It's true. I didn't ass grind Beetlejuice in a raw chicken costume. I haven’t wrecked my balls. I didn't drape myself in raw meat, or snort coke off Lilo's ass on the roof of a moving ambulance. I've never been to Malibu rehab for an anally addictive heroin habit or got caught naked in a hotel pool with an inflatable camel and a phone full of provocative midget and dildo pictures. Which is weird, because they’re like my kids, and I show those pictures to everybody. The third world clown car and traveling carnival that is my mental process can no longer compete with the full on freak show of modern entertainment.
Still, I'm holding my own in the middle weight class. I can't really account for my continued free range status or the conspicuous lack of a Thorazine dart in my ass this late in the year. Unless maybe the NSA's sorely slacking, or there are enough of you out there batshit crazy enough to skew the mental meter in my favor, buying me some backlog time. Whatever the reason, the Feds haven’t yet noticed my hamsters are all running backwards in their wheels. Names have not been changed to protect the innocent, because you’re all guilty of something. Things were abridged, errors made. I blame society, so fuck you, I’m not apologizing. Validate my existence socially, and nobody gets hurt. Don’t make me dance these boots all over your couch.
Now sit back, and let the retrospective wash over you. Relax as the thong floss of my social media meanderings gently massages your brain's butt cleavage. Or something.
__________________________________________________________January 1
Sorry cabbage. I don't need money bad enough to stick you in my mouth.
Trista Grandfield Martin: I do like it fried....Tim fried it...was shocked I like it.
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: Trista, that's just the devil's vegetable, trying to weasel its way into your food hole.
January 6
Ladies, germs, and other gentle creatures: I'm going to attempt to go to sleep. After a series of what are sure to be epically shitty dreams, I will return to this waking abyss, probably to regale you all with a fart joke or hyperbolic political commentary. Until then, I'm just done. Adieu, mes amis, adieu.
***
I don't know why it's called Hamburger Helper. Shouldn't it be called Hamburger Homicide? Beef Stroganoff Hamburger Homicide would be more accurate.
January 7
So, the total non-highlight of my day? The shower setup at work. It's open on 2 sides, and it's going to be a total schlong fest. Zero privacy. I was already visually violated during my walkthrough. I could have gone the rest of my life without having my eyeholes wang raped by some guy I've never met. Having to shower naked with near strangers is right at the very bottom of my bucket list. If the bucket was missing a bottom. And there was a hole underneath, leading directly to the center of the Earth.
***
Had to shave my beard off for work, and all the mustache did was make me realize I'd have made a horrible highway patrol officer. The standards were lower for 70's porn star, but I'm not sure the stache would have made that cut, either. Now I have an almost hairless doofus, whom I haven't seen in years, staring back at me in the mirror.
January 19
I know I'm up way too early on a Saturday, because I saw something on TV about ninjas, and I thought, "I guess, as a ninja, you'd never have to worry about wearing white after Labor Day." My brain is cross wired somewhere.
January 24
I saw a magazine cover with Patrick Duffy on it. Even with Dallas back, I still can't see him as anything other than Scuzzlebutt's leg now.
***
So, I was talking to a friend, and we covered many topics. Catholicism, organized religion vs. spirituality, control systems (both governmental and religious), the fact that Hitler wasn't laughed out of Germany when he proposed the master race ideal and everyone took a good look at him personally, Bill Shatner's toupee, conspiracy theories, starting a cult as a retirement plan, and inventing a new kind of drink shot. Something peach, red and brown, called Anal Floss or Skidmark, that you could shake up and drink out of female's butt cleavage. At that point, I realized we had officially run the conversational gamut.
January 25
I just had the random urge to buy a top hat. This is not an isolated incident. It happens quite frequently, and I have no explanation for it.
January 29
So, I was thinking about how different the world is going to be when I die. I really hope we have Strange Days tech by then. And holographic tombstones. That way, if I know I'm dying, I can have my friends nominate their choices for funniest and most fucked up moments of our lives, have them downloaded out of my brain, uploaded to my grave marker, and faster than you can say "Help me, Obi Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope," you can experience my greatest hits in hi-def 3D. Maybe even Smell-o-vision. I'm sure that any statute of limitations will have long lapsed by then.
February 2
Screw you Groundhog, you didn't see nothin'. I don't need 6 more weeks of winter. I'm tired of my nipples being hard enough to carve scrimshaw. And I'm running out of whalebone.
February 6
One of the guys at work told me he doesn't eat bananas. He won't eat anything shaped like a penis. I told him he must be doing it wrong, he's not supposed to eat them 5" at a time. Not an up to the minute witticism, but I saw something banana related, so there it is.
February 7
Got to work and realized I forgot my towel and washcloth. Luckily, the laundry guys brought back stuff for people no longer there. And I'm adaptable. I had to use a scratchy hand towel in the shower, and I dried my ass on a shirt named Billy.
Tara DeLorme: Better than a banana named Billy.
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: There are no bananas named Billy, just Stanley or Gene.
Tara DeLorme: ^Nice lmao
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: Which one, Stanley or Gene. Gene's a bit of a dick, but he pays for drinks, so we keep him around. I need to rent a banana suit and go shopping at Walmart.
February 12
You know, I see no need to assault me repeatedly with dick pump commercials while I'm trying to watch TV. I was watching Friends and The Office, and that Post-T-Vac commercial came on 3 times. When I'm ogling Jennifer Aniston, the last thing in the world I'm interested in, is whether or not some old guy can get Mr. Floppy to salute or not.
February 14
I think my foot and my right butt cheek made a bet to see who could fall asleep the most times in one morning. I'm not sure what's worse, gimp foot or pins and needles ass.
***
I believe I would rather have an outhouse spider take a northern hike up my south bound bunghole, than have to hear one more word about Kim "Famous For No Apparent Reason" Kardashian and Kanye "Imma Let You" West, Justin "Not Fooling Anyone With That Straight Thing" Bieber, Taylor Swift's trainwreck romances, or that escaped piglet from Pooh Corner, Honey Boo Boo. Let me off the Wild Ride, Mr. Toad, I've had enough.
February 20
So. A list of musings during tonight's conversation with my son:
Teaching the dog to play Twister would probably be easier than teaching him Operation, because he has no thumbs. He's also colorblind, however, so it's going to be a hard sell, either way. Also, he'd make a horrible bomb squad technician.
What if birds had hanging junk, like bulls? Would you get teabagged by a flock of seagulls? How nasty would it be to hit one with your windshield? Geese would look like a squadron of scrotums flying over in a V formation. A remake of Hitchcock's The Birds may be in order.
Pretend doctor patient conversations, with Dog M.D., where he sucks as a surgeon. Also due to the no thumbs thing.
How cool it would be if animals could walk on the ceiling, like spiders.
Zombie chickens, a.k.a. Poultrygeists.
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: Oh yeah, and what if you had your nipples replaced with suction cups? How creepy would that be? You could stick to peoples' windows. You just couldn't have Dog, M.D. do the surgery, because you know...
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: If they come after me with a net, they'll have to contend with my butterfly army.
