| Purify my love, baby. |
[Mar. 29th, 2009|08:02 pm] |
It's been a doozy of a last couple of weeks, folks. Oh yeah. You know what I'm talking about.
Let me tell you, there's nothing quite like waking up to the sounds of an angry mob burning effigies on your front lawn.
Those landscapers, man. You put one stop payment on a check because they didn't trim your bushes just right, and everything just goes straight to hell in a handbasket. You know the type, the ones lined with those doilies your grandma used to crochet?
...and then there're these Purifier guys.
Between you and me, I think those folks could use a rebranding. It's no good for your cause when people keep coming up to you to ask if you know where to get a replacement water filter. (Hey, don't knock it - it worked for Blackwater.) Note to self: They don't sell water filters, and they get kind of shirty when asked.
But seriously, folks, these Purifiers were going all-out. Mass pamphleting campaign, insane media blitz, torture of the genetically different masses... it was kind of like the last general election all over again, only with less potentially awkward and unjustifiable wardrobe expenditures. In fact, it was so overwhelming, even our President couldn't stand it, and threw only the second known recorded Messianic hissy fit on national TV. (Don't worry, Jesus. They still haven't come up with a better logo than yours. Two thousand years and you're still rockin' that crucifix, baby. Don't ever change. Love ya.)
In the ultimate example of Why Extremism is For Chumps and Crazy Old Bearded Men Living In Caves, it seems their plan to make everyone Just Like Them backfired, and now everyone on the face of the planet has the uncanny ability to make Michael Jackson look like a regular, normal example of manhood. Wow. I totally couldn't see that coming, y'all.
As further evidence of this particularly awesome turn of events, it turns out that I really can kill people with my mind.
On the downside, this means I'm going to have to find a new camera crew before Monday evening.
...
And replace the carpet in my dressing room. Things got kind of messy when I told my hairdresser to quit parting my locks to the left. |
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[Mar. 27th, 2009|11:12 am] |
I'm attempting to finally write the children's novel that so many of you suggested I should make, but with all the screaming of the women outside my home, in addition to the phone calls and stalkers, I'm unable to do so.
I simply cannot understand the strange fascination that the entire female populace seems to have with me all of a sudden. |
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| The world is WRONG. |
[Jan. 28th, 2009|11:49 pm] |
This last week has been hell on earth, folks.
Do you have any idea what it's like to age in reverse? It's embarrassing, is what it is. It's degrading. It's having your pubic hair grow inward.
I'm never waxing again. I like my hair where it is, thankyouverymuch.
And someone needs to tell me what the goddamn grizzly-bear hibernating fuck is going on with this chick who says she used to be my blue-sidebarred friend The Word. This is impossible. For one thing? Just between you and me? She looks too damned butch.
(But she's got a really nice ass, even if she's clearly delusional. So I'm keeping her. As long as she doesn't suddenly decide I need to pay her. I don't pay delusional people. I leave that kind of thing to the government.)
No, folks, this week has meant being surrounded by more shit than a national Colostomy Bags Anonymous convention. I should've called in those crazy hippies with their newfangled green technology - there was enough methane being generated in this studio to power the national grid.
And then there was some kind of shindig happening in Washington last week. I don't know. Some black dude became President? Thinks he's some kind of Messiah, or something. I wasn't paying attention: I was too busy rediscovering Neopets and contemplating the relative size of Angelina Jolie's frontal assets.
(But everyone already knows Jesus was whiter than Marilyn Manson. So screw you, 'Jesus'. Come back when you've gotten a non-tan.)
Excuse me, guys. I need to go see if that one hippy dude's advice about playing music to plants works on body hair. |
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| Yulehannukwanzmas |
[Dec. 27th, 2008|02:04 am] |
Christmas is supposed to be this huge glad tiding of joy and giving. If you're into that kind of Liberal thing.
But when I was growing up, it scared the living shit out of me. Think about it, folks-- you spend all your time as a parent instilling in your kids some really simple edicts: That you should never talk to strangers, that you shouldn't screw around on the roof, burglars are bad, and that kissing Uncle Ted is a familial obligation, even if that beard is really damned scratchy, full of the remainders of that meal you all just had, and he smells like the Anheuser-Busch brewery.
But then you go and turn all that on its head for this time of year, and you tell your kids, "Hey, this fat old guy dressed in bright red clothing that you only met once at the mall is going to break into your home while you're asleep, and you're going to like it." And so you leave him a bunch of cookies and some milk in the hopes that this bribe will distract the felonious fatass from taking an unnatural interest in your Playstation or your TV, because have you ever tried to get a restraining order against a guy who only stalks you once a year?
(Also, come on. Spending all that time with reindeer can't be healthy.)
So every Christmas Eve since I turned old enough to own a gun, I sit awake all night, watching NORAD track that criminal as he makes out like a Jenny Craig's nightmare bandit across the world, and wait for him to show up at my door so I can make like Dick Cheney on a hunting expedition.
I'm still waiting for you, Saint Nick. One day. One day. |
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[Dec. 22nd, 2008|10:15 pm] |
Well that was weird. We have a power surge in the studio?
Steve? Camera guy Bob? ... Audience?
Anybody? |
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