A brush with death/fame

A man I knew once said that “I’m the cock and the walk, baby”.  Then man grew up to be Christopher Walken.  He also said a lot of other things but some of them I couldn’t understand because he kind of mumbled and slurred his words a bit.  This trait made him even more endearing.  Let me tell you about the time Christopher Walken saved my life.

My toilet stopped flushing.  Sorry.  That is a lie.  My toilet continues to attempt to flush every time I command it to do so but it’s efforts are thwarted by some sort of plumbing malfunction.  That’s better.  Just want to make sure we are on the same page.  Try as it might, the toilet will fill with water but not able to release the fecal/piss discharge into the pipes of my house.  The water ends up on my bathroom floor.  The turds sometimes do as well.  I did the only reasonable thing to do at the moment and I kick the toilet.  Nothing dislodges in the pipes though my toilet dislodges from my floor slightly.  Now a constant flow of water seeps onto my floor and onto my slippers.  Drat!  I do the next reasonable thing and call a plumber.  He arrives later that day and analyzes the situation.  I tell him what happened and he gets to work.  I retire to the drawing room to go over some documents concerning some of my recent acquisitions and I hear a shout.  The plumber found the cause of the clog and was holding it against his squishy chest.  “How dare you sir!  How dare you flush a squirrel down the toilet.  I’ll have you know that I am the president of the local chapter of PETA and I will not stand for such behavior.  Prepare to defend yourself.”  A few things went through my head at that moment.  1) A squirrel in my toilet?  What the fuck.  2) Does this guy really think I would flush a squirrel down the toilet?  I have seen a dead squirrel used from a lot more useful things besides flushing. 3) Prepare to def…  I was interrupted by a slap in the face from a latex glove.  Apparently plumbers wear them now out of concern for hygiene.  How nice.  The plumber brandishes some tools and attacks me.  Violently attacks me with wrenches and other tools of his trade.  I arm myself with the nearest weapon I have access to; the plunger.  Of course it doesn’t take long for the plumber to get through my defenses and brain me with his wrench.  I go down hard.  All woozy and shit I can feel myself being dragged in some direction and can hear some muttering to the tune of “I’ll flush you down the crapper.  Then you’ll see.  Bees.  Zizzle zuz buzz flush.”  I am pretty sure the last part was a result of the blow to my head and face.  I am unable to mobilize myself to appropriately prevent my flushing but I am able to grab the cell phone out of my pocket.  I hit the contacts button and then send without even looking.  Not sure who I will get but I hope somebody answers.  I hear a greeting and blurt out.  “Help me!  My plumber has attacked me and I am afraid I will be dead soon.  Please grant me some assistance before I…..” The plumber smacks the phone out of my hand and I am drug down the hall.  A moment later I hear my front door splinter and someone running up the stairs.  I will not ever forget the next words I hear.  ” I think you may need to call a plastic surgeon because I am about to remove your fucking face.”  Thank the heavens it was CW (Christopher Walken from such films as The Rundown and Blast from the Past).  I wonder for a moment while CW frees me from the clutches of my aggressor how I managed to phone him of all people.  I see CW bent over the plumber and I hear a lot of grunting.  I think to myself “Of course.  He’s the first contact on my list”.  See, people I know whose name’s start with A get a “Sexy like an otter” attached so they appear further down my alphabetical contact list.  People with a B at the beginning of their name get “Fucking douche bag” preceding their actual name.  And then there’s Christopher Walken.  By the time I am through processing the circumstances that led to my release, CW has finished his work and cleaned the blood and matter from his fine looking track suit and offers me a hand up.  CW apologizes about the mess and assures me he’ll have some people come over and take care of everything.  He adds a wink to keep me at ease.  I thank Chris and he glides away to his home next door.  As he is drifting he shouts “I know a plumber that can fix anything.  I’ll have him stop over after the mess is cleaned up.  Oh, I may be to blame for the problems you are having with your plumbing.  I felt a bit sick at the party you invited me over for awhile back.  I entered your very accommodating bathroom and vomitted a squirrel into your toilet.  It’s a new diet I am one.  Some sort of new age macro shit.  I’ll take care of the bill.”

