November 24 – BLACK FRIDAY
November 25 – SMALL BUSINESS SATURDAY
November 26 – I HAVE STUFF HOW COME I’M NOT HAPPIER? SUNDAY
November 27 – CYBER MONDAY
November 28 – GIVING TUESDAY
November 29 -THE COSSACKS ARE COMING! WEDNESDAY
November 30 – WHITE-KNUCKLING THE CREDIT CARDS OVER THE MOUTH OF THE SHREDDER THURSDAY
December 1 – EVERYBODY’S GETTING A “BLESS US, EVERY ONE” MEME THIS YEAR VIA TEXT AND THAT’S FRICKING IT FRIDAY
Fall is coming! It’s time to get serious!
Silly? Us? Sneering cuss?
Ser-i-ous. Come on now, adopt a more solemn tone.
Co-opt a boar’s slalom pose?
No. Act your age not your shoe size.
Snack for daze, snot or glue pies?
I’m not doing this.
Mimes plot drooling diss.
Just once! Just once ping Normal!
……..
Thank you.
Pus Funds Spring Formal.
Oh my god. Please, I’m begging you.
Sleeves my leggings rue.
That’s it! I’m done! I’m leaving!
Heaving?
LEAVE-ING.
Well.
Now that he’s finally gone, my treatise on Derrida’s theory of deconstruction………
Hello, everyone! Let me start by saying I hope that you’re all healthy and safe whether you’re sheltering-in-place or, in the case of Sweden, wondering what all the fuss is about stepping over the bodies of senior citizens to get to that next krog on your krogrunda.
Regardless, if you’re reading this I imagine you’ve exhausted pretty much every other option for entertainment and/or distraction available to you. I say, pretty much, because we all have that 5000-piece Illustrated History Of The Flat Tax jigsaw puzzle in the back of the closet.
Thank you for making this your penultimate stop on a “Only in the event of a freaking global pandemic” tour.
I don’t mean to be overly, if accurately, self-deprecating, it’s just these past 6 weeks have led me to become a little more introspective. I decided that if Shakespeare can write King Lear IV: Spawn of Goneril during a plague, I can sit down in isolation and…………..at least get to know myself better.
Set below is a transcript of what happened next, edited for time and everyone’s steadily loosening grip on their sanity.
Me: Thanks for sitting down with yourself and answering some questions.
Me: I just want to say that I don’t appreciate the subterfuge. I was under the impression we were here to record another “Mama’s Family Episodes” podcast.
Me: Sometimes we need to trick ourselves into doing the hard work. Is now not a good time? Do you not want to self-examine?
Me: Whatever, it’s fine. I don’t have to be on the couch for another 40 minutes.
Me: Great! We’ll start with the softballs. When’s the last time you wore pants that didn’t have an elastic waistband?
Me: You’re trying to trick me again, aren’t you?
Me: I’m asking the questions here.
Me: Pants only come with elastic waistbands, man.
Me: Okay, moving on. If you could be a tree, what tree would you be that’s cut down and pulped to help meet the nation’s merciless lust for toilet paper?
Me: I’d be that anthropomorphic one who records a bunch of PSAs telling everybody to chill the eff out. You know, that one with the fangs.
Me: Related question: Who’s your ideal hoarder?
Me: I’m gonna say “Paranoid-lite.” Terrified of the bidet industrial complex, but good humored enough to eat a cake shaped like a roll of Charmin and not lose more than 3-4 hours of sleep at night.
Me: Wonderful. Good warm-up. Let’s try a tougher one.
Me: Or, we could just record that podcast. Man, remember that crossover episode with “Small Wonder”? When Mama turned Vicki into a moonshine still?
Me: Remember what happened in 7th grade? With the yogurt and the sweat and the locker caddy?
Me: Um, I don’t recall those things ever commingling in junior high.
Me: C’mon, if there’s any hope of understanding yourself, that’s the place to start. Let’s break it down. You never liked that locker caddy, did you?
Me: Look, I wash my hands, I wear my mask. I’m a decent person. I deserve a pass on this one.
Me: When’re you ever gonna have this kind of time to pin yourself down? Why were you so sweaty?
END OF TRANSCRIPT
Monday: If at first you try and don’t succeed, your mother has kept your childhood bedroom exactly the way it was all these years, you know, with your old lip cream dispenser and everything, so you have that at least.
Tuesday: A bird in the hand is worth twenty-two in twenty-two hands after you’re stuck in the cloning machine overnight.
Wednesday: When life gives you lemons, drink the lemonade like the other cult members and then make “Dr. Mike” your Power of Attorney.
Thursday: If you don’t stand for something, you’ll never get off this ski lift.
Friday: There is no “I” in liar.
Saturday: Don’t count your chickens before Charlie counts his. Seriously, let him count his chickens and ring his bell, and when he goes down to the river to wash his bags, you can count yours.
Sunday: Hindsight is 20-times more likely to RSVP early for your Game of Thrones watch party and then text you every day asking when it is.
Bonus Aphorism: Dance like no one can believe your partner is holding up so well after being knocked unconscious five songs ago.
Those of you who read my blog regularly already know that I hit on all three of my predictions for 2018.