Rafael Espinosa: Sounds like the ole Kevin is back!
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: lol, crazy rises to the top, like cream, or rich assholes in Congress.
John Sheldahl: Since crazy is so hard to get rid of, shouldn't it be it sinks to the bottom, like sludge in motorcycle carbs????
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: Nope. It keeps popping back up, like a pesky corpse with no cinder blocks attached.
John Sheldahl: What? When did pouring the cement into the body go out of style??
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: Since I don't like putting a funnel in a dead man's ass, and then filling it full of cement to be thorough. It's a personal quark.
February 21
If you could eliminate something(s) from the face of the Earth, without a whole butterfly effect repercussion what would you choose? I'd have to say turnips. Or Justin Bieber. In no particular order, because they occupy equal spots on the food chain.
***
I was thinking about how being rich would allow me far more conversational opportunities. Like, I could buy a spider monkey and keep it in my jacket. Then I could walk up to women and ask them to spank my monkey. They'd be all mad and disgusted, then see his little head peeking out, and their hearts would melt. Score. Unless they have some sort of monkey allergy. Or irrational hatred of all monkeys, just because some bad seed grabbed their arm at the zoo when they were 5, holding them hostage until all their peanuts were gone. I mean, let it go, it was a long time ago, and you can't keep punishing the entire monkey population for one monkey's mistakes. That hatred will eat you up inside.
Oh, and I know you don't have to be rich to own a monkey. It's for the monkey wrangler. They don't work cheap, and who's got time to keep a monkey entertained 24/7?
February 22
I'm so glad I have a DVR again. Now I never again have to wonder about shit like, how exactly does Viagra have any damned thing to do with getting your horse trailer unstuck from the mud?
February 26
I love you DVR. I've now gone over a full week without having to watch old guys with horse trailers, bands and muscle cars, but no boners. No elderly couples not having to wait for the right time to throw out a hip doing the wild thing in an outdoor bathtub. No colon blow, diarrhea and constipation nonsense. No women beside themselves about odor, itching or incontinence. Nope, just fast forward, skip forward, and shitty commercial oblivion.
***
I think I've decided what my memoir is going to be called. Burritos and Poops: A Brief Lifetime of Naps, Nonsense and Non Sequiturs.
March 3
I'd like to know what paper company executive decided all company bathrooms should be stocked with only the finest 3 grit sandpaper.
***
So, things I think about in my quiet time: I came up with a new sport. Wienerball. You hit a vibrating ball with a floppy, dong shaped bat, and you run around the bases carrying an inflatable doll. Anybody wanna start a league?
March 4
Sneezing while pissing is logistically complicated.
March 15
So... apparently Taylor Swift has another new single. I really hope the sequester isn't going to stop NASA's work on the sun cannon. If it does, I might have to put something on Kickstarter, or the guys from Punkin Chunkin might have to step up and find a new way to deliver Miss Swift into the fiery heart of our local star.
***
Gotta love Wally World. Where else you gonna hear someone taking a shit and having a loud cell phone conversation at the same time. I walked out singing, "Takiiiing a shit and taaalking on the phoooone..."
March 31
So, I've decided something. When I win the lottery, I'm going to buy a huge ranch in Montana. Then I'm going to buy a vast herd of miniature cows. I'm then going to purchase several miniature horses and hire midget cowboys. Every morning, over breakfast in front of my massive dining room window, I'll watch them work the tiny cattle across my sprawling property. Hell, maybe we'll have a miniature cattle drive.
April 1
I got to use the term "sausage tolerance" in a sentence. How often does that happen?
April 4
I'm thinking of suing Kimberly Clark paper products for anal trauma. The paper at work is asswipe of the damned. I've never seen shitpaper that requires a blood sacrifice. I'm convinced that the only reason they don't just use wood, is because they can't figure out how to roll up a plank.
April 5
I apparently wore migratory underwear to work today. I'd pull my pants up, and they'd just hang out under my ass. They'd keep trying to wander south, and I'd have to wrangle them back to the north pasture. I need a bigger ass or better elastic.
April 14
I was watching Rise of the Planet of the Apes earlier, and I was thinking. We don't really need a drug that makes monkeys super smart. We could probably turn them loose right now with a car and a pair of driving stilts, and they'd have to do better than the average idiot on 287. I saw someone sitting at a green light in town yesterday. Police car went through the light past him, and he just sat there. I finally honked, and they were too busy talking on the phone to realize the light was green. Surprise, surprise. I need some sort of car mounted anti-dipshit missile system. Or some sort of ballista that fires EMP bolts dipped in industrial strength gingko biloba.
April 29
Well, I turn 42 tomorrow. I'm not sure what to expect. Maybe the warranty will expire, and I'll blow out my O-ring during my birthday constitutional, or AARP will have a snare set up for me in the yard. I'll know it's them, because they wear ghillie suits made of Metamucil coupons.
May 1
I want to film a serious western action/drama. Something serious and period authentic, with a top shelf script and amazing acting. Except, everyone will be riding llamas instead of horses, totally deadpan, and no one will ever acknowledge that fact.
May 7
Since several people seem to be oblivious of this, I present to you my fucktarded item of the day: Kopi Luwak coffee. Now, Amazon.com sells a 1 pound bag for $49.99. That's 44% off regular price. Or, you can buy 100 grams for $192.70. Or lots of prices and weights in between. What is so fantabulously fucking amazing about this beverage? It comes out of a cat's ass. Well, I'm simplifying. Civet "cats" eat the bean, crap them out, and people pay about $15.00 a cup for it.
Now, as I understand it, this came about when the natives weren't allowed to pick the beans they harvested for their own use, and wanting to try it, they did what anyone else (nobody in their right fucking mind /sarcasm) would do. They picked the berries out of civet shit and brewed themselves some java. If I was forbidden from eating the farmer's corn, I sure as hell wouldn't go picking it out of his outhouse constitutionals and putting it back on the cob. It's batshit crazy. But not as batshit crazy as raising civets in cages and force feeding them beans, so fucking morons with more money than good sense, can grind up something that came out of a mammal's ass, run a little water through it, and suck it down their gullet. People have been forcibly medicated for far less.
So, several years after mentally deficient natives combed through crap for a new experience that they were otherwise denied, You can now pay ridiculous amounts of money to share in their scat-tastic experience. Breathe it in. Enjoy the aroma. Tell yourself that you're experiencing a gastronomical delight that few people can afford. Swish it around in your mouth, letting your whole palette get in on the joyride. You're still drinking something that made its way precariously through another creature's intestines, and was unceremoniously dumped out of its butthole. Mangia.
And why stop there? Feed green beans to a badger, and see how that treats you. It doesn't make any less fucking sense.
May 8
I think I'm going to take my own TP to work. It's becoming harder and harder to come up with horrible comparisons for the stuff they provide. I compared it yesterday to wiping my ass with a chainsaw made of pinecones, but after that, I've got nothing. And it's wearing out my O-ring prematurely. I now have the anus of a 70 year old man. Ok, that's scientifically unproven and chock full of hyperbole, but you get my point.
