Boyfriend Would be a Headless, Dignity-less Torso Without Me and That's a Really Disturbing Title Now That it's 3:00 AM

I may have mentioned that I am nocturnal now.  I go to bed sometime around 5:00 AM and I wake up at noon.  I do this because I am afraid of being murdered in my sleep by a fugitive or an orc.

I should probably explain a little better.  Remember how I live in Montana?  And remember how montana is really cold?  And remember how I can't afford to buy heat?

Anyway, Boyfriend and I are not prehistoric bear-people and we probably are going to die.  We have been confined to our living room for three days now because it is the only room in the house that is warm enough for survival.

We covered all the doorways with another layer of quilts and wool blankets and we drew the blinds to block out a little bit of the cold that radiates from the window panes.  Then we set up camp on the living room floor, rented all three Lord of the Rings DVD's and fought over who got to sit on the electric heating pad.  I won because I'm a fucking survivor.

Our plan was to watch movies and never leave the living room.  That sounded great until I realized that it meant I would have to sleep in the living room and not in my "panic room" and there was probably a fugitive or an orc hiding somewhere in the house and if I actually went to sleep it would come out and kill me and then I'd be like "I wish I would have slept in the panic room.  It was a reckless decision to sleep in the living room" but it would be too late because I would be dead already and I should have thought of that before I let down my guard and slept in the living room.

I kept quiet until around 1:00 AM.  That was about when we finished the Lord of the Rings DVD's and then I started thinking "Shit.  What if orcs are real?  There's probably one in the meth-cellar right now..." and at first I was just like "pshh, don't be silly..." but the more I thought about it the more legitimate it seemed and pretty soon I was almost positive that there was either an orc or a rapist or possibly an orc-rapist laying in wait in the darkness under my kitchen floor and I said "We should go upstairs..." because I really, really wanted to be in my panic room but Boyfriend didn't respond because he was already asleep and that made me feel even more alone and terrified of whatever was in the meth-cellar, so I tried to wake him up by jabbing him in the ribs but he just made a little sputtering noise and rolled over.  I kept trying.

Me:  "Hey!  Wake up.  Wake up.  Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up..."

Boyfriend:  "Hszzmmuh? What are they?"

Me: "What?"

Boyfriend:  "What should we call them?"

Me:  "The orcs?"

Boyfriend: (Silence punctuated only by a creepy smile)

Me: "What are you talking about?"

Boyfriend: "Uh-huh."

Me:  "Are you asleep?"

Boyfriend "No..."

Me: "Then what were you talking about?"

Boyfriend: "I don't know."

Me: "You are definitely asleep."

Boyfriend:  (indignantly) "No I'm not!"

At this point Boyfriend tried to look at me to prove that he was awake but he wasn't actually awake and his eyes were kind of rolled back in his head and he was smiling like Jack Nicholson in "The Shining" and it just made me want to be in my safe room even more so I said "WAKE UP!!!" and it came out way louder than I expected because I was starting to panic and then Boyfriend actually did wake up and he started to panic because I was panicking and he was like "What??  What's going on?  Are you okay?" And I was like "I want to go to bed!"  and Boyfriend said that we were already in bed but then I told him about how I changed my mind and I didn't want to sleep in the living room anymore because it was too close to the meth-cellar and Boyfriend said "well, we definitely aren't going to sleep upstairs" because Boyfriend is a huge vagina and he can't sleep when he's "shivering and probably almost dead."

I definitely didn't want to be locked in my panic room all by myself, so I decided that I was going to try sleeping in the living room but that didn't work and I just ended up staying up all night being vigilant.

At around 4:00 AM Boyfriend woke up and he was like "have you been awake this whole time?" and I was all "yeah" and then he finally felt sorry for me and agreed to go upstairs and sleep in the safe room with me but he ruined it by acting all cold and miserable and I felt bad but I still judged him for not being a survivor like me.  I finally fell asleep around 5:00 AM when Boyfriend stopped shivering so violently because he was either dead or in such a late stage of hypothermia that he had started to feel warm again.

