Friday, December 25, 2015

Wibbley Wobbely Woo

uh, what the
fuck                                 ?

This keeps on getting bet

Bawhumbug... (Merry Fuckin Christmas)

So... Haven't been here in awhile... Uh huh. Yessir.

Just some weird shit that randomly careens thru my mind:

1) The word homage. If pronounced the way it's spelled, would sound like "Hommij" or "Home-ij", but has always been pronounced with a silent h and short o, like "ommij", well, that is until the phony, pretentious yuppy fucks got ahold of it, and tried to Frenchitize it, like "Oh-Mahzh" which makes the speaker sound like a pompous douchebag, in my opinion, kind of like when they say "Awn-velope" for envelope.

2) The word sugar. Why do we pronounce it "Shooger" and not "Soo-Gar"? Why does Suge Knight spell his namd Suge, which should rhyme with spooge, instead of just spelling it Shoog? Must be a G thing, I guess.

{I was thinking about that while taking a shit this morning.}

3) Andy Kaufmann didn't have a cow in his name, it rhymes with Hoffmann.

4) Yeah, I've probably written about this before, but I can't remember because I suffer from CRS (Can't Remember Shit), and I enjoy smoking pot. They say it fucks with one's short-term, uh, what is that fuckin word again?

So, on account of it being December 25th and all, I decided to make this post half red and half green. Woo fuckin hoo.

I'm going to smoke a li'l nuggy now.

Mmmm... Better! Now where was I at again? Jacob Marley. Aw Bob Saget. (There. There's an homage to Ebenezer Scrooge and Danny the Tourette's Guy.) [Fuck you and every mall santa that looks like you!] {& somewhere in the back of your mind right now is Bob Marley.}

Ah!   There He  Is!!

I'm a man of very little capital this December 25th, thanx in part to the weather, bills, and the InFernal Revenue Service. (Yep, them fucks.) And, as a direct result of being a man of very little capital, I'm also a man of very little bud remaining. :(


Since dragging my fifty-year-old ass up out of bed this morning, approximately two hours ago, I have searched and read about the evolution of the Jeep, studied the local weather forecast [fap-fap], listened to CW McCall relaying a musical anecdote about crossing the great divide in a semi, and perused some interesting pictures and video footage of women with bizarre ink inserting bizarre (sometimes living) objects into bodily orifices... Then I was bored enough to write.

   So.    I'm not a very Christmasy sort of dude. I used to go thru the motions of my upbringing, get a tree, string lights on it, hang shit on it, etc. And no matter how much you water it, it drops needles everywhere, cats climb it, dogs piss on it, and inevitably some drunk motherfucker falls into it and down it goes, along with Grandma's antique family heirloom blowed-glass Christmas balls. Thpbt.
Fake trees don't fare much better. Besides, fake trees suck.

So I have this bag of old lights that I intercepted on its way from a job to the dump. I saved the ones that still work. I was thinking about haphazardly throwing them on the bushes in front of the house, just for the fuck of it, but it's raining outside. Someone dreamed of a wet Christmas.
December 25th, 2015 - It's 70 degrees and thunderstorming. The neighbors were blowing up fireworks last night. Not the drunks across the street either, someone one street over. Maybe I'll build a fire in the yard and throw the rest of the leftover fireworks we have laying around into it. But it's fuckin raining. Coffee beckons. Merry fuckin Christmas.