Thursday, April 29, 2010

Ding! Dong! That screech is DEAD!

Don't forget to vote for the Monday Muse of April 2010! If you don't vote, then you're a fudging poop-popsicle! Get the fuck back in the freeza'!

I tried to stop writing about American Idol. As you all may remember, I used to do occasional show recapz. But between mis amigoz ova @ Cocky & Rude thoroughly reviewing (and smartly agreeing with me!) and bloggy peepz tinking they're too good for Idol not watching the show, I felt like calling off my regular postz. Howeva...something glorious happened last night!

Almost as exxxciting as when Kris Allen beat the glittery overhyped ass wind outta Glamberpuss, I shouted to the heavenz when mah least contestant of the season, Siobhan Mania, was sent to pack her bagz and go rot in pop culture obscurity along with Justin Guarweenie, Antonella "Least Slutty Person I Know" Barba and everyone from season 2!

The token KoOoOkY bASkEtCAsE, Siobhan was known for her uncomfortable way of speaking, not hitting the correcto notez and her painful way of ending every song sounding as though Iceland was erupting from her garganta. Well, two days ago it was Country night and since Shania Twain (who has the best selling country album and best selling solo female album of ALL TIME) was their counseling den mother, they all had to sing her tunez. And Siobhan decided to sing that brassy, brashy, assy song "Any Man Of Mine."

As you can tell, she was awful and the judge were clearly clouded by the Caribbean rum in their trademark Coke cupz, cuz they actually said it was decent. But they apparently don't matter, cuz [non]grrrlfriend was voted off...THANK GAWD. I totally nearly kicked David in the face when Ryan Seamancrest read the results and crushed her sueñoz! Then I remembered back to the fifth season, when a homophobic God-juicing beluga whale named Mandisa slathered her buttered chopz all ova the stage to the same song, and was promptly emergency ejected the next day!

The song is cursed. It even has the power to possess unsuspecting tw33nag3rz as seen in dis video clip (embedding disabled?! LAME).

So heed wisely the nexxxt time you are running down the road trying to loosen your load while listening to country radio or the nexxxt time you dare to attempt karaoke @ a redneck hick bar! You too could fall victim to the unrelenting demonic wiles of "Any Man of Mine." Proceed wiff caution.

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

...and the poets dreamed.

[this collage was made entirely out of pix found via Google Image-ing "poetry."]

So a few weekz ago, bloggy amiga Tam pointed out to me that April is National Poetry Month. HOOOORAY! Is there serial anything better than a nice painfully accurate spike of poetry to pierce your soul and leave you plucked of all your protective vices?! NO WAY, IDIOT! I studied poetry when I was in college and my senior creative writing seminar was one of mah favorite experiences EVER.

So it's obvious that I appreciate the craft and benefits of poetry, but I thought it would be quite gracious [read as: imposing and obnoxiouz] of me to help win all you gringoz some poetic IQ points. But instead of simply posting some of mah favo poems (that I know no one but Enrico will care to look at), I thought I would give all of you a glimpse of my own writingz [circa middle school]! So please partake of some whiny and overdramatic wannabe song lyrix poetic stanzas from a socially artarded mid-puberty Josherz! TanxB2Gawdz that I was reflective [read as: desperate for attention] enough to jot all of my twisted inner bullshitteriez down in my My-Diary. Geebuz oh man, mY LiFe wAz SoOoOoOoOooOOooo HaWd!

Secret Necessity

I'm missing you.
And you're all alone.
I called you there,
On the lonely phone.
I need a sign,
to let me see.
If this is fake,
or a love maybe

Wasn't it great [aka e-z and cliche] how I personified the telefono?! Dis it totez some frivolous deep teen rawka chick lyrix [see: Lillix, Fefe Dobson & Orianthi]!

Neverbeen Memories

It's not your fault,
It broke me down.
Just let me be,
I'm tired now.
Best title ever? I think so. And brillz rhyming, which you need if you want to be a non round-breaking poet like moi [aka WRONG. POEMZ. DON'T. NEED. TO. RHYME. I. STUDIED. THIS. IN. COLLEGE. YOU. DIDN'T. SO. DON'T. SAY. IT. HAS. TO. RHYME. PLEASE. AND. THANK. YOU.].

