATOR: Well, Ashley, what we can see from this chart is a definite increase in the Labor Day birth rate. This is a clear indication that the world population is screwing at an unprecedented rate. In fact, I have a raging boner right now. Wanna go halves on a bastard?
Whoops, where was I?
I was mowing the parents' lawn last weekend, mainly because they're conveniently living in Tokyo right now and won't be home until Christmas, the lousy jerks. As I was laboring on the lawn, I noticed a package on the deck next to the back door. I made a mental note to check it out after I finished mowing, and then I quickly forgot about it entirely.
I rediscovered the package later that afternoon when I tried to open the door and enjoy a good deck sitting, at which point I tripped over the box and almost stumbled off the deck. I brought the box inside and opened, revealing its contents: a 2002 Writer's Market, a 2002 online Writer's Market, and a book about selling newspaper and magazine columns. I smiled.
Earlier in the summer, I remember talking to my mother about being more proactive in selling my written work. She's convinced I could find an audience with more than the two papers for which I currently write, if I only promoted myself better. I guess she's probably correct, but it's just so much extra work to sell myself. How do prostitutes do it? So I'm lazy. Sue me.
So, the Writer's Market guides are my mother's not-too-subtle hint that I should get out there and sell my written brain incredible power to nag me. I gotta love her.
UPDATE: Unrelated, but I've had thoughts about porn. Porn makes good politics. And boobs are good. Tits are very good.
Dark Knight. Heath Ledger. Batman. The Joker. Dark Knight. Heath Ledger. Batman. The Joker. Dark Knight. Heath Ledger. Batman. The Joker. Kirsten Dunst nude. Kirsten Dunst . Kirsten Dunst . Kirsten Dunst . Kirsten Dunst . Kirsten Dunst . Kirsten Dunst . Kirsten Dunst . Kirsten Dunst nude. Kirsten Dunst . Kirsten Dunst . Kirsten Dunst .
Scarlett Johansson. Scarlett Johansson. Scarlett Johansson. Scarlett Johansson. Scarlett Johansson. Scarlett Johansson. Scarlett Johansson. Scarlett Johansson. Scarlett Johansson.
Drew Barrymore. Drew Barrymore. Drew Barrymore. Drew Barrymore. Drew Barrymore. Drew Barrymore. Drew Barrymore. Drew Barrymore. Drew Barrymore. Drew Barrymore.
