Anna Faris’ Crazy Plastic Lip…

Some people do shit to their body that is completely unacceptable. Others do shit that is acceptable. For example, the single mother stripper who needs a new set of tits, because years of child births sagged them things down and no respectable wife-cheating business man wants to throw down money on saggy boobs. They simply do it out of need. If their boobs don’t pass the test, no one will make it rain for them.

Anna Faris does not fall into this category. She was perfectly fine a few years ago. Everything was good. Sure, she is no Meryl Streep as far as acting is concerned, but she isn’t fucking as emotionless as Summer Glau for testicular sake. She seems to land about 2 movies a year and has no problem doing so.

So what the fuck happened to her lip?

I tried watching House Bunny (a sure-fire Oscar contender) and I couldn’t look past it. What happened to her top lip man? Does she have a leprechaun punch her every morning before work or did she actually get work done?

Move Over, Julia Roberts (4/2009)

April Fool’s Day Part II

Last year, I recalled a rather touching conversation I had with an ex-girlfriend about the amazing power of the Day of Fools. This year, I decided to keep that up. The following phone conversation took place.

Ring. Ring.

Sally: Hello?
Mike: Hey Sally. It’s Mike.
Sally: Mike who?
Mike: Come on, you really have to ask that?
Sally: Good Christ, what the fuck do you want?
Mike: I was just calling to check on you; see how you were doing. How goes it? How has life been treating you since we last spoke?
Sally: Are you fucking kidding me? I haven’t heard from you in 5 years. You just disappeared. Where did you go?
Mike: My wife found out about our relationship and she threatened to walk out on me unless I ended it. So I ended it.
Sally:… (I could hear her thinking)
Mike: Are you there?
Sally: …You were married?
Mike: Yeah. Funny, huh?
Sally: We went out for over a year, and you never told me? You told me you loved me.
Mike: I know, hilarious, right?
Sally: What the fuck are you telling me this for?
Mike: It’s part of the 12-step program… you know, calling people, and apologizing for shit.
Sally: You’re an alcoholic too?
Mike: Oh yeah, that’s why we got a divorce. I can’t see my kids without supervision. I was an angry drunk.
Sally: You have fucking kids too? Jesus fuck, what the hell else do you want from me?
Mike: I was just calling to ask for your forgiveness. To let you know I am sorry.
Sally: I wondered what happened to you for 5 years, and this is what I learn? I hope you drop fucking dead asshole…
Mike: Okay, wait… calm down, I have something else to say!”
Sally: No, no, no… you’re going to listen to me asshole. If I ever see you again, I will fucking kill you, you got that?
Mike: But wait, don’t you know what today is?
Sally: No, and I don’t care. This conversation is over. I will fucking skin you alive if I see you again, you got that? Don’t ever call me ever a-fucking-gain.
Mike: But wait… April Fo….

Ghost of Fool’s Past (3/2009)

And before I could finish, she hung up. I guess she never got the joke.

The Story of Cletis

So this is a tale, my good readers; one that will surely stretch the threads of your imagination. But you must realize it to be true. I would never steer you wrong, especially when you’ve been so kind to me throughout the months. No matter how strange this story seems, you have to understand that it really happened. I was there and I witnessed it in its entirety. I was at a gas station sometime last year. There was a line and I was in it, bored, looking around at things. There was a man behind me, probably aged 35. I couldn’t see his legs – they were invisible – so I could only deduce that he was wearing camouflage pants.

I happened to notice that right under the counter above was a display for gift cards. This gas station had gift cards for every store/restaurant ever – it was a amazing. They had them for Blockbuster, AMC Theaters, Regal Theaters, Home Depot, Chili’s, Applebees, Olive Garden, Wendy’s, iTunes, Rhapsody… this list goes on an on. They had an amazing selection of gift cards for being just a simple gas station. I thought people only went to gas stations to get gas, beer, smokes, and beef jerky. Learn something new every day.

There was also a gift card for Barnes and Noble. Without even thinking, I commented outloud, “Barnes and Noble gift cards? Who comes to a gas station to get a gift card to a book store?” That funny man I described earlier, who was standing behind me, started to laugh a bizarre, mentally challenged-sounding laugh. Some of the other patrons laughed to. Perhaps they were laughing at him? I don’t know. But it’s about this time when the unthinkable happened. Something that took me by surprise. I should have known then, however, that living in Florida brings out the oddest treats.

