Do you know what you should do when you’re feeling completely overwhelmed? When you’re reeling from icky flashbacks of crazy stressful work situations? When you’ve got less than 30 days before your next CT scan? When even your shrink says, “You know it’s ok to say no to things,” in an only mildly scolding manner? When you’re face is exploding with allergies and you’ll be bringing home a new kitten in a matter of weeks? When you’re not entirely sure whether or not you’ll be spending the entire month of June traveling for a gig you’re not entirely sure you’re going to work?
You should put an offer in on a house.
And then, on the off chance that those people might (just might!) consider your offer, you should put your current house on the market.
Since I haven’t cleaned this place since I started working again, I sadly don’t have the time to write a loving post dedicated to my new obsession – vagina cupcakes. I know, I’m pretty heart broken, too.
That cupcake link is totally safe for work, by the way. It’s at least as safe as this site. Click it. Do it. Don’t be such a twat waffle. P. S. – My other new obsession is the term twat waffle. According to my brother Thom, twat waffles are the unfortunate side effect of wearing corduroy underwear. After much public debate with total strangers in bars, we are also willing to accept thermal underwear as a potential cause of twat waffle-itis.
I think this post is going well, don’t you?
Instead of any sort of narrative or cohesive post today, I’m going to share the random memos I found stored in Webster. For the most part, I have no idea who said them or why I wrote them down. After all, lists can be very amusing.
- There’s this guy Angel and he says if you give him your credit card number, he can fix my car.
- What, you have to go jack-off two midgets?
- Crap is equally as inconvenient, but it makes a bolder statement.
- I’ve started taking the Xanax we bought in Mexico.
- I know my way around a pole.
- I’m pretty sure your wife isn’t going to give up the anal with everyone watching.
- Remember when your mom told me about rainbow parties?
- We’ve shared harnesses, that’s enough.
- That reminds me of the time I was convinced I could fit two raw eggs in my mouth simultaneously. I went through a whole dozen before giving up.
- We didn’t know each other, but I had a George Foreman by then.
- Kitchen sponges are the worst. That’s why I stopped having sex with them. The kitchen ones that is. I still have sex with the sea ones.
Five of those lines were spoken by Thom. Can you guess which five? Is it just me or does this suddenly feel like a contest. Hmm, what can I offer up as a prize?
Then again, the better contest would be to make you guys work all of those lines into a story. I could post the winner’s tale and award something fantastic. If only I had a fantastic prize to award. Would a sketch work? The winner can send me a photo and I’ll whip up a pencil sketch as a prize. Any picture you want. A nude photo of your Aunt Ester? Barbara Walters in a tutu? Your big toe in a pile of cubed jello?
Fuck, did I just make this a giveaway post? I think I did. Well, this is what happens when I stop thinking straight.
So there you have it. Email me a tale (or you can add it in the comments) incorporating as many of those lines as you possibly can into a single story. I’ll give you two weeks to wow me with your wit (Deadline Friday May 14th). Extra points if you can figure out which of those horrifying bullet points belong to Thom. I’ll announce a winner on Monday the 17th. Then I’ll post the winner’s story (I’ll make it anonymous if you’re shy) and get to sketching. On your mark, get set, TRAUMATIZE ME.