They are. And they do.

Saturday, December 18, 2010

The Jigglybits Illustrated vol. 8

Aram’s laundry day Twitter: Underthings tumbling.

Sorry if this isn't good for you. I'm recovering from total hard drive failure.






No. It’s not like that.


Ok, fuck. I admit it.


It’s ok, though.

RIM/Jobs is getting pretty nasty.

And not to go overboard with the excuses, but I was also poisoned.


No, fuck. I mean an angry midget slipped something into my drink that made me violently ill.

When does that ever happen? My life isn't a James Bond movie.

It's a James Brown movie.


I’m on the scene.

Ah, winter. I for one can’t wait for the cold weather because it makes the women wear all sorts of practical clothing. Don’t get me wrong. I like boobs. But when the jackets come out, talk of bikini season and insecurity over having multiple dimensions disappears. Insecurity isn’t sexy, nor is tangible bone definition. Sexy is me knowing I can throw you around a little without worrying about breaking you. Sexy is a woman chin deep in a turkey leg, not because poultry is less fattening than beef, but because it’s fucking delicious. And shared body heat is perhaps the best side effect of tryptophan and cold weather.

I also like being able to open beer with my nipples.

It’s hoodie weather.


Glee < That episode of Futurama where Fry makes a deal with the robot devil to get robot hands so he can write a symphony to win over Leila

More robots. Less autotune.

“Michael likes The Book Beaver on Facebook and suggests you like it too.”

That’s like a triple redundancy for a given.


I’d like to think these two towns are eternally locked in bitter, violent war.

Happy Valley (n): The female what-have-you

If you don’t know how to get there, follow the trail.

Do you spit or swallow when you throw up a little in your mouth?

This month’s installment of Not a Porn Site:

It's ok. It's a dog.

But look at the dog’s smile. Then look at the bulge in his uniform.

All of the pages on Wikipedia now have a banner at the top, which reads: “Please read: A personal appeal from the founder of Wikipedia.” I’ll save you the trouble of ignoring it and just tell you what it says:

Deer Wurld,

Plz mak uh movee abowt mee.


Guye hoo gott ritch frum evryone else’z wurk

Apparently, the founder of Wikipedia is a cat.


With the fire he’s come under lately, he needs one hell of a witness protection program. His new name will be Julienned Sausage.

No one will ever know.

Unfortunately, his new name will put a damper on his otherwise promising career in Greasy French Information Superpirate Porn.

"Who ordered the Assange?" had a much nicer ring to it.

Here’s a new monthly segment, tentatively called: Note to self that makes it look like I’m getting a lot more than I really am.

Wed. 5:30 – Meet Jen for a taco downstairs.

Wed. 6:30 – Giggity.

Sorry, Diddy. But I’m not ready for that kind of long-term relationship.

Cause it’s Bad Boy for the length of my contract unless either party deems the relationship to be less than beneficial over the next several years. Bitches.

I love being in shape, but I don't think I'll ever join a gym. Pjs > spandex.

I lead a very introspective life. Perhaps the question I most ask myself is "Why am I still wearing pants?"

Those who know me know this is true. Pants are for pussys. Or dicks, depending upon what your jigglyquipment is.

I like making up words.



Fairlegh Dickinson University in New Jersey offers a master’s degree in Homeland Security: 36 credits, 12 courses, teaching Weapons of Mass Destruction/Terrorism Awareness in a predominantly online setting.

Kermit: How did you learn to drive?
Fozzie: I took a correspondence course.

“Wocka wocka wocka” is the official sound effect for what that department is doing to us.

Dear Speaker John Boehner,

I learned in first grade that when two vowels go walking, the first one does the talking.



You know what we need to combat that dickhead?


We need Lance Armstrong to donate a lot of blood.



America, meat A. Weiner.

Codpiece (n): Prosthetic available from The Hair Club for Fish

It also sounds like a traditional Christmas decoration. So, next time you’re at a friend or relative’s house and they have a tree set up, point in its general direction and ask them if they put the codpiece on.

I’m taking a poll. You can email me their responses. Proceeds go toward hiring Julian Assange to find and bring to the internet a high-res image of Brendan Fraser from Encino Man.

I like Christmas because it makes people abandon their morals.

Now be a good little boy and/or girl, and I'll go throw some elbows to get you that expensive hunk of plastic and lead paint made for pennies by a child.

I sure hope Patty Larceny turned her life around. I mean, it can’t be easy breaking away from the expectations of that kind of family name, but she shouldn’t have gone hanging around some German lady named after a whale’s vagina.

