ACCEPTABLE PLACES FOR NUDITY
The shower
Nude beach
Film, artistic
While doing it
Film, "Artistic"
Mother's womb
While "Streaking" (other college pranks also acceptable)
Burning Man
UNACCEPTABLE PLACES FOR NUDITY
Brunch
Chemistry class
Church (except Nude Church)
Non-nude beach
Commercial airline flight (excl. First Class)
Figure drawing class; ie no "Sympathy Modeling"
Fatsuit infomercials
On top of a pile of clothed bodies
Public libray
BECAUSE I COULD NOT STOP THE CART
Because I could not stop the cart I ran over a Kid The Cart held me plus some Guy We both ran and hid
I'M NOBODY
I'm Nobody! Did I mention? I desperately -- crave -- Attention?
But for real -- I hate -- Me!
No! I -- do! -- Seriously!!
BEHIND ME Behind Me -- a line --
Before Me -- more line --
Myself -- the Term between --
Death but the amount of people at this goddamn Post Office,
How many of these People actually have Friends -- Family,
That actually love them?
IF I CAN STOP MY SCALP FROM FLAKING
If I can stop my scalp from flaking
I shall not live in vain;
If I can keep my skin from breaking
Or get out this stain,
Or fit once more for a single evening
Into my Skinny Bloomers
I shall feel better about myself (temporarily)
BECAUSE I COULD NOT STAND THAT JOB
Because I could not stand that Job
I kindly said to "Shove It"
Now I sleep in Gutters' grasp
Through tears I lie "I LOVE IT"
DICKS DICKS DICKS
Dicks dicks dicks --
Not a lot of intro today, because I want to get right to it. Also I have to leave in approximately ten minutes in order to go teach children. As is always the case before I go change the lives of today's youth, I'm going to write a bunch of filth. Yes, it's the latest installment of my genre-smashing sensuo-comic "Ewritica" MASTERPIECE ChuckleSluts: A Sexy Story About Sex. The previous chapter is here; if you need more help than that, I'm not the gal to give it to you. At least not today. As always, an arbitrary picture of something so you won't feel cheated if you don't feel that you can't safely read more after the jump. Can YOU see Jesus' face in this dog's butthole?
I have some news that may shock and amaze you. I do a lot of auditioning for commercials, but do you know what? Not a single person running these auditions ever asks me if I've got awesome ideas for product slogans! CAN YOU RIPLEY'S BELIEVE IT OR NOT!!!!! Thank god for the internet or else these incredible ideas would be lost to the ages, and advertising agencies would have to hire people to do this sort of "slogan writing" for them. Disgusting!
I've gone ahead and complied some of my "FW", also known as my "Finest Work." So if any products happen to be reading this blog, pay attention! You could have your mind blown right out of your head if you're not careful.
The brilliant slogans are all after the jump, because you should always have to work for it.
It's not every day that a single tweet makes me stop everything I am doing and write a whole ENTIRE blog. As we all know, a blog entry is not something one can just slap together while attempting to distract oneself from one's inane survival job. A blog entry takes a certain degree of craftsmanship, artistry, and technical know-how (read: the ability to find and post pictures of animals shopping). So if a blog appears, it means that something beautiful has mated with something majestic and created a special creature that can only be described as "majestiful." NO, DON'T EVEN SUGGEST "BEAUTIFIC", that is how people describe lame hair salons. So anyway, I was typing "Breaking Bad" into Netflix's search field. Yeah, I could probably just bookmark it, or click on the Recently Watched icon that makes it play instantly but what if that's not the episode I want to watch, I dunno, shut up. And as it turns out, once you type B and R into the search field, Netflix has all kinds of helpful guesses as to what you want to watch. Breakout Kings? it asks. Brad Pitt? Bratz: Super Babyz? Bratz Kidz: Fairy Tales? Bratz Kidz: Sleep-Over Adventure? If you notice a pattern here, pat yourself on the fucking back, bro! In fact, roughly 90% of the search results are fine examples of cinema from the production company that clearly has a major financial stake in the colon. How else would you explain titles like Bratz: Babyz: Shopping Listz: Milk, Diaperz, Eggz: Organik? This is probably a good time for you to stop reading the blog entry. There's nothing else of any interest in the remaining text, and there are certainly no embarrassing admissions that one particular film titled Bratz: Babyz: The Movie caught my attention to the point that I almost watched it instead of Breaking Bad. I mean, with a title like that, it's probably the first one in the series. You don't want to dive into Bratz: Super Babyz without establishing a relationship with and investing in the babyz that will eventually become super. As I contemplated live streaming a cartoon meant for pre-teens starring diapered mutants with freakishly large eyes, it occurred to me that I was part of a very rare (and likely uncoveted) demographic of people who will watch Breaking Bad who will also watch Bratz. So if anyone wants to help me develop a series about diapered mutants with freakishly large eyes who lead a startling double life in the underground drug trade, then I would love to talk to you about Bratz: Babyz: Meth Dealerz.
