Tag Archives: imaginary friends

Tomorrow’s post, today!

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Don’t start reading this until Thursday. It’s your own fault if you have nothing new to read on Thursday because you read this today.

It was extra, extra foolish to start a Content Challenge in a month when I have to move. I’ll say that much.

Saab called to say they have found me a windshield. This is shocking, since they stopped making this model. It turns out that some darling in the parts department, after being threatened by legal, decided to actually find out which Subaru model will fit as a replacement. So they went ahead and ordered it, and I guess the damn idiots are going to fix it for me. This is after many months of phone calls where the dealer’s parts person disavowed the knowledge that Subarus even existed, and the service manager swore up and down that the dealer would not handle glass anyway. Clearly, the tipping point came when I screeched “I have a baby on the way,” as recorded last week. I urge you all to insert imaginary children into all your customer service disputes henceforth.

Then I spent a long time on hold with the insurance company. At one point, I wasn’t sure if I was still on hold because the music had stopped. I peed without muting the phone, thinking this would hurry things along, but it didn’t. What kind of Murphy’s Law failure is that?

A time for consideration, horse sex

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Was it wise to start Content Challenge right before a weekend?

No, says Zellweger. Oh no you di’n’t.

Thanks to everyone who’s been clicking on ads. I’d click for you, you bastards. I also click on that dancing monkey to see if I can hit it with a banana. No rilly, so far I’ve been pleasantly surprised with the AdSense payoff. It’s an experiment. I am so pleased that I may make Content Challenge coincide with the return of Anal Sex Month to reward you all. This Editor & Publisher article handily uses the phrase “No. 1 finisher” in a story about lethal horse anal sex. People just cannot get enough horse sex. Horse sex: less scary and appalling than spreading freedom?

Also, I got a quasi-spelled email from the condo mgmt. people about “unclogging the chute” that I could excerpt to comedic effect, but I must retain some shred of privacy.

The following people have foolishly committed to joining Content Challenge:
The Biscuit Report – now with more impeachment!

Moose and Squirrel – writes better than me because she takes the bus

Kimbot – apparently she was gone, and now she’s back

Still you won’t suspect me

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Oh, hey, I have a blog. I just can’t shake it. Like the bird flu. Like the parasite. Actually, I’m booking a vacation, or rather my assistant is. The parasite has no idea that I’m going to drown it off the coast of Tortola. What? Those things don’t breathe air? Now you tell me; I already blew the miles. Oh well. I’m sure we’ll be quite the sight on the beach, as it makes me request pineapple drink after pineapple drink… “and could you add a roasted suckling pig to that one, waiter?”

Other than those expertly laid plans, not much is new. I’m dreaming exclusively in Roxy Music, which is a little weird. In every dream home, a vanity is poorly installed. The new place suffers from some vexing construction issues, let’s say. I am not sure if we will actually move in. Hey, wanna buy an apartment in a flood zone? I’ll throw in the parasite, and this floor lamp from Target. Cheap!

This also just in

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It’s November, Charlie Brown. Outside forces continue to vex, astound. Inside forces also unfavorable.

We were supposed to do a final walk-through of our new place today, but someone at the mgmt company who misplace’s apostrophes decided to yank that football away. The unit is probably stacked clear to the ceiling with stray your’s and your’es. Some teamsters need to be hired to take care of the mess. A hose might work. Theoretically, we will go next week instead. This is really all a grand delusion.

Where is my tropical island? If I’m going to have a delusion, I’d like to put in for a better one. More calypso, please. Oil my flanks, cabana boy!

Day-o.

The new phonebooks are here! The new phonebooks are here!

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It is a red letter day already here in sunny Vomitsville. After I got back from having the dealer fix the perma-locked car door, physician I decided it was high time I paid the car insurance this month. The things a mind does think. So I headed downstairs to mail it (I hope pressing a blank check to my forehead, malady thinking “car insurance,” and dropping it in the outgoing box works; Zellweger usually handles these things for me, but she is on a zen retreat).

And lo, there on my doorstep was my powerbook, like some kind of bastard foundling. It was so nice of Apple to warn me they were shipping it back from Rancho Relaxo, and so nice of DHL to, you know, ring the doorbell or something, instead of leaving a several thousand dollar piece of equipment with a “signature required” sticker on it out in the open. No harm done, right, Pants? Pants? Are you there? I missed you so. Mommy did so much while you were gone. Mommy got some new pain pills, and mommy even thought about making dinner.

Yes, I did think about making dinner. I went so far as to add wasabi to the mashed potatoes someone else was cooking. This was grueling. I had to lie on the floor until things stopped spinning. The cat came by and considered eating my left eye, but then I moved and ruined everything. So now she sulks, and I sit on the highest chair in the house to avoid her.

Oh, internets, I can’t stay mad at you!