Stitches & Needles

Here are the words that I chose.
This is the song that I wrote.
Are you lonely and cold?
Or is that my current occupation?

Go eat a bowl of crusty scabs, Billy Collins! This is what REAL contemporary poetry looks like! None of that picnic & lightning shit! Funky & played-out depresso espresso interrogative poemaz is totally back in dis season!


So what about you silly little boobaloonz?! Do you have any heart-wrenching soggy wordingz to share wiff da class? Ever write a gorgeously understated and meloncholy [read as: crappy] poem about a middle school crush that never gave you the time of day? Ever take the lyrix to your favorite singer/songwriter's tunez and basically recycle them into a vague splatter of "original" writing?! Ever feel tired of being brave?! SHARE YOUR WORDZ WITH ME!

Monday, April 26, 2010

My Monday Muse

[Holy crabz! Has ANOTHER month waltzed by already?! Where the hell does all dis time go? (Answer: the time-suck black hole that menacingly existz somewhere between a Netflix Instant Queue & Most Awesome Thing Ever) Well, it's dat time to get your voting fingaz into shape and pick your favo Monday Muse of April! Study wisely, and scroll to the bottom of dis entry. And yes, this WILL be on the test.]


Wouldn't it be great to be rich and famous? To never have to do anything other than sit around and wear cute clothes and be fabo? I think it very well might be my personal the American dream! And don't forget what Don Key-oat-tea said, we all gotza "dream the impossible dream!" or some crap like that. So no matter what you do in your life, make sure you constantly strive for a frivolous and unproductive lifestyle of wasteful extravagance and societal disrespect! But having lotza $$$ and being awesome because of it doesn't mean that you have to be stupid and unambitious. I mean, just take a look at @ dis week's Monday Troll Muse:

Who woulda thought that Mary Kate [feat. her stigmata twin Asslee] was an Alberto Einstein genius-pop! So as you should be able to gather, this herre is a series created from serial documentary footage all about how dificil the lives of the Olsen twins are. Serial. Part of me wishes that I too could have been born adorably purrrfect [read as: horribly deformed] and been on a TV show wiff Pepaw Stamos, but look @ all the toughguy decisionz that these delecate angel flowerz have to ponder ova! So many trialz and/or tribulationz!

I mean, there you are. Your biodegradable clocking is ticking [aka rotting] away and your st00pid bodyguard and sista spend all their time just being mean to you! Your professor is giving you a F (for "fat-free"?!) on your visionary hybrid history/science/math essay because he's too artarded to appreciate famous peepz' autographicoz! How terrible! Forget him. Remember grrlz, listen to MK (Mortal Kombat?!) and trust your (Killer) insticts!

Now I gotta jet...I ordered a spring roll! Comet! Comet! Cooooomeeeet! Yay, my student loanz are a-paid off!


Who is your Monday Muse of April 2010?!

The Exploding Whale
The Hot Dog Factory?
Commercial Peepz Selling Me Crap?
this week's Mary Kate?

Friday, April 23, 2010

Everything is worth it.

So this is gonna be just a quick little post just to get some shiz off mah chest. It feels like 2010, while going great [albeit hectically] for me, is becoming quite the pain in the rump of a lot of my friendz. A lot of personaz seem to be suffering through money/relationshit/family/etc. issuez and while my year is kicking the azz of 2009, I too get that occasional bogged down, how-am-I-going-to-make-it-riiiiiiiiiiight?!-kinda feeling that totez rainstorms in our heads and makes us bitter and angry for no reason.

It suckz massive amounts of garbage taintz when our minds get all toilet-swirled into a dirrty pool of frustrations and insecurities, but we all have to try and remember the specific things we have going for us that make our vidaz supafantastico. I know everyone always complainz about how dificil it is to be [insert their age]-yearz-old and I also know that I am sometimes guilty of being a huge whine festival when timez get hard, but no matter what, we gotta keep chugalugging along.

