Situation Normal. Atmosphere Breathable. Brainstem Injected. Dialogue Engaged.
Thursday, January 23, 2003

World Yodeling Champions

It's time to put on my tinfoil viking hat and act crazy again. That means I get to write another journal entry! Can I get a hallelujah? Can I get an amen? Can I get a hallelujah amen supercalifragilisticexpealidocious?

Set down the pixie sticks and step back from keyboard, son. No quick movements, and keep your hands where I can see them.

My hair froze this morning. I should've dried it better. Cold has expanded all the metals and everything shreiks. The doors to the building sound like the jaws of life. Strangely enough, no snot. No cold, no sniffle, no sinus boogeymen. I am as healthy as Dr. Ruth with Centrum and Astroglide. Except a lot younger and male. Probably better eyesight too, come to think of it.

Did you know that Tombstone produces a line of pizzas called All-American Flavors? I cooked up a meatball pizza yesterday. It was damn good, even if the thing looked like jumbo fuzzy rat turds on a wet plate. I eat a lot of foods that are visually offensive. My big sister thinks that gumbo looks like diarrhea, so when she's there I glue a shrimp tail to my chin with the brown broth. Then I slurp and leer at her like a toothless hobo. She loves that. Actually she's properly revolted, but her husband enjoys the spectacle. He likes dead baby jokes too. I like him. Next time I'm going to pantomime putting the bowl under the table and "refilling" it. As long as I don't spill. We're big fans of intestinal humor at my folks' household. You should see what I can do with mashed potatoes and gravy.

I have been offered a job with the police scam crew. If I get unemployment I can work this job unreported, under "fuck uncle sam" instead of the 1040. I like that idea. It's like a sodomy of Christ, but better. Can't you just see Charleton Heston with a stars and stripes Uncle Sam top hat, bent over and whinnying like a horse while Fidel Castro reams his old gnarled ass out with a hockey stick? Bombs away, Uncle Sam! Colon stretching time! I can just see Fidel cackling through cigar smoke with his cute little green hat spinning atop his head like a dreidel on rocket fuel. Feel free to substitue Saddam with a beret if that imagery pleases you more. Go ahead, I don't mind.

So I heard that Pete Townsend is in trouble for chilld pornography. I'll bet he was going to photoshop the heads of Dick Cheney and Curious George W. Bush onto them for his next solo album liner notes. It would be a marvelous political statement. Exhibit A: Dicky and Bushy doodling their dinkies in a puddle of crude oil. Exhibit B: Dicky teaches Bushy to apply lipstick and mascara. Exhibit C: Fun with diapers, hershey's syrup, and baby oil.

You get the idea. Art should be provocative.

Well, I guess I'm not so grown up after all. Enough for them to lock me up in Gauntanemo Bay without a trial, though.

I no longer think I'm qualified to write editorials. I am qualified to pee on statues, at least.
2:59 PM - Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm


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