My Diseased Mind

Trapped

The lady in front of me at the Wal-Mart checkout line is middle-aged, morbidly obese, and riding a Mart Cart. She’s also leading a second cart, pack mule-style, with 10 packages of Assurance Underpads. I really don’t want to know what she’s soaking up with them. All I know for sure is that I will never use a Mart Cart. I stare at them, practicing my poker face. A look of serene nonchalance washes over my face. It’s a look that says, “No ma’am, I’m not the least bit horrified by what’s in your cart, nor have I been attempting to determine whether or not I can smell urine right now.” I send The Boy to the electronics section to get the Super Bowl score. He returns with the correct score, but with the teams reversed.

The man in front of the obese woman is buying a 12-pack of Keystone. He also asks for some Skoal, and the cashier is apparently baffled as to where his particular flavor is located in the tobacco area. I want to disembowel him with a broken Keystone bottle, only instead of breaking it on a table, I want to crack it over his skull. I’ve never understood why that wasn’t done in TV & movies. Both are classic moves, but they’re never utilized together. If I make a movie, they will be, and a new level of awesome will be created.

Meanwhile, the man waiting for the Skoal has noticed the Assurance Underpads. He looks decidedly nonplussed. I know that I would obliterate him at poker, and this briefly makes me feel better.

The cashier is slow. She stops between passes on the scanner to chat with the customers. It doesn’t help that she apparently knows the morbidly obese lady. I resolve that I will not chat with her, that I will stare coldly into space, thus giving the customers behind me a break.

When I finally reach the counter, the cashier decides that the woman behind me, who isn’t carrying much, should go ahead of me. I agree, because she has been through just as much hell as I, and after all, she is only carrying 2 things. She asks for cigarettes, sending the cashier off on another odyssey in the tobacco section. My poker face cracks for a moment, but then I’m back to serene nonchalance. When my turn arrives, I chat with the cashier, answering her questions about my purchases. I’m such a pussy.

Posted in FFS | 1 Comment »

100% pure evil!!!

Poor old Johnny Ray
Sounded sad upon the radio
But he moved a million hearts in mono
Our mothers cried
Sang along
Who’d blame them
You’ve grown, so grown
Now I must say more than ever
(Come On Eileen)
Too-ra-loo-ra, too-ra-loo-rye, aye
And we can sing just like our fathers

Come on Eileen
Oh, I swear what he means (what he means)
At this moment you mean everything
You in that dress
My thoughts I confess
Verge on dirty
Oh, come on Eileen

(Come On Eileen)

These people round here
Wear beaten down eyes sunk
In smoke dried faces
They’re so resigned to what their fate is
But not us (no not ever)
But not us (not ever)
We are far too young and clever
(Remember)
Too-ra-loo-ra, too-ra-loo-rye, aye
And you’ll hum this tune forever

Come on Eileen
Oh, I swear what he means
Aah, come on let’s
Take off everything
That pretty red dress
Eileen (tell him yes)
Aah, come on let’s
Aah, come on Eileen

That pretty red dress
Eileen (tell him yes)
Aah, come on let’s
Aah, come on Eileen

Come on Eileen, too-rye-aye
Come on Eileen, too-rye-aye
Now you’re full grown
Now you have shown
Oh, Eileen

Say, come on Eileen
These things they are real and I know
How you feel
Now I must say more than ever
Things round here have changed
I say, too-ra-loo-ra, too-ra-loo-rye-aye

Come on Eileen
Oh, I swear (what he means)
At this moment, you mean everything
You in that dress, my thoughts I confess
Which are dirty
Aah, come on Eileen

Aah, come on Eileen
Oh, I swear (what he means)
At this moment, you mean everything
You in that dress, my thoughts I confess
Well, they’re dirty
Come on Eileen

Come on Eileen..

Let’s see if you can get that one out of your head now.  MUWAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!!!!!!!!

Posted in FFS, Fridays with Joboo | No Comments »

What’s That Lassie? Joboo’s in Trouble?

A lot of people ask me about my process. Ok, that’s a dirty lie; nobody asks me about my process. Hell, I don’t even know a lot of people. But humor me, ok? Otherwise I’ll just make these paragraphs longer.

Anyway, about my process. I generally try to post at least every other day, but sometimes I fall down to weekly. Having something like a weekly haiku post is handy, because they’re relatively easy to write, and it boosts my already tenuous self esteem to have a recent post.

I get my ideas from a lot of sources. Sometimes I’ll have an idea for something that stews in my head for days or weeks, and other times it takes me less than half an hour from idea to posting. The ideas can come from news stories I find, Youtube, my personal experiences, or sometimes just random stuff that I make up.

Other posts come about through sheer serendipity. Today is a great example of timing, luck, and general idiocy combining to write a blog entry for me.

Joboo says:
Holy cow. You know that feeling that you get taking a dump after eating something spicy.

Joboo says:
You know, the ring of fire.

Joboo says:
Now imagine getting that when you haven’t eaten anything spicy at all. I’m a little concerned.

M says:
Hmm…

M says:
Is this a metaphor, or is your ass really burning?

Joboo says:
The ‘O’ in my Ohio St tatoo feels like it’s made of napalm.

M says:
So when did this start?

Joboo says:
Freakin’ condescend me.

Joboo says:
Um, today.

M says:
No, this is serious concern on my part. Ignore the monotone.

Joboo says:
Today when I made my first sacrifice to the porcelin god.

M says:
And no spicy food? Sometimes I forget.

Joboo says:
Nope. I’m sure of it.

M says:
Are you sleepeating again?

Joboo says:
Now you’re just trying to embellish.

M says:
I’ll put that down as a maybe.

M says:
You don’t gotta get all defensive about it. It’s not like you’re sleepvomiting or sleepshitting.

