This is a short one people....what's with the "Baby on Board" stickers? I mean seriously people, putting that sticker on your car just makes me want to ram your car even harder. If I am going to hit you, I am going to hit you. While I am spiraling out of control I am not going to stop and check to see if you have your stupid sticker. I really don't think there is that much time. I mean before death via car, all I really have time for is to take a sip of my tea (coffee is for rejects), maybe do a crossword, write an epic novel, adjust my thong, all this prior to hitting your stupid baby.
But not to worry, perhaps that sticker has further use. Like if your baby ever jumps off a diving board, you could stick it there. Of course, after he starts drowning you can no longer have it up because he is no longer on the board. Or maybe change the 'on', to 'is'..."Baby is Board" (of course, the spelling is wrong for 'bored', but lots of people aren't very smart anyways). See now, if I saw that when I was driving I would be more apt to avoid your car because no one likes a bored baby. They just mean trouble. Or maybe "Baby has Board" because that is hilarious. It not only makes you look like the worst hillbilly parents ever, but it makes your kid look like a total psychopath.
So why do we have these stickers on our windows...let's say they really do not make your baby safer, so what are they for. My take on it, I am pretty sure the only reason parents have them is to show off that they could get impregnated. They think their baby is the best and that everyone in the world should know that they have the ability to have a baby on board their beaver panel wagon. Well I got news for you, your baby is probably very ugly and smelly.
The end.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Things that smell bad...
I just took a poop. Thus, the birth of this blog.
I love sitting on the toilet. I can honestly say it is one of my favorite, most peaceful albeit most hilarious places to be. I almost always stay on the toilet long enough to get that red circle tattooed into my flesh. It is my tribal mark, or perhaps a congratulatory symbol for having reigned on my white throne long enough to make it count. Today, in particular I was pooping and the smell reminded me of something. I often smell the lingering scent of feces and decipher its brother scent, like a fine wine. This particular scent, I deduced, smelled like the poop my dog Ottis just took hours before. A sharp, almost acidic scent. Perhaps this is the true connection between man and beast, decomposed food released from our asshole. I am a scientist of sorts on the toilet, answering life's questions...why is the sky blue: because not everything should be the color of poop, what is life?: taking in what it has to give you, working it through your system, thus releasing an informative byproduct, what is love: Adam being forced to talk to me while I take a dump, with the door wide open. I swear my IQ heightens. Maybe there are chemicals at work that enter my brain via the nasal cavity, giving it a shake until it gasps out this genius of desperation out of need to be released from the putrid smell.
However, there are some things I have not been able to answer under these circumstances. Where did all of my allowance of dimes and nickels go that I swallowed when I was a child out of fear that it would be taken from a sneaky sibling. I must have swallowed a total dollars worth of money (cheap parents), and never once did I see it come out? Is it like the whole rumor about gum where when swallowed it is not supposed to come out for at least 7 years. If this is true then not only am I due for a big poopie payment of hard earned cash, but I am in for a plethora of delicious chewable treats. Either both will forever sit in my body, wasteful reminders of childhood greed, or...my vital organs are involved in a large gambling ring of cents and bubble gum delicacies.
I'm done. I want to do something else. if you are still here, God bless you.
I love sitting on the toilet. I can honestly say it is one of my favorite, most peaceful albeit most hilarious places to be. I almost always stay on the toilet long enough to get that red circle tattooed into my flesh. It is my tribal mark, or perhaps a congratulatory symbol for having reigned on my white throne long enough to make it count. Today, in particular I was pooping and the smell reminded me of something. I often smell the lingering scent of feces and decipher its brother scent, like a fine wine. This particular scent, I deduced, smelled like the poop my dog Ottis just took hours before. A sharp, almost acidic scent. Perhaps this is the true connection between man and beast, decomposed food released from our asshole. I am a scientist of sorts on the toilet, answering life's questions...why is the sky blue: because not everything should be the color of poop, what is life?: taking in what it has to give you, working it through your system, thus releasing an informative byproduct, what is love: Adam being forced to talk to me while I take a dump, with the door wide open. I swear my IQ heightens. Maybe there are chemicals at work that enter my brain via the nasal cavity, giving it a shake until it gasps out this genius of desperation out of need to be released from the putrid smell.
