October 2, 2012

Peninsula of Doom

If I ever own my own island I will name it the Peninsula of Doom, and it will be a happier place to be than Disneyland (plus it will have fewer pedophiles)!

My wife just bought me a donkey, and by donkey I mean banjo, and by bought me I mean she let me buy. The one thing the donkey and the banjo have in common (other than they both make horrendously awful noises that most all but country folk seem to think sounds good) is that I have no idea how to handle either one of them. Sure, you could put a bridle on a donkey and lead it around, but I can also hold a banjo and make noise with it. That doesn't mean I'm going to leap onto the back of said donkey and start riding it around as it bucks, bites and farts (yes, they do that when they buck and run; fart is not a cuss word, according to my sagely grandmother that I loving refer to as the most gansta g-ma this world has ever seen), and have a grand 'ol time as I have my head nearly tore from off the stump of flesh and bone I like to call my neck. A vampire might like that though, less work for them to do. They should have put some vampires in the Final Destination movies, that way all that gore would have gone to waist. =D

A night at the opera would be the perfect date, if I wasn't in love with my car. Queen was genius.

Halloween is coming!!! Forget Christmas, I want my holidays bloody, scary and just plain awesome. Besides the idea of a several hundred year old man keeping tabs on me all year (yes, I did stuff that dead rat in the dryer hose) and then sneaking into my house while I'm sleeping, kind of creeps me out. Not only that, but his name is an anagram of Satan, Lord of all that is unholy, wicked and evil (I probably should have capitalized all that since it's technically part of his title, but that's just me being naughty, oh yeah, who's gettin' coal this year? Not the republicans! And it's not because they haven't been naughty either, they just have gone above and beyond the normal rank-and-file naughty person so much so that they will be getting live alligators in their stalkings by this crazy old man). The only old man that should be sneaking around my house in the middle of the night for no real good reason, is me. I guess if Pam wants to she could too, but she's not an old man and thus doesn't fit into the same category. I know, I'm being sexist by not letting her participate in this farcical aquatic ceremony, but let's face it, how many women want to be compared to men? Seriously. Men are in general stinky, sweaty, smelly, gross and just plain nasty. I can say that because I am a man (or at least, I like to tell myself I am) and to prove it, I'm going to go fix something....with MY FACE!!! To be a true man you have to fix things, uncommon things, with your face. Nails need to be pounded into a board, forget the hammer, I've got my face! Axel on the car needs to be bent back so it's straight, use my face why don't you?! The neighbor's house is on fire? No problem, I'll put it out WITH MY FACE!!! The list goes on and on. I'm sure there are plenty of people reading this and rolling their eyes, to them I say, you're obviously not a real man, and open a tall one with my face.

See, women aren't the only ones obsessed with their faces, though it's for entirely different reasons. It's a miracle more men don't look like Quasimodo with all the things we can fix with our faces. I changed a faucet to our washer this last weekend, yes, it was with my face, and I'm happy to say I did not break any pipes nor have any leaks. That's another thing men do with their faces (mostly their mouths) let you know how bad they messed something up. While growing up, I think I've talked a little about this before, but I could be wrong, I 'helped' my dad with various projects around the house. One of them involved plumbing and hanging dry wall. The plumbing usually goes behind the dry wall, though I'm sure someone has done it the other way just to prove a point (go men!). While hanging up a piece of dry wall after doing the plumbing, he was pounding in a nail, there was a sudden "sploosh" sound, followed by, I'm paraphrasing here, "Raggin'! Darg mag ackfin hockle flaggin plargen fratkern mirkten hurgle!" My family is religious and all, but this was definitely not the gift of tongues. Needless to say, a good piece of dry wall was ruined, the water to the house was shut off for the next few hours, and eventually it was turned on without being followed by "SHIT!!! TURN IT OFF, TURN IT OFF!!!!!!!" Shit is also not a cuss word, according to my aquatic grandmother, just don't say it around the other grandkids.

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