I woke up again at around 8:00 AM because I heard a loud crashing sound downstairs and it was probably a rapist and I started to congratulate myself for being smart enough to sleep behind a locked and barricaded door but then I noticed that the door was not locked or barricaded and Boyfriend was gone.

I went downstairs because I figured that Boyfriend was probably lost or something, but no.  He was sitting on the couch drinking coffee and playing computer games.  I said "You abandoned me."

Boyfriend: "It was too cold upstairs."

Me:  "So you just left me all by myself in an unlocked room?"

Boyfriend:  "I was down here on the couch the whole time."

Me:  "What if there was a murderer in the spare bedroom and he snuck into our room and killed me before you could run up the stairs and save me?"

Boyfriend:  "That wouldn't happen."

Me:  "You sound so sure of your ability to get there in time."

Boyfriend:  "No, I mean there is not a murderer in the spare bedroom."

Me:  "But what if there was?"

Boyfriend:  "There isn't."

Me:  "You don't know that."

Boyfriend:  "Yes I do."

Me:  "I suppose you also 'know' that there are no orcs or rapists in the meth-cellar?"

Boyfriend: "Yes.  Yes I do know that."

Me: "I'm never going to sleep again."

It turns out that that's a pretty empty threat.  I usually make it until 4:00 or 5:00 AM and then my eyelids get too heavy and I fall asleep for a few minutes only to awaken in a panic because I let down my guard and I am sure that I'm about to die and I open my eyes and everything is just shapes and darkness and I'm almost positive that I see an orc lurking in the corner so I fumble for the light-switch but I can't find it fast enough and I get that all-encompassing tingly feeling that starts at the base of my spine and spreads outward until I am absolutely positive that I will be attacked at any second and I NEED LIGHT RIGHT FUCKING NOW!!!!! and then I finally find the light-switch and the light comes on and I see that no, it wasn't an orc, just a table, and I am flooded with humiliation and relief.  That adrenaline spike is usually good for another 15 minutes of intense vigilance, but I inevitably fall asleep again and end up repeating the whole process until Boyfriend wakes up to go to work or tricks me into falling asleep in my panic room so he can sneak out and leave me for dead since he's so sure there aren't any murderers in the spare bedroom.  It's like he's never even seen a horror movie.  Murderers are fucking everywhere and if you leave your bedroom door unlocked, sometime during the night the camera will zoom-in on your doorknob and the doorknob will turn slowly and guess what?  There's a serial killer or a zombie or a rapist on the other side and now you're dead because you were so sure that there wasn't anything in the spare bedroom.  But I'm too smart to fall for that because I'm a survivor and Boyfriend is more like the guy who goes to check on the weird noise and pretty soon he's just a headless torso with the words "YOU'RE NEXT" scrawled across its chest and then it turns into a media frenzy and I have to frame the story to preserve Boyfriend's dignity because otherwise he'd just look retarded for dying like that when his death was so clearly preventable with a little bit of common sense.

I'm pretty much the only reason he's still alive.

UPDATE:  I am still up at 3:00 AM partly because I'm scared to go to sleep in the living room and also because I wanted to get a screenshot of this:

I could go outside right now and spit on the ground and it would freeze within seconds and then I could spit on top of the spit and it would also freeze and I could keep doing that until I made a tower of frozen spit.  Like a sand castle.  Kind of.

UPDATE #2:  And that's why I shouldn't post at 3:00 AM.  I end up writing about spit-towers.  And then writing about how I wrote about spit-towers.

I Could Give This Post a Snappy Title, OR I Could Just Tell You That it Contains a Picture of Me With No Pants On. You Will Probably be Terribly Disappointed.

Sometimes I wish I could go back in time and talk to myself as a kid and say "guess what?  You grow up to be a rapist!" just to fuck with myself because then I'd spend the rest of my life wondering "When am I going to turn into a rapist?  Is it now?  Do I rape that person?  Why do I do it?  OH GOD, I CAN'T TAKE IT!!!" And the funny part would be that I would never actually turn into a rapist and it was a trick all along!  I forget where I was going with this...

