Sunday, February 14, 2010

The fortunes are getting impressive. Damn impressive.

"A SURPRISE GIFT FROM ANOTHER WILL LEAVE A LASTING IMPRESSION
PANDA EXPRESS * PANDA INN"
That was my fortune cookie fortune yesterday that came with my Panda Express meal (it seems we have confirmed that Panda Express drugs their food. Physical addiction is the only explanation as to why I would put myself through repeat eatings of the sub-par Chinese food.).

At least these vomit inducing meals have served one worthwhile purpose. I have stumbled onto the undeniable evolution of fortune cookie fortunes from fortune cookie fortunes that are not fortunes at all to fortune cookie fortunes that are diabolical in nature.

In my first fortune cookie fortune blog I brought to your attention fortune cookie fortunes that were more advice than anything else. Last fortune cookie fortune blog I applauded Fortune Cookie Fortune Writers for earning their FCFWGA cards for a change by writing fortune cookie fortunes that were a step in the right direction. Today, I plan to bring to your attention the latest wave of life ending fortune cookie fortunes that surpass even my vision of the apocalypse brought on by fortune cookie fortunes.

Though my proposal for dangerously specific fortune cookie fortunes has life destroying potential, the above fortune cookie fortune is incredibly effective in its vagueness. Which makes it frightening indeed.

Consider, if you will, the timing of said fortune. The fortune speaks of a "surprise gift" from "another" that will leave a "lasting impression." This fortune comes right before Valentine's Day. If someone looking/hoping for love got that fortune, they may spend the weekend waiting for a gift from a surprise lover. And it will most likely never come. Because Fortune Cookie Fortune Writers are not licensed psychics, they just enjoy dabbling in life altering fiction. And as discussed in my first fortune cookie fortune blog, if an actual surprise gift was in the cards, suspicions of black magic would still plague the fortune getter. Either way, the receiver of said fortune cookie fortune is in for a shitty weekend.
Or, imagine someone in a long term relationship. Might said fortune cookie fortune mean that your lover is going to finally propose? That sort of gift would leave a lasting impression indeed! But, when the proposal doesn't come, this person's expectations brought on by the cookie, that were not delivered upon, lead to an unsealable rift, destroying a young love that could very well have been lifelong love if not for the crafty fortune cookie fortune writer. Me thinks that anyone stupid enough to let a fortune cookie from Panda Express ruin a relationship isn't smart enough to reproduce, so this is simply the circle of life in action.

Lucky for me, I am neither in a long term relationship, nor hoping for a gift from an unknown admirer. The only surprise gift in my future is a Valentine's gift from mom, which isn't a surprise at all, because she sends me one every year. Thanks mom!

Unless... I have a sneaking suspicion that the "surprise gift" is either a knife or a bullet and "another" is actually one of my many enemies who would love to see me dead. Murdering me would certainly leave a "lasting impression" indeed.
Geez... maybe I better quit my job so I don't have to leave my apartment. But, then my enemies could still simply burn me alive in my apartment... Oh Jesus!

There I go, living the rest of my life in fear, because of a fortune cookie fortune!

Fortune cookie fortune writers, you have finally hit the big time!

(I don't promise shit, but hopefully this is my last  blog about fortune cookie fortunes. Though, with this Panda Express addiction, I wouldn't be so sure...)

Friday, February 12, 2010

Haiku (My first one! Don't be judgemental!)

Surprise Pubic Hair
Napping on the toilet seat.
You brighten my day.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Drawing a Blank

I don't have anything to write about today. Literally nothing.
(The only light-bulb lighting up above my head is this one)

It was bound to happen sooner or later. I've basically written a blog a day for nearly two months now. And I've given you gold this week! Gold! (Maybe if I repeat words enough for emphasis and then give them a picture of gold for reinforcement, they will forget I have written nothing...) So, you know, if you want to give me a free pass tonight, go for it. We should all be so generous.
My mind is empty. No thoughts in there. Which is nothing new. But somehow I normally manage to squeeze a pointless musing or opinion out of my mind grapes. But not tonight. I'm too tired, me thinks. No thought wine floweths.