Sorry if this post is completely outta left field and was awkwardly sentimental for no damn reason, but I just felt compelled to give you bloggy readerz a break from my goofy bullshittery and cyberhug you all to the point of broken ribs. You are all vunderville creatures and I am thankful you sumo-smashed yourselves into my life. I am also grateful for pop muzak, Fla-Vor-Ice, reading on the beach, cats, Manchego, the smell of CD packaging, movie nights @ my parent's house, poetry workshopz, Adult Swim, crying sessionz, good bass lines and my bed.

Now we shall end this entry with a pep talk from the deity of my existence, Aaliyah (RIP BabyGirl!):

[The video cutz out early. She ends it saying "I am truly blessed."]

P to da S: This virtual therapy session isn't for free. You all owe me at least one comment praising me for my sensitivo vulnerability posting what you're grateful for.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

I just can't get her off mah mind!

I am going to slither out on a limb here and assume that none of you bloggy readerz watched Saturday Night Life last weekend. I didn't cuz it's not really funny anymo' and I alwayz have really edgy, exciting and adult adventuraz to go out on wiff my millionz of friendz [read as: spend 5+ horaz farting about on ManRoulette wiff Enrico].

Since I'm sure you all also had more crucial tingz to do, it's understandable why no one caught the two radtastic, rockstarathon performancez by my favo persona of the moment, Ke$ha. But just cuz SNL is Lame City U.S.A. nowadayz, doesn't excuse all you fuzzy little interwebbing loonz for missing out on her loco caliente performancez!

Check both of 'em out HERE.

Everyone in the mundo is of course bad-mouthing her and saying she was terrible, but they are obviously wrong. SHE WAS AMAZING! Her a capella, voice manipulations and laser lightshow esssplosionz made my heart go slingshotting up into the outer spacez of outer space! Dumbazzez online are saying that she copied Lady GaGogglez which I guess is illogically based around her kookmeister costumes.

If peepz are gonna say that Ke$ha is piggybacking Lady GooGooFartz then it might as well be said that BOTH of dem hoz are stealing Björk's schtick. For serial, Ms. Guðmundsdóttir has been wearing goofball costumez and making weirdo pop muzak since before those other two whippersnappaz could even tie their scrawny baby ankles up into their training-fuck-me-pumpz.

But I digress from the real point of this entry...EXPLOITING MY (anti)TALENTZ! Please enjoy the following video where I make Ke$ha seem like an actually decent singer by mah comparison.

Monday, April 19, 2010

My Monday Muse

Commercial Peepz Selling Me Crap

Here's the problem wiff me folkz...I HATE spending mah hard-earned (whore) moniez on anything! Even food! I'd rather starve than spend $$$ on comida (it keepz me thin aka the goal of mah vida!). But then I see commercialz on the televisor and my mind become aswept in a whirlpool of unnecessary cravingz and unvalidated desirez! It's an illness!

Then I become all stucked-in-da-mud between frivolously purchasing shit I really don't need and keep my precious few Benjamin Franklin's safely stowed in my sweaty palm. Oh what to do, what to do?! I know that commercials are crafted to seduce viewers in the same way Rhonetta effortless seduced our earz...but yet they answer so many questions and seem to solve so many of my problemaz that it seemz like I won't be able to survive wiffout dem. That's why this week's Monday Muse is gonna highlight two examplez of how marketing taught me so much about myself that I feel (almost) obligated to buy a year's worth of their overpriced productz.

The Old Spice Studathon

So that's why I can't ever seem to get a grrrlfriend! I've been going about this heterosexxxy thing ALL WRONG [read as: not at all]. I thought that the key to getting a lady to shine her naughty red spotlight on my twizzler stick was to treat her wiff respect and love her unconditionally!

WRONG! I iz soooo artarderedskatez! To get a chica jonesin' for la mantequilla de mis pantalonez I have to a) learn how to teleport her azz to places that are exotic [feat. expensive]; b) not think that it's too late for me and mah white horse to come around; c) be a black man; d) make diamondz, boring ballet tix, chocolate, cleaning products, ugly flower hats and whateva other st00pid schtuffz women adore appear out of nowhere [feat. preferably via mystery clam]; and e) degrade my own masculinity wiff hetero-normative gender stereotypez that claim certain smellz, colors, ideas or preferences are "for men" while otherz are "para mujeres."