Oh yeah, I was going to talk about how I wish I could go back in time and warn myself about stuff, but then I got distracted thinking about how, if I really could go back and talk to myself in the past, the potential for practical jokes would pretty much be endless.  Like, I could tell myself that I'm on fire! Or that every time I poop, Satan stabs God in the face and God dies and it's all my fault for being so filthy.  That would really fuck me up.

Or I could actually try to be helpful and not ruin my entire life over a cruel, albeit hilarious, joke.

Some useful advice for Allie, from YOURSELF IN THE FUTURE:

Not every black and white thing is a cow - but some of them are!

Butter tastes awesome, but it tastes much less awesome when you eat a whole stick of it by itself.

Eating too much pepper doesn't undo eating too much salt because pepper is not the opposite of salt. It's

just pepper.

When you make a fist and hold out your middle finger, adults don't think that it makes your hand look like a tank.

Ants taste bad.

So do spiders.

So does poop.

When your parents say "you are going to be a big sister," they mean that your environment will be taken

over by a needy, drooling lump that looks vaguely like a person but can't even walk or hold up its own head.

Your survival depends on either exterminating or out-competing this intruder.

And no, bribing it with toys will not make it go away.

Neither will locking it outside...

... Or hiding it in the closet ...

... Or setting it on fire - setting your sister on fire will make your parents take you to see a brain doctor.

If you don't kill it quickly enough, the intruder will start to acquire abilities - like walking, making sounds, stealing your toys and engaging in an endless string of adorable activities that your parents will videotape instead of videotaping you.

When you run in front of the video camera screaming and flailing your arms - you aren't being cute - you're just being obnoxious.  Stop it.

Doing the exact same thing as the intruder doesn't work either.  Apparently, when you crawl through the dog door, it not nearly as impressive as when the other thing does it.

Making a crayon mural in the hallway is not an acceptable outlet for your frustration and your parents won't believe that your 9-month-old sister did it.

Stealing your sister's bottle will result in the discovery that breast milk doesn't taste the way you thought it would.

Not every cat is as docile and brain-dead as your cat.  If you pick up the neighbor's cat by its tail, it will bite you and you will bleed.

Bleeding = spiderman Band Aid = awesome.

This discovery will cause you to come dangerously close to becoming a self-mutilator - a future only prevented by your infinitely wise mother, who will give you a box of Band Aids to stick wherever you want "as long as you stop cutting yourself..."

Even though Vodka looks like water, it doesn't taste like it.

Similarly, your grandmother's face cream is not frosting.  Nope, still not frosting.  ARE YOU RETARDED????  It's still not fucking frosting!  It will never be frosting!  No matter how many times you check, it will always be face cream and never frosting.

On your first day of school, your mom will tell you how exciting it is going to be - then she will start crying uncontrollably.  You will be very confused.

Naked is not for school.

Naked is still not for school the next day.

If you dig a big hole in the sand and then fill it with water and submerge your naked body up to your neck, your teachers will still find you and make you put your clothes back on.  And then you will be all wet and sandy for the rest of the day on top of not being able to be naked.

The toys at school aren't supposed to go home with you - adults call that stealing.  And no matter how attached you have become to the toy, you will have to give it back and let the other kids play with it too.

Adults will tell you that sharing is fair, and even though they have no idea what they are talking about, they will enforce the notion doggedly.  Unurprisingly, it never really seems to work out in your favor.

Adults will expect you to learn how to spell your full name, but the name "Alexandra" is really long and you don't know how to make R's.  In fact, you will be the only person in your class - maybe even the world - who simply cannot figure out R's.

"Beaner" is not an acceptable name for a Beanie Baby - especially if your Beanie Baby is a chihuahua.

Umbrellas only make Mary Poppins fly.  They don't work for regular people.

Running really fast and flapping your arms doesn't work either.

Human beings are simply not meant to fly and hitting the ground after jumping off of a roof doesn't get any easier the second time.  Your mom will stop being even vaguely sympathetic after the third time.  In fact, your mom probably will be reasonably sure that you are retarded at that point.

When someone tells you not to touch a fence because it will electrocute you, you should take their word for it.