I had two 7am days this week. As in show up at B&N at 7. As in wake up at 5:45. Andrew is going to say, "Cry me a fucking River" or something. Probably not that, because I'm pretty sure he realizes that crying a river is impossible. The body literally can't produce enough tears to create anything even remotely resembling a river. Not even a stream is achievable with the amount of tears in the human body. Not even with a tear extracting machine (i.e. Up).
But he is gonna say something about me whining about having to wake up at 5:45 two days this week. And 7:45 another day. And then 8:30 tomorrow. But he's not on a human's sleep schedule. His is freakish. So his high-and-mighty opinion doesn't matter.

So, yeah... the brain cells aren't awake enough to write anything other than a blog about having nothing to write a blog about.

I did drink a coffee for the first time ever today. That I bought. I never drink coffee. But by 9:30 I needed it. So I bought one. Some white-mocha-expresso-something-or-another. I still don't know what that means. But I drank it. And it was alright. I felt less tired for a while. And I drummed my hands on the counter and railing for some reason. I think it was a side effect of the coffee. I may experiment tomorrow. Take the coffee again and then see if I turn into Ringo Starr.
(Say what you will about Ringo Starr, but the man could grow sideburns and a mustache.  [Who was saying anything bad about Ringo Starr?])

That's all she wrote. Ima eat and pass out.

Good night.

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

Now, That's a Fortune (A Fortune Cookie Fortune)!

I had Panda Express for lunch today.
(More like taste the stomach acids! Am I right? 
More like Chinese for upset stomach! Am I right?)

I know, right? I don't even enjoy that shit.

Still, I felt the compelling urge to eat some Panda. So, I did. And a funny thing happened... I enjoyed it. Every last bite. In fact, instead of the Panda boredom setting it, as each bite brought me closer and closer to the end of my Panda meal, I actually became fearful. Fearful that I would soon be out of delicious Panda.

I believe they are drugging me. How else could I have gone from one who only enjoyed 3 bites of Panda Express to someone who nearly cried over the lack of Panda by the end of my meal? Also, how else can my recurring trips to Panda Express be explained? Why else would I be having these Panda cravings? They must be drugging me! I'm addicted to the Panda drug!
But, this wasn't the only surprising revelation I had on my thirty minute Barnes and Noble lunch break (I accomplish a lot in thirty minutes [you have no idea]). I also got a fortune cookie fortune that -- waaaaait for it -- was actually a goddamn fortune! Imagine that!

"YOUR TALENTS WILL CAPTURE YOU THE HIGHEST STATUS AND PRESTIGE
PANDA EXPRESS * PANDA INN"

I'm not sure why the fortune cookie shouted at me. Nor do I think the part about the hotel just for Pandas was meant for me. But, the other part was pretty damned closed to being a legitimate fortune. Mazletov, Fortune Cookie Fortune Writers! You have certainly earned your FCFWGA card today!

I wonder what talents it speaks of? I'm inclined to think writing talents, because, let's face it, my writing talent is fucking limitless. You're reading what I'm writing, aren't you? And you're a very discerning person dealy.

But who knows? It could be some yet undiscovered unbridled talent. Maybe I'll be the next Peyton Manning. You know, be the best quarterback during the regular NFL season but preform questionably in the post season. Or, maybe it's some yet undiscovered talent in cunnilingus (is that were the worst word imaginable comes from? [You know... the C-Word...]). Watch out ladies (and men with Vaginas)! Or, maybe, it's my talent as a DVD/Bluray organizer. Not sure how that one (or the cunnilingus one) will earn me the highest status and prestige, but hey, the world often works in mysterious ways. 
 
(If you think I wrote about Peyton just so I could image search him again then... well... fuck you!)

Whatever-the-case, good work, my fortune cookie fortune writing friends. You're on the right track.

Just imagine how cool it would have been if you had written this instead...

"YOUR TALENTS IN SCREENWRITING WILL CAPTURE YOU MANY PROFITABLE STUDIO WRITING GIGS AND ACADEMY AWARDS
PANDA EXPRESS * PANDA INN"

You would have surely flipped my fucking lid. It would have been so oddly specific to me, that I would have totally bought that lie. You could have changed my life!

No matter how poor I got, no matter how miserable, no matter how many years I tried and failed, I never would have left LA if I had gotten the fortune. I could have been 80, and my (still living) friends would have been like, "Give it up man. You're 80! If you didn't make it as a writer 30 years ago, it's never going to happen! Quit your Barnes and Noble job and move back to Colorado you old fuck!"
And I would have sipped my wine and been like "Fuck you, sonny, for not believing in me. That fortune cookie fortune, 59 years ago said I was going to be somebody! I was going to be a contender! And I'm not giving up until I am!" (At age 80, I still drift in and out of semi-movie quotes.) 
You could have ruined a person's life with your writing skills! My life! How bitchin' would that have been?