May 10
So, I thought we'd all do a fun activity called... MAKE UP A BACKSTORY
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: Vanilla Ice, after losing his ability to walk in a horrible metal rebranding, concert mosh pit accident, flees to Ecuador, where he becomes a notorious arms dealer. After years of reckless living and drunken and cocaine fueled attempts kill himself by behavioral indifference, he learns the value of human compassion from a group of local teens, who are trying to save their ice cream shop from an evil real estate broker/cartel leader named Esteban "Don't Call Me Sally" Zapatos, who wishes to build a midget brothel on the site. With the help of his long suffering bodyguard and nurse, East German former intelligence agent, Olympic weight lifter and femme fatale, Skin Ripply, Ice must put on one last concert, earn his redemption, and stop a drug lord from midget exploitation.
Matthew Semeraro: You looking for a job with the federal government?
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: Do I get to *ahem* "deconstruct" things?
Matthew Semeraro: you get to dissemble ALL DAY
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: Tell me more about this intriguing position.
Matthew Semeraro: Look at the network news, and revel in how much better your stories would be.You could lead a whole new generation of llama worshippers that use rail guns to launch pudding to the sun to help stop the exclusionary policies of Lane Bryant from creating degenerate conglomerates of cool kids that shop in one place.
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: I'd rather just burn it all down, then use laser squirrels and death zeppelins to enforce my own improvements on reality. I do like pudding, though, so I'm kind of on the fence.
Matthew Semeraro: There you have it, your first real controversy - run with it! Make those giraffes proud of their skyfather!
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: I will proclaim myself Dwayne the UberLord, and all minions will wear knee socks and Birkenstocks with their Death's Head Armor.
Matthew Semeraro: You're one madlib from literary success, you better stop before you actually write it down and earn a dollar for entertaining someone!
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: I'm going to tell one of you to collect it all from my social media outlets, and then burn it, like Kafka. Figuring out how to burn the Interwebs is irrelevant, because you can then ignore me, and make me famous posthumously. I'm going to need a lot of money to finance my holo-tombstone, which projects a 3D facsimile of my underwear draped ass, complete with lawn chair, yelling at people to get off my lawn. Richard Nixon will have a walk on appearance as Waiter Who Serves Me Mai Tais.
Matthew Semeraro: So you want a hologram of your real life and front lawn? Is it going to be a still life or full action depicting art in motion?
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: Full action, with some liberties taken in visual editing. I'll have to look ripped and hung like a donkey, even at 80. It's what the public expects. The lawn will be St. Augustine, enhanced by CGI. I'll have an easter egg installed, that allows a drink to be dispensed from my headstone whenever you say Nixon's name backwards. But it won't be a Mai Tai, oh no. It'll be a Sex on the Beach. Miiiiiiiindfuck.
May 11
Any morning that starts with the cat swatting you in the dick, you know it's probably going to be all downhill from there. The cat will now be conspicuously absent when I'm getting ready to take a shower.
***
I was at Second Monday, and this woman was carrying around a pygmy goat. I watched her for a bit, and I said, "Ma'am?" "Yes?" "I don't want to alarm you, but you've got a goat on you."
May 12
If I could impart one piece of advice to the world, one piece of deathbed wisdom, I think it would be this: When that little voice in your head says, "It's probably just a fart, go ahead....." DON'T LISTEN. Always err on the side of caution. This philosophy has served me well in life. If you should choose not to heed it, you might just find yourself adrift in shart infested waters.
***
When bums wake up in the morning, do they have hoboners?
May 17
Wow. It's like a mangy cat flew in on fairy dust and gossamer wings, beat me with a cricket bat, then took a black magical dump in my mouth while I lay sleeping. That, or this bed just sucks, and I need to brush my teeth ASAP.
May 19
Caught myself doing it again. I was jamming to the Bear, and I caught myself changing the lyrics to Panama to Padded Bra, and I was doing it in Nixon's voice. Which is equal parts funny and creepy. One of these days, I'm going to win the lotto, and after I've got my midget dude ranch squared away, I'm going to finance a remake of The Shining, with a Richard Nixon lookalike, because that would be creepy as all fuck. "Heeeeeeere's Big Dick!" Tell me that wouldn't make dirt biscuits in your underoos.
***
Chris Rowland: I found myself imagining delivering your eulogy. In this vision, I approach the podium, gather myself to speak, and fart uncontrollably. Regaining my composure with solemn dignity, I commence: “There is something uncharacteristically amiss with my innards this afternoon, and I will do my best not to allow it to unduly detract from the gravity of this occasion. But if anyone would ever most appreciate the absurdity of my predicament, it is Kevin Covington.”
Chris Rowland: I think that’s the whole speech.
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: All I ask, is that you wear a top hat and monocle. It would then be one of the greatest eulogies ever.
Chris Rowland: (Wait 30 seconds, fart again, exit.)
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: "Well, OK then." Just make shifty eyes and slowly shuffle sideways off stage.
May 21
Anybody else seen that Charmin Ultra Strong commercial? The one where the bear tells you it helps keep your underwear clean, and everybody goes, so why not enjoy the go? What marketing genius thought that up? Hey, all you people who use non-Charmin, are you tired of wiping, so you just give up? Tired of shit in your skivvies? Well, no more skidmarks, and you'll be doing cartwheels at turd time. Seriously?
***
I was looking at the Directv guide, and the infomercial for the amazing expanding hose was on, directly before the adult toy show. That can't be a coincidence.
May 26
Well, tonight's work was a complete carnival of bullshit and futility. Here's to one more day and then off. The one highlight? We were talking about how silly expensive funerals and coffins are, and how we'd like to be buried. I once again stated my desire to be cremated and put in the pepper shakers of my enemies, but if that is unattainable, I have a backup plan. They can bury me in a cape, speedo and viking helmet, and let future archaeologists argue over that shit. They can stick my ass in a museum exhibit, and scholars can fight over the religious significance of my banana hammock.
May 27
Today, on Things that Scarred Me as a Child, I present the Play Doh Fun Factory. Rarely have I taken a dump since the 80's, during which this commercial and its spaghetti eating snake didn't cross my mind.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SEp2gMpgRtU
June 3
Anybody else seen this commercial? Women dancing around, shaking their booties and doing the twist? To advertise adult diapers? Then they twist the material to show how much it can take without leaking, then more booty shaking, and more of The Twist? Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's not happening anywhere, to anyone wearing that product. Because, even if I was wearing a diaper, I wouldn't go out of my way to see what the absolute limits of not pissing myself were.
***
My Sim just started a new sci-fi novel. It's called Infinite Starfish: A Black Hole Chronicle.
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: And two trashy novels. A Package for Her Mailbox and another called Wangward Ho!
June 12
A very large yard spider was in my bedroom floor. Being several feet away, fast and wily, I was forced to improvise. Due to bare feet and vast depths of hatred, I did the only thing I could. I threw my printer at it. It is now dead, and good fucking riddance.
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: I keep picturing the creepy fuckers having raves in my shoes.