M says:
Wait. Are you?

Joboo says:
No & no.

M says:
Good. That’d have been awkward.

Joboo says:
Especially for my wife.

M says:
Sounds like your O-ring is injured.

Joboo says:
Great. “Hey honey, can you look at something for me?”

M says:
You’ve been married a while. Might be ok.

M says:
Or you could squat over a mirror.

Joboo says:
She might have caught a glance at one time or another.

M says:
If you’re caught, just tell them you’re exercising.

Joboo says:
Exercising what would be the question.

Joboo says:
Or rather, for what reason.

M says:
Exercising your lack of shame?

Joboo says:
Please. I think the fact that we’re having this conversation shows that is in good shape.

M says:
Can we start over and call it a metaphor? In the Choose Your Own Adventure version of this conversation, that’s really where we fucked up.

Joboo says:
If you want to call it a metaphor, fine. Call it a metaphor.

M says:
It’s a metaphor for rectal burning.

Joboo says:
I’ma gonna go get some ice for my metaphor.

M says:
Go right ahead. I’m firing up the soldering iron for my eyes.

Joboo says:
Wuss.

Joboo says:
Lunchtime. Ice cream sounds good.

M says:
But not to eat.

Joboo says:
Right.

Thanks man. You’re a lifesaver.

Posted in FFS, Joboo | 4 Comments »

It’s Like Prom Night All Over Again

I think it’s safe to call this a bad fucking day:

CARACAS (Reuters) - A Venezuelan man who had been declared dead woke up in the morgue in excruciating pain after medical examiners began their autopsy.

Carlos Camejo, 33, was declared dead after a highway accident and taken to the morgue, where examiners began an autopsy only to realize something was amiss when he started bleeding. They quickly sought to stitch up the incision on his face.

I for one will be requesting an anesthetic for my autopsy.

Posted in FFS, News | No Comments »

There’s Clearly Something Wrong With Me

On occasion, I embarrass myself. On very rare occasions, I’m embarrassed even though nobody is looking. Case in point: last night.

I was taking a shower, and realized that I had left the towel on my bed. For some reason, I decided that waiting until the impending conclusion of the shower was too late, and that I needed the towel waiting for me in the bathroom. Taking five steps mid-shower was clearly the most attractive option. Taking those very same five steps post-shower would just not do.

So there I was, walking those completely innocuous five steps, completely naked and soaking wet, on a slippery floor. Three steps into my journey, I fell. Hard. I did a toe plant into the baseboard and knee plant on the floor. My momentum actually slid me a few inches. Fortunately, those few inches were actually in the direction I was headed. Otherwise, I’d have been really pissed.

But this isn’t the bad part. People fall, and that’s OK. What I’m having trouble living down is what I said afterward. Now most people, when faced with this particular set of circumstances, will say something like, “fuck,” or “shit.” That’s pretty normal. What I said was, “No! I don’t like this!” What the hell is that? Who says something like that? I mean, isn’t it kind of obvious?

I swear, I think I’m this close to introducing “drat” into my vocabulary.

Posted in Assclownery, FFS | 1 Comment »

My Asshole Kid

Today, as we left the grocery store:

The Boy: Over the years, I’ve learned a lot about women. Show them the pretty face, and they love you. I’m doing better than you, Dad.

Me: Over quite a few more years, I’ve learned quite a bit more about women. The pretty face will only get you so far. Then comes the crazy.

Note that there was a slight pause between what he said and what I said, as he recovered from a throat punch.

Posted in Book of the Dad, FFS | No Comments »

America the Beautiful

Can it get much better than this? A state trooper throws away some pain pills and looks the other way in exchange for a blow job from a porn star. Ok, so far it seems reasonable enough. But wait, the trooper gets in trouble! WTF? He’s out there every day, risking life and limb to make our lives safer, and we’re going to begrudge him a little roadside hummer? Oh wait, he got in trouble for using his department-issued laptop to view her website, not the blow job. Nevermind then; he should rot in hell.

By the way, here is her blog. She sounds like a delightful girl; one you would take home to mom, only if mom had a huge life insurance policy.

UPDATE: Let’s have a moment of silence for Barbie’s blog.

Posted in FFS, News | No Comments »

Maxim’s Hot 100 List

Mark this day as the official death of journalistic integrity. I’m not usually one to comment on garbage like this, but I can’t sit idly by. Seriously, what the hell? I’m really trying here, but I can’t wrap my mind around a scenario in which Lindsay Lohan is hotter than everyone else in the top 10. She was never anything to write home about, and her rack has been AWOL since ‘05. Meanwhile, Jessica Alba’s skeleton beat out Jessica Biel Christina Aguilera, and Scarlett Johansson for second place. Biel’s ass could take on Alba singlehandedly. Speaking of singlehandedly, that’s how I’d be typing right now if that scenario came true.

Could we please get Congress to hold some hearings or something? There must be some unusual betting patterns in Vegas we could investigate. Are any of Maxim’s editors missing any of their fingers, or maybe family members?

If it wasn’t rigged, then we have to chalk it up to incompetence, a possibility far too frightening to consider. If we can’t rely on Maxim Magazine to give us a realistic hot list, what hope do we have of expecting anyone else in the world to do their job well? What about those with hard jobs? We’re clearly decades away from being able to realistically handle airport security, brain surgery, or garbage collection. Chalk up a victory for the terrorists.

On a related note, I finally understand all this ruckus over Katherine Heigl.

Posted in FFS | No Comments »

Oh Hell

This is bad.

People who have had more than five oral-sex partners in their lifetime are 250% more likely to have throat cancer than those who do not have oral sex, a new study suggests.

Just freakin’ great. Now I’ve got THAT to contend with.

Posted in FFS, News | No Comments »