Monday, May 31, 2004

Sleep Terrors!

Well, tomorrow morning at 9 a.m. I have to pitch my script to like three producers. Right now I feel like I'm going to throw up. This is so not cool. I'm all antsy like a little girl who's having an affair with her teacher and doesn't want her mom to find out. That's exactly how I am. Except instead of me being a girl and having an affair with a teacher I'm nervous because what happens tomorrow could have strong bearing on what happens to me for the rest of my life. I'm bad with analogies. I'll have to work on that.

So, I think I have my pitch memorized, but not so much so that it sounds like Vicki from Small Wonder is giving it. Wait a minute! I wonder what Tiffany Brissette is up to. I'm sure with a little searching online I can find her telephone number. It would go over really well I'm sure.

Me: And now, to present my story, please welcome Vicki!

(cue theme music: "She's fantastic, made of plastic...")
(Now thirty-years old, dressed in the same red and white dress, she stares straight ahead.)

Vicki (all monotone and roboty): Thank you. Once again, a big hand for Kurt.

(It gets all green-screen looking and her hand blows up all big. Everybody laughs, a few even cry because they laugh so hard.)

I think that could happen.

I wish I could just fast-forward life until tomorrow at like 9:30 when I'm sitting in class, my pants soiled, totally relaxed because it's all over. If I was a drug-taking man I'd be all over some of whatever helps people sleep. I heard that heroine is good for that, or hookers.

And now I'm just writing more so I can pass the time. If anybody reads this tonight, drop a comment and I'll give you directions to my house and you can come over and put me to sleep. Especially if you're reading this and you're a horse. This is for two reasons: 1) You're a horse that can read and I'd like to meet you. 2) You probably have horse tranquilizers. 3) There isn't a third reason, that's why I said for two reasons.

To top it all off, I didn't make the cheer squad!

There's always next year.

No there isn't. This is it, my senior year. My mom spent like 500 dollars buying me all my cheer stuff and now I have to return it? Life isn't fair!

Interesting thought of the day:
Every time a girl farts, a man loses an erection.
Think about it, ladies.

Comments, email, etc.

Sunday, May 23, 2004

Inka Binka Bottle-a Ink!

In life, there are stinky people and these people all have different malodorous content that makes them displeasing to the olfactory sense. Man, I just dropped some serious nasal vocabulary on your ass, you better recognize, beeeeotch! Back to the original point --there are some people that smell like B.O. I'd venture to guess that this is the category wherein the majority of people that are referred to as "stinky" fall. A lot of times this can be remedied, but in two cases that I've encountered, the only solution is homicide --and lots of it. I've referred to it before, but there was this one kid in some store, he had to be like seven or something, who stunk well beyond his years. Unless he was a hard-working midget, there's no reason that somebody that tiny should pack that much of a stench. Truth be told, I have no idea how old the kid was. I am really bad at telling how old kids are; I have no concept of what children should look like at certain ages. That kid could have been seven or he could have been fourteen. Anyway, the second guy that stunk was in Best Buy and I had to leave the row he was in because he smelled so bad. But at least this guy looked like he should stink. He had on overalls and I think half of a full set of teeth and, I can't read minds too often, but I'm pretty sure he was thinking something dirty, too.

Those people are your standard stinkies. Then, there are people that stink for other reasons. There's the old lady that wears way too much perfume --apparently in an attempt to cover up the fact that she is decaying before your eyes. Then there's the guy that wears too much cologne. This guy, I'm pretty sure, thinks that there is a direct correlation between how much cologne he wears and how much vagina he will be getting by the end of the night. I actually experimented with this theory once and I passed out in the car on the way to the club. But, on the bright side, I did wake up with messy pants. So who knows?

Then there's the third kind of person that smells. This person is the mystery stink. This is the guy that makes you look around and say, "Is somebody boiling cabbage, or ass?" Then, when you turn the stove off where you're making your famous boiled cabbage and ass enchiladas, you realize that the smell still pervades. This type of person seems nice on the surface, but you know that the way that they stink can only be the result of something really sinister --like molestation. Not that those who get molested stink, but those who commit the crime do. I'll bet that people who molest people have an odor to them that is unlike most humankind. I promise you that you have smelled the stench of a molester before and you knew that something was wrong with them and you couldn't put your finger on it. Now you know. They touch little kids.