Dawna Bowman Flowers: Just put a box next to your shoe, with sign that reads, "No Cover," then place a glow stick inside the box and scatter some pills in there. They're not smart, so you can use aspirin. Then, kill them with fire. It worked really, really well for me last year when I had a black widow rave going on outside my door.
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: I just keep picturing the douchebags in there, sucking on nitrous balloons, waving their glowsticks around like helicopters on speed, waiting to bite my unsuspecting feet in an ecstasy induced frenzy. What if I've got the TV up too loud, and I can't hear the faint warning of Paul Oakenfold coming out of my sneaker?
Dawna Bowman Flowers: I know. And, to make it worse, you know they're not gonna clean up afterwards. They're just gonna throw their glowsticks and empty pre-mixed drink packs around like they don't live there. Even If they don't bite you, you'll just step on a half naked spider, or spider vomit. It's a sad situation all the way around.
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: I blame society and today's lax moral fiber. Discipline is sorely lacking in today's young spider, and they're, you know, abominations that should be purged from the Earth with merciless wrath and holy fire.
June 18
I was having a discussion with the boy about how words are powerful, and even one word can make a huge difference. I explained how you can take a phrase or slogan that millions of people know, something marketable, and change it completely.
For instance: "I've got the fever for the flavor of a Pringle."
You change one word: "I've got the fever for the flavor of a nipple."
Annnnnd now it's creepy. (Read that last part in Morgan Freeman's voice, and it's somehow creepy and soothing at the same time.)
P.S. You'll never be able to watch a Morgan Freeman movie again without thinking about this. *DROPS MIC*
June 23
Well, guess I'll add Whataburger to my list of fucktard friendly employers.
Step 1: Order meal w/ diet Dr. Pepper.
Step 2: Wait nearly 15 minutes in drive-thru behind only other customer.
Step 3: Get handed "Dr. Pepper" with no diet punch on lid.
Step 4: Try to clarify if drink is diet, notice window guy has disappeared.
Step 5: When food comes back, have this conversation:
"Hey, is this diet or regular Dr. Pepper?"
"I think it's diet. I'm pretty sure it was diet when I rang it up." (I realize it's been a whole 5.3 nanoseconds ago that he filled it. Shit can get fuzzy over time. Memories fade. I understand.)
"Well, you said it was Dr. Pepper, and it's not marked."
"Um, does it taste like regular Dr. Pepper?"
"I don't know, dude, I'm diabetic, I'd rather not drink it and find out."
"Well, now you got me wondering. I'm pretty sure it was diet when I rang it up. I guess I could refill it, if you'd like. I could give you another one." (He makes it painfully obvious, he really doesn't want to. Because, you know, that would have been a whole lot quicker, and we wouldn't get to have this long, drawn out fucking conversation.)
Then, I swear to God, he says this: "Does it smell like diet? Can you tell the difference by the smell?"
So I smell it. I sniffed my drink and said, "Nope, I really can't tell, dude."
Then I just drank it, told him it tasted like diet, don't worry about, I don't want any damned ketchup, and I drove off 15 minutes after I got there. And he forgot my receipt.
To top it off, I forgot to tell them no onions. So, of course, I pulled off the side of 287, opened my car door, shoveled off the metric shit ton +1 of onions they'd put on my burger with a front end loader, ate the fucking thing anyway, and drove home.
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: I don't know how half these people survive without wandering into traffic. It's a Pope level miracle that they haven't managed to kill themselves toasting bread in the shower or impaling themselves on a buffet spatula or something. If it wasn't for velcro on shoes and tags in the back of clothing, they'd all show up for work naked or never make it out of the house, collapsing the entire retail service industry. I'm not sure if that's a good or bad thing. I suspect a lot of them are walking around with skidmarks in their pants, just because they can't seem to understand why wiping their ass sideways doesn't work, and they just give up trying.
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: I'd say they're dumber than a box of rocks, but I'm pretty sure that given the proper starting ingredients, naturally occurring geological activity could make my food properly, and in less time, than some of these people.
June 24
You think if I write the Pope, he'll send me a permanent sneeze blessing ID? Maybe something with a passport type photo from the Vatican, laminated and everything? Then, when I sneeze, I could stop people pre-blessing, whip out my badge all FBI style and say, "No need, I got this."
July 10
I've got to wonder about the thought process behind food scented bathroom deodorizers. You're not fooling anyone. It just smells like someone took a dump on a homemade apple pie.
July 25
Man, I just walked into the living room, and Giganto, King of the Spiderfolk, was squared off against your ordinary, run-of-the-mill giant spider in the middle of my floor. They're both on the shitter express, but I'm getting tired of killing these giant bastards.
July 29
I don't know if it's driving past the billboard on 287 several times a week, or what, but I've started using "bouncyhouse" as a sexy verb. As in, "I'd bouncyhouse that across Texas." Now, when I win the lottery, I'll have to add adult bouncyhouse stores on remote interstate exits to my list of businesses, like the Wienerbunz and Shiitake Happens restaurants.
July 30
I'm not sure why I don't have enough sense to not eat stuff like burritos before I go to bed, but I don't. And I'm sure it'll make for some messed up dreams. Maybe Obama will dispatch me and my crack CIA team of Teletubbies to infiltrate the Winter Olympics and keep tabs on the Russians as a Rastafarian bobsled team. Or I'll have to buy a new vehicle to get to work, which turns out to be the giant mechanical spider from Wild, Wild, West, from a salesman that looks suspiciously like Will Smith. Who neglects to tell me that the radio only plays audio repeats of Full House episodes. Maybe the ghost of Elvis will put in an appearance on a floating toilet. It's pot luck, at this point, because I ate 2 burritos for breakfast.
July 31
What if I opened a restaurant like Hooters, but with a duck theme, called Honkers? Think I'd get sued?
Rhonda Michele Bell Hamric: Would the waitresses have squeaky quacky toys in their tops that its ok to honk, if so that would be awesome and worth the risk of being sued, do it
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: That would so be worth it. They could squeeze their quackers and sing rubber ducky to you on your birthday, and you'd get a free order of hot wings.
Chris Rowland: I was thinking maybe the waitstaff would be hired for their impressive noses.
Tony Panariello: Another round for my friends.. what's that? Just put it ON MY BILL!! HAHAHAHAHA
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: If they had quackers in their tops, you could have their tops say DUCK DUCK, and their shorts say GOOSE.
Chris Rowland: GENIUS. And you've inadvertently created your non-copyright-infringing brand name, there.
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: I'd eat at a restaurant named Duck, Duck, Goose.
Amy Carew-Sturgis: Can Honkers please have men waiting tables wearing these? Oh please oh please? http://www.ebay.com/itm/180568444722?hlp=false&var=480007572413
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: No, but we could have a theme restaurant for the ladies, called Take A Gander, and they could wear something similar.
***
I was at the check out at CVS, and they had a display tub of individual size wine bottles, as if to say, "Hey, now that you're ready to purchase your health products and pharmaceuticals, why not consider an impulse alcohol purchase before you go?"