All writers aspire to destroying a human being with naught but words. Where do you think the old "Pen is mightier than the sword" adage came from?

It's complete bullshit, but writers have been trying to prove the opposite for years. 
So, nice improvement fortune cookie fortune writers. But don't stop there. This is only the beginning! The beginning of a wonderful, life destroying future. 

God's speed.

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Gotta Keep Chasin' That Rainbow

I have lots to talk about today. Lots of opinions to express. So, fasten your seat-belts kids. You don't want to get thrown through the windshield of the boring mobile. Cause if you do, I'll leave your mangled corpse on the road. Won't even scrape your brains off the street. Don't say I didn't warn you...
 
(Don't know why Safety is misspelled here.)

RAINBOWS

Apparently you don't see Rainbows often in LA. I pointed one out at work several weeks ago, and everyone just about flipped their lids. I wish someone actually had flipped their lid, as then I would know what it meant.

I come from Colorado. Which apparently is the land of Rainbows compared to LA. Which is odd, because there are far more queens in LA. And I don't mean the Helen Mirren type of Queen. I mean homosexuals. (Queen isn't a derogatory term, is it? I wasn't meaning to be homophobic. I love my gay brothers [But not in a gay way. {Not that there's anything wrong with that.}).
I pointed out that Rainbow several weeks ago. I was like "Hey look. A Rainbow." I wasn't like "What the fuck! It's a mother fucking rainbow! Everyone look! Quick! It's a goddamn Rainbow! I can't believe this! Ahhhhh!" Because I'm from Colorado, not LA. But everyone else acted like they had never seen a Rainbow before. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked. It was crazy!

Today I saw another Rainbow. A double Rainbow. As is often the case with double Rainbows (See. Colorado=Rainbow Expert) one was much weaker than the other. But the other was fucking strong as shit. The clearest rainbow I had ever seen. And it was strongest at the base of the Rainbow shaft. By the ground.

For the first time since I was a wee lad, I really wanted to drive to the base of the Rainbow. Because it was so strong at the base of that shaft (I make Rainbows much gayer) it actually looked like it was shooting out of the ground. Like a laser or something. Like that sun laser in Die Another Day. I believe the satelitte was called Icarus, because the writer was trying be to be clever with the whole "flying to close to the sun thing" and by referencing Greek mythology. Only this was the opposite. Because the Rainbow laser was eminating from the ground, not a lamely named satelitte.
Point is, I considered driving to the base of this shaft. Not because I expected to find a pot o' gold. But because I wanted to see the base of a Rainbow up close. Which I believe is actually impossible. So I am equally retarded for humoring such a notion, even for a moment, as I would have been for expecting to find gold.

Still, gotta keep chasin' that Rainbow.
"Always Chase That Rainbow!" - Nick Doll

THE SUPERBOWL

That could have been a blog in itself. But it's not. Cause I'm about to shoot a whole week's wad in one sitting. Seat belt still on tight? 
 
(This blog aims to hit the kitty and puppy lover demographics.)

I wanna talk about the Superbowl.

I gotta say, the most important event that can happen to your city is to have your team win the Superbowl. All you readers may not realize this, but all you readers didn't grow up in a city that won the Superbowl, not once, but twice... during your childhood. So I don't expect you to understand this.
It's true though. Never will you hear more commotion outside than after your team wins the Superbowl. I grew up in Aurora, which is a suburb of Denver, but not Denver proper. Miles from Denver, in fact. On any other day, any other occasion, you can go outside and hear nothing. I don't care if your hockey team won the Stanley Cup, I don't care if it's New Years Eve (you'll go outside and hear fireworks, but not much else), or if your country just fought off invading Ruskies (Soviet Bastards!).  There's no commotion quite like Superbowl commotion. I still remember fondly, after the Broncos won their second Superbowl in a row, playing football outside in the street at 9pm or so to the sound of never ending honking horns all over the city.