Never poke a llama in the face.

Everyone else in the world can ride a bike - except for you.

Sitting on the bike and letting your friend push you down a big hill will not change that - it will just make you never want to ride a bike ever again

Your father will try to assuage your fears of bike-riding by letting you sit on the cross-bar of his bike while he rides slowly and safely around your neighborhood.  Despite his best intentions, your father will hit a curb and crash his bicycle - cementing your future as a bike-fearer.

Roller skates are fucking dangerous.  They don't really have brakes even though everyone is always like "No Allie, you put your heel back like this and that's how you stop..." They are just trying to trick you.  There is not actually any way to stop roller skates.

Some people are not cut out to be good at anything involving wheels.

And that's about where I'd give up.  I would sit myself down and say "Listen, punk.  There's this thing in the world called 'Natural Selection' and I'm not so sure you're 'survival material.'"

And then my past self and my future self would get in a fight and someone would get stabbed and the winner would be like "LOOK WHO'S NOT SURVIVAL MATERIAL NOW, BITCH!"

Except for no one really wins in that situation.

And that's why I stay the fuck away from time travel.

Land Sharks: Why We're All Fucked. *UPDATED*

I wrote another topic post for Cracked.com today.  Because I desperately need money and famousness.  And maybe I can get a real job there someday.  Especially if I use my newfound source of celebrity to stage my own death and then magically revive myself and offer to write a weekly column about my experience of the afterlife.  SNEAK PREVIEW:  There's lots of pie and everyone gets pillow-top mattresses.  And it's Christmas AND your birthday every day but your parents don't try to swindle you out of presents by celebrating both of these special days with only a single gift-giving session.

Anyway, if you liked my article on bears and you want to read a similar but way more awesome article on Land Sharks, go HERE.

Also, I've been reading up on blogging success-strategies and apparently I'm supposed to explicitly encourage you guys to subscribe to my blog.  So consider yourself explicitly encouraged.  The "Subscribe" button is in the upper right-hand corner, just below my blog heading.  I think you just click it and then click something else and then you get email notifications whenever I write something new.  Until they invent blog-update pagers, this is the best I can do to give you instant updates.

I guess I'm also supposed to encourage you to "be evangelical" about my blog. Whatever that means.  If you can figure out how to do it, it will supposedly help me become famous enough to blog for a living and then I can entertain you forever without having to worry about stuff like how I'm going to survive the winter.

I read about a lot of other things I'm supposed to do if I ever hope to get rich and famous from my blog, but I don't know how comfortable I would be with implementing tips like "create controversy" and "optimize your post titles for search engines."  I'm not about to start writing posts like "101 Ways To Abort Your Gay-Married, Al-Qaeda-Loving Baby For $39 or Less!"* So I'll just stick with asking you to subscribe and "be evangelical."

*God forbid I start showing up on Google for that sentence.

UPDATE #1: You guys... it's like you are trying to make Google think I'm a bad person:

UPDATE #WTF YOU GUYS?:

Seriously?

The list of terms for which I am ranked first on google is growing.  So far, these are the subjects for which I am widely considered to be the best source of information:

"Mandatory Sex Party"

"Jessica Alba cat diarrhea"

"101 Ways To Abort Your Gay-Married, Al-Qaeda-Loving Baby For $39 or Less!"

"Masturbate by sticking hermit crabs up their pee hole"

Do you realize that if I had AdSense, my blog would be riddled with ads for hentai?  Don't google that.  Okay, google it, but don't blame me when you become addicted to anime porn and beastiality simultaneously.

P.S.  SpellCheck doesn't know the word "beastiality."  OR the word "hentai."  That's probably a positive sign for the world.

Women Are Not Bears

I wrote something for Cracked.com today.

I originally intended it to be an advice piece about relationships and communication because that topic has mass appeal and I want to be famous, but no. My article turned out to be mostly about bears.

I wrote about bears because, as I was writing about relationships, I made a bear-related analogy and then it spiraled and the whole thing kind of became bear-themed and before I knew it, I was writing almost entirely about bears.