Oh that Christopher Walken.  He can be such a card.

Me if I was not I

So I think a lot about how I would be if I were a different person.  Allow me to share.  If I were a realtor I’d be a one that only sold crack houses because people need a place to smoke their crack with confort.  If I were a doctor I’d specialize in tonsil removal because I think that would be pretty dang easy and not that gross.  If I were gay I’d be disco gay.  If I were a lumberjack I’d be a gay one.  I guess that would make me a gay disco lumberjack.  I think I could pull it off.  If I were a scientist I’d study fires and how we as people of the earths can use fires for good and not evil.  If I were a terrorist I’d use hugs as my weapon.  I’d aggressively hug people.  Violently hug the crap out of folks.  Nobody would be safe.  Men, sure.  Women, oh yes.  Children, yeah put not in a creepy way.  They’d get hugged where they least expect it.  On the bus or at the grocery store.  I’d just pop out and hug the fuck out of them.  Then I’d send a letter to some media outlet so I could properly claim the hugging.  “It seems that today’s horrendous hugging has been claimed by the SotNLoTS (Scrib of the Nation Liberation of Turds Squardron).  Two women and their children were viciously hugged while they were on their way to a birthday party that was being held in a church in a small town in a rural state of the US.  More news at 11.”

If I were a hypnotist I’d do shows at old folks homes and make them think they were dogs in heat.  Then I’d leave.  But not before I saw a little old action.

If I were an astronaut I think you know what planet I’d explore.  Thoroughly.  Every wrinkle and pucker.

If I were a lady I’d be infatuated with my breasts and intimidated and unsure about my vagina.

If I were a guy who could do whatever he wanted I’d blog every single word I uttered throughout the day.  Though if I was a guy who could do whatever I wanted that would mean that I was either very rich or invisible.  If rich then I would record every word I uttered and pay someone to type it out.  If invisible then I wouldn’t have much to type since part of being invisible is the necessity of being very quiet.  Either way it works out.

If I sold drugs I would only sell illegal drugs.  I like living on the edge.

If I bred dogs I would breed only purebreds.  I’d cross-breed species of dogs so I could name them myself.  All species of my newly created dogs would have names that started with Uterine.  “Oh look at this wonderful Uterine Palmrod.  I hear that this species of dog is especially adept at crotch sniffing.  How wonderfully delightful!”

Tuna is so 1980′s

Oh hi.  I have a new pet.  It’s a Uterine Bass.  It’s really slimy though.  I can’t give it hugs or do much of anything with it.  It just sits there and watches me and makes sure I don’t screw anything up.  I bought it from the pet fish man.  Apparently it’s quite rare due to where they are found.  I bet you guessed that I am about to tell you where Uterine Bass are found.  Well I am.  They are found in the Uterine region of Sweden.  Only the most sexy fish are found in Sweden.  Believe what I tell you because you have no reason not to.  You have no experience with Uterine Bass nor are you a fish doctor.  Maybe you should research it.  Research everything you can find on Uterine Bass.  Research all frickin’ week and I bet you will come up with nothing.  Why is that Scrib of the Nation?  (That’s what you will be thinking).  I’ll tell you why.  That’s how frickin’ rare they are.  That is what the pet fish man told me and he told me he has no reason to lie to me.  I trust him with all my fish pets.  Waaaaa.

Space exploration

Ba da ba ba ba.  I’m lovin’ it!

Fuck yes I am.  My colon is oh so clean.  I’m in my happy time cool hole I just dug.  I got my best cougar down here and we are radiating the sexitude.  We were going to play our sexiness down a bit today but then we were like fuck it.  Let’s crank this bitch up to 11.  And we did.  And we are.  I heard on the news that the earths’s orbit has changed and we are now gravitating towards the planet Venus.  You know, the sexy planet.  Due to my sexitude?  No.  NASA is wrong.  I am gravitating the earths towards Uranus.  ANd I think you know what I mean.  The naughty, dirty little planet that isn’t for everyone.  Only for those adventurous enough to plunder that planet’s sex treasures.  That’s what I intend to to my friends.  We’s goin’ to Uranus and we are going to have a swell time.

