10 Reasons I Get Up In The Morning

“Chop wood naked”

There is seldom a time when I just pop out of bed.  The anticipation that most days will undoubtedly drag on with mindless chores and endless Charles In Charge reruns justifies at least a half dozen strikes of the snooze button.  Some days, however, have potential to be the best damn days I’ve ever seen.  When I was a kid, for example, I don’t think I was able to sleep a wink the night before Christmas and I’m a big, fat Jew.  I just love something about those elves…I think it’s what landed me on the federal child sex offender list (talk about a reason to get up…all those little minors).  Here is a list of ten other reasons that give me a rise in the morning:

10. Breakfast…Yeah, breakfast has it all and it’s absolutely worth getting up for.  Not only is it the most important meal of the day, it’s the meal that keeps on giving.  Typical breakfast fare (cereal, eggs, bacon, pizza, milk shakes) account for over ninety-two percent of my daily calorie intake.  The other eight percent…cat food sandwiches.

9. Cat’s Hungry…Tookie’s my cat and he get’s hungry for breakfast, too.  Unfortunately, in the animal kingdom there aren’t nice little cravings to remind you that you’re hungry.  What Tookie has are urges (usually for flesh).  He keeps what he kills, and today it’s Friskie’s.  Some days I just wish he’d learn to sharpen his claws opening cans of cat food instead of my face.  He’s a real cutie.

8. Internet Porn…It’s free of charge and as viscous as milk.  Internet porn (or pornography for art) changes so often, if you see the same video twice in your lifetime, well sir, that’s amazing.  The other thing that gets me jazzed before I get jizzed is that you never know when you’ll be hit with the urge to splurge. It’s usually when I’m at the mall or a day care.  Thank God for the 3G network.

7. Court Date…(see above)  Sucks.  Don’t even get me started on the parole hearings…who the hell is up before 10 in the A.M?  Lawyers, that’s what.

6.  Vacation…It’s worth getting out of bed in tropical paradise when the hotel room is hotter than a jungle and it’s as humid as the ocean.  Nothing says “seize the day and explore the world”  like swatting at mosquitoes the size of small owls in your room.

5.  Bachelor Party…Get up?  I never went to bed.   Besides, I can’t trust a bunch of dudes that get drunk, strip down to their dicks and ass, endlessly chant “chop wood naked”, and dance around an open fire pit.  I couldn’t make this stuff up.

4.  Halloween…It’s like a modern-day Christmas.  Free candy…check.  Ghosts and ghouls…check.  Slutty girls dressed in nothing…check and check.  Halloween Eve (or Hallow’s Eve Eve as the Christ lovers exult) is like waiting for your son to be born…so you can finally touch him (see above).

3.  Election Day…It’s the only day I know of that I get to choose which minority I sympathize with the most without giving money, the blacks or the retards.

2.  Beer…If I know I’m going to be drinking at any point during the day, you can bet your sweet, fat ass I’m waking up.  Put it in my coffee!

-And Finally-

1.  Work…I f*cking hate work.  I f*cking hate it!

Cats And Technology

Cats can learn about technology, but do you know what it takes to teach them?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hey there Albert Ninestein!  Yeah, I’m talkin’ to you.  So you wanna teach your cat about technology, do ya’?  Good luck.  I don’t think you have the capacity or the interpersonal skills to manipulate scientific information well enough for a cat to understand.  However, if you think that you can teach a cat, there is a way.  You’ll need to follow closely if you’re going to teach your cat anything.  First, you have to get a cat.  Got one?  Six.  Wow.  That’s a lot.  Well, pick one and get the others some tuna, they’re gonna wanna watch this.  Next, take the lucky winner and sit him down in an inexpensive, steel-framed computer chair.  You might use duct tape to keep his paws strapped down and his eye lids peeled open (don’t worry, cats can’t feel and he’s really gonna wanna see this).  Once the monster is firmly locked down, grab a burlap sack and quickly slip it over the chair.  Hurry, there isn’t much time.  Flip the chair upside down and pull the bag as far up as you can.  Get ready to close the bag, but before you do, round up the other five tuna lovers and throw them in the bag too.  Tie off the end using a twine rope.  Next, throw the cat sack in the trunk of your car.  Make sure that you throw it hard enough to silence any terrified meowers; you don’t want to have to answer any silly questions about the “cat noises coming from your trunk” should you happen to get pulled over.  Don’t worry too much if you didn’t quiet them all on the first throw, the exhaust fumes that go into the trunk when you drive off should put those little buggers out in a heartbeat.  Now, drive.  Find a secluded spot in a forest where a river runs deep.  Remove the cats from the trunk and shake the bag.  Wake them up.  Are they riled?  Good.  Now, toss the whole sack into the river.  The chair will help sink the bag as the cats try to claw their way out.  There.  That oughta teach ’em.