This guy – I call him Cletis every time I tell this story – then said, “Man, I ain’t ever read no book in my entire life.” He said that proudly, as if he was the smartest man in the universe and he got that title without ever having to read. But I didn’t believe him.

We Don’t Need Education Dollars (3/2009)

I quickly retorted with, “So you’ve never read Green Eggs and Ham or The Cat in the Hat?” I thought the suggestion of Dr. Seuss classics would jog his memory because who hasn’t read these? “No man,” Cletis said. I shot out some more simple childhood titles but he still denied me. “How did you get through elementary school without have to read anything?” I asked.

“I didn’t get too far in school.”

That was it. He was done laughing. All he wanted now was to purchase his Natural Light brew and go home to his trailer or whatever to party. Poor Cletis. Part of me wanted to teach him to read right there in the gas station, the other part of me wanted to destroy his existence.

I’ll never forget that story. Was he lying? I don’t know. He was pretty convincing. But why would he brag about something like that? Finding out a 30 year-old man, who is clearly allowed to have his driver’s license, can’t/won’t read. I guess being able to read stop signs should be enough for me. Clearly it’s enough for him.

And yet our government keeps taking away money from education. If these results are yielding such fine products as Cletis, what will happen to the rest of us in the future? It’s only going to get worse. Who gives a fuck if we have plenty of people to man fast-food jobs. Who is going to be able to handle anything else? That movie Idiocracy may have presented the closest thing to an actual future I can figure.

“He looks like he’d be a bad father.”

Two ladies were down the aisle from me at the store the other day. They were in conversation. I was looking for some sort of tomato sauce. I wish I was listening to them, especially after one of them said, “He looks like he’d be a bad father.”

Somewhat intrigued, somewhat puzzled, I looked over to get a good look-see at the ladies providing such brilliant commentary. I needed to know who would say something like that about someone, especially in the cultureless wonderland. My brief look didn’t provide me with the same amount of relief as the comment. They were two somewhat older ladies, plain in clothing choice, and unappealing to the eyes.

I continued looking for the sauce of my craving when it hit me. I had no idea who they were talking about. Who looks like they would be a bad father? I stopped looking for sauce and jolted down the aisle, passed the two ladies. When I reached the end of the aisle, I looked to the left and to the right. No one. Not a soul.

Then I contemplated something somewhat scary. Were they talking about me? Hmm. Wait… I just looked up and Friends is on. Maybe I would be a bad father.

I then continued around store. I didn’t believe that they were talking about me, so I wondered what kind of person looks like they would be a bad father. I looked out for this guy but I never ended up finding him.

Fatherhood with Tentacles (9/2008)

Hey dude, there is something in your ear.

I was at the gas station yesterday and saw a guy standing in line fight in front of me. At one point, he turned to the side, and I couldn’t help but notice a rather large hunk of ear wax blocking the hole of his ear. I almost threw up. Here he is…

Check out what’s on my Q-tip! (8/2008)

The Winners of Doom

Last week, I posted a challenge to bloggers. A challenge to draw me a picture. Some of you did. Some of you didn’t (where you at Abarclay? Evyl?) Out of the few entries I got, it was hard to break it down to the top three… so here is the list (with more than promised). Oh, and uh, I am sorry the pictures are so small… turns out, I was a big fat liar on the size the picture was supposed to be. My bad. Of all that entered, here were my top 5.

5. That Famous Screaming Painting Guy (Kerplar – 8/2008)

4. Repetez Apres Moi (Sitting Pugs – 8/2008)

3. Watch That Trail (Hierophant AKA Sexual T-Rex – 8/2008)

2. Romi’s Morning Adjustment (Romi – 8/2008)

And my personal favorite…

1. Dog Eats Cat (2 Lazy Dogs – 8/2008)

I am sorry for the few entries that weren’t posted. They were awesome, but I just couldn’t post them all. Thanks to all who entered and stay tuned for future contests, with themes!

“The Giving Tree” is the best book ever written.

