while thumbing through some of South’s porn mags. I must admit, I did feel a bit strange singing the “Mighty God Medley” while staring at pics of cum oozing out of some chick’s cooch. But it was either porn mags or watch vids from South’s Shirley Temple collection. He scribbled “my favorite!!” on “Curly Top” so I watched some of that. Please. After ten minutes of watching Shirley dance to “Animal crackers in my soup….” I was deeply disturbed….and really hungry for animal crackers. I know that South often talks about his desire to tap dance as a youngster, but enough is enough. It ain’t gonna happen, dude.Let…the…dream…go. Besides you just don’t have the legs for it anymore.
Oh and screw you for taking your laptop with you! I was trying to work up the nerve to steal it this time around—accidentally of course–and I can’t find it anywhere. Call me and let me know where it is, will ya? Thanks, you’re a sweetie. Oh and don’t forget to call person to person. I’m emotionally needy today.
I planned to sleep late this morning, but South’s neighbor—the non-crazy one that doesn’t have his own in-home pharmaceutical bidness–had other ideas. Joe woke me up early and asked me if I wanted to go out to breakfast. At least I think that’s what he said. I said, “Joe, I’d like to crawl out of this warm, snuggly bed, and have breakfast with you, but if I do that, the terrorists win.” Joe looked baffled. YAY! Let him think about that one all night long. I like Joe and I don’t care how much he cauterizes the hottie waitress, I think he’s…he’s…well, let’s put it this way, I’d bet my paycheck he knows all the lyrics to “I Will Survive.”
Awhile back Luke Ford was [once again] begging a woman to marry him. Somebody hit the man over the head with a clue by four already. South told me that he and I should find Luke a wife. (And yes, I’m fairly certain South was having a “Hemmingway moment”. ) While South has done absolutely NOTHING about this situation since, I’ve come up with a list of questions specifically targeted to eliminate the posers, the Mrs. Luke Ford wannabes, of which I’m sure there are one or one and a half. If you think you know a woman who would make Luke a good wife—and don’t bother to send me Kylie Minogue’s picture, she’s taken I’m sure—send her pic along to me. [email protected] . Try to show a little more interest than ya did in those parole officers pics!!
These questions hit psychologically important key areas and well, they damn well better work cuz I’m too lazy to thunk up anymore. Again, not like I’m getting paid to do this, people.
Ok here are the five q’s (pay no attention to the fact that there are only four):
When Cartman makes fun of Kyle for being a “J-O-O” on South Park, does that make you want to:
Kiss Cartman ?
b . Kick Cartman?
c. reach for a dictionary to make sure you’ve been spelling “J-O-O” correctly all these years?
d. call the Anti-Defamation League?
What is your earning potential?
Can you go for long periods of time without cunnilingus? Like say, for the rest of your life?
How qualified (and how willing) are you to birth babies while supporting a lazy, stay at home husband?
Jimmy D writes: “hmmm you’re funnier writing south’s site than writing you’re own; even when you post the same shit on your site that you post on south’s! i dunno why. it’s just funnier on south’s. i wonder if south would be funnier writing on your site? i mean, i wonder if south would be funny writing on your site?”
Thanks, Jimmy. <insert head scratching emoticon that South won’t let me use here> I think. Normally I’d say it was the way cool Halloween clip art and emoticons that make my material so much funnier on my site, but since you said it was the exact opposite that blows my theory all to Hell.
I saw this story on CNN about an Arizona couple who let their child pick her own name, which she did around age 1. Up to that point they called her “Baby Girl Whateverthehellherlastnamewas.” She picked the name Alice because of Alice in Wonderland. Good thing she didn’t have a thing for SpongeBob Squarepants. I’m sorry but letting your child pick their own name is NOT a good idea. I tried it and ended up with one son named “Mum Mum Mum” and one son named “Wee Wee.” What AMAZED me about this story is that it was picked up by CNNand rebroadcast several times during the day. Are they that hard up for “news”?
Did you catch Ashley Smith on Oprah? Guh. Lord I HATE it when people fall into 15 minutes of fame and try to turn it into a career. Ashley is the woman who was taken hostage by Brian Nichols, the man who opened fire in a Georgia courtroom. Ashley is doubly disgusting because she’s trying to play the Jesus card. When Oprah asked her if she intended to visit Nichols in jail, because he requested that she do so, she started with that “If God puts it upon my heart to do so…” bullshit. So that means when I go on Oprah, I’m talking smack about the Devil, too. Oprah eats that New Age shit up. I swear you could be butt fucked by 85 guys and be on Oprah going, “It was when that 74th guy stuck it to me, Oprah, that I had a light bulb moment. I knew that love was all there is. Well, love and bunch of splooge up my ass.” And Oprah would be “Oh child you know we’re all vessels for good.” And splooge apparently.
My favorite COPS moment for the day:
The undercover cops were selling drugs, and they arrested one man who said he’d been using marijuana for over 30 years. Cop: “You think maybe you need some help?”
Druggie: “Help with what?”
(Marijuana really does play havoc with the short term memory, doesn’t it?)
Then the cop helped the man into the back seat of the cruiser and noticed he was sweating profusely.
Cop: “I’ll see about getting you a glass of water.”
Druggie: “I’d rather smoke a joint.”
Clearly he’s learned that drugs are bad, m’kay?
And finally some pics of your hottie parole officers!!! Oh, that’s right. You guys were too lazy to send any. THANKS EVER SO MUCH!!! What about you, JimmyD? I just KNOW you have a parole officer. Or two. Or three. Just for that I should pick a Hot Cop O’The Week Award!!!!! And I think I–uh oh. I accidentally jammed an animal cracker down into South’s keyboard when I hit all those exclamation points. Shit. It was the camel’s hump. Oh well, he probably won’t even notice and if he manages to get it loose, it’ll be a little something for him to nibble on.
Ok, it’s time for me to drive back to bed and rest up for my day of laying in bed resting.