August 2
I came home and played Find The Spider. Because, boys and girls, there's ALWAYS a spider. Kitchen? Nope. Nothing in the sink, either. Living room, perhaps hiding under the couch cushion? Nope, that was yesterday. Bedrooms? Nope. Bathroom? Maybe in the tub? Nope, just a beetle, down the drain you go. Hmmm.
Like I said, there's always a spider. Where would it be lurking for maximum surprise and impact? Under the bathroom trashcan, where it can easily catch you with your shorts down, or even climb into them? BINGO! You found the spider! SMASH, SMASH, SMASH, SMASH, FLUSH.
August 3
I pretty much DVR everything, so whenever I actually watch one, I'm continually amazed at how stupid commercials have become. Have you seen the new Hyundai commercial, where the kid is bullied, and he has to find a team of tough kids?
He picks up a couple lifting hundreds of pounds of weights, one welding an iron sphere, another wrestling a bear. They have tiny letters at the bottom of the screen saying Do Not Attempt. For the bear, I guess they thought the danger of some kid getting roped into underage bear wrestling for seedy adult spectators was even more likely, so they also added Fictionalization to the Do Not Attempt warning. Really? Is it really necessary? Have we become that litigious and/or hillbilly stupid as a society? It's almost as bad as putting a warning on that commercial with the guy bidding on a lunch box auction while wrestling an alligator in the mud.
I WAS going to try beating a bear and an alligator to death in a tag team mud match with nothing but my bare hands and a Dukes of Hazzard lunch box today, but now that plan's shot to hell. I weep for humanity.
***
I just heard a commercial for a cell phone provider stating "no anal contract," which I obviously misheard. But I can't help feeling it's more truthful and appropriate of most cell phone contracts.
***
How about a sub and sandwich shop, where your order is delivered to your table via pneumatic holders and tubes, like at the bank drive-thru? You could call it... Tubesteaks.
August 5
So, I decided that when I start my Peckers chicken restaurant chain, I'll sell t-shirts at the checkout. They'll have the logo on them, and they'll say, "I put some Peckers in my mouth, and all I got was this lousy t-shirt." Slogan: PUT SOME PECKERS IN YOUR MOUTH! Now, I just need to come up with an appropriately smug looking rooster for the logo.
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: PECKERS! GET IT IN YOU!
August 9
So, I got a loan offer in the mail from Rise, where I can get $1000 as soon as tomorrow! They were founded with one goal. To be the most consumer friendly lender in the industry. That means no hidden fees, a fast and convenient loan process, and friendly customer service. But with several footnotes, a small print disclaimer with slightly larger bold type IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER, and the caveat that you have to sign an arbitration provision that may limit your legal rights, including your right to go to court, to have a jury trial and to participate in class actions suits.
So, color me paranoid, but at this point, I'm a little suspicious. I can't quite put my finger on why, but I suspect this may be a little shady. That they may be trying to bamboozle and fuck me, even. So I read the small print, like a bad consumer, and I should be sent to bed without my Ovaltine.
Turns out, the APR for an example installment loan of $1000 is 263.97%, with 10 bi-weekly payments of $163.81. Gasp. That sounds bad. But still, it's a thousand dollars, and I can have it tomorrow.
What could go wrong? It's not like they're asking me for a testicle, my first born child, and the sacrifice of a beloved goat, who has a public access children's show in some third world country, easily lubricated by small bribes to look the other way when goats turn up missing, and hey, if there's a lack of available manpower to divert toward goat finding activities, nobody's to blame, it's just bureaucracy and a testament to how far the world has retreated into frequent crimes of murder and violence. They're a tired lot, doing too much work, with too few resources. Nobody's to blame, not individually. It's society as a whole, that's the problem. Anyone can be tempted under such circumstances, and unfortunately, it's the goat that suffers. I don't make the rules, it's just the hand the world's been dealt. But, I digress.
I think I'm going to err on the side of caution with this one. I'm going to listen to that little voice inside, telling me that this might be a decision I regret, as vague as the evidence may be. I'm going to choose life. I choose goat. Because some things are just more important than knee jerk purchases of beef jerky, nipple massages and midget wrestling tickets made with ridiculously high interest loans. I don't do it for the gratitude of a distant farm animal/television personality. I do it, because it's right.
***
I jinxed it. I walked around the kitchen and thought to myself, "Hey, not a single spider today." I left the room, got my cup, walked back into the kitchen, and there it was. Sitting right in the middle of the floor, looking at me. It stuck both of its middle fingers up and told me to go screw myself.
Well, okay, they don't have fingers, and maybe it didn't actually say it, but you could tell what it was thinking. Then began an intricate dance of my flailing around, the spider running figure eights and circles, and then finally being ensnared by an unforgiving glue trap. I looked it right in the eyes, mocked it, told it how hairy it was, and then left it in the clutches of sticky death, to think about what it had done. I think it flipped me off again.
August 14
Back to the grind tomorrow. Some days, I think I'd rather just rub banana pudding all over myself and jump in a ball pit full of rabid, hungry monkeys. This lottery shit is taking way too long.
August 16
I'm pretty sure you could make good money in the septic business. All I'd have to cover is the cost of the truck, disposal and advertising. I'd name the company Craps, and the logo would be a pair of dice. One would be a no. 1, the other a no. 2.
August 20
I've been thinking about giving it a go and pitching television ideas again. I need a good name for my company though. Something like Insistent Nipple or Extreme Lemur Productions.
August 26
We were having a discussion at work the other night, when someone pointed out that there are Big & Tall shops, but nothing for smaller people. So, now I have another business idea. A short and skinny shop, called Little by Little.
September 2
I've got the TV on in the background. I was watching something I DVR'd, and when it ended, I didn't bother to change it. I have now taken the remote in hand and rectified this situation, because, from the portion I've been subjected to, Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason is a fuckall terrible movie. I now know why I haven't seen Renee Zellweger lately. She's in a Thespian Protection Program, hiding from people who want their money back.
***
I've now seen 2 commercials advertising Miller's new beer bottle. Find it in my local store. Really? That's the best selling point you could come up with? I can honestly say, the shape of the bottle has never entered into my decision of what beer to purchase. "Hey, let's buy some Red Stripe." "Naw, man. I ain't drinkin' that short, fat shit."
September 3
I got an email in my inbox that said Horny Adults Are Looking For You. It didn't say why. For all I know, they could be coming to beat me like a pinata, or they might want to sell me time shares in a swamp condo. Hell, they could be Jehovah's, but even if they're coming for teh sexy times, it didn't specify male or female, so I'm thinking I need some sort of Internet Police Protection. It's the least the NSA can do.
September 10
So, this Vagisil commercial comes on, and this girl says, "I found out the hard way. All washes do not take care of feminine odor." Really? What the hell is the hard way? You knocked out your gyno, he fell over backward, hit his head on a counter and died? Now you're in therapy, because you blame yourself? A pack of crazed dogs chased you for 4 blocks, and you had to hide out all afternoon in some kid's treehouse? Your boyfriend came to bed in a rebreather and assorted scuba gear? What the funky hell were they thinking when they penned this advertising masterpiece?