That woman sure did get around.

If I ever get an anal polyp, I’ll name it Carmen Sandiego, just so I can ask the doctor that question.

I don’t own a microwave. I just make everything fresh. Or depending upon the day, funky fresh.

Don’t judge me.


Check out my new place:

People ask me if living by myself is lonely as fuck. It’s not. It’s lonely as making love.

Wow. That was like Mitch Hedberg without the Prozac.

It’s ok, though. I get out. In fact, I recently went up north and spent a weekend with two women in a little shack in the middle of the woods. We shared some laughs, had a lot to drink, and then we all huddled together and I introduced them to Battlestar Galactica.

No, that is not what I call my man piece. But I think I may need to adopt that.

Chess in the Castro: Queen takes man piece.

And everyone wins at least once.

What what




In the Batcave.

Btw, that removed image was an undoctored screenshot from Batman and Robin.

That was Mr. Popeye and Southside Johnny covering The Swallows.

I can’t make that shit up.

Some URLs tell a story:

It’s ok. It happens to a lot of cell users.

College basketball season always gets me a little excited. I don’t ever plan on watching it, but part of me always holds out hope for this:


Wheezing the Jews = Pauly Shore + Matisyahu 4 ever.

Those two need to wake up and realize that they were made for each other. And that it’s a sin to date outside of your religion.

Back when that film came out, I’m pretty sure Weezer were still playing Bar Mitzvahs.

Btw, the number one Google image result for “Pauly Shore Jew” is this:

Every year around Hanukkah, I get a mild case of German guilt. I don't have a lot of German in me, but I have enough that if it came down to it, I'd have to go to a camp.

But then I think of this and I feel much better:


The pancake recipe I like to use suggests that you pair it with a Harvey Wallbanger or maybe some coffee.

I have one thing to say to Harvey: Go around. I cannot open the wall. I don’t know if you have a doorknob on the other side, but over here there’s nothing. It's just flat. Like pancakes.

I briefly looked into writing web content as a way to make some extra whiskey money.

Btw, plz sendd sum. Rite meyow.


They wanted me to write little how-to bits on subjects I’m generally not good at, and if each post didn’t have to be approved before it went up (and I got paid), I would’ve been all over that shit.

Q: How do I keep my windows from fogging up in the winter?

A: Stop fucking.


You can imagine my disappointment when that scene did not mark the beginning of a zombie apocalypse.

That would've made the film actually kinda watchable.

Q: How do I keep warm in the winter?

A: That’s what we call “natural selection.”

I kinda like bitter single Bono. I feel like I’m writing better. It’s like, you know how when the guy from Staind had a daughter and stopped taking all those drugs and it made me realize how shitty their music is?

Raise your hand if you’ve heard me say that joke before.

Ah, the internet.


AT&T stands for Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaauuuuuuuuuuuuuughhhhh! Motherfucker!

And Telegraph, Inc.

Telegraph? Thank jebus. My TSP has been down for the longest time.

I don’t mind so much having a machine talk to me when I call tech support, it’s when it pretends to type and does the sound effect.

It’s not even a good sound effect. It sounds a bit like a computer masturbating.

I went to a tech high school, so I know that’s true.

Q: How do you bring the rate of population expansion under control?

A: Instead of a rattle and a pacifier, give each child a tricorder and a 7 sided die.

Guess who’s going to hell?

Apparently, Lou Gehrig isn’t the only one to have his own disease.

Q: Timbits are to doughnut balls as Lou Gehrig’s Disease is to…?

A: I’m going to hell.

When I die, I want to ask Jesus one thing:

Q: What’s wrong with being sexy?

To those of you who are offended at the notion of a sexy Jesus: The new testament is all about free love and the old testament makes repeated mention of bondage.

I learned about S&M from church when I was 6. And I recently found out that shit is real. I was cced on an email to “God Almighty.” His address is: almightygodxxx@(website).com

Give me your finger. My god. He’s like this.

I’ve done my job if I get at least one person to think “Now, Borat was funny. But Jesus fuck.”

Actually, it’s ok. God isn’t really like that. With all of the religions and prophets out there, he’s a bit of a deitywhore.


Christmas music sucks balls. Especially when it pretends to be pop.

It’s ok, NPR. I liked you when you weren’t trying to be cool. You don’t have to play The Kurt Elling Quartet featuring John McClaine.

Instead, I leave you with this:

Merry Christmas, bitches.


Team Aramrod

Saturday, November 27, 2010

Novembeard update

30 days later


We're smooth.