Because, we all know the most appropriate way to celebrate victory is to honk your horn repeatably. And riot. And of course there was rioting after both Superbowl victories. But there was rioting after both Colorado Avalanche Stanley Cup Victories so that could happen any time.
You honestly will never experience a city unifying event quite like a Superbowl victory. Because in America, like it or not, football is the undisputed king. I hope you all get to experience it in your lifetime (Live in a city that wins the Superbowl, I mean. Cause not being in the city when it happens is chump change.).

So I get what those peeps in New Orleans are feeling.

But, I still hate the argument that a team like New Orleans deserves to win because of what happened to their city.
I have always hated that argument. I have hated it since I was in 5th grade.

Because that is when the shootings at Columbine High School happened.  Because if two events define every Coloradoan's life growing up when I did in a suburb of Denver, it's the Broncos winning the Superbowl... twice (that's how important Football is in America. It's a life defining event. Us kids who got that Superbowl vic turned out better than the rest of you.) and the shootings at Columbine.

Following the shootings at Columbine, the Columbine High School football team was doing very well, if I remember correctly. And I don't remember if it was state or just a random game, but some radio commentator said that they really deserved to win that game after all their school had to endure that tragedy.

Even in 5th grade, at age I-Dont't-Even-Know, I thought, "That is a fucking stupid reason to deserve to win."

I endured tragedy to please give me an award? Please.

And this thought developed in the mind of a 5th grader, still in elementary school, who had no allegiance to any high school team that he thought should win. It was a truly unbiased thought. Fuck, even in high school I had no allegiance to my high school football team. Even in college there was no football team pride! Because only professional sports have any value (but that is a different opinion for a different blog, perhaps. This one already has far too many.).

I get that such a victory unifies a community that has undergone tragedy. Like Columbine in 1999 or New Orleans this year. But is it reason enough for them to "deserve it?"

Answer: No.

Not to sound cold or insensitive (which I surely do), but technically, wouldn't the Columbine team deserve it less? Because the tragedy messed up their practice schedule for weeks so they actually worked for it less? I mean, isn't the most deserving team one who trains really hard for it? Food for thought.
The point is, good for New Orleans, but when you say, "I'm glad they won because of Katrina" you're comments don't move my cold, three sized too small heart. I will simply look you in the eye and say, "My Heart Aches for Peyton." Then, while your trying to decide if I feel for the guy or if I'm gay for the guy, my heart aching for him and all, I will turn, and make my exit. And leave you pondering.
(Wow. Check out that bod.)

ON BEING ASKED OUT AT WORK

No, I was not asked out at Barnes and Noble today. But, you weren't assuming that anyway.

My female coworker was. She approached the male customer (this ain't no same sex story [not that there's anything wrong with that]) like the would any other, the ole' "Is there a certain title I can help you find?" sort of dealy. And I don't think there was a title she could help him find (I honestly don't know, I wasn't paying that much attention.).

But, they struck up convo. I was running around, between the 2nd floor and 3rd (aka DVD/Bluray Land) so I didn't hear the whole evolution of conversation, but suddenly they were talking about where they went to college, why they were in LA, etc. At this point, I was like, wow, this dude must be interested in her, because who talks about that with an employee at Barnes and Noble when they come in for a book?

I mean, my best days are ones where I have an in depth conversation with a customer about film, but this was more personal than that. And, sure enough, at the end this guy asked my co-worker out and they exchanged numbers.

Who the fuck saw that happening? Who expects to go to work and get asked out, by a customer they have never seen, none-the-less. That's fucking crazy?
Is that how it's done in the Big Apple Core? (If NY is the Big Apple, than LA is surely the Big Apple Core.) Is that how you meet someone?

Should I ask my cashier at Target out to Yogurt? Should I ask the Yogurt Girl at Yogurtland (If they don't call their employees Yogurt Girls at Yogurt Land, they should start. [Even dudes.]) out to coffee? I'm guessing not if I'm getting Yogurt with the girl from Target.
I can't comprehend asking out someone I'm meeting for the first time. Then again, I can't comprehend asking out anybody. It's not that I don't want a girlfriend or fling or what-have-you, it's just that the whole concept of asking someone out, of making any sort of move, is so fucking alien to me.

I really feel like Dexter sometimes. It's not that I "don't feel" anything like him. I feel emotions. Happy... sad... angry...longing... hungry. And I have some very legitimate, strong relationships with very close friends and family. But everything else can often seem superficial. Annoyingly so. Interactions at work or with less than close friends. I sometimes do a decent job with playing along, acting convincing, but how real is that? Meanwhile, this relationship game is completely  lost on me. I can't even fake it. So I have so of this alien feeling towards relationships in common with Dexter (though I actually want one, unlike him.) Plus that urge to serial kill.
Be still my dark passenger, tonight is the night...