I'm probably not going to get famous by writing about why women are not like bears, but you never know. I like to think of it as niche-writing.

Anyway, if you want to read my article about why knowing how to tell the differences between women and bears could save your life, then go HERE.

It's kind of about relationships, but it is mostly about bears.

If you suspect that you may have been exposed to a bear, please go to the hospital.

ALSO BEAR RELATED: Remember this?

EMERGENCY UPDATE: A few of you conveniently pointed out some common but often lethal misconceptions about bears:

Tim from infinitely funny blog I'm Not Benny said: "Rosie O Donnell is kind of like a bear. I'm not saying she IS a bear, I'm just saying that there is something called electrolysis in the world and it's not beyond the realm of reason that she might actually be made out of bear. 

You know, originally.

So that's why I always ask women if they've had electrolysis. If they say yes I immediately start banging cooking pots together and screaming SHOO BEAR, SHOO!

Bears hate that shit."

Tim, you make a good point because Rosie O'Donell IS the most dangerous halfling shapeshifter there is, but I feel compelled to point out one fatal flaw in your logic: If you were able to successfully shoo the creature away by banging pots and pans, it most likely actually was Rosie O'Donell and NOT a bear. Unless it brutally maimed you and deflowered your skull before it left. Then it was probably a bear. But it could also have been Rosie O'Donell still. It's a fucked up world, Tim.

Carlston from If Carlston Made Blogs (and let me tell you, if Carlston made blogs, they would probably be a lot like this one) said: "I always wondered why my dates kept eating entire tubes of toothpaste until I hid them up trees. Thanks for the insight, Allie"

Again, I feel the need to clarify. Carlston, your dates were most likely WOLVES and not bears. Bears don't give a fuck about toothpaste - they want your blood and there is nothing that can distract them from that ultimate goal.

It can be very difficult to tell what is truly a bear and what is merely a dangerous but not 100% fatal animal. It is very important to understand that if it is not actively destroying you, it is probably not a bear. Even if you think you are safe because you are on top of a mountain and you can see the bear lumbering around in the valley - that's not a bear. If it was a real bear, it would instantly teleport to your pathetic mountaintop and slaughter you without remorse. In fact, most modern-day images of bears are actually of Rosie O'Donell. She is much less aggressive and easier to photograph. It is difficult to say whether anyone has been able to successfully capture a bear on film, but my instincts say it is doubtful. The lack of photo evidence with which to identify bears makes them even more of a threat to your safety.

Twitter is Dead to Me. So I Gave it twAIDS.

I normally wouldn't post something like this because I'm classier than that and I have dignity, but sometimes I just post stuff because I can and today is one of those days.  Also I don't feel like I have accumulated enough comments on Friday's post so usually what I would do is not post anything and hope that I can trick you guys into thinking that the post on the top of the page is new and therefore worthy of your attention and commentary.  But not today.  Today, I am posting irresponsibly.  Like if I usually didn't do drugs and then one day, I decided to do drugs and get pregnant and drink moonshine and drive to Texas to meet up with some dude named mikehunt69 whom I met on Craigslist.   That would be irresponsible.  And so is this. 

Maybe you should just read what I wrote yesterday again.  And watch the video because the end is awesome and there is a picture of a cat-shark in it.  And also Bear Grylls.     

Anyway, if you have exhausted all other options, read on...  

I've noticed that Twitter likes to come up with cute little word combinations that make ordinary words or phrases more Twitter-related.  For example:

Twaffic: "Twitter traffic."  

Tweetheart: "Twitter sweetheart" which, in my opinion, is a step down from "Craigslist whore-friend" and is probably not something that should exist, but apparently it does exist and I'm patenting the phrase "twivorce" right now before it's too late and I've missed my opportunity to profit off of the misery of others. 

Twittastic:  "Fanstasic, but not just regular fantastic:  fantastic on Twitter" 

Twitterrhea:  "Twitter diarrhea" which can mean "too many loose, watery tweets" or "tweeting while pooping violently" which is probably something that has actually happened and that makes me die inside.  