However, there are some things I have not been able to answer under these circumstances. Where did all of my allowance of dimes and nickels go that I swallowed when I was a child out of fear that it would be taken from a sneaky sibling. I must have swallowed a total dollars worth of money (cheap parents), and never once did I see it come out? Is it like the whole rumor about gum where when swallowed it is not supposed to come out for at least 7 years. If this is true then not only am I due for a big poopie payment of hard earned cash, but I am in for a plethora of delicious chewable treats. Either both will forever sit in my body, wasteful reminders of childhood greed, or...my vital organs are involved in a large gambling ring of cents and bubble gum delicacies.
I'm done. I want to do something else. if you are still here, God bless you.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
I am AMAZING!
What is a blog? A communal diary? A release of tension and stress? An outlet for conversation on crucial topics? A piece of flesh being wrenched from my body?
What do I write on here? Hopefully I can figure it out.
My first train of thought: Sometimes I wonder if everyone on this earth thinks they are awesome. That sounds so stupid so let me try to explain. Take 'blogging' for instance. You have to have some measure of confidence to write on the internet for thousands. Bloggers write like what they have to say really matters. And maybe some of what is written does matter. Mine won't, but maybe your's will. Nevertheless, bloggers must, to some degree, think they are awesome.
I think I am awesome in lots of ways. I recently had a very hilarious conversation with my mom about how awesome me and her both were. We discussed humor, and how we always felt like we had to be the funny ones in every social situation, which is a lot of work, poor us. Because of this we choose to only have a set number of friends so that we don't have to work so hard. Basically, we think we are "the shit" and no one deserves to hang out with us. I even find that sometimes I make excuses for things that are not awesome about myself in order to make them awesome. For example, I have extremely saggy breasts. I assure you there is no muscle in them whatsoever. However, my excuse is that a) all I need is a good bra to fold them up in and b) I am married so it no longer matters. Actually, being married seems to be an excuse to love all of the bad things about myself - excessive gas, a treasure trail of hair under my belly button, butt lint, irritable bowel syndrome, etc, etc.. Let's relate: Have you ever woke up, had a shower, underwent your daily routine of priming and sha-lacking the heck out of yourself, finally to stop and gaze at yourself in the mirror. In your head you think " I look absolutely amazing". You stare at yourself, tilting your head from side to side, all the while thinking that if you walk out your front door you just might be the envy of every other human being. A beauty among beasts. Just admit it, you think you are just as awesome as I think I am. But maybe not. Maybe you are a real, well adjusted, humble person and I am just a conceited ass. Maybe you are what I should aspire to. But that would just mean that I think I am awesome, and you really are awesome....but both of us still have awesome somewhere in our equations. Dilemma.
I guess this is the time in the blog where you have to say something inspirational, or ask a question that is supposed to leave everyone dumbfounded. I just wanted to talk about how great I am....
What do I write on here? Hopefully I can figure it out.
My first train of thought: Sometimes I wonder if everyone on this earth thinks they are awesome. That sounds so stupid so let me try to explain. Take 'blogging' for instance. You have to have some measure of confidence to write on the internet for thousands. Bloggers write like what they have to say really matters. And maybe some of what is written does matter. Mine won't, but maybe your's will. Nevertheless, bloggers must, to some degree, think they are awesome.
I think I am awesome in lots of ways. I recently had a very hilarious conversation with my mom about how awesome me and her both were. We discussed humor, and how we always felt like we had to be the funny ones in every social situation, which is a lot of work, poor us. Because of this we choose to only have a set number of friends so that we don't have to work so hard. Basically, we think we are "the shit" and no one deserves to hang out with us. I even find that sometimes I make excuses for things that are not awesome about myself in order to make them awesome. For example, I have extremely saggy breasts. I assure you there is no muscle in them whatsoever. However, my excuse is that a) all I need is a good bra to fold them up in and b) I am married so it no longer matters. Actually, being married seems to be an excuse to love all of the bad things about myself - excessive gas, a treasure trail of hair under my belly button, butt lint, irritable bowel syndrome, etc, etc.. Let's relate: Have you ever woke up, had a shower, underwent your daily routine of priming and sha-lacking the heck out of yourself, finally to stop and gaze at yourself in the mirror. In your head you think " I look absolutely amazing". You stare at yourself, tilting your head from side to side, all the while thinking that if you walk out your front door you just might be the envy of every other human being. A beauty among beasts. Just admit it, you think you are just as awesome as I think I am. But maybe not. Maybe you are a real, well adjusted, humble person and I am just a conceited ass. Maybe you are what I should aspire to. But that would just mean that I think I am awesome, and you really are awesome....but both of us still have awesome somewhere in our equations. Dilemma.
I guess this is the time in the blog where you have to say something inspirational, or ask a question that is supposed to leave everyone dumbfounded. I just wanted to talk about how great I am....
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