Just imagine me in Uranus….  Let’s back it up a bit and go slow.  Imagine me approaching Uranus.  I’d be going all fast and shit with extreme sex fuels and I’d come barreling right for Uranus.  But right when I come in close proximity to Uranus I’d throttle back.  Play things cool and enter the atmosphere gently.  I don’t want to seem to eager to get into Uranus.  Just like “hey, I was nearby and thought I’d pop in”.  So  I’d nestle up real soft on your anus.  Maybe send out some test signals to see if it’s cool to even be on Uranus.  When I get the all clear light then I’ll start to move in.  Start to slowly work my way into Uranus.  I know there’s bound to be some sexy treasures in Uranus and I am about to blunder the booty.  So slow at first but then once things become smooth sailing I really explore Uranus and all it’s cracks and crevasses.  I’d just hammer away at Uranus and get the job done ASAP before I get warning signals telling me that I had been there for too long and things have become uncomfortable in a manner of speaking.  I’d burrow and gouge my way into Uranus until I find the treasure.  The honey pot if you will.  Once found I’ll extract immediately and depart from Uranus’s atmosphere.  More than likely I’ll leave some debris on the surface but that can’t be helped.  With a delicate procedure such as entering Uranus you need to utilize some methods that tend to leave some residue and some trace that you had been there.  After I leave Uranus I’ll take a nice happy nap on my return trip to the earths.

I love Uranus so much.  I look forward to visiting again.  I don’t for see that happening in the near future unless I get you drunk again.

Junior mints

IT’S A FUCKING POST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

MWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH

I slam the door (BOOM!) when I come into the bedroom.  Wham bam cuz I’m the king of the castle.  I have been watching Heroes lately on the DVDs and have been thinking about super powers.  I thought about people who have super powers.  Like stretchy guy and loud screamer lady and fireworks lady and frozen guy and smelly disappearing purple guy.  I thought about what sorts of super powers I should have.  I’d like to be super fast saran wrap guy.  I’d run around people and stuff and wrap them up in saran wrap.  They couldn’t move and I would win.  Or I could wrap up a bridge or a building to preserve it’s integrity and prevent it from collapsing on babies or old people holding animals.  But I’d let the building fall on British children.  Or a bridge.  I wouldn’t save the British children.  No, not the British children.  THough I would save children.  Would sran wrap stop bullets?  If there was enough of it, yes.

Fuck teleportation.

daaaa

Hey.  Ten minutes.  Go!

ALong the Honduras river exists a tribe that believes that all life on this earth is a direct creation of a dirt god.  This god ruled over the universe which was a vast plain of dirt.  Barren and dusty, the god would stroll along and observe the uniqueness of all his patches of various types of dirt.  The god became interested in combining his dirts and use his magical power limbs of magic to create things from the dirts.  Thus the creation of the things on the earths.  There were people and animals and plants and they all survived by harnessing the dirt’s nutrients.  There was no water.  Yeah, no fucking water.  Imagine drinking a big cup of dirt.  Or eating dirt sandwiches.  Or wiping your ass with dirt.  You get the point.  Shit sucked.  The dirt god’s creations became agitated because they hated being dirty all the damn time.  The approached the dirt god, whose name was Archie, and asked him to create something not so fucking dry.  Archie wept and his tears became lakes and rivers and oceans and streams and seas and ponds and creeks and swamps and pools and water falls and stuff.  Archie left his creations because he felt like they totally hated him.  The creations were so happy with the water that they didn’t notice the dirt god’s absence.  They swam and bathed and drank and peed in the water.  They were pumped.  Then some intergalactic alien jerks came to steal the water.  The creations didn’t have any weapons because Archie didn’t think to make any.  The alien jerks stole almost all the fucking water before Archie heard the cries of his creations.  Archie came to them and smote the mother fucking aliens with a dirt cannon.  In his rage he smashed the universe and we now live on a chunk of it that we call the earths.  We got all the water and we are the surviving creations of the dirt god.  The early creations built pyramids in honor of Archie and his gifts he gave to them.  Then the dinosaurs came and eat the people that survived the earths creation.  After awhile a few people who survived the dino invasion procreated after the meteors killed the dinosaurs and now we are here with the internets and cars and space travel and tupperware.  Ain’t shit grand.