Matthew Semeraro: A scene of her walking down the sidewalk and the flowers wilting as she passes just made me lol...
Tara DeLorme: Ewww, just ewww. And BTW, it distresses me that this is such an epidemic that we NEED these commercials. Cotton undies and soap ladies, cotton undies and soap LMFAO
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: Maybe the neighbors made her wear a scarlet fish, and they chased her down the street with pressure washers. Fuck it, now I want to know. I'm going to write the company.
Tara DeLorme: Let us know what you find out vaginosis detective...Oh, that needs a costume now, but what oh what would the logo be?
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: Okie dokie, here's my electronic correspondence:
I saw your odor wash commercial, where the girl says, "I found out the hard way. All washes do not take care of feminine odor." I said to myself, "What an exceedingly strange thing to say." I can't help but wonder, what exactly is the "hard way" of finding out. I can't wrap my head around any kind of real hard way scenario, and it seems like a really strange thing to say in a vaginal odor commercial, especially when two women appear to be snickering behind her back. I was curious to know if you could extrapolate on this for me. Please and thank you.
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: A logo, you say? How about a magnifying glass, showing a vagina, and a little detective in a boat, smoking a pipe, looking like Sherlock Holmes. P.S. There's a Basil Rathboner joke in there somewhere.
Eric von Ree: If only they would respond. I love love to hear their explanation.
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: Fingers crossed, Eric, fingers crossed.
Teresa Thornton-Paris: :) maybe she found that after she got out of the shower drying off she thought something was dead under the house.
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: That's not really the hard way, though. That's just being epically clueless. Maybe if her neighbor broke into her house, then beat her in the shower with a dead skunk, screaming, "How the hell do you LIKE IT!? NOW YOU KNOW HOW THE REST OF THE NEIGHBORHOOD FEELS!" That would be hardcore.
Eric von Ree: All I can see is a skunk following her down the street with a clothes pin on its nose
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: Pepe le Pew: * bounce * * bounce* *bounce* Come to me my darleenk, I am for to wooing yoooH MON DIEU!
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: A roving gang of soccer moms in yoga pants corners her by the Stairmaster, drags her into the gym locker room, then gives her the "full Silkwood" with a total beatdown of exfoliating loofahs.
Eric von Ree: Ok you win. Lol
Chris Rowland: Medium shot: Mother and teenage daughter enjoying the breeze on a sailboat on a lake.
Close-ups for dialogue.
Daughter: Mom, do you ever feel…not so fresh?
Mother: I don’t know what you mean.
D: You know, down…there…
M: Down where?
D: (Sigh, eyes squeezed shut) Your vagina.
M: My…oh! Oh. Yes, of course, sweetie. Especially…oh, for a while after I’ve had…(She trails off as a dreamy expression sweeps over her face for a few seconds, suddenly replaced by narrowed eyes, glaring at daughter)
M: WHO are you sleeping with!
D: (Standing, feet together, fists at sides, leaning forward, defiant) We’re in LOVE!
Wide shot, whole boat in frame, still sailing. Mother and daughter gesticulate madly at each other. Overlay product logo and tagline with announcer voiceover. Father emerges from the cabin, raising his arms in a “What the hell?” motion, as mother lunges at daughter and both fall off the boat.
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: Is there a shark? Dear Lord, please let there be a shark. Or a kraken, because that would be phallic and artistic.
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: It's the hard way, Eric. Nobody wins. We just pick up the pieces and go on with our lives.
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: You know, they name household cleaning products things like Fantastik and Formula 409. Personal cleansing products get the froo froo names. You never see Snatchtastik or Formula V-JJ. Or maybe Flysol.
Eric von Ree: I guess you're right. I mean if you can't be amused by implied smelly twats then you can't be amused by anything
Chris Rowland: "Twinkle"
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: And they have to make her hot, like it's really shocking. The horror. Her Twinkle is befouled.
Chris Rowland: We missed our calling, Kevin.
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: Indeed.
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: OMG, now there's a catheter commercial on, and they feature a shot of the applicators in various fun colors. I don't give Montezuma's dead Aztec ass what color you make it, any implication of fun is a damned dirty lie. You could make it in Rave Party Purple or Tickle Me Turquoise, it wouldn't matter. Shoving anything up my urethra is so far down on my bucket list of fun shit to do, you'd need a Chinese tour guide and a map through the Earth's mantle to find it. And anyone trying to convince me otherwise, should have to tongue wrestle Hilter's flaming pineapple in Hell to see who gets shoved up his buttpipe first.
Chris Rowland: “Can a man get ONE MINUTE alone with his catheter without his wife and daughter getting into a goddamn fistfight?”
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: Cue the squid. He's costing me a fortune, so don't fuck up this take.
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: So far, no company response. I'm shocked.
September 11
In a perfect world, J.G. Wentworth would wake up in the morning, and the last thing he'd hear would be me screaming, "It's my justice, and I want it now!" While I stabbed him repeatedly in the neck with a number 2 pencil.
September 13
So, I made a bowl of cornflakes. It took far longer than it should have, because I had to pour it slowly. Why, you ask? Because I'm suffering from post traumatic stress. I was lounging on the couch, all chill and shit, when I ran my fingers through my hair. Thought the A/C was blowing it. Nope. Fucking wrong. IT WAS A GODDAMNED SPIDER. I think I need trauma counseling. Do they even have spider survivor counseling? If they don't, they damn well should, because it's taking me forever to eat fucking cornflakes. I have check the box for spiders.
Eric von Ree: Sorry dude but that was fucking funny
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: Sure, it's all fun and games until I beat myself in the head, and nearly trip over the coffee table.
Dawna Bowman Flowers: I think scientists should take you along on expeditions to find rare and exotic spiders. You know, like bait.
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: On the one hand, I do like science and travel. On the other hand, fuck that.
Dawna Bowman Flowers: But.....they could test your blood to see if your spider estrogen levels are out of whack, as we all suspect, which would explain this uncanny attraction you have with spiders. Question. Do the spiders try to hump you when they get on you? I ask in the name of science, of course.
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: I'm surprised I haven't woke up to dubstep and found the bastards raving in my underwear drawer. The only thing creepier than spiders, is spiders on ecstasy waving around half a dozen glowsticks in your underpants.
Teresa Thornton-Paris: Now I'm visualizing spiders with glow sticks on ecstasy ooooohhh my what a sight :)
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: I keep picturing some spider homeland, with a doomsday counter somewhere, which tallies up how many spiders I've killed to date. They give inspirational speeches about remembering, and sacrifice and revenge best served cold, and then they all march jackbooted over the horizon to seek their revenge.
***
There's apparently a new drug named Xeljanz, made by Pfizer. Did they run out of decent names, so now they just dump some letters out of a Scrabble bag and write down whatever shit hits the table? Consult your doctor before trying Zyqlcltx. Zyqlcltx isn't for everyone, and should not be taken if you've suffered from any kind of infection or anal bleeding. Zyqlcltx may cause nasal irritation, fever, cancerous lesions, high velocity bowel movement, shapechanging, taco cravings, or open an extradimensional portal to dingo world. You shouldn't use Zyqlcltx near babies.