Now all you glittery bloggy gayz that are reading...follow these rules and go out thurr and pregger-upper some salty hoz!

The Kotex EveryGrrrl

And to think I have spent the entire 24 yearz of my life being utterly horrified by the existence on tamponz. Bloody and soaking and fermenting...UG...SICK! I hate how everyone quotes (yet tinkz they're the first ever) that line from South Park about not trusting sumfing that bleeds for five weeks and doesn't expire, but it's totez how I feel! Scary CITY! Then I hear that this rancid raspberry 'gina fart is actually from an EGG?! RUINED BREAKFAST FOR ME!

But then this commercial came along and this racially ambiguous [read as: socially comforting] beauty queen twirlz into mi vida to clear everything up for me. 'Ponz aren't to be feared! They're to be cherished. They aren't dirrrty and gross! If so, then how can this tall, slender temptress and her complete white wardrobe and porcelain monocolor abode stay blotch-free?! If periodz turned ladiez into monstrous demonic Cloverfield monstaz, then how can this sweet mild-mannered 18-10-24 year-old female remain so calm and alluring [feat. dynamic cutting & editing jawline posing]?!? If the monthly shedding of their non-babiez makez them all lazzzy and bloated, then how can mamacita here exercise, play cheerleader and spread dandelion weedz wiffout sweating an ocean?!

Answer me those questionz, señors...yeah, got nuffin', right? So the nexxxt time you wanna heave thinking about that lady problem all of us hombrez shiver @, just remember how pretty and pure that lady is and everything will be alright. Promise.

Saturday, April 17, 2010

State of Convergency!

A few dayz ago, I was watching Crystal Bowersox school those other moron clownz American Idol wiff my bloggy friend Adam [read as: sparsely chatting back 'n forth over GChat]. After wowing the burpz outta Mr. Cocky-and-Rude wiff my ability to accurately pick which two contestants were gonna get axxxed, he asked me a pregunta...

"Josh, were you and Enrico ever physically fused into the same being and then put in an artsyfartsy commercial hocking those electronic non-books that peepz strut around reading the New York Times off of?!"

I was lyke, "Duh!" until I realized that E. Copterz and I aren't important enough (yet!) to look ridiculous on television while holding expensive and unnecessary reading devices. Adam then said...

"It's just that this dude in dis commercial is breathtakingly attractive and adorably thin. He looks like he might listen to good music and he is quite dashing in citrus colors, so I just logically assumed that he was some sort of chemically-created hybrid of you two."

I thanked him for his acknowledgement of all mah positive qualitiez and then requested to be shown this video in question. Tell me what you think this cholo the Armageddon-inducing molding of Enrico and I? Or does he look NUFFIN' like us/is Adam blind?

Whatchu tink? Turnz out dis hot piece is actually NOT Enrico (feat. moi) but instead some model named Ryan Curry. I pondered if in some way this means that Enrico and I could also become rich and famoso for walking around in jackets and ties. So wiff the help of some boring scientific machinery [read as: Morph Thing] I combined my best friend and I into one body. I mean, we're serial already the same person on the why not share looks?! This is da outcome...

Ignoring the color-change weave and the lipschtick on our teefz, I'd say we look vaguely similar to Mr. Curry. This basically meanz that Enrico + I (feat. wishful tinking?!) = famous stud! Yayz!

Oh...and in doing dis I also was able to make an accurately brilliant illustration of what the second birfing of Jeebuz Christ will look like [aka if Enrico and I a) could have a baby togethz & b) were in a long term committed relationship based on true love and not nasty hookyup bedroom turkey-basting]...


P to da S: Sowwy for all the Kindle-hatred. I'm just a traditionalist I guess [read as: too poor to buy one]!

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

A Taxing Terror

So it's that time of the year ago. No, not the first day of school and no, not Xtinamas. It's TAX TIME! ::booooo:: ::hisssss:: Yes, tomorrow is Tax Day where everyone's dreamz don't come to troofz, unless you're one of those lucky folkz that get refundz.

