It's some o'clock somewhere

Whoopdee fucking doo, whipped out my blog and proceeded to post in high MacGyver style, spinning a few choice words, stolen images dabbled with a bit of Paint-as-Photoshop Substitute, links, internet not sausage though I am pretty hungry how about some pancakes and syrup too, paper clips and chewing gum into a cobbled masterpiece of such coherent genius that it won accolades from all realms of thought, both electro-artificial and of the meat world to where I was feted by heads of state, fellated by all the ladies of my dreams that I reciprocated in kind cunningly twice or thrice believe you me oh yeah and a bunch of other neato words that begin with F including funds, large and in my own fabulous bank account accessible electronically fast! fast! fast! via my fancy house in France. Funky fresh fly Farsi flabbergasted for fucking fantastic flamenco fills.

Then the alarm shook me out of my stupor, I rubbed my eyes, saw the lithe form of my evil, sleeping wife under the covers, fumbled to turn off the stupid thing, the alarm, not my wife, who doesn't make a peep while she sleeps, but steals the covers which is wrong on principle -- you know, evil -- but I'm not a freeze baby so I don't mind all that much, but what I do mind is [redacted for Randal security] while cursing the barking dogs of my grease monkey neighbor who is really overdue to crash his junker racer and die a horrible flaming, dismembering and bloodsplattering death the fucking cracker dickhead asshole, grabbed some clothes, told to the cats to stop meowing for five seconds I'll get you fresh soft food Jesus keep your fur on and then headed to the shower where I contemplated going to work yet again to help assholes yet again who I think about slaughtering yet again with medieval instruments yet again but simply feign interest yet again while brainstorming my scrambled egg brain to post yet again that you weirdos read yet again because you too are slacking at work yet again.

Shit, it's only eight or thereabouts, but then I remember that spring break is coming up sooner rather than later and I have about 752 days or thereabouts of vacation and no money but the kids are in school and I can stay home and read in theoretical quantum quiet plus two albums that I've been dying to listen to but aren't yet released have been preordered and will soon or thereabouts be on the way to my house and then I can listen and write up pretentious reviews that you weirdos read yet again because you too are slacking at work yet again but I warn you both are pitchfork n' chainsaw metal yet again, no hip hop, hillbilly or hipster pop here, I said MOTHERFUCKING METAL.

















See, Nunly? Shirtless rocking out, just for you and all the other immature wisogynistic objectifiers of men. And no complaining or I will put up a picture of Boner or Bubba Jindal.

The wall behind my desk is a giant window which is both good and bad, but it's better than a cubicle like a lot of you are suffering with so ha ha ha ha, but sometimes birds slam into it and bust their grey matters up just enough to fall to the concrete and die. I've been working on a way of magically switching their place in space-time with various political types because I figure the birds are at least useful to our biosphere. I'm not sure how to do that, but I have a lot of Legos to use, mine from when I was a kid and those of my lunatic offspring, but I can't generate 1.21 gigawatts using anything around the house nor have I been successful at capturing the energy from a bolt of lightning because of the spare pickings of anything around the house. There has to be some bailout money that hasn't been gobbled up by bank CEOs so they can get that ivory backscratcher, right?

I should do this brain dump posting more often. Sure beats thinking ahead of time. Now I know what wingnuts feel like, minus the array of -isms and incorrect spelling. Please don't be a grammar Nazi today though, I'd fail miserably, but then again, so would Proust, not that I'm in his league, but then again neither are you. Since each one of us sucks, let's all skip work and have a drink. Yeah, I know it's only eight or thereabouts.


















A toast to suckitude!