So the tribe worships still the dirt god.  They still eat dirt and bathe in dirt and use dirt to wipe their asses.  It is believed that they are the direct descendants of the people left after the dino invasion.  It is also believed that the tribe is absolutely fucking retarded.  With all the inbreeding that had to occur early on, how can you not be retarded?  Dudes doing their cousins and such.  Plus you would have to be retarded to eat dirt and drink dirt and bathe in dirt and all that when you have modern conveniences.  Thank the dirt god for Big Macs.

Delicious

Let me tell you about the fucking sandwich I ate today.  IT WAS FUCKING DELICIOUS.  I kid you not.  Let me start at the beginning.

In my youth I was introduced to Fluff-a-Nutters.  Two slices of white bread.  One slice backs the peanut butter and the other slice brings the pain with marshmallow creme.  The opposing sides do battle in my mouth and in the end the true winner is me and my tastebuds.  I desired a FaN and began to set the stage for another epic battle of culinary forces.  I really cannot say which opponent I prefer but I find myself stacking the peanut butter battalions with just a smidge more reinforcements than it’s archenemy.  Everything was set.  The bread had been lain.  The mallow whip open and ready.  The only thing left was to release the pb from it’s frosty confines of the refrigerator region.  Yep, I keep my butters in the fridge for max freshness.  Peanut butter, apple butter, butter butter, margarine (damn right it’s butter if it’s the closest thing to butter you can eat due to certain intolerances), and pear butter are all kept and a preserving 40 degrees Fahrenheit.   Believe.

I open the fridge to retrieve the pb squadron and I am encountered by a fair maiden in my fridge.  Of course she was miniature otherwise she would have squashed all of my delicious consumables.  The maiden was weeping.  I asked what her quandary was.  She stated from her MiracleWhip perch that an evil monster has invaded her land and was fouling her realm’s otherwise lovely terrain and atmosphere.  I told her that I’d like to help but I kind of in the middle of an immense conflict of my own.  She bellowed and carried on.  I told her that I really do want to help her but there was no way I would be able to fit in my fridge.  She begged and begged for my assistance.  Finally I said “Listen bitch, I’m to fucking big to fit in my GD fridge so shut the fuck up and embrace your demise”.  She became offended and blew what I now know is magic (for it’s odor absorbing abilities) baking soda into my nose.  With a whirl and a pop I became miniature and naked.  But from the look on the maiden’s face I gathered I wasn’t so miniature everywhere if you know what I mean.  And I think you do.  Right?  My penis.  And nuts.