Granted, there are people who occasionally stink because they just worked out or they stepped in poop, but this article is here to salute those that make it a fashion statement. This article is a tribute to the perpetually stinky. To those of you reading this who stink, I salute you!

Email me or post your comments about the stink.

Thursday, May 20, 2004

Hawaii!

Okay, I was just sitting here, minding my own business, pulling cat hairs from my urethra, when I heard American Idol on my TV. Apparently they're replaying auditions or something and they're showing the auditions from Hawaii. Now, I've never been to Hawaii, I couldn't even point it out on a map of Hawaii, but there's one thing about Hawaiians that I hate. I hate how they pronounce their state. Instead of it being three free-flowing syllables that roll off the tongue like the sounds of a thousand --no, a million--breezes, they split it up and give each syllable its own stage time. It irritates me so bad that, when I hear anybody pronounce it like that, I throw my cat off my lap in disgust. Those weird Hawaiians have their own traditions and customs that they should leave on their land-boats and not force upon us mainlanders. I'll never understand throwing a pig in the sand to cook it. That would just make it really dirty and you'd probably get bottlecaps and cigarette butts all up in the pig skin that you'd have to pick out later on. Also, I heard that Hawaiians sacrifice their first born by throwing it off a cliff and onto a surfboard.

Interesting thought of the day:
Graham Crackers were invented by Heather Graham on the set of Boogie Nights.

Email me or post your comments, beeotches (you can post anonymously).

Monday, May 17, 2004

It's Current Events Time!

Nothing exciting is happening in my life right now, except for the fact that I went grocery shopping yesterday and bought some Orange Juice, so I'm going to write about whatever current events are on the front page of Google News right now.

Our first story is about gay people marrying other gay people in Massachusetts. I guess that the people that get married don't have to be gay, but then that would just be weird, so they should probably be gay just so they can avoid those awkward mornings after. I will never understand why people don't want the gays to be able to get married. It's funny because people against it always say, "Well, if you let a man (or woman) marry another man (or woman), what's next? a man marrying an dog?" I don't know where this leap comes from. As much as I would love to see this animal matrimony come to fruition, I don't think that that's the next logical step after allowing same-sex marriage. There is no step after this except for trans-whatever people wanting to marry people, but I think that that gets fixed by letting any person marry any other person. Anyway, my point is, let anybody marry whoever they want because I have fourteen flannel shirts for seven separate weddings that I am supposed to attend just sitting in my closet. Set my closet free! No, wait, I just thought of a better line. Let me empty out my closet, by filling those of the people who are no longer in theirs. It's a little wordy, but I like it.

On to news article number two (and I think the last one, this isn't exactly going gangbusters over here):

Gwyneth Paltrow had a baby!
...And she named it after the thing that killed Eve after it fell on her head and she discovered gravity and Adam shot it off her head with a bow and arrow in the Garden of Eden.

Give up? They named her Diaphragm!

Ok, I'm lying (by the way, if I ever accidentally have a child, I'm naming them Diaphragm.)

Apple Blythe Alison Martin is her name. She has FOUR names, three of which qualify as a first name and one that doesn't. The one that doesn't qualify is the one that they actually gave her as her first name. They think that they're fooling everybody by giving her so many first names that people won't notice that her real first name isn't actually a name, but a shampoo scent. Those tricky celebrities. The best part about this will be eighteen years from now when she decides that mommy was too busy making movies and daddy was too busy making songs that play during sad parts in movies that now she has to show her parents what this did to her by bumping uglies with a one-eyed Honduran teenage girl in the four hundredth Girls Gone Wild video.

Now, I could make a joke about having a son and naming him Banana, but that's too easy. It's a good thing I have the self-control to not say things like this.

I had some Captain Crunch about an hour ago and, surprisingly, the roof of my mouth is still in tact. Sometimes eating that stuff is like eating glass except without all the nutritious content.

