I CAN SEE YOU

Ghosts creep me the fuck out, but it’s not for reasons you’d think.  I would say that I am not, particularly, scared of ghosts, although I can’t say for sure.  If I woke up to one rattling chains, moaning, and drooling ectoplasm above my bed I’d more than likely run away screaming like a little bitch, leaving my wife and child to be possessed or whatever it is that ghosts do.  I’d come back with a priest and some flowers later and fix the situation.  My biggest problem with them is their creepiness.  I imagine that all my dead relatives are around me at all times as ghosts just meandering around seeing what it is I do all day.  It’s like trying to read a book with someone resting their chin on your shoulder and breathing heavy.  It’s fuckin’ creepy.  I imagine that some little cousin of mine, that died in a car accident, somewhere, is standing there in the bathroom watching me make crinkle faces trying to shit out last night’s Jalapeno meat loaf surprise; or my Aunt Suzie, who was a preschool teacher, discovering that I like to trim my ass hair in the sink mirror (See post: Amazonian Ass Hair on Arbor Day, 27jul2011); or that my dead great- grandmother is watching me when I jack off in the closet while asphyxiating myself with a shoe lace.  I sit there masturbating and crying “I’m sorry grandma-ma, I’m sorry!”, and she is just looking at me in shame, shaking her head.  It’s really unnerving cause on one hand….I’m gonna jack it, ghost or no ghost, it’s gonna happen….but on the other hand…. If my religious belief structure is right, I’m gonna see all these people who have been watching me my whole life from the other side, after I die.  Can you imagine going to the afterlife and your dead uncle Marty saying:

“Boy, what in the hell were you thinking shoving that fluorescent light bulb up your ass, in 2007, while you jacked off?  You didn’t think that shit was gonna break!?” “Maybe if you weren’t so stupid you wouldn’t have had anal leakage for the next 37 years after that.” 

 I’ll have to deal with that shit for eternity!  Would that be considered hell, then? 

SOUL SMASHING JUGGERNAUT

I’m sure I’m not alone in this, but I absolutely love screaming at, cursing out, and hyper-analyzing every decision and comment made on the show House Hunters, particularly the International version.  I find myself commending the good decisions of those that are savvy, who use common sense and a little imagination to see the property for what it is and could be.  I also, on the other side of the coin, notice that when ANYONE bitches about the paint color on the walls, that it drives me into a caveman rage!  I am smashing lamps, throwing milkshakes at the television, putting infants in submission head locks; I go NUTS!  “You can just paint the walls you dumb fucking bitch! Shut the fuck up!”  or  “No, dumbfuck! The curtains with the pink flowers that aren’t to your specific taste are NOT a permanent fixture on the house, shut the fuck up!”  ….that shit drives me fucking crazy.   

I also, thoroughly enjoy making fun of the people on the show.  I will critique any flaw on them as if I had none myself, as if I were the flesh and blood likeness of the statue David…oh wait, I am….but you get what I’m sayin’.  If she has a mole on her face, if he has an effeminate voice and she a butch one to contrast it, if their children look like little fat shits that need to go on a diet, any flaw is free game.  In public, I’m usually a very considerate person.  In my home, however, I am a juggernaut of self esteem smashing destruction.  If I was being secretly taped so that the buyers on House Hunters could review it for tips on buying strategies later, they’d fucking hang themselves or stab pencils in their ears to silence the barrage of hate being spewed forth.  They’d purposefully set their children on fire rather than expose them to the years of counseling and debilitating anxiety that would surely follow such a soul smashing tirade laid upon their parents and family name.   

Lastly, the morons that go to some bum fuck place like Gabala, Azerbaijan for some shitty little job that’s going nowhere and doesn’t pay shit.  Then they are crushed when they find out that it’s customary in all Azerbaijanian homes to squat over and shit into a hole in the floor rather than a toilet, don’t have laundry machines, and the “master bedroom” doesn’t have a Jacuzzi.  They for some reason assume that the 70K they have to buy a house will get them a mansion with a maid that will give you a rub down with a happy ending daily.  Are you fucking retarded, seriously….. oh, yeah… you probably are…..You know why?....cause you’re moving to FUCKING   AZER-FUCKING-BAIJAN!!

At least it’s a good show though… 

SHOTGUN FARTS

SHIT! I’ll tell you what; I bought a whole shitload of fresh roasted garlic with olive oil on it, like 3 fist full's worth, at the supermarket yesterday.  I ate them ALL.  They were so fuckin’ good.  This morning and pretty much all day today I have had a school that requires a fair amount of concentration and finite hand coordination (you have a dirty ass mind, shut up).  The gas produced by the quarter pound of roasted garlic built up in my system so quick and smelled so bad that I had to rush to the bathroom every half hour.  I couldn’t concentrate the pressure pains were too much.  Each time I ran to the toilet and hurriedly sat down, my ass cheeks were splayed open by the curvature of the seat cover’s design, and my sphincter didn’t even have a chance to flutter..BAM!! Like a shotgun!! (not even close to an exaggeration) the 75psi worth of gas in my bowels ejaculated out of my ass! (and yes that is an appropriate way to use that word, see you learned something today.. it’s not just for nut bustin’)  How did I know it was the roasted garlic and olive oil that caused this half hourly turmoil?  I could clearly see, just as you would corn, the WHOLE garlic cloves just as they went into my mouth but coming out the other end with such velocity as to chip the enamel of the porcelain toilet.  Hell, I probably could have pulled them out of the toilet and ate them again they looked so similar to how they were just yesterday going into my mouth.  I was actually concerned that someone might think I was making a snuff film in one of the stalls because it didn’t sound like I was farting/sharting  AT ALL.  The fart was quick and explosive and the sound (yes the sound) of the garlic cloves ricocheting off of the toilet bowl walls was so similar to a Mossberg 500 that if anyone was within ear shot I might be in jail right now. 

Side note:  Another way of using ejactulate is:  He couldn’t take the child’s constant whining and bickering anymore and finally ejaculated, “Shut the fuck up or I’ll kick the fuck out of you!”  (if you read old books, as I like to, you hear it used in this way a lot, still sounds weird though.)

Another note:  I could have put Blade to shame today with the amount of vampires that would have gotten fucked up being anywhere near me.