Now, I used to be one of those blessed individualz who were receive a nice chunk of cheez in the shape of a couple hundred dollaz, but that was back when I still was a unda-the-table-tip-mongering-server-slut. Now that I have to claim all mah moniez [feat. rando tax blah blah blahz that aren't funny and I don't care enough to explain]
, I owe NJ state and the Fedz prox a million buckaloonz [the Over-exaggeration is Mah Best Friend Remix]. That makez me feel like this:

But I almost didn't file mah taxez dis season! As you all should know, monetary issuez I tend to ignore because they give me crippling anxiety and bad gas. Howevz, I had an adventure a few weekz ago that kicked my st00pid shinz into gear and got my rumpus on over to an accountant. Here's what went down...down...down...

Since I werk en Nueva Nueva, yet have obligations that keep me living in Dirrty Jerzeee [read as: ain't gotz enough dollaz in my pocket to move to el ciudad], I have to take the bus two times a week, once going into the city on Mondayz and once leaving the city Friday nightz. It was while walking through my home-away-from-home [aka The Port Authority Bus Terminal], that I was drop-kicked into my adventure.

While strutting to my bus one Friday evening [feat. wearing mah Pepaw sunglasses inside and popping my jawline out like a perverted model], I came across a poster of some cholita with a goofyazz grin on her face staring blankly in my direction:

You've got answers? Good. Why does it look like you're completely coated in Tyra's bedazzled vaseline? What kind of nasty animal pr0n are you clutching to your bosom? And what's wiff your sleepy-"I've got a dirty wittle secret"-smile?! Are you getting your hoohah massaged by an anteater?

I spent a good 10 minutes secondz pondering why H y R Blox would pick this pointless nut-bar lady to be their poster ho when there are so many other peepz I'd much rather watch do me mah taxez. Then "Someday (I Will Understand)" came on my MP3 playa and I started thinking about Britney Spears' chillunz instead.

But as I further made my way through the bus station, I started to feel like my azz was being followed...

I have little to no faith in mankind, so of course I assumed that this neighborly repetition was merely due to some lazy lardbutt's slothfulness and failure to notice that he put the same two posters nexxxt to one another. "People are moronz," I thought as I rolled mah ojoz and glided on past these identical twin tweedledumz. But then I looked up...

Um. Stop. What struck me even more than this bitch'z unwavering gaze was how no other effing persona walking around the Port Authority seemed to notice that this chica was EVERYWHERE! I then began to ponder whether or not it was I who was going mad. As I always do when I am scurrred, I started to run (in an attempt to find a hidden crevice I could curl up and cry in). I nearly fell down the escalator and broke my face off when I saw this...

I scooterboarded mah nalgaz deep into the dark and mysterious trenchez [read as: the first floor] of the bus terminal to see if I could escape the naggytime bullshit of this governmental succubus. I ducked around a corner...


I started to run just as fast as I could, to the middle of nowhere, to the middle of my frustrated fears, I swear. Yet, I couldn't shake this ugly monkey woman off mah back!

Seriously. WHAT. THE. FUCK?! I was in a whirlwind of disbelief. Nuffin' made sense. Hot was cold. Yes was no. In was out. Up was down. Wrong was right. Black was white. Fighting and breaking up was kissing and making up! Then I died. Then I got resurrected. When I awoke, they had me surrounded...

They started closing in. I screamed for them to back off. I promised I'd do mah taxxxez. I begged and farted and wailed and wimpered like a little gringa. They. Just. Kept. Moving. In...

And then I remembered the peppa spray mi madre gave me when I first went off to college, so I wouldn't have my virtues forcibly soiled by drunken pedophilez! So I ripped the spicy Medusa-strength nectar outta mah pocket and knocked out all those hoz stone-cold!

Well, you better effing believe that the nexxxt day I was in my family accountant's office, having him fix my life! I sent off what I owed last weekend and can finally breathe easier!

So let that be a lesson to you! If you haven't filed your taxxxez yet, you better do it tomorrow. If not, you might just be faced wiff a never-ending barrage of cheeky cholitaz wiff dollar store eyeglasses and waxy weave! BeWaRe!!11!!11!one!!1!

