"Could you imagine if this was really happening?"

-Steven Wright

Easter is that magical time of year when giant rabbits with thumbs fuck chickens who lay eggs that contain our lord and savior and if you’re lucky, a miniature Reese’s cup. And if Jesus sees his shadow, it’s 40 more days of shuffling and moaning through Mexico looking for human flesh or maybe a piece of bread.

Easter doesn’t seem to care much about the type of bird, as long as it lays eggs. There are decorations with chickens, ducks, etc.

Duck should be the past tense of dick.

But if every bird is allowed, I’d like to see the Easter Emu. That would make things festive. Emu eggs look exactly like giant avocados. And guacamole is a much bigger hit at parties than egg salad.

That would open the door to a nearly month-long celebration of Cinco de Mayo. I think that’s exactly what this country needs: massive piñata sales to kick-start the economy. Unless the piñatas are made in Mexico. Then we'd be in an even deeper hole and have our children bail out the domestic piñata manufacturers.

But even with a month, I doubt they’d sell as much beer as they do on Mother’s Day.

Seriously. More beer sold than on any other holiday.

Driving home at night, I often see an orange cat running across the neighbor’s yard. For the past couple of weeks, the cat has disappeared. In its place: an orange rabbit. What happened? Transmogrification? Not likely. Maybe the rabbit ate the cat. That must be it. If there’s one thing rabbits are famous for, it’s liking pussy.


Hot.

Remember when they made you keep a journal in elementary school and some of the kids just used that time and space to make a list of their friends? "I lik Amy and Erin and Jessie and April and Nikki and Heather and Robin and Shelby and Alicia and Kimmy and Christine and Mia and Heidi and Belinda and Jenny and Cole." Even then, I remember thinking, "Ha! You lick all those people? Skank."

And now one of them is set for life after inventing Facebook.

People I can do without: Anyone who thinks they need to wear pastels in the spring, can't wear black and brown together, etc.

So, what are you dressing up as for Easter? I’ve been working on my costume for a while now. It’s the same person I went as for Christmas.

The beard has actually gotten a bit out of control. I look like this:

I’m thinking of cutting it off. The beard, I mean.

Should I, though? I’d like your honest opinion here. Is it hot? Yes. Warm, at least. And it does a good job of hiding when I’m laughing at you.

So, yes? No? I just don’t want to become the kind of person you wouldn’t want near your kids.

Easter dinner this year is at my brother’s house. You’re all invited. My German mother is making enchiladas. If I was hosting, we would watch Dawn of the Dead and maybe roast a Lamb.


Kyle. In a wind tunnel. With Sarah Palin’s glasses.

I kick ass at Clue.

Colonel Sanders. In the kitchen. With a chicken.

Pilate. On a hill. With a cross.

Some people try to get around swearing by saying, “God bless it!” This is a weak cover. If you aren’t fooling me, chances are you aren’t fooling a supposedly omniscient being. And even if you are, you’re still taking the lord’s name in vain.

Once again, I don’t hate religious people. They can be some of the nicest people you’ll ever meet. But they can do stupid shit sometimes:

That's not really funny.

My work sells a cookie that looks exactly like Bunnicula. You remember that one? The fuzzy little thing with big ears, weird eyes and sharp teeth that likes to hop around at night and suck the juice out of carrots?

No, I will not take this opportunity to post a pic of my ex girlfriend. I’m a gentleman.

Women with butterfly tattoos are just jealous that’s not how their chest hair comes in.

The correct response to an adult woman in a Hello Kitty dress is: “I twat I taw a putty tat.”

Ladies, what are you doing wearing that kind of clothing outdoors? It’s not sexy as much as it is excessive. It shows a lack of judgment, poor morals and a degenerate personality. Your mother would be ashamed. Show some self-control.

Who else contracted a disease while on spring break? I got the rhinovirus.

I know someone who spent the break in Minnesota. Apparently, he was filming "Girls Gone Reasonable."

For those of you still on spring break, Hefeweizen makes a good morning beer.

And you suckers who still live in Napa, would you recommend the Bordeaux or the Rioja with the buttered popcorn?

I’m serious about the Hefeweizen thing. It’s a proper breakfast. It’s like tea and toast, except there is no tea and the toast is a liquid. And if it was brewed with whole-grain wheat, it’s also good for your heart.

Our smuggling mass quantities of arms into Mexico has caused an outbreak of violence and a state of unrest. And the only people we're sending across the border other than arms dealers and thugs are drunken frat kids. They really should build a wall.

Another example of language hiccups by the native English speakers at work:
European Dutch Coffee.

Really? Like opposed to Asian Dutch or Australian Dutch? Actually, it’s more of a South American Dutch, if you want to get technical.