Maybe asking out someone you buy a DVD from isn't that weird (then again, he didn't even buy a DVD...). Maybe that's normal. I wouldn't know, because all of it seems weird to me. Apparently you just gotta take what you want. Only not really, because that is rape. You gotta take what you want by not being afraid to ask for it.

A man I greatly admire once quoted a man he greatly admires. Kevin Smith quoted Wayne Gretzky as saying "You miss 100% of the shots you never take." And I took this shit to heart, well, pretended to, writing it down and putting it on my wall. But it's something I just can't live by. But, it is something you should live by. So, as I tear apart that piece of paper where I wrote this quote, go ahead and make yourself one.

Equilibrium, bitch.
EPILOGUE
 
There. I think I covered everything I wanted to cover. Sorry if I got a wee bit personal there and whiny at the end. I'm not trying to pull a Conan here, giving a "Don't cry for me" speech after spending two weeks asking everyone  in America to do just that.

Besides, if anyone read past the Superbowl rant, I'll be pretty fucking surprised. Because it was a dumb move to dump all these thoughts (surely 3 blogs worth!) into one blog. If I was smart I would have written all of this and split the publishing over 3 nights. But, I'm not smart.
Then again, I've always thought the wisest people were those who knew they were morons.

Monday, February 8, 2010

Keeping It Short

Here's the deal. I can type pretty damn fast, but I sure as fuck do not type correctly.

I hunt-and-peck, but not in the traditional sense. While traditional hunt-and-pecking involves one finger on each hand, my own, customized variety involves approximately two fingers and a thumb from each hand.  The two fingers closest to the thumb (I don't know what they're called. Fuck!).

It's really a "proper way" and "hunt-and-peck" love child. That I have a patent on. So don't you fucking try that shit! Or I'll sue the pants off you.
 
(Why the above is Google Image Search's definiton of "suing the pants off," I have no idea. But all my image's are a direct result of what Google Image search thinks, so... er... so be it.)

The point is, this process involves the use of mainly four fingers and the occasion thumb. And yesterday, I got a nasty paper cut under the finger nail while at Barnes and Noble. Because I work myself too hard. What can I say, I'm just driven to excellence. But you already know that.

Yesterday, by the time I got home, the wound was not bothering me. I had no problem with the blog or the screenwriting pages I completed today. But today, somehow, I aggravated one of me typing fingers ("me" was used for effect. I did not misspell my [though I would have misspelled "mispell" {like that} if spell check hadn't corrected me. Thanks homeslice! {I know homeslice isn't a word, homeslice!}]). I don't know if it was the three hours of Modern Warfare I played or what, but here we are.
So, I put a band-aid on said finger. Two band-aids to be precise. And I can't type with a double band-aided finger. Because it is fat and occasionally types two keys. And because it hurts! I'm not made of stone! It's an under the nail paper cut! Ouchies!

So, I'm like an airplane flying on only 3 of it's 4 engines right now. So I have written you this blog about how I cannot write a longer blog. Though this blog is already far longer than I inteneded.

And, for that I apologize, middle finger who has had to pick up hurt fingers slack (the pointer finger maybe? Between the thumb and middle?).

Lord knows my middle finger doesn't need the extra strain. I drive in Los Angeles for Christsake! I'll need that thing again tomorrow!

Sunday, February 7, 2010

My Heart Aches for Peyton

Poor, poor Peyton.
The man just can't catch a break. He's without a doubt the best player in the NFL, yet his Superbowl stats don't reflect it. He's only won one (to two too) right? And he's only been twice? Yet his talent is such that he should have won at least fives years in a row by now.

The man's a god. Which must be why God hates him so much as to fuck him out of Superbowls that are rightfully his. Honestly, every time Peyton Manning doesn't win the Superbowl it is a monumental outrage. A crime against nature. A fate raping.