Those of you who heretofore have been getting your news from trashy, unreliable sources, here’s a quick and trustworthy recap:
What’s in store for the rest of 2019? Well, shoot, since I went 3-for-3 last year I’ve decided not to tempt fate and will instead buy a lottery ticket and win $500 million and retire with the wife to a state of mind where no “Ivy League” doctor is going to refuse to replace my legs with pogo sticks.
It’s going to be an incredible year, everyone, welcome aboard!
[AUTHOR’S NOTE: WordPress has done away with the “Add an Image” button in this current version, 5.0.3. Looks like it’s just going to be text and imagination going forward. For this post, please picture a human knuckle, Dublin, Ohio, and a cassette tape of Taylor Dane’s Tell It To My Heart slathered in mayonnaise.]
It will go unmentioned in this forum.
It’s definitely not coming up in this second line.
Third line…………………………………nope.
See also: going out of my way to give it a wide berth.
This sentence isn’t revealing anything that may be resonating with me right now.
Nothing topical’s happening in this one, either.
Not even here in the fragments.
[THIS SPACE LEFT INTENTIONALLY AMBIGUOUS]
A conclusion specifically designed not to sate your curiosity.
By Wellcome Images
Hey everyone,
This is not an excuse for my behavior, but I was seriously not myself from Oct. 25-29.
I was possessed, actually.
Woke up that Wednesday morning and–surprise!–a demonic entity named Gargebehemnon, spawn of Havrigvalvula, from sub-level IV, anguish chamber Ѡ, of the Mefusthalar Plane, decided to make my soul its new temporary home.
So, yeah, for 4 days, I was kind of not a nice person. Here it is, guys, my mea culpa:
Janice, okay, maybe I was bleeding out of my eyes and all 49 flesh screeds of Beelzebub Minor were literally burning themselves into my skin, but I did not have to say that about your spinach dip. I’m sorry and I take it back and I’d love the recipe.
Yes, Doug, although I was a servant of the Beast and the cosmetics I bought from the mall did a crap job of masking my wings and cloven feet, there was no reason not to text you that I was bailing on our fantasy football meeting. I apologize to you and the team. May the Who Moved My Cheeseheads fare way better this weekend.
You had a hard day, Bill, what with your Keurig machine on the blink again, and what was I doing when you needed a friend? Vomiting out all those spiders and centipedes using my mouth as an exit point from hellhole Ӝin the Mefusthalar Plane. I know, buddy, not cool, but I hope we can grab a beer and clear the air when I finally get the taste of insect off my tongue.
Father Donovan. Wow, my head severing itself from its spine and spinning 360 degrees does not make okay what I said about your family, whom I’ve never even met. I mean I would never tell anyone to do that to themselves, even after meeting them. You had a full pallet of expired communion wafers to deal with and the Church bureaucracy to uphold, and there I was, not even a Catholic, spinning into your office, no appointment, with yellow eyes and a forked tongue to boot. Very rude. (Appreciate the referral, though, the Back Alley Exorcists were a huge help.)
P.S. Let me know If I’ve forgotten anyone.
Hey, hi, how’s it going? No, no, it’s okay, you don’t have to leave. I get it, you don’t recognize me, right?
I’m a filler blog post. I’m temporary, just keeping the page warm until the real deal arrives. I don’t know when that’s going to be, they don’t tell me that. They just say, we need you at such and such website at such and such time. Internet doesn’t like gaps, and sometimes the actual blog post you want to read still hasn’t been “discharged from that bougie rehab center in the desert,” if you know what I mean.
By the way, as far as I know, that’s just a euphemistic hypothetical for this particular circumstance. Or is it a hypothetical euphemism?
Anyway, you’re welcome to hang out, I’m just going to be here drinking my yogurt, eating some trail mix. As long as you don’t expect a “25 Celebrities Who Surgically Altered Their Pets to Resemble How Their Late Uncles Looked In Their Moment of Greatest Distress,” or anything like that. Or anything at all, as a matter of fact. Hey, but for all I know, that pet plastic surgery thing may be what I’m filling in for.
As for me, I’m just me, the stand-in, and I go where they tell me to go, whether it’s a fake news site or a “fake” news site. I did a stint on the dark web the other day. That was kind of wild. People coming on to check the hidden webcam inside the government’s secret baby-werewolf army base and finding me instead did not make for a happy comments section.
But, overall, there are worse ways to make a living. At least I like the people I work with. Most of the other blog stand-ins are pretty cool. I’d really hate to be starting out as a podcast filler. Those guys are complete jerk-offs. So full of themselves when, really, they’re just a freaking ad for Mailchimp running on a continuous loop or selections from the Lame-Ass Interstitial Music Archive. So, yeah, personally, not a fan of those douchebags.
Sorry, what I mean is, this is working for me right now. It’s not that I lack ambition. Sure, someday it’ll be great to be “something” and loaded up with memes and be retweeted a gazillion times. But then what? Inevitable total obscurity as that one thing. This way, I’m still me, I still know who I am, and even if that’s not so memorable, I’m sticking around for a long time.
You? Oh, so, you are going to hang? Cool. Yeah, sure, have some trail mix–oh, except, for the chocolate raisins. Yeah, seriously. Dude, I’m serious, do not freaking touch my chocolate raisins.