Twitterholic: "Twitter alcoholic" or "Twitterer who is like an alcoholic, only instead of alcohol, they are addicted to tweeting" which is is not a real disorder and actually undermines the legitimacy of alcoholism by mere association.  It's like saying "Haha, I'm a twitterbetic and I need to tweet regularly or else I'll have a tweizure!"  You sound like an asshole.    

Twitter posts a random sample from these cute little abominations - "twifinitions," if you will -in their sidebar so that all the Tweeters out there can stay current on the hottest new "twingo" and "twargon."  But today, Twitter finally took this cute little game too far:

Twi-Haiku?  You didn't think of maybe trying Twaiku first?  Or is this some cruel joke on the entire twittosphere where you point out how stupid we are by sabotaging your already scant credibility?  Are you even trying anymore?  

Twuit it Twitter.  I've twad tweenough of your twinanigans.  I will twack you down and twangle you until you twi-die.  Then I will twisembowel you with a twamurai tword.  Then I will twesurrect you.  Then I will twill you again.  With my twuck.  Then I will set you on twi-fire and twape you in the eye with a twap-on.  Because I'm a twiropyronecrophiliac.  And I have twAIDS.  And you will get them!  Haha!

Consider that a tweat.   

Tweace out, bitch.   

Don't Ever Fall Asleep Watching "Land of The Lost"

I think that I might finally have Swine Flu.

I'm all achy and pokey.  Most doctors don't understand what I mean when I say I'm feeling "pokey," but "pokey" is what you feel like when the mere act of existing with other molecules results in an uncomfortable poking sensation on your skin.  I can almost feel the particles pinging off of my face.

My stomach feels... crawl-y.  If stomachs could crawl sneakily, that's what mine would be doing.   I'll be lying on the couch debating whether an empty stomach or a full stomach would be more detrimental to my health and suddenly I feel this little rippling inside of me.  I say "Stomach! What the fuck are you doing?" And my stomach makes a little shivering motion and gurgles and I interpret that to mean "Oh nothing... just go back to doing what you were doing.  I'm fine.  Really.  I'm totally fine and not at all trying to sneak away to find another body that doesn't eat things like 'cheese pancakes'"

Cheese pancakes are when you put cheese in a frying pan and then as it's melting, you try to make it into a pancake shape with the spatula.

Anyway, I fell asleep watching "Land of The Lost" yesterday.  "Land of The Lost" is not a movie that you should watch if you have a fever and there is any chance whatsoever that you could fall asleep while the movie is still playing.  

If you fall asleep while watching "Land of The Lost" (especially if you are already semi-delirious from fever) you will awaken in a hell of confusion and fear.  A hell in which Will Ferrell is running away from a dinosaur and you have no idea why he's doing that and then he's running away from a giant crab and then he's running away from Sleestak which are the creepiest fucking shit ever and then there's flashing lights and a monkey-person peering out from behind a rock and all the while danger music is playing and you are almost positive that you are not going to survive. 

Now imagine that you were having a dream in which your hands are giant and your body is tiny and you've just figured out that nouns are a conspiracy but every time you try to tell someone about the noun conspiracy they turn into a land-capable shark and then you wake up and you are only several feet away from the television because you fell asleep on the floor and this is what you see/hear:

One second you are asleep dreaming about land-capable sharks and the next you wake up and you're all "Oh no! Giant crabs! What's Will Ferrell doing there? DINOSAUR!! Watch out Will Ferrell! Why do my hands feel so tiny??  NOW THEY'RE HUGE!!! MY HEAD IS TINY!!!!!  HOLY CRAP HOLY CRAP HOLY CRAP I'M ALMOST POSITIVE THAT I AM IN SERIOUS DANGER!!!!!"

And then you get up and crawl onto the couch because the couch is safer than the floor and you curl into a ball and just wait it out because there is nothing else you can do and you are too terrified to take action.  

And that is why you should never fall asleep watching "Land of the Lost."  