Now, I didn't watch the Superbowl (for the 3rd year in a row). Because I was at work at B&N. So I don't know any of the deets (details for you non "hip" peeps [people for you non "hip" peeps]). But I can only assume that Peyton was robbed. Because, come on, he's Peyton Manning for fucks sake!
Now, here's what I'm thinking. Everyone knows that Peyton Manning was gifted with two unbelievable skills. He is not only the best player in the entire NFL, he is also the best commercial actor on TV. They'll be no reason for Peyton to pull a Farve ("Pulling a Farve" is also synonymous with "Pulling a Leno") because when it is time for him to retire (If that time ever comes. Peyton may just be ageless.) he can just settle into his acting career.
I can see it now, a franchise starring Peyton Manning. I'm thinking Peyton should either play some sort of super-spy or superhero. His character could be a quarterback by day, a crime fighter by night. Then, Peyton could move onto a series of comedic films, about dudes who just enjoy having sex and being Bad-Ass. Dan and I already have plans to write the first Peyton Manning comedy (So, don't steal it, okay? Because I will fucking kill you [in a very poetic way]). Then, Peyton could be a starship captain in a new Star Trek series that will follow this current Kirk/Spock/Bones reboot series. It would totally be a TV show with the occasional motion picture. He'd be the most bad-ass and hilarious captain in all of Starfleet.

I've got it all mapped out. So, when you're done with football, call me, Peyton my main man. Let's talk biznatch (business for you non "hip" peeps?).
But, honestly, here's what I'm thinking.  Peyton may have been robbed of his award in February, but March doesn't have to be the same tragedy repeated.

Members of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, please give Peyton Manning the Oscar for Best Actor at the 82nd Annual Academy Awards. He may have not starred in any movies yet, but it's only a matter of time now until he does. It would really go a long way in cheering ole' Peyton up.
Besides, it's not like any of this years nominees for Best Actor were that great anyway.

Saturday, February 6, 2010

Boldly Going Nowhere... Windows 7

I'm afraid this may be my last blog.

No, I have not lost the drive. Nor have I ran out of things to say (like that will ever happen. This is me we're talkin' 'bout.). But I am planning on installing Windows 7 on my computer tonight.
This is like my blog's suicide letter.

Only, it's not definite suicide. It's more like writing a suicide letter before playing a game of Russian Roulette (What the fuck is up with the Russians? Since when are they so bad-ass as to invent a game of Russian Roulette? That shit makes Football, Rugby, and Hockey look like professional wrestling [I was going to say ballet or NASCAR, but those "sports" weren't lame enough].).

Only, this isn't traditional Russian Roulette, where there is only one bullet in one chamber (Again, I'm not checking any "facts." And though I have played Russian Roulette countless times, I've never been the one to load the gun.). Seeing as how I am dealing with Microsoft, it's like a game of Russian Roulette with a gun only 1 bullet short.
This Windows 7 download may improve my computer. The far greater likelihood is that the download will transform my piece of shit computer from almost inoperable to FUBAR. That's internet nerd speak for Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition (formally military speak, but thanks to Halo, the nerds have claimed it.).

And yes, I have given Microsoft quite the thrashing. But, as far as my life experiences have gone, MACs are no better. Apple has spent a lot of money their marketing campaign, but it hasn't changed the fact that mankind has yet to invent a computer that works correctly.
 
(Apple is only good for 2 things. iPods and hiring awesome comedians for their commercials.)

The real reason we've fallen behind 20th century science fiction films' predictions for where we ought to be in the 21st century? Any extended space flight would surely end in the crew's death resulting from the error prone inboard computer. I'm not talking some HAL type malfunction that leads to the systematic execution of the crew. I'm talking about a system failure that deprives them of oxygen. A direct result of some cheap asshole at Microsoft or Apple.
 
(HAL is neither Mac nor PC.)

Just last week, my computer closed Firefox in the middle of my writing blog, for the third time that night. For the third time in a row, blogger was not saving properly and most the blog was lost. What followed was human error. Though I did see what unfolded before its unfolding, I could not keep myself from acting. In a blind rage, I punched my desk, causing my Mountain Dew to spill all over my desk. My computer was fine. But the loss of Dew was unacceptable. 

The point is, this may be my last blog. Because I may not be able to get on the internet tomorrow. Or turn on the computer for that matter. Or, maybe I was able to turn it on, but then I threw it out the window. Because human error is often unavoidable. Just like computer error.
Wish me luck.

Friday, February 5, 2010

How Often Does One Wash A Snuggie?