Friday, November 26, 2010

Hold onto your butts.

Mine is the blog that says "Bad Motherfucker" on it.


Man. That is some real fucked up shit.

Bitch, be cool.

Oh, I’m sorry. Did I break your concentration?

If my answers frighten you then you should cease asking scary questions.

I have had enough of these motherfuckin snakes on this motherfuckin plane.

Saturday, October 16, 2010

The Jigglybits Illustrated vol. 7

Featuring the best illustrator this side of reality.

Aram, if you were a woman, I'd stutter something that would make you lose interest.

If only you knew the amount of work I do before I put pants on.

I was just invited to apply for a pre-med internship at UCD. Tempting, but I'll stay all up out those guts for now.


Theater gf.
She really liked to role play.
We never had sex.

She used to do my
eyebrows, until she left me
for greener pastures.


Sometimes, size does matter.

Don’t pity me. I’m doing alright.


+5 nerd king points

or +4 player points

The exchange rate can be a real bitch.

I'm a rather meek individual. I've been told to be more authoritative, and I am. In baby steps.

Who's in charge, Number Two?

Doctor I couldn’t be: Proctologist. Because that shit is hard.

Twice in 2 days, I ordered a sandwich that included pickles, which was then accompanied by a pickle. It should be illegal to serve sandwich toppings as sandwich sides. You wouldn’t order a sandwich with a side of bread. That’s way too desperate of a “fuck you” to Adkins dieters.

Sorry. I had a bit of a Seinfeld moment there.

I want a gazebo, just so I could say gazebo.


Maybe all we need to get out of this economic funk is to rename all the shit people aren’t buying.

I can’t afford frozen yogurt, so I buy regular yogurt and keep my fridge on zero.

Frogyo (n): 1. Frozen Greek yogurt, 2. retro 90’s French rapper


Bonjo-yo-yo. It’s

Frog Strangler (n): Jaques the Ripper.

Watch yourself. He’ll pop a cork in dat ass.





I thought about making an animated gf,


but I think the Youtube format is much more fun. It allows for everyone’s favorite activity (and my new favorite euphemism, if you do it correctly): repetitive button pressing.

*Poke* *Giggle* *Poke* *Giggle* *Poke* *Giggle* *Poke* *Giggle*

Which is kinda what he was trying to do before Antoine busted in and laid the smack down.

Which is kinda what he was trying to do before Antoine busted in and...whoa. An endless loop of rape jokes. I’m going to the special hell.

Happy belated 70th, John Lennon. Truly one of the greats taken before his time. It leaves us to wonder: what would he be doing if he was still alive? Would he be realizing he married a nutjob, like Paul? Would he be doing whatever the hell Ringo is doing? Would he continue breeding wookees?


Would he still be on the forefront of musical evolution?


Ah, speculation. Fortunately for us, the apple doesn’t fall far.


We gonna find you.

I think I should click Action.

Funny name: Hugh Winkie

It sounds like the man has a very large Ackman.

According to the commercial, Pizza Hut is how you guarantee a second date. I’m never cooking for a woman again.

Someone recently got close to me and said I smelled like fresh band aid. That’s my new scent:


Doctor I couldn’t be: Otolaryngologist. Because it’s commonly referred to as an ENT, and there is no fucking E in that word.


Free writing advice: Learn how to fucking write.

“The victim came too” presents an entirely different situation that you’d intended.

The reader, however, had to wait until the book fell asleep before sneaking off by himself to quietly read his own writing in the bathroom.

I’m the number one Google result for “Suck it, Hemingway.”

Mama would be proud.

The recent tearjerker Brad Pitt film, Benjamin Button, was an adaptation of an old F. Scott Fitzgerald short story. Not to be outdone by his literary rival, Hemingway has a new short story to film adaptation:


Bring the Kleenex.

And the booze.

And the gender ambiguity.


That joke could totally backfire on me if that turns out to be true.

I mean, remember Ricky Martin?


If there’s one thing I like about pop music these days (+2 old fuck points), it’s that artists are really taking risks and pushing boundaries. Like this new single by Lil John Cage featuring Schr√∂dinger’s Cat:

Wasn’t that awesome? Personally, I prefer the remix:

That’s baby makin’ music.

And now, this month’s installment of Not a Porn Site:


Open the website, scroll down, look at the tabs and try not to giggle in public.

I wonder if Crested Butte is home to the Crested Black Macaque.