How to be Happy, Reclaim Your Youth and Also Vanquish a Centaur. *Hint*: Bacon is Involved

In the world, there are things.  Some of them suck, some of them are awesome and some of them are just okay.  Some of them smell/taste like bacon.  Those things are usually - but not always - in the awesome category.  For example, bacon beer.  I would drink bacon beer.  In fact, I am willing to bet that the advent of bacon beer would mark the end of productivity for our society.  Bacon-flavored condoms?  That would probably be the best blow-job-getting strategy ever because they taste like bacon but they have no calories.  Everyone wins in that situation.  I might be wrong, but I'm pretty sure that bacon-flavored condoms would also lead to complete stasis in whatever place they originate first.  I'm guessing either Germany or Japan.

But bacon can't just be mixed all willy-nilly with everything.  Baconnaise should never have happened.

However there are certain things that exist in the world that every person enjoys.  Some people don't know that they enjoy these things.  Some people won't admit that they enjoy these things, but I'm pretty sure almost everyone, aside from Vladimir Putin and John Wayne Gacy, enjoy them.

1.) Chicken Skin  

One of the most sacred moments in anyone's life is one in which there is anticipation and/or ingestion of chicken skin.  When you are holding that paper-thin flap of greasy yet crispy integument, nothing else matters.  Chicken skin could stop war.  Well, it could at least delay war by about 15 seconds.   Once everyone got to the part where they actually had to eat a skinless drumstick, they'd go right back to bombing and pillaging.

2.) Bouncing 

Who hasn't looked at a trampoline in someone's backyard and thought "I would give a blow job to just about anyone if it meant that I could have one of those... and the condom wouldn't even need to be bacon-flavored..."

And how sad were you the day you found out that you weighed too much to go into the giant, inflatable bouncy castle?  That's how Anorexia starts.  One moment you're bouncing away your worries inside the inflatable castle in the parking lot across from Walgreen's and the next you're on a glucose drip and you've lost your hair and you almost don't have enough energy to be enthusiastic about the idea of bouncy castles anymore.

The first person who makes a bouncy castle that is built to withstand the rigors of being repeatedly bludgeoned by overly enthusiastic obese people will be a millionaire billionaire.

In the meantime, next time you are feeling down, go jump on your bed.  I'm totally serious.  Go jump on your bed and see if you still feel bad.  If nothing else the idea of jumping on a bed while crying irrationally should at least make you laugh.  Either way, jumping on the bed will make you feel better.

Ceiling too low?  Jump on your knees or on all-fours.

Worried about aversely affecting the life-span of your mattress?  That's what's wrong with you - do something about it.

If you still can't bring yourself to jeopardize the integrity of your all-important mattress, go to the thrift store and buy a cheap mattress that you won't feel bad about destroying during your moments of unrestrained glee.  Keep it in your garage or basement.  I promise that your life will be better.

If you have a memory foam mattress, give up.  Life is pointless now.  You should have thought of that before you sold your life down the river by buying a mattress without springs.  You could try buying a bouncy mattress from the thrift store and keeping it in your basement or garage, but I doubt you'll get any enjoyment out of it.

3.) Popping a Zit

Getting a zit is such a turbulent experience, emotionally.  On one hand, you are upset because your face has been ruined.  On the other hand, you get all giddy and start thinking "I can't wait until I can squeeze this thing!  I hope it's the kind that squirts all over the mirror!"

If I was a spiritual leader of some sort, I would say "Think not about the blemish on your face, but about the mass of sebum and bacteria on your mirror."

I would say other things too, though.  I wouldn't want my principles branded as "Zit Zen."  But I think that is pretty much unavoidable now.

4.) Right-Clicking

This one is very subtle, but I am convinced that it happens to nearly everyone

Next time you are using a mouse with a designated right-click button, notice the way you feel just before you get to right-click something.  There is an almost imperceptible little celebration that happens.

5.) The Last Bite of a Waffle

You know the bite I am talking about.  The one that is approximately three squares by two squares and it's stuffed like a turkey with butter and syrup.  Not only that, but the waffle has been marinating in syrup for the duration of breakfast and some of the syrup will surely have soaked up into the interior of this glorious bite.

