Wednesday, July 12, 2006

Fudge

This has nothing at all to do with fudge. Well, not in the spiritual sense. That trance-like state of fudge induced trancism... that is not what I am referring to. Nope, this has nothing to do with fudge.

Midgets melting in the 116 degree Arizona sun, now THAT'S blogworthy. Poor lil' guys.. waddling along minding their own midgety business, and then suddenly they are puddles on the sidewalk. Then some dog comes and laps them up.. OH, the plight of the Arizona midget!

In a month and a half I shall be free of this place of eternal sunshine. The weather is the same EVERY DAMN DAY, except for the temperature, which gets progressively more like wading into a pool of lava in your Stewie Griffon shorts with every new dawn. I'm not the only one with Stewie Griffons, am I? I am? You classless turds, get some Stewie Griffon on you!! Man, that sounds wrong.. good! Turds!

The word turd has nothing to do with fudge either, not that a dog would know the difference. They lick their butts people, their tongues are their toilet paper! EVERYTHING tastes like turds to a dog!

Thank you and enjoy your enemas.

Wednesday, November 09, 2005

Tuesday, November 08, 2005

Is selling the neighborhood children tickets to watch midgets sodomize your dog still considered a social faux pas? What about selling the children to the midgets?

Monday, April 18, 2005

If you ever doubt your sanity, just remind yourself that the lil bastards in the white coats have not caught you yet. So you must be doing SOMETHING right. Of course, they could also be so COMPLETELY baffled by you doing everything astronomically gastrointestinally supercalafragalistically wrong that they were taken away themselves. Or Mary Poppins may have tucked them in her bag with Jimmy Hoffa.
I would want my Chinese name to be Faq Yu.
We have all watched Mr. Rogers. We have all witnessed the puppet that was King Friday. And we have all asked ourselves why he did not order someone to construct him some legs.
Say you're walking along the road. And a man appraoches you. He asks you what the time is. You kick him in the nuts and gleefully exclaim that it is Nut Kicking time. He crawls away.