I remember it like it was 6 minutes ago. The first time I picked up a copy of Shel Silverstein’s The Giving Tree when I was in first grade. The cover intrigued me; a young boy like myself, reaching up high towards a tree dropping fruit. The second I got home, I read the whole thing in what seemed like a minute. Sure, the pages didn’t have that many words written on them, but that didn’t matter. The few words that were written on each page were more meaningful and inspiring than anything I would ever read in the years that follow. I don’t think even James Joyce himself wrote anything so powerful.

The Giving Tree tells the story of a young boy who befriends a tree. The tree loves the boy, and the boy loves the tree back. They are the best of friends. But then some time goes by. The boy grows up and becomes interested in other things. First, a girlfriend, and it is then when he adds her initials to the carving of his own placed years prior on his old friend the tree. The boy spends less and less time with the tree.

At one point, the boy comes back a man and begs the tree for all of her fruit. And the tree obliges simply out of love. The boy then takes the fruit and sells it, leaving the tree on her own for the next few years.

And the boy comes back, once more a little older, and begs the tree for her branches. Then, even more years later, he ends up taking her trunk, leaving her nothing but a stump with initials. But, the tree’s love for the boy is so strong, she obliges without haste.

Years and years pass by and the boy returns an old man, just barely able to move. The tree says, “I have nothing much to offer you boy but a nice hard seat.” The boy finally sits down on the tree and it’s obvious that it is there he will rest until his days end. The tree is happy.

I’ve read this book, which disguises itself as a simple children’s story, more times than I can count. Every time I read it, I see more and more to its meaning, and fall in love it with it more. If you’ve never read it, or if you haven’t read it since you were small, put down that Clancy or Koontz shit and return to your roots. It’ll punch you in the face with its goodness. Too bad Shel Silverstein isn’t around anymore to grace us with such wonderful words. Here is to you, Shel. May you be sitting on the tree’s stump for all eternity.

The Giving Tree Tribute (7/2008)

So yeah, this picture isn’t too good. It was done with Microsoft Paint, a program not as superior as Illustrator. Sorry for its terribleness.

Nazi with a Music Problem: The Story of Ned

Somewhere in the early part of 2001, I dated this chick who lived in a duplex. Duplexes always hex me, perplex me, maybe even flex me. Wait, what was I saying? Oh yeah, so this girl lived in a duplex. In case you don’t know what a duplex is, for whatever reason (maybe you should try reading something other than this blog), a duplex is a house split down the middle and separated by a wall. On person or family lives on one side, another person or family lives on the other.

This girl lived on the right side. On the left side, lived a bunch of metal dudes. One of these dudes had a little girl who used to freak out and pull her hair out all the time but that is a whole other blog entry. I’d like to focus this entry on one of the dudes who lived there with her.

Now, I am not sure if it was the girl’s father or not, but I am going to pretend it is. Because which of you is going to correct me? That’s what I thought.

So this girl’s dad – we’ll call him Ned – was an interesting sort. There would always be metal shit blasting from the walls of their house. It would leak into my lady friend’s house. One night, after a long day of work, I showed up to her house a little after midnight. Ned was standing outside.

“Hey man,” he greeted me as I walked up, “how you doing?”

“Alright,” I yelled over the Rage Against the Machine he was listening to.

Ned wasn’t wearing a shirt. He had tattoos all over his body. The one that struck my eye, and the only I have committed to memory, was a weird looking swastika on his chest. Ned was a piece of shit racist redneck fuck living in the other half of duplex I was about to spend the night in. I was pissed and weirded out. This was 2001. Have we not moved on yet?

Then I got to thinking about his music selection. Dude was listening to some classic 90s RATM. I was rather perplexed by this. Did he not know that his band of worship was in fact non-white, and that their lyrics would rape his swastika in the face?

The next time I saw Ned, he was listening to Pantera. “Okay,” I thought, “now Ned is on the right track of the racist redneck America I love so much.” I saw the lead singer of Pantera one time when he was singing with Down. He yelled to the crowd, “Make some fucking noise, you motherfucking faggots!” as he got on stage. Pantera is no doubt up Ned’s alley.