Monday, April 12, 2010

My Monday Muse

The Hot Dog Factory

They are one of the staplez of childhood. Mothereffing hot dawgz are what summerz are about! Greasy, slightly sickening links of mystery meat that can be grilled, boiled or (mah personal favorite way of preparation) microwaved! Slather those little babiez in ketchup or mustard or mayo and dunk 'em in some faux cheez sauce, and you've got yourself a seriously sexxxy treat!

I used to cut those little weinerz up and put them in all sortz of crazzzy shit. Mac n' cheesez, chix noodle soup, creativity [aka childhood boredom] quite honestly had no bounds. I assume all you hoz also have cherished hot dog memoriez as well, so why not pay tribute to this wonder superhuman deluxe food by taking a look at where this heavenly phallic delicacy comez from?!

I dunno about you folkz, but I think I have found my IDEAL JERB! Ever have a craving to make the mundo a better place? Tired of receiving endless (albeit derrrriciouz) beatingz via a rope of hot dawgz? Ever dream of taking a naked whore bath in a meat poolie? Are you a proud weenie-smoker [feat. you're reading mah blog so I assume you are]? If you've answered yes to any of deez preguntaz, then may I suggest you get your sorry taint on over to the euphoric magic tastyland that is the Hot Dog Factory!

Where your dreamz come to troofz and where those selfish, prococious pigz learn their place in da food chain, it never stopz raining meat...just like mah nightmarez wet dreamz! What? Can't handle the pure beauty of all that raw meat?! Sheeez, you obvz never went to college then! ExperiMENtation is nuffin' to be ashamed of!

So if you crave a career in the booming business of yummerskating murder, then hop onto the hot dog highway and soar through the limitless skies of mass animal bi-product madness!

Saturday, April 10, 2010

Coming Attractionz!

Heya everrrrbody! I hope y'all are enjoying your weekendz. Myself, I've been keeping it lowkey and letting mahself rest after a crazzzy work week. Funny how everyone livez for the weekend to go out and have fun, yet for me, all I wanna do is relax and read about accidents and disasters on Wikipedia [see: Princess Diana and the Hindenberg explosion] and listen to melancholy songs that make me wish I was a better writer [see: "American Pie" by Don McLean].

Socializing...with other people?! Too much effort! I'd rather watch a movie all by my lonesome! And just in case you bloggy readerz are like me and sometimes prefer to venture off by yourself, here are three amazingskatez flickz that I know I'm dying to check out [aka if you have any good taste, you will stay far, far away from deez]:


0:18 - Vanessa Carlton's dedoz?!
0:26 - "I see in your eyes where tomorrow is hiding in my heart"?!
0:39 - ::CHOMP::
0:51 - Horror(ible effectz)!
1:11 - Wow dis is such a lovely old hausu! OmIgAwDzLoOkOuT! A CAT PICTURE!
1:20 - Feline vom fiesta?!
1:22 - This is what pianos would like to do to me whenever I sit down @ one of them and pretend to know what I the shiz doing.


0:16 - Hi Rod!
0:28 - "...driven by [insert demonic voice] PASSION."
1:37 - Fuck Avatar. THIS shiz ain't messing around!
- Scatastico?!
- Oddly inserted obligatory sexxxcapadez!
- Even during a birdemic, you must remain cognizant of and be sure to take advantage of all low gas pricez.

Mega Piranha

0:04 - Greg Brady?! HUH?!!?!?
0:26 - Now the terroristz are using suicido bomber pescadoz?!
0:31 - Tiffany, I think we're alone now. Well, except for those illogically over-sized CGI fishez that are killing our azzez.
0:48 - Aw damn! (Dead) Newscaster grrrlfriend is just a few weeks too late!
0:57 - I think we need a bigger boat. Or at least one that isn't edible.

Thursday, April 8, 2010

Catz = FAME?!

[Let me just start this post by saying that while writing it, David's gato Bart was sitting under the computer desk, staring @ my feet and growling non-stop. WHY DOES HE HATEZ ME?!]

Hey I just wanted to quickly call to your attention how famous I am getting. Last night I submitted a photo of me under David's name David submitted a photo of me to one of mah favo new sitez, Cute Boys With Cats. In the photo, I was holding mah special time beaaaaauuuuuty queeeeeeeen Hermanita.