10 Reasons For Bus Stop Depression

Sure hope that bus gets here soon

 

 

I drive a car.  A fast car that flies.  When I’m pulled over by skycops and slow down enough to catch some of the street level action, I’m always forced to see the folks at the bus stop.  With the exception of a few retards, I’ve noticed everyone always looks miserable.  Here is a list of 10 reasons that I think fuel your bus stop depression:

 

10. It is certain that before the day is done,  you will sit in at least one piece of gum

9. No bench

8. No matter what, you are going to be late

7. People assume you’ve been hired to help the retard in the wheel chair next to you because he’s shouting profanities and smiling uncontrollably in your direction

6. Sitting at a bus stop is as frustrating as waiting for a bus.

5. An old man who has been hurling smut/needles/prophylactics at you, is taking off his shirt to show you his old wrinkly Navy tattoos

4. With all of the recent bad weather, your umbrella budget has depleted the money you’ve saved from riding the bus

3. Your clothes are soaked with foreign fluids and it stopped raining hours ago

2. You’d rather wait for the bus in your own car

1. You’re about to ride a bus

Mixed Couples

Most couples bearly even talk after awhile

I took a class in college.  Just one.  It was a sociology class entitled Society through Sexuality or something like that.  Tons of hot chicks and their stupid, idiot, jock boyfriends.  It was a cool class because there was a statistic that was taught.  Just one.  It said 95% of people will marry at least once in their life times.  Now, I’m a firm believer in the idiom that 92% of all statistics are made up on the spot, but WoW!  Getting 95% of everyone to do one thing?  That’s a boat load.  Someone should be making a ton of money.  What if 95% of your friends showed up to your party on Friday?  That would be like half a dozen or so of your friends that had wished they were somewhere else!  Similarly, what a relief for most of those loser dorks out there that didn’t think they’d ever get laid.  You can almost guarantee sexy relations when you’re married!  Well, actually marriage does not entail sex.  Just ask any one of the 95% that got suckered in.  (BTW, no one has sex…no one.  It’s too risky.  Don’t be daft.)

The funny thing is that somewhere between nearly half to more than half of those marriages will end tragically in magnificently wonderful divorce.  The tie that bonds often breaks and splinters and sends stabbing pains into your back.  However, as good as it may sound, divorce has a serious down side.  Forget what it does to your emotions, credit and therapy bills.  The real frightening aspect is that some of those divorcees will marry again with an even lower success rate than the first time.  I call it the trash principle.  If one person doesn’t like something, then no one will.  Just look at that stinking heap of unwanted trash at the junk dump.  People just passed stuff right on down the line thinking someone else could benefit and the stuff just piled up.  If you’ve ever seen a sitcom, then you’ll know what I’m talking about.    Sitcoms have always sucked but somehow they all wind up on DVDs which no one wants and they go directly to the dump.  If you’re like me, and there is no doubt in my mind that you are, then you’re probably asking yourself: “If the trash principle is true and no person would ever find love with someone that was tossed away by a first husband/wife and 2nd marriages happen, who in their right mind is taking the wild chance to pair up with those losers in a second marriage?”  The answer may surprise you because of it’s deceptive plurality: single parents.  That’s right, single parents.  There is another unwanted breed out there that is just as used and spit out as “the divorced” and it’s not a bunch of little bastard kids.  It’s the little bastards’ mothers and fathers.

If you really stop to think about them, single mothers would terrorize your dreams.  To me, a single parent is a person that got to the abortion clinic a day late (not surprising, they’re irresponsible freaks).  A single parent will claim that s/he was “in love”.  Their brain power appears limited as they live selfishly without consequence.  Don’t get me wrong, living without consequence can be a fine quality in a person, if s/he knows how to use a condom.  The only redeeming quality of single parents is that once they hit rock bottom (an absolute certainty), they often figure out they cannot survive without help from other people (often their parents).  A humbling experience, I’m sure.  The usual outcome of this fall from grace, of course, is that they will cling to whatever life form shows interest.  Sorry USA Network, characters need not apply.  Qualities that appeal to normal people are lost on single parents.  You drink and have a history of violence on your ex-wife but appear to have a stable income and can tolerate other people’s kids, you’re hired!

So, desperate and eager to live another day in loving arms, singles parents and divorcees say their “I dos”.  Who could make a better pair?  No one, apparently.  And no one will.  Like I said, the success rate of these marriages is so low that its basement floods when it rains.  The unfortunate twist to this love story is that this behavior stands to become more common.  As more people live this way, it stands to reason that they will more frequently miss their appointments at the abortion clinic.  As the children pile up and the loveless marriages contribute two halves a time, the giant trash heap will continue to grow.  It will grow until one day, when I decide to come down off of my high horse, I kick stomp it back into the receptacle where it belongs.