People say that there is no way to explain love and that makes me sad because obviously these people have never eaten a waffle or at least not a waffle with real butter and syrup and that is a tragedy.  Either that or they have never experienced love, which is almost as sad.  Almost.

6.) Toys

There is a distinct feeling I get every time I pass the toy aisle at Wal-Mart.  It's like if you were engaged to marry the man or woman of your dreams then suddenly decided that you needed to take a plane to Pittsburgh and the plane crashed and everyone died except for you and you walked away from the incident as a double above-the-knee amputee and that was the meanest joke ever but I still said it because I didn't even realize what I was saying until it was too late and by the time I noticed, it was already too funny so I just left it in there because it somehow lightens the mood when you find out that after the plane crash, the person you had loved is prejudiced against disabled people and he/she leaves you for a centaur and you somehow end up attending the same PTA meetings and all you can do is look across the room at your ex-fiance and the centaur and think "I used to be so happy..."

That's how the toy aisle at Wal-Mart makes me feel.

Sometimes I buy a toy and then I get a feeling like I walked across the room to the centaur and I said "bitch, I'm going to rape him because he is rightfully mine!"  And then I realized that I had legs the whole time and I was never a double amputee and I don't actually have to rape my ex-fiance because he still loves me and we tame the centaur and keep it as a pet and it isn't even mad at me because I give it bacon beer all the time and centaurs love bacon beer.

I think this may be the best thing I have ever written.

P.S.  I talked about blow jobs twice in one post.  I get fifteen points.

COMPLETELY UNRELATED UPDATE:  I'm totally going to start taking screenshots of my followers widget so that when someone un-follows me, I can find out who's missing and track them down and become all emotional on their blog.  Then they'll log in one day and find this:

"WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME?????!!!  I THOUGHT WE WERE GOING TO BE TOGETHER FOREVER, YOU FUCKING CUNT BASTARD!"

If you guessed that the phrase "fucking cunt bastard" was a trap, you would be right.  Just try to leave me now, Asshole.  I'm super creepy and totally capable of finding you.

Rodent

This is Sasha:

Sasha had surgery today. She had to get a tumor removed. I am quite attached to Sasha and her surgery was a little risky because she's getting to be an old girl, so I was a nervous wreck until the vet called to tell us that everything was fine.

When I picked up Sasha from the vet, she was all dopey and looked almost dead.  I picked her up and held her to my chest to keep her warm and she stared up at me with her big, confused eyes because I'm sure she had no idea what was happening but she was glad I was there.  It was like watching a small child trip on acid.  Not that I have ever done that or would ever do that, but I can certainly imagine that it would at least somewhat resemble what a rat on Isoflurane and opiate pain relievers looks like.

My point is that it was heartbreaking.

My sympathy has faded a little since I brought her home.  She's obviously fine and I'm pretty sure she has figured out how to guilt me into giving her treats.  She started trying to chew out her stitches, so I gave her a banana.  She ate the banana and then left the stitches alone for a little while.  The next time she started chewing at her incision, I gave her another piece of banana to distract her.  She soon figured out that chewing on stitches = banana.  Now, she goes to chew on her stitches and I give her a piece of banana and she sets the fucking banana down, looks straight at me and starts nibbling her stitches again like "Oh, I'm sorry... did you want me to stop doing this?  You don't want me to make myself bleed all over the place?  Well, then I would suggest that you give me more bananas..."

Operant conditioning is a bitch sometimes.

Anyway, that's why I wasn't around today.

P.S.  I'm sorry about the clown train.

P.P.S.  You know what?  Fuck John Wayne Gacy too.  I didn't know who John Wayne Gacy was, so I googled that shit and now I'm never going to sleep again ever.  I got sucked into reading every detail of his life and couldn't stop even though I desperately wanted to and Boyfriend saw what I was reading and he was like "Oh no!  What are you doing?????  Stop it!" because Boyfriend can see the future and he knew that I was going to make him put another deadbolt on our door.  And guess what?  He was right.

Nevermind... I Found It

But I'm still drunk.

Drunk. Need Chap STick

I am drunk.

I need some fucking chapstick.  That is all.