Exterminate All Rational Thought (7/2008)

Another time I saw Ned, he was listening to Sepultura. Again, a non-white, non-American good-ole boy band. Ned clearly didn’t practice what he preached, nor listened to what was being preached to him. When I heard him listening to a System of a Down album, I finally figured that Ned just didn’t have a clue. He was like a dumb white kid, in middle school, going through a racist phase because his step-dad used “N****r” on a daily basis with no remorse. Only Ned never grew up and thought for himself.

I haven’t seen Ned in over 7 years. I wonder how Ned is doing. Does this guy ever go to the beach and have to show his swastika to the world over? Even more so, I wonder if he got that new Wicked Wisdom album. I love white people.

“I’m not a stripper and this boy isn’t a bastard!”

I went to New Jersey a couple weeks ago, and used the Newark Airport as my transportation hub. This airport has always given me problems in the past but I don’t have any other option when I go visit me mum. So a few Sundays ago, Mom brought me back to the airport so I could return to Florida to continue baking in unemployment goodness. It was supposed to be an easy flight.

The flight was supposed to take off at 7:45pm and I would be back at my house no later than 11pm. But Newark doesn’t like to keep things that easy.

I get to the assigned gate and noticed that the Tampa flight isn’t even on the sign. Instead, a flight to DC was posted, and it’s departing time was 8:30pm. There was a tall skinny chick ahead of me, so I decided to walk up to her to see if she had any information. “Hey, are you here for the Tampa flight?” I asked. She turned to me, and I noticed she held a pretty newly born child. “Yeah, this guy said it was going to be a little late.” But of course. I think the universe would collapse if Newark ever ran a flight on time.

There was something about this girl though, that intrigued me. A few moments later, she asked me if I would keep an eye on her stroller while she went to the bathroom. “Um, sure,” I said while thinking, “aren’t you not supposed to leave your shit with strangers?” I obliged her and watched the stroller, doing my best to keep myself from putting any dynamite in a hidden pocket.

When she got back, she started talking. This girl was a talker. She rambled on and on. She told me her baby was only 6 months old and that she had never been to a strip club, but that she is afraid of dollar bills because she “knows” where some of them end up at a strip club.

She also doesn’t like flying on planes with someone wearing a turban. Isn’t the White Race glorious? Like we white people never did some crazy shit? Did she not know about the Oklahoma City Bombing? Or Columbine? If anything, I hate getting on planes with white people.

She rambled about everything except who the father of her baby was. And since she brought up strip clubs so much, I was pretty convinced that she was one, even though she claimed to have never been to one. The only hypothesis this science experiment could draw was that this girl was a dirty stripper, and had sex without following the Three Ps.
And not to change the subject, but today’s picture is the first one I’ve drawn with a mouse in a few weeks. The mouse is back kids.

Stripping for Change (7/2008)

After 2 hours and 2 gate changes, we finally boarded the plane. She got to get on first because she had a baby and what not. “So long,” I said. She replied, “Thank you for helping me out. My boyfriend will be happy to know someone was helping me without hitting on me.”

Wait a second. You have a boyfriend? Maybe she said that because she thought I wasn’t the keen detective I was. I had figured out her secret. No matter what rubbish she fed me about a boyfriend and what not, I knew it was all lies. This girl had sex in the champagne room. In fact, she was the room.

She sat in the row in front of me on the plane. I could often hear her talking to the person next to her, laying in thick the same shit she spewed at me. I swear, these repeater types are fucking malfunctioning humanoid robots. Why do people do that all the time? Tell something a bunch of pointless shit to anyone trapped near them.

Wait, I think that’s what this blog is doing. Sorry. Speaking of which, I’ve been trying to watch Wim Wenders’ Wings of Desire. Can anyone tell me if this movie actually goes somewhere? Oh wait, there it goes. I think… oh wait, no. My bad.

Missing George Carlin

George Carlin No More (6/2008)

“I look at it this way… For centuries now, man has done everything he can to destroy, defile, and interfere with nature: clear-cutting forests, strip-mining mountains, poisoning the atmosphere, over-fishing the oceans, polluting the rivers and lakes, destroying wetlands and aquifers… so when nature strikes back, and smacks him on the head and kicks him in the nuts, I enjoy that. I have absolutely no sympathy for human beings whatsoever. None. And no matter what kind of problem humans are facing, whether it’s natural or man-made, I always hope it gets worse.” — George Carlin