Interesting thought of the day:
Babies are nature's way of punishing people for having sex.

Email me or post your comments here (I had to delete all of them so far because people tend to get out of hand).

Monday, May 10, 2004

The Gayest Sandwich On Earth!

Now, all of my loyal readers, instead of me having to sift through hundreds of emails at a time to decide who is worthy enough to quote in an entry, you all can post comments freely! Isn't that exciting? I can't believe all of the fan interaction that will go on here. It will be a varitable cornucopia of people who like to use the word "fag" in ways that I've never even heard before.

On to the real entry:

(This was inspired by a devoted reader requesting me to comment on this)

Have you ever had a Pannido from Jack in the Box? If you haven't, I'll break it down for you. It's this sandwich that's like nine inches long, but not very thick. Well, for a sandwich it's not very thick. It's more circular than it is rectangular. If I were a guessing man, I'd say that it's got a diameter of between two and three inches (that's two and a half inches). They're very delicious, but it's like somebody decided that eating a sandwich wasn't enough like giving a blowjob, and they had to change that. I've never felt more like a gay man (or a straight man in a desperate situation, right, Ryan?) in my life. But it's so tasty that I don't want to stop. That must be what goes through their head when they're doing it, too. Even when you bite down too hard the creamy condiment filling squirts out uncontrollably. Like I said, though, they're so delicious that I can't stop eating them. If somebody told me that they'd give me a free Pannido, but only if I ate it in front of a room full of masturbating men, I'd have to take the Pannido. Heck, I'd even throw in a little bit of "minding the stepchildren" just to entertain my audience.

Interesting thought of the day:
Sigalert is Spanish for car accident.

Okay, now it's your turn to post. If you don't want to comment, you can always email me instead.

Tuesday, May 04, 2004

Amputees Redux!

I received well over 100 emails about my last weblog. The majority of them were supportive, but there were some detractors. The supportive emails went mostly like this:

Dear Kurt,

I know exactly what you mean about amputees. I've been a professional street fighter for over five years and I've been in the ring with approximately three different amputees. There's something about them, maybe it's their lack of complete body-ness, or the smug way that they think they can "do whatever everybody else can do" that makes me want to hurt them more, but there's something there. Next time I get out there and have to fight an "unfinished" as I like to call them, I'll make sure I punch them in their stump an extra time just for you.

Keep up the good work. You're hilarious. (<--he really wrote this, I wouldn't make it up)

So-and-so

That's how about 90 or so of the emails went, but apparently I have a huge amputee following. It's not that I really have ever punched an amputee, I just would, that's all. But here's one of the emails that I got:

From: threefourthswhole@yahoo.com
To: dirtiestbastard@hotmail.com

Kurt,

I can't believe you would write something like that. Are you serious? Why would you punch people just because they're missing body parts? That doesn't make sense. Besides, I'll bet you if you saw me on the streets you wouldn't pick a fight with me. I'm 6'4", 270 pounds of pure man. Sure, I'm missing my right arm, I have since I was born, but I would kick your ass with my hand tied behind my back. I don't know what I'd tie it to, maybe my belt loop if I wasn't wearing the bicycle shorts that I always wear, but I'd figure something out. I know, I'd use an intricate system of bungee cords and pullees that would ensure my hand would stay back there. Anyway, I'd win and you'd sit there crying like the little bitch that you are, hiding behind your keyboard and handsome face. Yeah, I said you're handsome. There are some universal truths in this world and that's one of them. I can hate you for being a full-bodyist (that's what us appendage-challenged call those who have prejudices against us), but I can also love you for looking like an angel.

Half yours,

This guy.

Well, there you have it. Maybe you agree with me or you don't disagree with me, but we can all agree that while you may hate the inside, you've got to love the outside --I'm like a doughnut filled with a mystery fluid. I'll give you a minute on that double negative I used back there at the beginning of that run-on sentence.

Email me to let me know about other things that don't relate to amputees. I can't deal with all of that email. How about you email me and tell me about your day or a scary story or the situations in which you would drink your own pee.