***
I just got a cramp in the back of my leg, right below my ass. I'm going to go right ahead and add that to my list of things that totally suck.
September 14
I was trying to think of ways to get a viral video hit. Expand my market. I'm thinking that maybe I could build a hang glider type device, shaped like a giant maxi pad with wings, dress up in a red leotard, and jump off of something stupid. Anybody know enough about aerospace design to speak to the feasibility of the whole thing?
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: Wonder if it'll replace squirrel suits. And if you crash, it'll, you know, soak up the blood.
September 19
I'm not sure what else SyFy can exploit, movie-wise. I mean, they've pretty much covered the gamut. Unless... wait. I've got an idea:
Alligators are genetically crossed with tapeworms, and they escape from a government lab. The public reaps the horror of alligators that live in their colon instead of the sewers. ASSGATOR. Holy shit, I just came up with the next Sharknado.
Kenneth Mackay: You should send SyFy your resume immediately.
Eric von Ree: Or a title for a gay porn movie
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: John Harden, a down on his luck actor, needs money to pay off his gambling debt to the mob. When he shows up on set for his role in a bi-porn flick, what he finds is a scene of horror, and the unlucky victims of the top-secret ASSGATOR.
John Gekle Jr: Kangaroomageddon.
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: Or, Armegadillo.
October 1
Asked my son what he was doing last night, and he said he was eating Manwich. "Well," I said, "Guess it beats eating Bitchwich." What are you eating? Bitchwich. Well, that's appropriate. See how that works? Who needs that kind of shit while you're eating a sloppy joe?
October 2
Congress should be required to dress as clowns, enter debate via tiny car & wrestle for legislation. At least we'd get entertainment value.
***
I think technology has sufficiently advanced to the point where a solution to stupidity is finally possible. Using the proper programming, miniaturized electronics, real time surveillance links, RC tech and optical camouflage, I see no reason why we can't. With the right AI, we could build flying rubber mallets, invisible to the eye until necessary, which would locate and seek out individuals surpassing the acceptable stupidity threshold, and then chase them off into the wilderness with hilarious brute force. Someone call DARPA. #ilikepickles #whofarted #mybolognahasafirstname
October 3
Hate the long, lavatory sparse drive home. NASA won't hold the launch, so getting the astronauts to the pad is priority, if ya get my drift.
October 4
Not sure what I've been smelling off and on all day, but if I had to describe it, I'd say it's reminiscent of a nudist retirement home for aging hookers, if it was located next to a fishing pier and/or tidal pool.
October 11
How does evolution explain male nipples? What purpose do they serve? You'd think they'd have evolved into more elongated ceiling pointers by now, or something. At least then, I could hang shit on them when I needed a free hand. Screwdrivers, coat hangers, hats, that sort of thing.
October 13
Today's great idea? Popcorn, genetically spliced with selected plum and apple genes, for their natural laxative effect. "Poopcorn. Tastes great, and it's gone."
***
Just a final thought for the night. How hard would it be, given all the money we waste on toilet seats, hammers, owl vomit, and teenage pregnancy in dinosaurs, to refit the Halls of Congress with ejector seats instead of chairs? Then place a seating chart online, like they have on travel and ticket sites, and let the magic happen? I say, give 'em a helmet, and if they survive the repetitive head trauma, let them keep their benefits and insurance, just for the entertainment value.
October 15
I'm unhappy to report, I'm now being invaded by millipedes. Oh, they're harmless enough, and it's not like I have to keep them in gym socks or anything, but annoying, nonetheless. I think there's a small imp, residing in a cramped basement office in hell somewhere, and he's being very thorough. More thorough than any unholy bureaucrat has any right to be. He has an infernal clipboard and a Chinese gel pen, bought by the bulk, and he's going down the list. Rolly Pollies? Check. Beetles? Check. Spiders, HAHAHAHAHA! Check. Millipedes? Sure, why not?
October 16
Off for a week, huzzah! Cue the nap fairies and drunken Xbox cherubim, it's time for bacon, long TV sessions, and scratching my nuts in ye olde underpants. You can't hold me down, my procrastination just cast Level 8 Cock of the Infinite! Roll your saving throw against zero fucks given for the next several days, bitches, it's about to get lazy up in here! Hollah.
Ryan Taylor: bacon?
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: Nothing tastes better than naked cooked bacon. Once you've run the gauntlet of hot grease, escaped all the slings and arrows the Universe can hurl at your junk, and crammed that meaty goodness into your gob, angels will descend from heaven, bearing gifts of wisdom, ambrosia, and Zooey Deschanel's phone number on speed dial. Or maybe that's just a hallucination from burning your weenis and hitting your head on the counter.
Ryan Taylor: I'll pass on the bacon
Kevin Randomthoughtgene Covington: Reconsider, Citizen, bacon is the way.
October 20
I'm tired. I can barely keep my eyes open now. Even adrenaline can't hold out forever. The sweeping... Dear God, the sweeping. And still they come. It's only a matter of time now. If you don't hear anymore from me, you'll know the millipedes have taken me. Mourn not for me, just leave bacon on my grave. And boobie pictures.
***
You know, I can't wait for the first hard freeze. The delightful thought of insect and spider genocide has officially outweighed the loss of bikinis and short shorts. May all that wiggles, crawls, or flies through the air on more than four legs suck a fart out of a fat man's ass in hell.
***
I'm thinking about putting together a comic. It'll feature a team of heroes, using superhuman flatulence to fight crime and evil. The tentative title is WINDBREAKERS. One guy will have to ability to crap through a screen door at 100 yards, but I haven't worked out all the details yet. Not sure how much of a market there is for this sort of thing outside of Japan. Maybe if I throw in some vampires spanking werewolf chicks in leather and make them all part of a biker gang, or something.
October 22
So, I left work, and I decided to grab something to eat, and get some oil and filters at the parts store, right across the parking lot. This little errand turned into a labyrinthine odyssey that took up an hour of my time.
I pulled into the parking lot, went inside, and I stood there for a good 5 minutes, being completely ignored, while other people gathered behind me. I finally decided the only way I was ever going to get service, was if I went through the drive-thru instead. So, I did.
I pulled up to order, and all I hear is, "Please wait a second." Because he's so fucking busy inside, apparently. He finally comes back to take my order, and I tell him I want a number 5, with curly fries and a diet Dr. Pepper. You want that medium or large? "Medium," I tell him. So, I wait. And wait. And then he comes back on and says, "What number did you want again?" So I repeat the order. He says, "You want that medium?" "Yes." "With curly fries?" "Yes, and a diet Dr. Pepper." "Diet?" "Yes." This is an important moment of foreshadowing, because I'm going out of my way to point out that I have used all but a ball peen hammer and a hole punch to get this information through his thick fucking head.
I pull up, wait for 10 minutes in line, and finally get to the window. He charges me nearly $9 and hands my card back. He then goes away for a bit, and when he returns, he hands me a large meal and soda. I look at the soda, but that doesn't really tell you anything, because most of these nitwits don't realize what the bumps are for anyway. "This is a diet Dr. Pepper isn't it?" "Wait, you wanted diet?" Keep in mind, this is that same fucking idiot that just took my order 3 times. "Yes, I did." "Oh, I made it regular, let me get you another." And I finally left.