So I’m very small and naked and standing on top of my peanut butter which is in the fridge.  And there is a small lady standing in front of me.  Watching me.  I’m naked and she’s watching me.  All of me.  My stuff and everything.  Finally she says that she’s sorry but it’s time I find out what really goes on in my fridge.  She says it’s time to meet her people.  She grabs my hand and we float to what looks like a giant bunt cake.  It looks that way because it is a bunt cake.  It is also very large.  We crawl through a crack in the cake to the center of the dessert.  I am beholden by a magical land filled with little people busying themselves with keeping a giant green fuzzy thing at bay.  The green thing was huge.  It had covered their baby carrot houses and their gherkin sheds from the other side of the chocolate wall.  More than half of their food village was destroyed and the little people’s attempts at saving what remained were futile.  After gawking for what must have been several minutes I asked “Who the fuck are you and why the hell are you in my refrigerator?  We’ll get to how an incorporated city came to be in the center of a forgotten bunt cake later.”  The maiden explained that they were Sprittles.  They were like Sprites but littler.  Their people are spread far and wide amongst the fridges of the world.  They try to exist for as long as they can until they are thrown out with the old leftovers and rotten vegetables or consumed by rampant mold growth.  She was the mayor of her people in my fridge.  She was tired of the never ending cycle that her people endure so she called on me for my help.  She assumed that since I owned the fridge that I would have some control over what grows and what food stays.  I told her I could leave old food in my fridge but then I would run out of room for fresh food.  I also explained to her that the only control I have over mold is to remove it and thoroughly wash the surface that was affected with a detergent and follow that up with sanitizing the dish with a chemical or really hot water.  Non of what I was saying was agreeable to her so I told her I would help her move to an area that would forever be mold free and never discarded.  I led her people to the promised land.  We encountered rivers of leaking milk and swamps of rotten lettuce on our journey.  Some Sprittles perished and I witnessed ceremonies of an ancient culture never before seen by normal human eyeballs.  The maiden mayor fell in love with me during our trek and we had many inappropriate sexual episodes.  Finally we were in sight of their bastion of safety and sanitation.  They rejoiced at how beautiful and amazing their new tower was.  I helped them move in and told them I had to leave because I had to go back to work.  I figured I’d be pretty much an hour late for my lunch break.  The Sprittles threw me a party and the maiden mayor freaked me in a way that would make porno people blush.  I departed from their newly dubbed “Jif Tower” (I helped them come up with that) and became full size again.  I put my clothes back on and continued with my sandwich.

For what it’s worth to the Sprittles, that was the best fucking Fluff-a-Nutter I have ever had in my life.

Career change

So on my MySpace page I get a lot of friend requests on a daily basis.  Mostly from hot and horny chics that want to hook up with me no matter how far away they are from my house.  I’d like to think that I am so frickin’ sexy that these sex-beasts can’t resist but I know better.  I know they are only spamming me because I am a pinnacle of MySpace.  That without me, MySpace would be a disheveled electronic hovel in the ghetto on the information super highway.  I know that’s not true either.  These mighty sex magicians just want my money because I’m extremely wealthy.  They want me to plop scads of my ridiculous fortune into their bank accounts for the pleasure of viewing them on their web camera.  I know that’s not true because I am not rich.  I don’t even like to pay rent.  I know they want me to visit them on their webcam because of my charming personality and clever wit.  But that isn’t true either.  They want me to visit them so they can feel better about themselves.  And I fucking hate my job because it always interrupts my postings.  I hate wasting 17 minutes talking to some fucker about absolutely fucking nothing because they are cheap fucks and my sole existence is to hold their hand through their money saving process.  Fuck.  I’m goin’ homo.

The price is adequate

One: Fuck blogger.  I am abandoning that site in favor of WordPress/MySpace redundancy.  Please enjoy.  Remember, you can subscribe to my blog and get the updates directly in your inbox by clicking the link on the WordPress site.

Two: I fucking hate, HATE, bitter tasting things.

Three: I want to be the new new host of the Price is Right.   I would replace the pussy-ass Drew Carrey.  I heard he got injured before any new episodes even aired.  Oh hell no.  I’d change that shit up.  Get rid of the blue hairs and bring on full combat commerce battle.  I’d make fun of people all the time.

“Scrib, I think that can of beans costs $18.”

“What fucking country do you live in?  This ain’t Kosovo.  Get the fuck off my stage before I cram this can of beans up your poop hole.  And get me one of those Barker’s Beauties I have been hearing all about.”

Or if some ugly ass person tries to hug me out of pure excitement I’d cock my my hand back for an almighty pimp slap.  I’d have prostitutes on the show from around the world and you’d have to guess how much.  If you were wrong then you had to have sex with them and catch any crotch disease they had.  The beauty is that the audience would know before hand who had what disease so the could cringe when you got the answer wrong.  Though they would cringe less for the clap than they would for Hepatitis.  I’d call that game “Ho sale”.