A bagel is just a socially-acceptable vehicle for eating cream cheese. As much as I’d like to open a package, jam a stick into it and carry it around like an ice cream bar, people would not look kindly upon that. And I don’t want to ruin my chances of maybe running for president one day.

I’m still waiting for string cream cheese.

Get on it, scientists. It’s time to validate your existence.

Maybe you can help solve this one:

Do cheerleaders actually like Chumbawamba?

And how is that a job?

Funny name: Bonar Menninger

Technology is a wonderful thing. We may not have flying cars or string cream cheese, but my boss has email on his cellphone. That allows for typos, such as “we have hopes” becoming “we have hoes” in a marketing context.


An icon from the '30s that hung around women with big bootys.

Because, like, women were bigger back then, what with the lack of dietary knowledge and the popular consensus that hips are sexy.

We should bring that back back.

Lower Slobbovia (n): 1) A fictional land near Antarctica invented by Al Capp, creator of Lil Abner. 2) Messy oral.

Lesbian (n) - Vagitarian

The Beef Curtain (n) – Iowa

I saw a sign waver that wasn’t advertizing a pizza place or a new housing development.

First of all, when did housing become an impulse buy?

For those of you playing the jigglybits home game,


If you said “2006,” you’re correct.

The sign waver I saw was advertising an urgent care center. That seems to be a much more appropriate and useful advertisement. If you happen to be leaking blood right now, this way.

It borders on a PSA. Whomever owns that sidewalk should be required to host such sign wavers for a small portion of the day.

I passed a Halliburton truck on the highway and slowed down so I wouldn’t get pulled over.

Halliburton is in my MS Word spell check dictionary and Funkadelic is not.

Things really were better during the Clinton administration.

Hoboken (n): 1. A fractured homeless man, 2. The latest, post-housing crash Ken doll

Fun for the whole family.

Dear Taggers,

Spraying graffiti on a train does not demonstrate how hardcore you are. If you want to impress me, use a roller. One long stripe covering an entire side as it passes.


A friend called me “the BOMB.” Help me. Is that still a compliment?

When our parents were kids (and yes, this is a recycled joke from last time), “the bomb” was a source of mortal danger. But by the ‘90s, we had gotten so complacent as a nation that such vernacular was able to creep into prominence. That shit became uncool shortly before 9-11, further solidifying the clairvoyance of rap.

I mean, how many of you have gotten all up in dat ass since 2001?

At that point, when our nation lost its collective terrorism cherry, bombs were once again regarded as sources of fear. Or if you’re George W., a means of not quite paying the bills.


I don’t get it. I mean, a war economy worked for Germany.

A black man named Arian just set Houston’s single game rushing record.

We will solve our nation’s energy crisis by hooking up a generator to the spinning graves of racists everywhere. They spin faster than the average dead people, due to their aerodynamic heads. As a result, we will have an energy surplus, which we will then sell to Saudi Arabia to reduce their dependence on foreign oil.

Due to this technological breakthrough, Arian will be the only football player with an Energy Star rating, and the wealthy owners of the Texans will get a tax cut for employing him.

Clean and renewable energy displacing oil and giving tax cuts to rich Texans. I’ve found a solution to our energy problem that absolutely no one can get mad over. Houston doesn’t even have a rival football team, they suck so bad.

Am I the only one who thinks commercials for 5 Hour Energy = 1950s ads for Mother’s Little Helpers?

Beaver Cleaver (n):


I had to use it twice. I totally dropped the ball last time.

Frogyo (v): 1. Bouncing an amphibian up and down from his tongue wrapped around your finger, you sick fuck. 2. Yo-yoing while attempting to cross the street.

FroG-Unit (n):

FroG-Unit (trans. French): Oui-Tang Clan


Putuis don’t need no words.

Doctor I couldn’t be: Dre.


I can’t wait for his new record: AARNWA.

I want to age like Bill Cosby. He looks old as fuck, but he also looks like a reptile.


A friend of mine just got into a car crash. No one was hurt, thank physics.

But wait. Who invented physics?

Thank Newton.

I was hungry, and now I’m not hungry anymore, thank Newton.

Perhaps the best thing about being thin is that I don’t concern myself with 100 calorie snack packs. You’re still eating a pink Twinkie. It’s just smaller.

Last year, I was lucky enough to not get the swine flu.

Sorry. H1N1.


Diseases tend to be more entertaining, not to mention more real, when they’re named after animals or board games. It makes sense that we’d be naturally inclined to personify invisible forces that we don’t fully understand and are therefore scared shitless of.


