Case File 227: Porn, misery

I thought passiveaggressivenotes.com was pretty good


But this is pretty fucking fantastic.

If you've got a better idea I'd loooove to hear it.

In a measure of desperation, I'm about to do something really horrifying and give one of our sometimes-commentors a temporary submit button. Except I don't think it really counts as giving if you have to beg them to take it. Maybe I could ring the bell and leave it on A.V.E.'s doorstep. Or bribe Slogan Echoes to take it. I should start making a list of obscene sexual favors now.

Do any of you readers masochistic shut-ins have any suggestions? For guest bloggers I mean, not sexual favors.

Where's Nitro?

My family is watching American Gladiators, which somehow, the powers that be have made even more ridiculous by making the challengers in this episode win their spot by some feat of amazing weight loss.
It's Oprah-tastic. At any moment I'm convinced the guy who builds houses is gonna show up with his whole crew and tell the audience what a hard life this particular challenger has had, but its okay because they've got a new three story lake-front villa now. And then I'm gonna have to watch the Gladiators cry.

You haven't watched television until you've seen a muscle bound Aryan-Nation posterchild named "Titan" cry.


Please, someone, tell me I'm adopted.

Activity Review: Cabin camping with the sometimes-commentors

I don't know why anyone would care, but since it's been requested I'll oblige with a silly post about a silly trip.

So, the whole gang (for the most part) was there. This made the trip just as awful as you'd think it would.

My ideal vacation crew would look like this:



Notice the lack of commenters. Doesn't it seem glorious?

But as far as the trip itself was concerned, my review is short and painful (unlike the trip which was long and painful).

The low point was when Moronica arrived. The high point was leaving, obviously.



Whatever. I've lost interest.

Fine. Fuck it. I'll do it.

Shelley Pomeroy's End of the Year Party is actually happening. I'm not sure what's more impressive: That we did something we said we were going to, or that we all think we can be in a small mountain cabin for three days and not hate each other by the end of it. Excuse me, I mean hate each other more.

If I were betting, I'd say the odds are good that someone is trapped in a refrigerator that's on fire before Memorial Day. And if pressed, I'd name Moronica as the favorite to be enjoying an up-close view of the crisper drawer.

In real life, the blog's writers and posters act just like they do online. So you can imagine the potential for anti-awesomeness this trip possesses. It's not a vacation, it's a prison sentence.

On the other hand, Moronica is threatening to bring ungodly amounts of alcohol, and my favorite friend Doogie will be there.

More to come, I'm sure, after I serve my time. I'd write more, but the labels say it all...

Almost as smart as some douchebag Wal-Mart employee circa 1996.

So I'm a clean freak about bathrooms. I mean I let the bathroom get pretty filthy, but when I clean it I clean the holy shit out of it, and I clean the tub last because then I can just do it while I'm in the shower and when I finish bathing the whole bathroom's clean.

I'm pretty sure this makes me a cleaning freak rather than a clean freak but whatever.

So the shower curtain has gotten so gross that although I'm pretty sure it used to be clear I couldn't swear to it, so I put vinegar in a spray bottle and took it in the shower with me. It didn't work, of course, so I added dish soap to the mix. (And at this point I wondered if maybe it wasn't too smart. Like the kid that Babbles worked with who mixed bleach and ammonia to clean the floor and inadvertently made mustard gas.)

But it fucking worked like a charm. Cleaned that scum right up. And I had the entire thing sparkling clean before I realized that the floor of the tub had gotten really slick. Like, REALLY slick. And so had all the other surfaces I guess, because shampoo bottles started falling off of the ledge and onto my toes. Turns out the vinegarsoap had turned the scum into a sort of slick chemical sludge that sticks to any surface it splashes onto.

So I'm naked, feet sliding around in gray goo, creeped out because the shower curtain is so clean that I can now see my neighbor's house through the open bathroom door and dining room window, cursing my battered toes, reeking of vinegar, and I realize that maybe I'm not the total badass I sort of suspected I was.

(sigh.)

Anyway, it's clean now. Whatever.

I'd rather be doing anything than my paper(s)

hence the influx of (bad) posts by moi.


GET THAT MOTHERFUCKING SNAKE OFF THIS MOTHERFUCKING BABY!!

seriously, though, cheapest nanny ever.




my favorite part is that the parents (or best older siblings ever, seriously don't tell mom and dad what they did) who filmed it can afford a video camera, but can't afford baby pants.

Now all we need is a name.

I'm joining a band. A REAL band. At least, I think that's what will happen if I call this bradsterd.

But seriously, who has some drums they want to get rid of? I have an attic that's either going to be Moronica's future bedroom or my drum rock-the-fuck-out room so I'm going to need some drums ASAP. And when I get good we can all start a band. I mean if time and motivation and proximity to one another aren't issues.