KILL IT BEFORE IT SPAWNS

Am I really seeing this shit?

EDIT: My favorite part is when she says, "This is about my feelings....that I feel...."
I bet she uses emoticons in her e-mails. Like this: : - (

Back to work

Fucking meme

I'm ashamed to say I have time for this today.

I was going to do an entire post about the hilarious comedy stylings of Shemp Howard, the most underrated of the Three Stooges, but now you'll all miss this work of genius, or at least have your gratification delayed because I'm answering this fucking meme with which El Barbudo hit me. (Please note I didn't end that last sentence with a preposition. I fucking win.) So if this meme is really boring and stupid and juvenile and too-fucking-twee-for-words, blame him.

7 films I like:

Slapshot
The Lion in Winter
Henry V
Local Hero
The Snapper
The Philadelphia Story
WITHNAIL AND I - EDITED. Take THAT!

7 books I like:

London Fields
Wuthering Heights
Watership Down
Things My Girlfriend and I Have Argued About
Stanley and the Women
The Adventures of Augie March
Jane Eyre

7 things I say:

"Drink UP!"
"Guinness, Please."
"For FUCK's SAKE!"
"Who's a bitter cunt, then?"
"I fucking win."
"Oh, for the love of Pete..."
"Fuck off."

7 things that attract me to the city:

Bars to hear live music
Choice in pubs
Sports teams
Ease of transportation
Availability of many varieties of decent food
Jobs
Educated, intelligent people (i.e., fewer rednecks)

7 things to do before I die (and yes, I'm a very simple person):

Visit the Baseball Hall of Fame
Tell Dubya off
Have a decent picture of myself taken
Clive Owen
Own an Irish Wolf Hound
Own a house
Skate on the Bruins home ice

7 things I can't do:

Eat bitter tasting things like mesclun greens
Run fast
Drive a stick shift
Eat olives
Wear flip-flops in public
Sing in front of people (though I can sing, believe me)
Finish this meme.

You know WHY I can't finish this meme? Because the last thing is 7 people to tag. And I refuse to tag anyone. I'm BREAKING THE CYCLE. Hear me, baby?

Sometimes you just want to curl up.

Welp...you all asked for a picture of me. Here I am as a newborn. Wasn't I just the CUTEST FUCKING THING YOU EVER LAID EYES ON?!! WASN'T I?????

Of course, it was before I developed my antlers and fangs and attacked Jimmy Carter in his little boat. Still not sure why I did that, being the pinko commie faggy knee-jerk democrat that I am. Must have caught me on a PMS day.

I've finally come up with a Blunt Cogs strip. Kim assures me it'll be up tomorrow, though I do hope he doesn't spend too much time at his computer this weekend. There IS more to life than blogging, right? Right? Anyone?

**crickets chirping**

ANYHOOO...It's Friday, and I think I'll be starting my happy hour with a nice Chianti. FF-ffff-fff.

One last random thing. Anne Coulter is a cunt. Carry on.

EDIT: Just checked my counter stats. I come up #5 on an MSN search of "Horse Ass." Sweet.

This blog sucks

Wow! This blog is really awful lately. Have to admit, I've been phoning it in for a couple of weeks. Very little excuse, since I've had lots of good ideas (which disappear as soon as the alarm clock goes off, unfortunately) but I have been SO FUCKING BUSY with work, not even fun stuff, that not only have I been negligent in my own posts, but I've barely even LOOKED at other blogs or commented.

I'm in trouble with Dr. Maroon, AGAIN. And I haven't even called him a fuckbag. Evidently, I'm starring in an epic tale of hilarity over there, which I haven't even had time to read! Thank you, Doc, for immortalizing the Rabbit Girl in your inimitable way, and APOBLOGIES for not giving it the time and attention it deserves. (See what I did there? Apoblogies? Fuck off, I think it's funny.)

GodDAMMIT, work is once again intruding upon my blogging time. PRIORITIES, people.

This blog will soon be restored to its former biliousness. Don't you worry.

You have been warned.

New favorite blog

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..........

haaaahahahahahahahahahhahahahha.....