Back in October, I made $1600 by working for 8 days. And I did it without dealin' drugs or suckin' dicks. All right me! (If your curious, I was a PA on a RE/MAX Commercial shoot. That's how I made the money without suckin' dicks.)

Feeling high and mighty on my new found wealth, I thought I'd treat myself to something nice. So I made a life altering purchase!

While at Staples running an errand for work, I bought myself...
A Snuggie! For only $15!

But, alas, the common stigma relating to Snuggies is quite true. Even at only $15, a Snuggie is a monumental waste of money.

I figured a Snuggie would be like a blanket pancho. Cause that's the only thing that makes sense. And that would be fucking awesome.
(Like this, only  much longer [That's what she said!]. With sleeves. And made from a blanket.)

Imagine with me, if you will, crawling into your blanket pancho. Your front is warm. Your back is warm. Your hands are free. It would even have a hood so that your ears stay warm. That is what a Snuggie should be. And that's what I thought it was.

But it's not. A Snuggie is just a backwards bath robe, without the belt. So your ass gets cold. And you could get ass raped if your not careful! But you probably should have thought of that when choosing your roommates.
( I do not agree with the viewpoints expressed in this photo. Nor did I add the writing [I'm not that skilled]. It was really the only interesting photo with an open backed Snuggie.) 

The Snuggie really IS shit. Complete and utter horse shit. No, worse than horseshit, because it's not dry and hay-y. It's moist and stinky. Like dog shit. A Snuggie is complete and utter dog shit. Which is the worst kind of shit there is. Quite possibly.

(I refrained from posting a pic of Dog Shit here. Even though I google image searched that shit [Quite literally.].)
While I'm designing a dream Snuggie though, I think I'll take it a step further. It shouldn't just be a blanket pancho, it should be blanket pajamas. And not adult pajamas neither. Kid pajamas. The kind that you crawl into like a jumpsuit where even your feet are contained in the pajamas. Only this ultimate Snuggie should also cover your hands, like gloves. All that should be unprotected from the elements of your house is your face. Neigh, only your eyes and mouth should remain uncovered.

For eye and mouth fucking.

And it would have a dick sleeve, obviously. For peeing. And dick fucking.


And, it wouldn't have a zipper on the back, like children pajamas. Because that Zipper always hurt. Instead, one would have this ultimate Snuggie sewn shut around them. Sure, you would wear that Snuggie to your grave. But it would be the perfect piece of clothing. So you would be more than fine with it.

I guess there would need to be my patented "Ass Hatch." For pooping.

And ass fucking.
Easy Access indeed, picture. Easy Access indeed.

Anyway, though I just invented the perfect article clothing, the end all article of clothing, this is not why I wrote this blog. My world peace ensuring invention (think about it, who would go to war in the Ulitmate Snuggie? Cause you know 100% of the world's population would be sewn into one.) was just an added bonus. So, back on track we go.

I was disillusioned to find out that a Snuggie is just a backwards bath robe without a belt. Granted, it is made from a blanket instead of a towel, but is still fucking sucks. Just like a hospital gown, it leaves my ass bare when I prance through my apartment, naked except for the Snuggie.
 
(No other good Snuggie ass photos! I swear! Plus, I kinda like this one...)

I should have listened! I was like that person who sees one line for two cash registers, and assumes everyone is too fucking stupid to realize there is an open register. In reality, he is too fucking stupid to realize that there is one line that feeds into both registers. What a douche!

I was like that douche, assuming everyone else was too fucking stupid to realize the genius of the Snuggie. In reality, I was too fucking stupid to realize the Snuggie was just fucking stupid.

But it was only $15! So I only overpaid, like what, $15?
 
I should have burned that money instead.

Now that I have explained why I own a Snuggie (as if there could ever be an explanation for that), I come (must... not... make... cum.... joke... [Be strong old boy.]) to my point .

How often does one wash a Snuggie? (See, that's the title. Just like a Bond movie, the title makes it into my Blog. ["So you live to Die Another Day."]).
I've owned my Snuggie since October and I haven't washed it yet. Is that acceptable? Should I have washed it by now?

Granted, I've only worn it twice, ever, because it's fucking worthless (Seriously, never buy a Snuggie. Even if you're given one as a gift, don't accept it. It's just going to take up space.)

You think I should just go ahead and wash it?

You think I should wash it, don't you?

Fine.

I'll wash it this weekend. Or burn it. We'll see.