Bacon is the poor man's foie gras
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Sunday, March 22, 2009
A "Do" for #2
If you have to do a couple things in the bathroom. Do them first then go poo.
Brushing your teeth after taking a smelly deuce sucks slightly less than getting a little bit of turd on your finger when wiping.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Monday, March 16, 2009
She has Found 3 Dead Park Rats to Date
Now that we're settled into our new home, with the dog playing in the park and savory taco oozings dripping off our chins, we have a dispatch from a Young Urban Dog Owning Couple.
We were playing in the park, playing after dark, feasting our eyes (and our mouths) on the Manhattan skyline as our dog played at our feet, when our dog ceased to play at our feet and commenced to play at something horrifyingly smelly's putrid belly. Our dog had gone a-'splorin' and had 'splored a DEAD RAT.
I began to shout (and prance about), if only to scare away the guts of the rat. It didn't work, of course, for shame, and I had to stoop over and shout my dog away from the rat, then take the tiny corner of a bag full of shit (my dog had shat) and clasp the rat's stiff, bumpy, horrid tail in my soft, gentle fingers. Then I had to skip, yell, laugh in a high-pitched way and dodge my doggy's frolicks until I could cast the crisp rat shell with juicy rat filling and shit sauce into a local garbage can.
The next day I rode the train with my usual eager anxiety, relieved by a refreshing sneeze. But what was this? As I politely covered my mouth, the sweet and overpowering stench that made me put my dog and her disgusting rat mouth far away from my affections enveloped my senses like a dog enveloping a dead rat in her disgusting rat mouth do you see where we are headed here???
We were playing in the park, playing after dark, feasting our eyes (and our mouths) on the Manhattan skyline as our dog played at our feet, when our dog ceased to play at our feet and commenced to play at something horrifyingly smelly's putrid belly. Our dog had gone a-'splorin' and had 'splored a DEAD RAT.
I began to shout (and prance about), if only to scare away the guts of the rat. It didn't work, of course, for shame, and I had to stoop over and shout my dog away from the rat, then take the tiny corner of a bag full of shit (my dog had shat) and clasp the rat's stiff, bumpy, horrid tail in my soft, gentle fingers. Then I had to skip, yell, laugh in a high-pitched way and dodge my doggy's frolicks until I could cast the crisp rat shell with juicy rat filling and shit sauce into a local garbage can.
The next day I rode the train with my usual eager anxiety, relieved by a refreshing sneeze. But what was this? As I politely covered my mouth, the sweet and overpowering stench that made me put my dog and her disgusting rat mouth far away from my affections enveloped my senses like a dog enveloping a dead rat in her disgusting rat mouth do you see where we are headed here???
The rat's final juices and just the perkiest tuft of its hair had tagged along on my sleeve and I was bound to wear it for the rest of the ride. Oh doggy, doggy! You are truly an urban pioneer.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
You Have a Lot to Learn About Sheep
This is a fat man with a useless hammer.
The devil sheep wants to be with the other sheep, but the other sheep are afraid of the devil sheep.
But those sheep will get theirs in the end (this one is for my Discerning Philistine).
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Tips 'n' Notes
Did you ever try scissors? They're like 2 friendly knives, safely working in concert.
scissors. Scissors. SCISSORS!
scissors. Scissors. SCISSORS!
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Things I have Learned During my Apartment Search
White people looking for homes love tall things (see imaginary neighborhood "Stuyvesant Heights" and formerly imaginary neighborhood "Prospect Heights"). I am a white people, I want to live on a hill with a view.
All neighborhoods are actually Crown Heights ("Stuyvesant Heights", "Prospect Heights").
Realtors have invented most of the neighborhoods in Brooklyn. My grandma's Brooklyn has 5 neighborhoods: Crown Heights, Downtown, Willamsburg, Coney Island and Bay Ridge. This may be slightly influenced by the elderly Jewish homemaker perspective, but still.
Crown Heights is now Bed Stuy, Bed Stuy is Fort Greene, and Clinton Hill has been deleted.
Everyone I know who lives outside the city wants me to know about the 19 bedroom homestead with a pony that they rent for what I will pay for a "charming 0.3 bdrm GUT RENO crackhome on historic Rikers Island - everything is painted white!!!"
All neighborhoods are actually Crown Heights ("Stuyvesant Heights", "Prospect Heights").