Hahahahahahahhahahahahhahahahaha.

Very good. I like very much.

Another hilarious video

Anybody out there watch Comedy Central's "The Man Show?" Tried it a few times, got a few chuckles, but generally found it a bit...erm...too frat boy for me. Which is probably the point!

But anyway, a friend just sent me this. And I ask...what would YOU do if a deer strapped to the hood of a car started talking to you?

Lookie here.

Summer job opportunities for the bat boy.

I have absolutely nothing to say that is in any way related to the picture above. I was simply looking for something to say today (still...I got nothing) and thought I'd find inspiration by googling "weird news." This picture came up when I clicked "images."

But...wait. Isn't this that bat-boy the Weekly World News is always on about? Since I stopped doing my groceries at "Poverty Supreme," I haven't really seen those papers anymore. My grocery store carries lots of dreary women's magazines, with diet tips and recipes for TEN MINUTE MEALS!! And icky celebrity scandal rags. I kind of miss the weird ones.

I wanna know about the aliens that live under my thumbnails, or how Elvis is running a bordello out west, or Satan's image has been seen in the smoke coming out of some middle eastern oil refinery, or how the bat-boy's doing in school. Does he have a girlfriend? What bands does he like? Can he come over to my house this summer and eat some mosquitoes?

COMMERCE

Hey kids!!

A very dear friend of mine has gone into business. Selling all kinds of really cool, modern, funky, funny gifts and accessories and other stuff. Some things that are really handy, but all of it just plain FUN.

It's called Suburban Splendor, and it's just...SPLENDID.

C'mon gang! Help a kid out. Buy stuff. Hear me? BUY STUFF!!!

Oh, I don't know, I don't know...

I KNOW it's Friday, and I KNOW I'm drinking tonight. I just haven't yet developed a craving for anything in particular.

What'll it be? WHAT?

Beer? Cider? Wine? Cocktails? Decisions, decisions.

What I DO know is that once again, I'll be in Harvard Square somewhere, bitching about something or other. Though the Bruins pulled one out of their arses last night and won one, and Theo's back with the Red Sox in some capacity, so there MIGHT be some hope for 2006, so it won't be local sports, FOR ONCE.

And if I don't make a decision to have something else before I even walk in, my knee-jerk, split-second, reflexive answer to "What'll you have?" will be "Guinness, please."

So that's probably what'll end up happening. Not that there's anything wrong with that!

In other news, I'm STILL trying to come up with a funny cartoon idea, but alas...work has been so very busy and style-cramping this week that I have yet to really give it any brain space. Sorry, Kim and Beardy. The well is dry, dry, dry. Like dust.

The GOOD news is that this means that I'm having a busy freelance week, and therefore will be raking in some much-needed dough. So...HUZZAH! Maybe I can get that operation (saving for a mastectomy. No, I don't have cancer, I just never liked them, though looking at them objectively, they're SPECTACULAR) and buy some new boots. Booooots.

Happy Friday, my darling readers, and even the one or two of you who I generally think are a pain in the hoop.

Oh, and look at this.

No-post post

Busy, busy, busy.

Come back tomorrow.

Fuck, the phone's ringing AGAIN. Why...WHY must they torment me?

Fuck off.

my bluntcogs character

Ain't she sweet? This is part of a new time-waster that Beardy and Kim thought up.

I haven't yet come up with a good cartoon situation, but with the right amount of alcohol and enough bad television, I think we'll be looking at some comic gems soon enough. Huzzah!

Epiphanies

Seems everything is gay.

Who knew?

Quick note to the owners of Om

Hi - just a quick question.

If you're going to have a Buddhist themed restaurant, in a location with the hippie content of Harvard Square, does it make sense that EVERY SINGLE THING on your menu is meat?

On the subject of essences...

The girl in camo raises an interesting idea in the comments of an earlier post about Emeril and his ever-present essence. Says she: "I wish I could somehow bottle my essence and sell it. I do envy Emeril for that. Except while his essence is a food product, I feel like mine would end up as beer. "

I put it to everyone, with mad props to TGIC: If you could bottle your essence, what would it be?