I wonder if they did the same thing in 1912, when the flu first broke. But that was a while ago, and it wasn’t as mutated as the swine flu or even the bird flu. They may have called it the protozoa flu.

+ 2 nerd points.

I know. It was a long way to go for not much reward. But you should be used to that by now.

On the bright side, this post now has at least one joke representing every decade for the past 100 years.

+7 nerd points.

History buff (n): Geriatric oral.

Add it to the list of things you can angrily call me.

Saturday, September 11, 2010


Wait. What?

Don't tell me.



Monday, September 6, 2010

The Jigglybits Illustrated vol. 6

Hello. My name is Bono. Aram likes to do drawrings.


I like to do drawlings.

If you’re looking for this to make sense, you’ve come to the wrong place.

“The highest purpose is to have no purpose at all. This puts one in accord with nature, in her manner of operation and all up in dat ass.”


Happy Holiday.

To those of you currently giving birth,

sometimes you can hate me before I even finish the joke.

September 19th is National Talk like a Pirate Day. For those who don’t speak the language, relax. I’m here to help.

Harpoon (n): Pirate girlybits

That’s all you need to know.

Putting a telescoping cylinder up against your face should be much hotter than it is.

I’ve been doing a lot of travelling and schmoozing with some big names in various VIP lounges.

Schmooze (v, Yiddish): To ooze schmutz.

You will never look at that word the same again.

I just returned from Washington. As much as I love it there, California has a great deal more pants-optional months.

If this isn’t really coherent, sorry. I’m still adjusting to the time change.

I could live in Seattle. I’d get a place with a skylight so I wouldn’t need electricity to experience irony.

The Skymall at the Salt Lake City airport sells a Swiss Army Book of Mormon.

I had an aisle seat and got a lot of ass.


Taken in Denver.

Mile High Club achieved.

Best thing heard over the airport PA: “Now paging passengers Porter and DefJam.”

Heir to the Def Jam fortune.

Or the Smuckers fortune.

I hope Def Jam broadcasts their specials in closed captioning.

I kinda want to carry on a bag that contains all of the ingredients to make chocolate chip cookies, just to see what TSA does.

Current favorite Karaism: “I like when you dip things in chocolate.”

“Karaism” is a great word, because it simultaneously looks like a religion and a sexual event that lands you in the hospital. Few words can claim that.

I just had a Judaism.

“And Abraham rose up early in the morning, and saddled his ass, and took two of his young men with him…and clave the wood and rose up, and went unto the place of which God had told him.”

How can you tell me god doesn’t love gay people?

Funny-because-it-isn’t-a-stage name: Emily Hardoon

I’m the atheist who listens to Journey.

Just kidding. They fucking suck.

Sean Lennon look-alike contest:


Plastics secrete estrogen simulators. John Lennon knew something the rest of us didn’t.

I’m still waiting for Jay Z to collaborate with Christopher Lloyd


Is my Linkin Park shirt vintage yet?

I met an old lady with the last name Kronick. She isn't a Dre fan.

But she does smoke a lot. It is California, after all.

I found a gray hair, and I’m keeping it.

+2 Old Fuck points

I’m prone to making bad decisions. One of them involved dating someone who used to pluck out my gray hairs. She would also do my eyebrows.

No. She would pluck them.

I've been informed that a group of people wearing wheelchairs is suing Chipotle because the work station counter is too high. They can't see the people make their burritos, therefore denying them the complete Chipotle experience.

They should also sue boobs.

Or just wait a while.

Funny street name: Cougar Gap

I took a pen into Staples to ask the clerk why I couldn’t get it to work.

+8 Old Fuck points

I saw an oil painting of the ocean. Or it may have been a photograph.

I set my computer up in front of a window and set my desktop background as the view from that window so I won’t miss anything by looking down.

My feng shui is performance art. And my audience is me.

I call it, “Windows.”


That shit’s my jam. I have it as my ringtone.

Wheel of Fortune, Before and After: Cockringtone.

Free million dollar idea, btw.

This one will be in more of a traditional joke format to make it easier for you to steal:

What's the female equivalent of a cock ring?

Boxing ring.

I think I have a pigeon living above my window. Trying to analyze the turd.

Words that look similar in your peripheral vision (or unsuccessful business names):
  • Baptist Rapist
  • Dysentary Dentistry
  • Typo Lypo
K, so that last one didn’t quite work. But I think I have the right to the word “Lypo” as long as serious writers are using the word “lite.”

And “k.”