I then go to the auto parts store, where I need to pick up oil and an oil and air filter. The one book doesn't have my car listed, so I check the other. I find the number, and it takes me fucking forever to find the oil filter, because their tags have a different number than the one listed on the box, and they're in no discernible order, whatsoever. I finally find it, but then I spend another 15 minutes trying to find the air filter listed. It's nowhere.
I give up, tell the counter guy that I can't find it, and maybe he'll have better luck. He goes back and pulls a filter with a completely different number, and says, "Here you go, this should be it." "That's completely different than what the book lists." "Really, well I can double check, but that should be it." He walks off and comes back and says, "That should be it." "Well, then why does the book says it's something else?" "It's a '95 Buick, right? With a 5.0, I mean a 3.2, 3.6?" "Yes." "That should be it." "Then why is the book different?" "I don't know, but if you know where it's at, you can go check your filter, make sure it's the right one."
Yeah, right, fucktard, because rather than have you know what you're doing, I want to go out into the early morning parking lot, in 40 degree weather, and change my filter, because you can't tell me why the two don't jive.
I don't know where they find these sloth brained nematodes, but I'd lay even money, if I were to actually check, that their underwear is on backward, and their velcro shoes are mismatched and/or on the wrong fucking feet. I swear to God, half the people I encounter on a daily basis are using their head for attic storage, because they're sure as shit not using it for anything else. I'm surprised they make it through the day without shitting themselves or someone else.
November 11
So, Miley Cyrus twerked a dwarf and smoked a spliff at the EMA Awards? If I never hear another word about post-whore Hannah Montana or her chickenesque ass of inconsequence, the thunderclap of my not giving a shit will be absolutely deafening.
November 14
Why is it, anytime you wash your hands and splash some water, it lands in just the right spot to look like you lost nozzle control of your noodle, without fail, 100% of the time?
***
So, my son tells me he's looking at stuff on the Internet. But he doesn't say what. I made a series of guesses before he finally got frustrated and told me he was looking at weapon skins for some game. I guess he doesn't Google as much strange shit as I do. A few of the items on my guess list:
1. Monkeys using chopsticks
2. And old Peruvian man in a funny hat eating green beans
3. Alec Baldwin hitting a Batman shaped pinata with a broom stick
4. Cats racing speedboats
5. Flatworms disco dancing
6. A donkey riding an elevator
7. Salvador Dali on a pogo stick
8. Weasels playing rugby
9. Llamas dressed as 18th century lumberjacks
10. George Washington in a pink bunny suit
11. Skunks playing golf with pool cues
12. A French mime beating a Great White shark to death with a baguette
13. Jimmy Hoffa sipping espresso with Satan
14. The Pilsbury Dough Boy passed out drunk in a bathroom stall.
November 20
I don't know if J.G. Wentworth is a real person or not, but if he is, he'd better hope he never crosses my path. I'm going to falcon punch him right in the babyhangers, repeatedly, and with extreme prejudice. And once I show the commercials in court, there's not a jury in the world that would convict me. In fact, you're all invited to the after party. Lap dances and pigs in a blanket are on me. The crab puffs are extra.
November 22
So, I tried a Patio Chicken Burrito for the first time. If you could infuse a material object with the essence of diarrhea and cardboard, you'd have what I'm currently converting to poo on a one time basis.
November 27
I'm thinking of starting a Spanksgiving tradition. Pocahontas costume, stuffing, dressing, and jokes having to do with gobble gobble anything are totally optional.
December 2
I heard an ad on the radio for a dentist today. Dentists are not the most popular of doctors, under any circumstance, and supposedly have the highest suicide rate. They're a necessary evil. I don't think advertising something called "full mouth rehabilitation" is going to change that. It sounds more like something horrible that involuntarily happens in a prison shower.
***
It must have been bowel movement Monday, or something, because I had to experience several strange moments today. It happened twice, while I was in the dressing room and in the bathroom washing my hands. I don't make those kind of noises in the privacy of my own home, unless I'm about to bust a nut on a supermodel. Doing it in a public area, with co-workers around, is just fucking weird. And it was two different people. And then a customer who could barely speak English asked me to watch her machines while she went to the bathroom. She either took the world's longest piss, or she had to take a wicked dump.
December 5
Man, I'm tired of this flu. I don't know what they did in the days before electric lights. If someone had lit a candle around here, NORAD would be tracking me in geosynchronous orbit right now, still sitting on the john.
December 14
I had an idea for another invention. A cat collar with a built in laser pointer. You can turn it on, and the cat drives itself nuts.
December 16
Eons from now, after the end has finally come, and I've spent countless centuries coming and going, living and dying, growing and learning spiritually, surviving as the lowest cockroach and celebrating as the grandest of kings, I will stand upon the cracked and dying Earth, staring through my filtered helmet, taking in the awesomeness of the dying sun. And as its red grandeur falls upon the birthplace of humanity, closing the last chapter of our story, I will finally know the meaning of life. I'm pretty sure it'll have something to do with why men have nipples. And why dogs like cat turds so much.
***
Anybody want to start a metal cover band with me? We can dress in Victorian garb, rock some powdered wigs, and call ourselves Her Majesty's Vibrator.
December 24
I want to go Christmas Caroling. With a group of women named Carol, who can't particularly sing. It'd be totally literal.
December 29
As I'm driving home, I get another one of those fictional snippets in my head. One of those story excerpts with no beginning or end. Here it is, for what it's worth:
He found himself vexed by the very thought of her, and by certain parts more than others. Her turn of nostril was beautiful to behold, and he found that the wondrous sunlit flare of them could make him randy enough to cause public embarrassment.
In fact, he had once become completely transfixed by the sight of her serving potato salad at the church picnic. As the world seemed to move in slow motion, the sexually charged flutter of her delicate breathing had prompted him to a scandalous, involuntary and decidedly non-family friendly spectacle. A spectacle of such proportion and shame, he had not yet managed to tithe his way out of it. Wary mothers continued to protectively cover their children's eyes when he came to services, just in case.
He knew he had to do something about his infatuation or go crazy from frustration, but that ship had seemingly sailed with the total fiasco of his human sundial routine. The guilt he felt about it didn't help, and he couldn't decide what he felt more guilty about, the fact that he was very probably a fetishist, or what he was more and more frequently inclined to do about it. He had taken to labeling this act The Wicked, because, as the old saying goes, there's no rest for the wicked. And as humiliating as it was to admit, he wasn't giving it much rest lately.
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Well, there you have it. Not sure if it was more fun than a nude run on a vibrating slip & slide, or face diving into a pit full of underwear models stuffed with strawberry ice cream, but it wasn’t a poke in the eye with a sharp spork, so whatever. It was free. So is a visit from the Jehovah’s, and at least I’m not those dicks. Peace out, poon aplenty and tax free toilet paper until next year. Now who needs a drink?
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