I'll start. My essence would probably be some kind of acidic liquid, probably a high-powered household cleaner. Like Drano.

In other news, I found this funny: http://www.brackenspub.com/beer.swf

In even more other news, it is Friday. And this is what I'm going to drink. I'll be someplace in Harvard Square, Cambridge. Look for me. I'll be the one bitching about the Bruins, and making fun of people's shoes.

Really random thoughts, and when I say RANDOM...

*You'd think that people at a high level of study, like DOCTORAL students, would be spot on when it comes to, oh, I don't know, actually READING things like, you know, instructions and stuff. Not really the case, evidently. I'm developing a tic.

*The days are getting longer, which is a good thing for people with Seasonal Affective Disorder. Soon, the sun will rise before 7AM, and set later, and I will become a morning person again. Yippee-fucking-hooray.

*Say what you will about Princess Diana, I know she was a mess. But I'm still sad she died and I miss her.

*No, I am not a huge fan of inbred English royalty and don't really give a shit about useless, outmoded figureheads. But I still miss Di.

*Last night, I had a dream that I went to New Orleans and made an ass of myself, jumping around, drinking hurricanes, and shouting things like "Paaaar-taaaayyyy!" which is so out of character it kind of makes me think I've channeled some dead frat boy. Eugh.

*I am reasonably sure the Red Sox are doing stuff behind the scenes about getting us a shortstop, center fielder, some hope for 2006, but it worries me that I haven't heard anything. It's quiet. Too quiet.

*The Bruins still suck.

Is there a neurologist in the hooos?

Hey, maybe someone out there can fill me in on THIS little mystery: Every day, just about 3pm, I get a mild headache, and my face feels hot. I can feel my pulse at my temples and I get really, really cranky. Who wouldn't, with a hot face and headache? I ask you.

Am I dying?

Generally it passes by the end of the work day, but sometimes I'm still in the funk when I get home from work. Sometimes a quick workout helps, but I don't always have the time for that, and have to spend some time pitying myself before the cloud passes.

I am FAR too young for menopause. So before any of you smartasses comes up with that one, you can just...well, you can just stop right there.

Calm the fuck down, it's only ingredients.

Emeril is someone who should go the fuck away for a while. I mean, bad enough the guy's got about a dozen different shows on the Food Network, and you cannot escape his ugly mug even when you're not watching TV, because the fucker's in the grocery store, too, hawking his "essence," which is just obscene.

The whole "bam" thing is so old and moldy, he should just retire it. Bad enough it's his mantra when he's fucking cooking, but he does toothpaste commercials now, and it's their tag now as well. A few years go, some asshole even gave this talentless hack a sit-com. Naturally, it was cancelled after about three seconds on the air, but... Christ.

But no, it's not Emeril and his ubiquitousness that bother me half as much as his audience of slack-jawed morons. They hoot and holler like he's doing something original just when he melts butter. Let him add garlic or beer or brandy or wine to any dish, and they act like he's just done something oh, so deliciously naughty, they practically jump out of their seats, going "woot, woot, woot," and "ya-hooooo," like a bunch of retards.

Idiots.

I'm not eating what you eat, you fat bastard

Most TV chefs are irritating, officious little tossers, huh? In fact, I don't know of one TV chef I can stomach, aside from maybe that one Iron Chef guy who drinks a lot. You know the one, the guy in the yellow, who likes beer. Chen Kinichi? He likes his booze, does our Chen. Keeps his mouth shut, does silly things with food, and likes a nice brew. I got no beef with the Iron Chef guys in general, except that the food is stupid and I'll never make, or eat, any of the dishes they make in real life. It's more about entertainment than instruction, innit.

I love to watch Foodnetwork, and I really have learned a lot, become a better cook than in my early days of sustaining myself on mac & cheese from a box and pot noodes. I've had success with some recipes and techniques, adapted others to my personal tastes, gotten some good tips on shopping for freshness and storing for shelf-life. Blah, blah, blah.