Guys! My new sketch project Bone Mouth has released a new video! If you've been feeling like a schlub lately (and who hasn't? ASHLEY JUDD I AM LOOKING AT YOU), then this is the perfect solution! Don't follow the cult of department stores, follow The Leader! Note: the sketch was shot in 3D, which I believe is causing it to embed funny. You can fix that by watching it directly to the Bone Mouth Youtube page (turn it off if you don't have 3D glasses). Enjoy!
Didn't get enough of the sloppy editing and clumsy dialogue in CHUCKLESLUTS, Parts 1, 2, and 3? Then you're probably a spam bot! But seriously folks, a quick review of my web traffic statistics suggests CHUCKLESLUTS is my most popular work. Thanks for being perverts, perverts! Of course, the original purpose of me creating this series was so I could feel the joy of heartfelt artistic expression. And by "artisitic expression", I mean "checks made out to 'CASH'." And by heartfelt, I mean "a lot of". And by joy, I mean "financial windfall." So far this dream isn't really coming through, but they say that positive thinking prevents positive drinking (and by the transitive property: positive STD results). So put down that Boone's Farm and that sawed off shotgun, and pick up that checkbook and that book of stamps. I'm partial to the Danny Thomas Forever collection. As always, I have a terrible sense of responsibility for things I have nothing to do with, so don't read more if you're a kid or at work or some stuck-up shit bag. It isn't even that graphic, but you know how people are (read: the worst). This photo: nothing to do with anything, or everything to do with EVERYTHING?
I've been tweeting today, world- and it ain't pretty. Seriously, you never sausage bad puns. They're so awful they'd make you peppergroany in agony or kiel-basa over in pain. In casing you haven't noticed, I'm still at it. You'd think that with all that I have at steak - my health, a prime relationship, a burger-geoning career - I wouldn't risk alienating audiences by acting jerky. How do I meat those rare audiences that'll hear my word play and cry "Well done"?!? Aye, there's the dry rub! Seriously though, I have a problem.
Guys, I don't feel very funny today. So I'm going to try my hand at hardcore drama. This drama is so dramatic you'll be like, "Whoah, am I back in 8th grade drama club?" You'll be all, "Did I accidentally overdose on the medication drama-mine?" You'll be completely as in, "Am I watching the semi-successful 90's sitcom Drama and Greg?" And all your friends will be like, "Shut UP, Terrence." If your name is Terrence. If your name isn't Terrence, they'll still tell you to "Shut UP, your name," because what you're doing is really annoying.
So here it is, my very own HawthoRNe-esque foray into drama.
THE LOVELY SANDWICH
A drama by Alexis Simpson.
My name was Sandwich, like the sandwich. Just Sandwich, cause I was a sandwich. I was 14 years old when I was murdered on December 6th, 1973. In newspaper photos of missing sandwiches from the seventies, most looked like me: ham and American cheese slices on white bread. This was before sandwiches of all breads and sizes started appearing on milk cartons. It was still back when sandwiches believed things like that didn't happen to other sandwiches.
My murderer lived in our sandwich neighborhood. My mother liked his mustard spread, and my father talked to him once about cutting his crust off. My murderer believed in old-fashioned sandwich things, like rye bread and being served with tea. My father came home smiling, making jokes about how our neighbor might look nice on a silver plate surrounded by fine ladies, but he'd be the same mushy glob of predigested goo once those high-class women ate him.
Hey wait a minute, I'm just writing The Lovely Bones, with a sandwich! Awww, man! Ugh, man! damn it, I hate this book.
Jeff Foxworthy made a huge name for himself with his formulaic "You might be a redneck!" jokes in the late 80's-early-90's era known to historians as "The Hammerpants Period." The predictable one-liners gave comfort to millions of racist Americans, who even found Will Smith "a little too threatening." During the height of his popularity, Foxworthy signed over his signature style to thousands of struggling products hoping to capitalize on the relatable, down-homey popularity of the "You might be a (blank)!" set-up and punchline. One such product: The American Psychiatric Association's Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. Presenting pages from the DSM-IV, Jeff Foxworthy Edition: Putting the FUN in Impaired Mental Functioning!!!
A page from the chapter on Mood Disorders:
If you eat cold beans out of the can because the thought of cooking them overwhelms you, you might have major depressive disorder!!
If you finally got out of bed after hours of working up to it, only to make it as far as the couch, you might have major depressive disorder!
If you look at the guitar that used to bring you joy and see only a wooden noose strung with broken dreams, you might have major depressive disorder!
If you think about taking a shower but conclude "What's the point? I'll only start smelling again once I die," you might have major depressive disorder!
If you feel guilty for missing a party, breaking up Susan Sarandon and Tim Robbins, and causing the Holocaust, you might have major depressive disorder!
If voicemails from your loved ones sound like nothing but static, blaring foghorns, and the muffled inane chatter of ten thousand harpees wrought from Hell, you might have major depressive disorder!
If you're using this book as a stepstool to reach your hangin' beam, you might have major depressive disorder!
WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! Boy howdy, Jeff sure makes the crushing pain of daily existence sound fun, doesn't it?
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