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I want to get on with my life, I rilly rilly do, but how can I when there is breaking Zellweger news? It’s bad enough that Britney’s heartburn and upset stomach turned out to be pregnancy. I think Preston is a great name for a baby. This name is shared by the chicken farmer who lived down the road from me during my childhood.

La Zell has split up with the man who brought us songs like “She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy.”  I don’t like to make fun of adults with good intentions who made decisions they now regret, unless they are a part of FEMA. I make terrible decisions all the time. Just ask me how!

In other news, did anyone catch that last issue of BusinessWeek? Woo fucking boy. The “Sleepless Nights” infographic is amazing.

I’m thinking for my next life, I will buy Videodiarrhea.com and just show a web cam day of me doing something boring around the house. Watch me order Tamiflu online. Watch me practice huddling under my desk. Watch me flirt shamelessly with the DHL guy. This will expose the crushing pointlessness of blogs and modern life, and maybe make me some money if I take my top off every hour on the hour.

Same time tomorrow

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This crappy website simply could not exist without our vast network of spies, also known as Revenue-Optmized Partner Affiliates. We learned today that someone in an office somewhere is handing out candy bars doctored to read “HERESHEIS” to announce the birth of a female child. What does one hand out for a male child? NUTRAGEOUS? I thought the birth of a child was celebrated by tying the child up in a burlap sack and heaving it off a pier, but I learn something new each dew-freshened day. My friend suffers from new child ownership, and it seems all children want to do is eat and sleep. What spite! Enjoy it while you can, li’l buddy. Here sheis indeed. Alles was ich zu meinem Geburtstag bekommen habe war dieses scheiss T-Shirt.

We at Vomitola have recently realized the need to breed a team of strapping farm hands to see us through the coming apocalypse. Ideally they will also shoot lasers from their eyes. We have our Zellwegers, but they are not keen on heavy lifting. They prefer to eat ice cream and run up the phone bill. The trouble is that I am not keen to birth a child myself. It seems so last century. Mr. H did find a promising development: New Harvest – Advancing Meat Substitutes. Surely this can be adapted to humans. It’s about time, Science. I’ve been waiting for you.

Today in cats: there is just no pleasing them.

And in this panel, Super Toad goes kerplooie

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Tuesday in cats: The Flaming Lips sure can clear a room (of cats).

Tuesday in Zellweger: Alert readers pointed me to this. So this is where Zellwegers come from! I am not sure what happened to my Zellweger. I sent her out to return my empties two days ago. She seems distracted lately.

Tuesday in my head: The front part hurts, sort of above my eyes. I think this is called a headache.

Tuesday should be Saturday: because then I’d be done with the worst of my work, and I’d be riding a bike around an island. Maybe this bike would have a sports bottle filled with margaritas. I had better get used to riding a bike for when we run out of oil. And I’ll get a chance to learn to be handy with a u-lock for beating zombies. Come on, apocalypse. My dad has been waiting for you for seventy years. Don’t keep an old man in suspense.

Point: Some Plain Speaking About Our Men Candidates

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by Thelma Haney

Well, folks, I am very happy to report to you after the first of our Great Debates. I hung Old Glory out on my front porch, and I made lots of sandwiches with American cheese. But let me tell you it sure don’t make it easier for the undecided voter. I admit to favoring our President a bit at the outset, because he is our leader, and he talks plain, just like we do down at Rosie’s parlor. Sometimes I feel like we could be his cabinet! Me and the girls were all down there this morning early as you please to get a set and talk it over. John Kerry is such a high falootin Grumpy Gus. Mr. Bush reminds me of my pappy when he would drop his dentures into a glass of Jim beam and read us “The Three Billy Goats Gruff”, or my cousin Lydon who, god bless him, fell out of a tree on his head. After the accident, he became the kind of thoughtful type, always taking a nice , long pause to collect his thoughts, nostrils flarin’ like a steer. Sometimes I thought he was just wool-gatherin’ but eventually he would give a piece of his mind, like our President to King Kong of North Korea! You can talk to China, we are Not Interested!

Anyway, it touches my heart how both men have such nice families. Did you see John Kerry kiss his wife? You could tell they are truly in love! And when I think of that poor Kerry boy in Vietnam, as a mother my heart breaks. I just can’t decide who the better captain of our troops would be. Ella May said there are other things to consider in electing a leader besides “a military bent”, but she is only saying that because she is rich and has no children. I secretly think she donates money to environmentalists, which as we all know is just domestic terror. Well we hashed it all out, and we decided it was simply the “wrong place, wrong time” and we would wait and see what happens in the next debate. I am going to hang some bunting around my porch and bake a red white and blue bundt cake like I see here on the back of this box of Betty Crocker. Which makes me think, I wish we could get these Yale boys to square-off in a chili cook-off! All the yapping can be so hard to follow, but I sure do know when a chili tastes right!

God Bless,

Thel Haney