Another one of our coffee flavors is Vanilla Nut Cream. What a weird coincidence. That’s my rap name.

You down with VNC? Yeah, you know me.

It’s better than using my initials to make a rap name: Gizzle Wizzle. I actually kinda like that.

Don’t underestimate my G-ness.

I followed an armored truck that had printed on back, “We reward safe driving,” and then a phone number. I copied down the number, because I’m not one to pass up a good opportunity for employment. I’ll certainly need it if anyone from work reads this.

Penalize (v) - I think you know where I’m going with this.

Working in a European bakery, we should sell Chocolate Mussolini.

I always love it when a kid comes up to me and asks for a chocolate mouse.

When an adult asks for a chocolate mouse, I want to punch them in the face.


Whenever someone learns that I’m an English major, their inevitable first question is, “Do you want to teach?” No. I don’t. There are other things that I can do with a degree in English. Maybe. Hopefully. Probably not. I guess I’d better get used to teaching.

The first lesson is how to begin a proper business letter:

Dear Pimp or Madam:

Be sure to use the colon. It doesn’t cost extra.

But if you were writing a letter to, say, your girlfriend, you should always give her a comma. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do. And I actually like it. A lot. You may be tempted to use the colon. Resist. Or at least ask her first. We don’t want anyone inadvertently getting hurt.

When my neighbors speak Korean, one of their common sayings sounds like, “Fuck yeah!” I honestly want to know what this means. Are they just really enthusiastic?

Ok. This name just might take the cake: Rene Farkass.

I usually meet Rene You-Want-To-What-Ew-No-That’s-Gross-You-Sick-Fuck-What-Makes-You-Think-I’d-Actually-Like-That-Get-Out-Of-My-House-You-Hairy-Bastard.

She’s been married a lot.

I just turned in a serious, academic essay entitled “Flashing The Author: How Reading Can Get You Lucky.”

Here’s an urban myth for you: You know why bike seats have that groove in the center of the ass pads? That’s for the vena scrotalis to rest in whenever a guy is riding the bike. If there wasn’t that space, pressure would build up, eventually causing the balls to explode.

Have you ever taken a really long bike ride? I believe it.

An omelette is a baby om.

Few things scare me. The fuzzy toilet lid yamaka is one of them. Depending upon the make and model of your unit, the shag often keeps the seat from staying up for those precious few seconds. And when you’re in full stream and you see that seat start to fall, the world goes in slow motion before getting a lot messier. Sometimes, it’ll even drag the lid down with it. Then you have the equivalent of a wet sheep, and not in a good way, either.

Some may call what I do, “potty humor.” It isn’t. Potty humor is Cheech and Chong. And they usually don’t stoop to the level of bad puns.

I’ll pause this drivel for a moment of awesomeness:


The butcher next to the vet’s office shut down. Well, way to go, prop 2.

Here’s a bit of freakiness for you: I stayed up late reading the part of a manuscript where the lead character’s dad dies. The next morning, I get an email saying my boss’s mother died that night. Of the same disease.

Ok, so maybe that’s not so freaky. But the Amazing Grace story is, if you haven’t heard it already.

They could’ve had a fax machine in Ghostbusters:
“I don’t know what happened. All of the sudden, it started printing out papers. Ones I’ve never seen before. And do you want to know what’s even freakier than that? The names on them were all people I know.”

That’s scary shit in the ‘80s.


Apparently, the purchase of a single beer with cash requires a 9 line receipt. That’s the kind of excessive behavior that makes people want to hit us with airplanes.

It’s almost as bad as this:

Ladies, just ask. That’s a lot of trouble to go through to get your man to eat you.

What is the plural of penne?

In case you’re wondering, yes, that bit about the shark’s bits is true. They’re called, “claspers.” Not only do they have two, but they can clasp with them? WTF, god?

That would be the best party trick ever.


Um, wow.



My blog is still relatively new, but it has received ringing endorsements. These include:
“It’s easy. If it jiggles, it’s fat.” - Arnold Schwarzenegger
“It’s easy. If it jiggles, it’s phat.” - Russell Simmons

It’s nice, but that doesn’t mean what I write is any good. If you’re reading this in hopes of being entertained, I’m sorry. Watch this instead:



This too, but you can turn it off around 5:15.

What an amazing guy. I really admire what he’s doing. Seriously.

A blind person with Parkinson’s also has dyslexia.

You laughed, so you’re going to hell, too.

People often wonder how writers and artists do it. Awkward and elbowy. No, I’m referring to the creative process: How do we manage to see so much of the “hidden” and relegate it to language? It’s nothing special. The average person does it already: “Hey, Marge! Get the camera. I just made a shit that looks like a little man doing The Carlton.”

Apparently, April is National Humor Month. Shit. I’d better write something funny, stat.