fun you to heck

i would have preferred to hand-eat Daisy sour cream, but i didn't. now i am a carnival mirror and twice as fat. buhbye.

not trolls

I am very tired of goblins. This is a list of five ways I cope with them:

5. Distract them from their murderous ways by sharing in activities such as juicing carrots and cabbages with my Jack Lalanne PowerJuicer, or shuffleboard.
4. Providing lobster bibs to lessen the drool leakage on the hardwood flooring.
3. Giant hamster wheels.
2. Allowing them to watch Jersey Shore whenever it's on to give them the feel of home.
1. Sex.

if we ate all our friends we'd have less friends because we'd be fat

"Stuff that pig full of cheese and baste it!" they all shouted. But Limmon Stubbs III was my friend and, though he snorted through most nights and had the nauseating scent of scabs, I would not make him the party meal.

Still, their harassment continued inclusive of shovel wielding and hatemongery the likes of which I hadn't seen since my third birthday when I spilled the salad dressing on Aunt Jill's special tunic. Limmon backed into the corner, wheezing, eyes wide as truck stop hookers. I snatched him up and cuddled him as we fell into a heap of fetal-positioned sadsters.

It was then that the miracle happened. The throng encroached like jackrabbits to a bake sale, murderously belching vile invective, armed to the teeth with shredders and the like. My pig and I we huddled and had some gum together and thought about rainbows and the smooth sounds of Enigma. It seemed to be the end when... when...

No, it was the end. He's with Jesus now and I'm full.

crude

your mom's sandwich made me bloated. and THAT'S why i'm crying.

aww shucks

i am minding my business listening to Total Eclipse of the Heart on my Zune when this lady comes up to me and starts talking. i am a little bothered because i have to pause right at the bridge - the best part - to hear her. she says, "hey, you have nice pants on." aww shucks. what a cute leader dog she has.

i explain to her that i am almost nude, wearing only a tophat and hand towel, but that she is very kind. i also state in no uncertain terms that i wish to do her almost no harm today. she giggles. her dog giggles. i giggle. i inquire whether she'd like to sit with me on this lovely bench in this lovely park on this lovely day and use one of my earbuds to listen to the end of this enormously popular Bonnie Tyler song. she says no.

aww shucks.

how i got covered in bees

so there was this plum just sitting there on grandma as she slept in the chair, ripe in her claws and only partially eaten. i was sad that day due to Maury paternity tests, and my belly growled from said sadness. all of the creamed ice had been consumed by jerks, and the marmalade was rusted shut. there was a honey bear in the sideboard, but honey made me sad because my beagle's name was Honey and she was a total brat. and, besides, she was dead. being resourceful from years of service to the warden, which did not include kissing, i devised a plan to abscond with the plum, which was my yen. and i involved no killing - my other yen. i grabbed aforementioned honey bear and, with a mammoth grip, squeezed its contents onto grandma, thinking i could then snatch her fruit booty.

"Shanks!" i squealed inexplicably as the honey bath awakened her. the rest of the story was unplanned. grandma hopped up and headbutted me viciously, smashing the nearest lamp about my head and shoulders and tackling me with the force of three warthogs, covering me in honey and knocking me through the open window.

dazed, i burped a little and then heard the buzzing.

a canary is pecking at my eye.

friends

I have taken on a smallish potato as my confidante, with only slim hopes for something more. The god-given physique indicates my potato is female. This is how I've adorned her:

1. a woollen cap, because, campers, it's cold outside
2. a well-placed button
3. miniature screwdriver appendages
4. arrows pointing to "pleasure zones"
5. carrots

Hand me the snips, provided they are flavoured with rich cheese, for this very night a most outrageous passion fruits up in me like some salamander. He's Just Not That Into You. I dreamt like thirty times that Greg Behrendt deflowered me. He didn't. It happened to be a rowdy goat at an otherwise pleasant petting zoo. The goat had similar hair, but less posing. Still, it was too... oh... cardiovascular. But this movie looks fun. Fun *!fun!* Ben Affleck once called me on my mobile and asked if I was wearing the bra he mailed me. I lied and said no. These are good snips.