Eyes On The Road

One of these b*tches is going down

When I’m driving along the road, I have a tendency to stare down any drivers that I pass or that pass me.  Those B*tch F*cks; what gives them the rite?  Don’t look at me!  “What am I doing?” you ask…I’m looking for hot girls, that’s what!  Now, you might be thinking that’s a little reckless and immature.   You couldn’t be more wrong; the fact of the matter is that it’s extremely reckless and immature.  I am liable to hit someone…hard and often, if you know what I mean     3===) · · ·· O-:  (FYI – that graphic display represents a winker and his hot bod with all that c*ck, balls and a sh*t ton of c*m about to hit that pretty little number’s O-face).  I’m looking for two things.  The first is hot girls.  I’m just perusing the street driving public and all of their assets.  First and foremost, I am attracted to nice hair.  Shiny, yes.  Long, yes.  Slightly curly, God yes.  The best part of the hair is it often times cascades down the body inadvertently pointing to other delectable treats such as the neck, chest, breast, and sometimes abs, buns, and legs.  A great head of hair and a hot set of chest blossoms is the luxury model I want to see on the road.  It’s usually marked by something flowery hanging from the rear view mirror; usually a flower.  Oh, unless it’s hanging from a minivan.  Forget it.  Usually, it’s some chicks ugly step dad.  Which brings me to the second thing.  I’m looking for some punk dude that’s younger, older, smaller, dumber-looking, worse car, and/or smug that I could kick the sh@t out of.  I’ll tell you that I’m going to stare that @sshole down until he looks over and then I’m going to look away quickly.  If I’d stare longer we might have fisticuffs.  He does not want that.  Actually, if it ever came down to that, I’m not going to do that because I can’t fight (I’m a bit of a screamer).  But if I did fight, maybe one of those pretty little ladies with the lai in the windshield might just stop and ask if she can dissolve the conflict with her nipple tits.  This would be the point when I get out my insurance information and check book.  Lady, you can take anything you want.  People are so great.

10 Reasons for Hating Job

It's bad when the TP is wetter before you use it.

10. No cell phone reception at desk

9. Free lunches are taxable

8. I am literally a pawn in a game of chess and my legs hurt from standing

7. Boss is a radio-active polar bear with a temper, no college education, and valid work visa

6. Toilet paper in the bathroom is wet

5. Paycheck is post dated

4. Desk job is actually a sexual position I’ll be presenting for the 3 o’clock meeting

3. Desperate times call for disparaged Labor Ready drunks

2. Babies are allowed at work with their parents for the first 216 months

and finally….

1. Making nooses all day really makes me consider early retirement

A Little Secret About Tookie

The blood in his heart was taken from another living creature

I have a cat which is a fact that I have mentioned before.  He has aptly been nicknamed Tookie (and sometimes Tookus)  after the late (sometimes great) founder and leader of the Hebrew  Crips, Tookie Williams.  My Tookie has the personality of a wolf and the lips of a gator.  Tookie is a pack creature and loves to sharpen his teeth.  He’s not your everyday house cat.  He’d just as soon tear you limb from limb as he would buy you a greeting card with his feelings written neatly in feline calligraphy (a dying art form).  He’s a complicated mess and it’s tempting to pet him, but don’t.  You’ll get hurt and you might possibly fall in love.

I have also mentioned one of the neighbors that I live near.  She dons a large ass and walks an old fat dog.  The dog, a war torn golden retriever named Daisy, is an ok dog because she never talks.  My neighbor on the other hand, won’t shut up.  Her life seems to be a teetering balance of treats and gossip.  She bought/adopted Daisy immediately (like 2 days) after her other, aging retriever died.  She’s always calls the dog quirky names like ol’ fart, goof butt, and, my personal favorite, Chelsea (it was her old dog’s name, she blurted it out once by mistake).  Needless to say, they’re quite the pair; always breathing heavily and gnoshing snacks.

Well, the cat sees the dog coming to and from the apartment daily as the gastropod neighbor and Daisy waddle by my front door to use the stairs.  Being the intellectual, prison-mentality cat that he is, Tookie stares Daisy down through our screen door every day looking smug and contrite as if to say, “I am going to claw your heart out you dirty old mutt.”   Sometimes Daisy ignores it.  Sometimes Daisy barks.  But one of these days, whether Daisy reacts or not, Tookus is going to tear ass through that screen door, open up that old dog with his claws, and chomp down on her tired soul.  And I imagine that no sooner will that day come than my neighbor will have bought a new/used retriever to mistakenly name goof butt.

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