But I do NOT take cooking advice from the fat ones. That "Barefoot Contessa" woman, with her stick of butter and heavy cream in EVERYTHING she makes? Fuck that. Yeah, the stuff tastes good, yes, it's comforting and yummy, but for Chrissakes! The woman is 150 pounds overweight, and no good can come from me following her example. I'm sure she's a very sweet person, and she knows a thing or two about presentation and yumminess, but come on.

The guy I hate the most, though, is this fat bastard, Mario Batali.

Just look at this fucking guy. With his hippie ponytail and clogs and chirpy tone. He thinks he's funny, but he's just as annoying as that Rachel Ray, only you could fit two of her in his apron. And every single recipe he makes includes 12 different types of pork!

The fucking cannibal.

BRILLIANT!

Today, in honor of Friday, I wish to honor all things Guinness.

First, Sir Alec Guinness. One of the greatest actors of all time. Forget Star Wars, that was just so he could earn some "fuck you" money. And man, did it ever. Let's instead cast our memories back to some of the greatest films ever made. "Kind Hearts and Coronets," "The Lavendar Hill Mob," "Bridge on the River Kwai," and my personal favorite, "Tunes of Glory." I'll stop here, though there are many I'm forgetting right now, and I'm trying to get some work done, so I don't have time to do this all day. Suffice it to say, you young 'uns out there, line up your Netflix queue with a bunch of his films and let her rip. You'll be glad you did. Brilliant!

Here is a website of a cat called Guinness. He looks like my wee Olive, and is inferior in many ways, though he is kind of funny. Cute.

But really, what makes my little heart go pitter patter on a Friday, is this:

Chock full of creamy goodness, iron, protein, and carbs. Yes, Carbs. Dr. Atkins is dead, long live the carb. Fuck that lo-carb garbage. Starch up, baby! BRILLIANT!

EDIT: Okay, three measly items is kind of lame for an "honoring guinness post"...anybody have any other Guinness type things to honor? Shall I move on to Harp?

Too much pressure

This goddamn box has been open all day, waiting for me to type something in it.

Well, fuck it. I got nothing. I've been busy working all day, haven't even taken a lunch break, and now it's almost time to go home.

I'b all stubbed ubb too. My coad won'd go 'way. Blech.

I feel like this broad.

I resolve...

I swear too much. Not just here, but in real life? Mouth like a sewer.

I hereby resolve to swear less in real life. Which means, and I'm not sure of this, but it seems likely, that my language here may end up having to take up the slack. I apologize in advance for those with delicate sensibilities. But let's face it, if you were THAT delicate, how would you have ended up reading this blog in the first place? By googling "things that will offend my delicate sensibilities," perhaps?

That'd be about it. My only resolution for 2006. I don't generally make resolutions and it would be stupid to make any promises concerning working out more, drinking less, or eating less junk. The whole reason I work out 5 times a week is so that I CAN eat whatever fucking crap I like without getting fat. And the drinking's on a downward cycle as it is. I don't drink during the work week, which means my tolerance is lower, which means I suffer more violent hangovers on the weekends when I DO drink, which means that it's a longer time before I drink again, which means a lower tolerance, which means...you get the picture.

shitpissfuckcuntwankdamnfuckdicktwatfuckshit....there, I said it.

Whine, moan, complain.

Back from vacation, and not at all pleased.




Nursed the spouse through pneumonia all last week, and now it appears my immune system has fucked off on holiday. Well...that's a fine how-do-you-do, after all the echinacea, vitamin C, rest, soup and exercise I've given it over the past two weeks.

A short note to my immune system: HEY! I've treated you pretty fucking well, given you the best of care, bolstered you with the most effective vitamins money could buy. No expense was too great for you. I've rested and exercised and eaten well. I've drunk in moderation (TRUE), and washed and scrubbed, like a complete neurotic. And this is how you repay my loving care? You fucking desert me in the middle of cold/flu season, without so much as a note? You think the grass is greener someplace else, you traitorous bitch? Go then, go and find out. And when you decide to come crying back to me, oh, how I'll laugh. Cunt.