Realtors have invented most of the neighborhoods in Brooklyn. My grandma's Brooklyn has 5 neighborhoods: Crown Heights, Downtown, Willamsburg, Coney Island and Bay Ridge. This may be slightly influenced by the elderly Jewish homemaker perspective, but still.
Crown Heights is now Bed Stuy, Bed Stuy is Fort Greene, and Clinton Hill has been deleted.
Everyone I know who lives outside the city wants me to know about the 19 bedroom homestead with a pony that they rent for what I will pay for a "charming 0.3 bdrm GUT RENO crackhome on historic Rikers Island - everything is painted white!!!"
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
One-Upsmanship
BESTED!
This woman is the REAL champion of breastery and slapping! I doff my tits, madam.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Tittytonka
Vagrant Correspondent Yeaux Michel scratches another missive onto your boxcar.
People always ask me what my favorite part of traveling is. I usually tell them how nice it is not being approached by random people always asking stupid questions. Then we laugh a good hearty laugh, and I sneak away while they clutch their sides from laugh cramps. If I time it right, I don't even have to stop walking during all this. Jokes are all about timing. That's what they say, at least. When I remember who "they" are, I'll refer you to "them." I keep thinking it's Gallagher, but that's probably just because I just think about Gallagher a lot.
I'm bad at the "favorite ____" game--almost as bad as I am at the "would you rather" game. I don't feel so bad about this though, because they're both pretty stupid as far as games go, and no one wants to be good at a stupid game. Like curling, for example: does anyone actually aspire to be good at curling? They just fall into it, like a hole. Or janitorial services. Anyway, naming a favorite thing does take a lot less time than naming all the things you like a lot, I'll give it that. But just that. For brevity's sake, I'll just relate one thing I really like about country-hopping, and that one thing is TV.
That's right, you caught what I threw: TV. Television. The Talk Box. Before you do your own hopping up onto your horse and pass down judgment from upon high, let me just say I'm not talking just any TV here, I'm talking foreign TV. How stupid awesome are foreign TV shows? Really stupid awesome, if you didn't know, which probably means you want to join the curling team. American shows would be so much better if I couldn't understand anything anyone said beyond "cat," "what," and "bathroom." Nothing is quite as comforting as not knowing what the hell is going on.
Now it's not all milkshakes and marshmallows on the foreign broadcast, mind you, but if only .5% of TV you can find outside the US is even close to as riveting as this, I'd say that's 10,000 pesos well spent. This is tits down the best programming you're gonna find anywhere, made even more historically significant by the fact that it's probably the first time that North America has made Latin America blush.
People always ask me what my favorite part of traveling is. I usually tell them how nice it is not being approached by random people always asking stupid questions. Then we laugh a good hearty laugh, and I sneak away while they clutch their sides from laugh cramps. If I time it right, I don't even have to stop walking during all this. Jokes are all about timing. That's what they say, at least. When I remember who "they" are, I'll refer you to "them." I keep thinking it's Gallagher, but that's probably just because I just think about Gallagher a lot.
I'm bad at the "favorite ____" game--almost as bad as I am at the "would you rather" game. I don't feel so bad about this though, because they're both pretty stupid as far as games go, and no one wants to be good at a stupid game. Like curling, for example: does anyone actually aspire to be good at curling? They just fall into it, like a hole. Or janitorial services. Anyway, naming a favorite thing does take a lot less time than naming all the things you like a lot, I'll give it that. But just that. For brevity's sake, I'll just relate one thing I really like about country-hopping, and that one thing is TV.
That's right, you caught what I threw: TV. Television. The Talk Box. Before you do your own hopping up onto your horse and pass down judgment from upon high, let me just say I'm not talking just any TV here, I'm talking foreign TV. How stupid awesome are foreign TV shows? Really stupid awesome, if you didn't know, which probably means you want to join the curling team. American shows would be so much better if I couldn't understand anything anyone said beyond "cat," "what," and "bathroom." Nothing is quite as comforting as not knowing what the hell is going on.
Now it's not all milkshakes and marshmallows on the foreign broadcast, mind you, but if only .5% of TV you can find outside the US is even close to as riveting as this, I'd say that's 10,000 pesos well spent. This is tits down the best programming you're gonna find anywhere, made even more historically significant by the fact that it's probably the first time that North America has made Latin America blush.
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