I read a lot of shitty books, but even they have their bright moments:

“Being the older sister of 5 brothers, I am an expert on boy-stink.”

“…in the form of God, Jesus, Santa Claus and country.”

“It began to cause a lot of serious injuries by falling cows.”

All three are non-fiction, btw.

They also have their shitty moments, like a chapter entitled “Cats and more cats.”

The title is efficient, though. I’ll give it that. In 4 words, I know both what it’s all about and that I don’t want to read it.

Hemingway was famous for his 6 word flash fiction, “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.”

Perhaps I’ll be famous for my 2 word flash fiction, “Total sideboob.”

This is a scholarly blog, so let’s analyze the mechanics. Those two words provide or imply: a well-drawn character with age, voice, desires and perhaps gender (at least sexual orientation). There is action (when you’re that age, that’s action), tension and release (but that comes later. I go one step further to imply a sequel story with no words, but maybe a moan at the end). Even the sentence that orients us to the exercise itself ends up adding to the story and redefining the genre. I may have just found the two most powerful words in the English language.

Suck it, Hemingway.

Funny name: Tony Locoboni

I could write a book: Names That Will Get Your Kid’s Ass Kicked. But no one would publish that kind of thing. I’d end up having to self-publish, and the only one who would buy it would be my mother.

Current mood: Thunderstruck.

Remember Myspace?

Remember your Myspace password?

“Blogosphere” is misleading. Mine is a rectangle.

Real news story:

12:00 AM

100 percent chance of showers

Avery Willett uses an umbrella to protect herself from her brother, Hunter, who was armed with a garden hose while playing Tuesday with friend Jackson Lee in a kiddie pool at their home in Waterville.

Aren’t we at war?

Yes, we still are. Pay attention.

Debriefing (v): A precursor to what the army does to you

Our generation is much different from that of our parents. To them, “Nom” represents something dangerous. To us, it represents something delicious.

I love a good language barrier. Here are a few recent cases:
  • We’ve been having a 24 day relationship for 2 years by now.
  • I pretend to make money. A lot of it.
People should give me money so I could become a philanthropist. My charities would include
  • Casiotones for Ice Cream Truck Drivers
  • Cookie Monster Eyes for the Blind
And no, I won’t be one of those douchebag comics who would list
  • Bluetooths for the homeless
They’d be happy just to have regular teeth.

Perhaps the other end of the tooth fairy transaction is some kind of government subsidized bio recycling program. As noble as that would be, it wouldn’t help the homeless to better assimilate into society. People with large gums and small teeth weird me the fuck out.

I’m sorry kids, but times are tough, and I just don’t see the tooth family having a place in Obamacare.

With the economy in shambles and people not buying anything, we just need to find something that’ll sell like hotcakes. Like hotcakes. Unfortunately, the monopoly on that lies in the hands of IHOP, an international company. We need to take that shit back. Start the National House of Pancakes. Inside, we will serve one type of pancakes: blueberries in one corner and strawberries and whipped cream on the rest. Fucking American pancakes. We will have Prince as our spokesman, but he will change his name to Vice President, or maybe even Congressman. He will make pancakes sexy and we will buy even more of them. The downward spiral is no more, because an upward spiral is how you stack pancakes.

That, or the bankers could just stop stealing from us.

Pay attention.

You may wonder how I can sleep at night after writing stuff like this. It’s quite easy, actually. I remain comforted knowing that somewhere there exists a porno named Sandra’s Bullocks.

I’d like to be superstitious. It sounds like fun. But whenever I try to be superstitious, it never turns out like I want. As a result, I am superstitiously not superstitious.


Beatlejuice Beatlejuice Beatlejuice.

I took up religion just for the sects.


Hug the devil.

I went to a tiki bar and got lei’d. It was nice. I hadn’t been lei’d in a while. I think it was before the last time I got fucked.

And now, this month’s installment of Not a Porn Site:

You can’t make this stiff up.

(Freudian typo)

To all of my loyal botanical bromatologist readers: I need help.

Is a gherkin pickle veal? I need to know whether or not to feel offended.

The Toadies have a new album.

You know how when you’re taking a pee,

which is an erroneous term. You’re really leaving pee behind. If you were taking pee, I wouldn’t want to associate with you. Or I’d be paying you a lot of money because my ass doesn’t have medical insurance.

and you’re getting to the end, almost when you have to squeeze, and it starts to sound like R2D2?

I’m proposing that we all start calling that “robot pee.”


Remind me never to see a shrink. This shit is too much fun to fix.

Come jiggle with me.