The final match would involve purchasing weapons from a couple different countries.  You get to view a country such as Lebanon and all the information necessary to make an informed decision on whether or not you should buy weapons from them.  The first person then has the option to pass.  Though the next country could be New Zealand and then you would be fucked.  The person who goes to Lebanon will be able to purchase some bad ass weapons and then they will fight you fora box of golden Cheerios.

Also, I’d be naked the whole fucking time.  Who knows what sort of entertainment could happen depending on who hugs me.

Case closed

This blog is brought to you by Blogger. And by the letter P because poop starts with the letter P. And so does pee.

I figured out where all my dirty underwear have been going. Actually I didn’t figure it out. I’m no super sleuth who can crack capers with persistence and diligence. Hell, I’m not even a Matlock that can get by with good old common sense and a down-to-earth personality. I’m a Matlock wannabe. I discovered a note at the bottom of my dirty clothes hamper. The dirty clothes hamper I reserve for just my underwear. How odd, you must be thinking, to have a dirty clothes hamper just for my underwear. Well if you know me and if you have ever seen me in my underwear then you know well I can soil a set of drawers. And who the hell wants that in amongst their Sunday best. I for one do not. Anyway, the note reads:

Dear Sexy Sir,

The fact that you are reading this letter tells me that you finally got around to washing your clothes after your very long vacation. Also, since you are reading this then I can only assume that you have noticed that the clothing you wear so close to your fabulous man parts have gone missing. Allow me to explain. Oh, and welcome back from your vacation. I missed watching you unnoticed so very very much.

As usual I stayed at your house uninvited while you were away on whatever uncaring adventure you were having. I spent most of my time in your bed smelling your aromas that you so carelessly discarded onto your sheets. As time wore on your scents were lost in my own strong and musky odors that I accidentally left while I slept and dreamt of you. As I would long for you I had no smell to remind me of your extreme masculinity. I grew desperate and would scratch and sniff the various colored stains on your sheets. Perhaps you noticed the holes in your sheets. Perhaps you have been spending nights in someone else’s cold bed and could care less about the condition of your own bed. A bed that could very easily accommodate two grown men albeit one much huskier than the other. Anyway, I was lonely so I called my exboyfriend, Will Sasso. Yes that Will Sasso from Fox’s MadTV. We talked and I cried and we shared some wine and gave way to drunk passion the night before you were to return. The next morning was kind of awkward. I thought Will knew it was a night of quick comfort and nothing more. When he got all snuggly with me that morning I had to explain to him that we will never be. Will became upset and threatened to break the many nice things in your home. Things he mistook as mine. I explained to Will that the house that we shared our night of weakness in was not mine but my boy of desire. Will became so upset that he ran into your room and locked the door. He was in there for so long. He wouldn’t speak to me and I was scared he was doing awful things in your lust-filled bed. I tried the door handle one last time before I was about to kick down the door. It was unlocked. I came in and found an open window and a note written by Will that said if he couldn’t be my plump lover than he would steal you from me. I flew around the room to see if Will stole anything of value. That’s when I noticed all of your underwear that you had used to cover your supreme man crotch were gone. Will had stolen my precious’. Damn him. I swear I will get your underwear back and wash them when I am done with them and fold them and put them away without you even knowing I had been in your house. And I will buy you some more Mayo. When I get upset I get low blood sugar and I need to eat or I will pass out. Though I can only imagine what delightful things you would do to me if you found me unconscious in your bedroom if you would only give in to your feelings. We can make things work if you could just give us a chance. I am begging you. I have said too much and I must leave. Please do not answer your door if you see Will Sasso on the other side through the peep hole. Take care of all of your dangley manliness.

With so much painful love,

Jim Belushi

Damn you Sasso. As if I need another stalker in my life.