Since I know you all are just counting down da diaz till I win an Oscar/am on American Idol/release a best-selling book of poemaz/die, I thought I would update you to the fantastico newz that mah picture con mi gato was accepted! Those that handle the submissionz for the site are exxxtremely picky as to whose puss with puss they slather on their page [read as: they put up nearly everyting they get sent, I think], so for obz I feel incredibly honored.

I had mah phone off all day, so I'm sure I missed the dozenz of phone calls from all of the biggie time modeling agencies. Eh...they can leave a message, I'll get back to them when (or IF!) I ever have the time. The life of a rising celebutard is muy dificil! I can't just flash mah gorgeous jawline @ every stalkarazzi that pretendz to be an actual photographer! And NO...I won't sign you an autograph...GET THE HELL OUTTA HERE! Off my lawn in 10 secondz or else I'm calling the po-po!

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

Let your light shine down! (Please?!)

So prepare ye ojoz for a tsunami of bitchocity, cuz sumfing that will cost me $$$ has happened and we all know that monetary expenditurez are always a stress-injector into mi vida.

Two weekz ago, I went out to Clint [aka mah toughman warrior '91 Subaru Loyale] to check his fluidz and see if he needz to binge drink some oil, waterfall some power steering fluid or hardxxxcore funnel some automatic transmission nectar. So I get my car bloated and happy wiff the necessary engine liquorz (I swear, Clint's truck is like a fucking minibar for coches) and then I notice a collection of small cracks in the glass cover on my left headlight.

My car has been dragged to hell (not in the good way) and has been resurrected numerous timez in the past, so I assumed that these marks were just a touch of wear and/or tear from being several decadez old. But then I touched the center of all the cracks (cuz lordy knowz I can't leave well enough alone) and a quarter-size hole popz out of the glass. DOOM DELUXERZ!

I was all like "&*#%$!@!*$&%#!!!!!!!!!" before calming down and running inside to fetch some clear packing tape. Now, as anyone who has ever moved can tell you, packing tape is some tough shiz. Put it on a box and there's no way you're getting it off unless you a) have a pair of scissors or b) rip the fizz outta all your schtuff. So I put a few pieces of that over the hole and thought I was in the clear.

But then it rained cats and hot dawgz and long story short, some moisture got into the glass case and raped the headlight's filament of any luminary usefulness. So now my front left headlight is busted central. And of course the Midas that I always go to calls every junkyard/body shop in the entire universe county, and none of them have a replacement part.

So I ask you, mah savior bloggy cholitoz, how do I fix my car?! I can't drive @ night wiffout mah anxiety of getting pulled over [feat. given a terrifying ticket!] ruining my existence. I could get the bulbasaur replaced, but then what if it rains and gets toasted again?! Please dahlinz, help a homeboy out!

Monday, April 5, 2010

My Monday Muse

The Exploding Whale

So we all know what happens to dolphins that find their flipper azzes up on the shore. They get magically converted into tasteeeeful cans of tuna fish! But have you ever wondered what would happen if something LARGER than a derrrriciouz fish or shark comitted suicido and peaced themselvez out on the beach? I know I have(n't)! But don't you fret another fuzzing momento! Watch how mother nature the all-knowingly brilliant and intellectually superior HUMAN BEING fixxxez such problems...

Oooooooh! So that's what you doooo. If you can't bury a corpse (peepz will dig it up!), chop up a corpse (what creep festival would want to do that?!) or burn a corpse (cooking sumfing well done is such a waste!) then you better shoot the corpse to the heavenz via Hiroshima-level dynamite esssssplosionz!

Serial...pretend the whale is the Challenger and that the beach is almost outer space and BOOM BOOM BLAST that shiz like there is no mañana! Then fool the seagullz into tinking that charred nasty fucking whale fat is a delicacy aaaaaand PROBLEM SOLVED!

Everything is fixxxed, well except for the hailstorm of zillion-ton whale blubber, but aside from cars and dumbass bystanders, does anyone really suffer? Fuck no. So nexxxt time you have a body you NEED to get rid of A.S.A.P., Ouija up a convo wiff John Wayne Gacy let the Exploding Whale remind you that poorly planned destructive combustions can fix life's messiest problems!

Sunday, April 4, 2010


Hey y'all. Don't know why I am posting this considering that the day is already half over and apparently by the looks of the meager comment count on yesterday's entry (only 5?!), all you bloggy peepz are using this sunshiney vacation weekend to do tingz other than wait for me the post pointless bullcrap important notez 'n' such. But eff it! It's EaStEr which is too important [read as: commercially hijacked] of a holiday to ignore.

This day commemorates the glorious moment that the all-mighty Bunnington McHoppsterplex, the magic messiah rabbit from outer space, drunk-drove his alien cornucopia jet pod into the Earth and savagely slaugthered all the savage Native Americans with his titanium acid-filled bubble cannon [see above]. I hope you spent your day hunting for st00pid eggz, pumping up the obesity level of the world by eating irrational piles of candy and pondering the correlation between rabbits, chocolatez & eggs.

I leave you now with an Easter cyber-card, just to show you I care!

Saturday, April 3, 2010

Best Friend Updatez!

So over the past año, all of you wonderville bloggy folkz have been introduced (via mah magnificently generous soul) to quite a few gloriouz beings. We have gotten laughs, cries and disgusted sighs from some truly fabo faux-Interweb heroez. So I thought that it would be nice to gather up our most beloved Josh is Trashy benefactors of joy and learn all about what they iz up to now...


Yay! As we all (should) remember, Victoria was the beautiful teenage wondergrrrl that made it to the top five finals of mah Monday Muse of 2009 Showdown!. The prodigal daughter of Mama Theresa and a hooker, Victoria is truly a grace of heavenly glory and we are so fucking lucky that she sprinkled her whore magik all ova our eyeholes.

After the show, apparently Maury [aka douchebag!] convinced Victoria to abandon her quest to get preggerz via 1(zoom)2(zoom)3(zooooom) different guyz! Thankfully, grrrlfriend broke out of Maury's hypnotizing power forcefield and was reawaken to her life's game: crap out a baby and fail to provide for it and ultimately exchange it in a back alley black market deal for a snort of coke and half of a Subway sammich lurrrve it unconditionally wiff all her corazon!

Now her dreamz have come to troooooofz and she released from her womb a sponge-haired troll doll that she calls her child. Good luck wiff the rest of your life [feat. a fully dependent being that will hinder you from ever being anything more that the amazing slut you are] and keep your bitch flag flying high.

Stephen Torrence

Remember dis cutiepie?! He's the geniuz sign language dancing king that got all you pop-muzak hating goony loonz to finally listen to Miley Cyrus' golden shower of synthetically sugary sweet perfection "Party In the U.S.A.". Lovez it! Remember how adorz he was when he was moving his hips like "yeah" and how explosively excited he was when a BritBrit song was on?!

Well, now he's recorded some mo' videoz including one to that stale-azz "Fireflies" by Owl City. Lo siento, Ciudad de Buhos, the novelty of that song ran out after it's second rotation (just admit you ripped off The Postal Service, douchenozzle!). Anywhooo, pay close attention to dreamboat Stephen Torrence and try not to melt in a puddle of swoon nectar as he gets a thousand hugz from ten thousand lightning bugs (circa 1:07) or when he saves a few of dem bugz and keeps them in a jar (circa 2:28).


And who could forget Rhonetta?! I hear that after Jeebuz got lost in that cave, he got all resurrected and shit and when they saw him again he was Rhonetta! So in honor of Easter [feat. me eating chocolate hard-boiled eggz all day], I thought that I would let Miss RhoRho have the the pimp shot in this entry.

She captured and violently murdered our ears wiff her sweet angel voice and was ruthlessly forced outta our lives by fatso Randy, artard Paula and prickmeister Simon. But now she's back aaaaand...sitting on her bed smoking her cigz and staring blankly at nuffin. After watching this clip, doesn't it seem like Rhonetta coulda given Mo'Nique a run for her $$$ if she auditioned for that role in Precious?! Grrrlfriend doesn't need to act. She is the act.