My goal is to make everyone feel like they have walked in on the middle of the movie.
Friday, February 28, 2003
I thought you were supposed to get shorter as you aged. They took my vital stats at the doctors yesterday and I am now 75 inches tall. That would make me 6ft 3in tall, wouldn't it? Not freakishly tall, by any stretch, get it stretch, and all these years I have been telling people that I am 6ft 2in. Explain that, if you can, Mr Peabody.
And one more thing ...
if you put a decimal point between the 7 and the 5
What are the odds of that?
I have been reading Sullivan's online diary today and he mentioned a site called Losers dot Org sounds like something I would be interested in, or in, or the CEO of,
What do you say to a naked lady?
I think I just cut a brain fart.
I was going to rent some movies for the weekend but the karma or something just wasn't right.
When I walked into the video store they had some loud rock music blaring from the speakers, I like rock music, but this was some kind of neo pre-packaged 80's hair band type rock, and we all know what happens to people who listen to hair band music don't we.
Ok, I like cruising the aisles taking my time, it's a big store and a whole lot of movies, but there must have been a hundred and seventeen little ankle biting kids busting a move down each and every aisle and every one of them wanted to stand where I was already standing.
And the sun was shining too, that awkward kind of sun through the window at such an angle that you really couldn't see anything without getting a sun reflected brain burn off of the plastic video boxes.
Hey, I can deal with this. I'm a vet, I've stared Charlie down with nothing but the wrong end of a bayonet between us. Ok, I made that part about Charlie and the bayonet up, but I am a vet, just not a Vietnam vet, but yeah I can deal with it.
I can deal with it until I hear the gurgle in my bowels followed closely by the tap dancing in my intestines, yeah, I was starting to have an Immodium-D moment.
So to make a long story short,
and the crowd lets out a mighty cheer, if their were a Movie Nazi he would be telling me
"No movies for you tonight."
I did a Google image search for the word sexy, and after 40 pages this is the best I came up with.
Sexy, but sexy is a relative term. I mean something Churchill finds sexy Chamberlain, Neville, not Wilt, might find pedantic, whatever the hell that means, and that is why England slept, or at least to the guy that Joe Kennedy hired to write John Kennedy's thesis/book. Come on Joe, you don't think we actually bought that line, did you.
Btw, how's Gloria?
I said G
Was it true that Rosemarie actually said
I'd rather have a frontal lobotomy
than a bottle in front of me?
Highlights of my doctor appointment.
I didn't have to turn my head and cough .. cough.
But I did have to bend and spread, and assuming that my doctor is a hetero male, I bet it hated it almost as much as I did, assuming that I hated it, which I did, but, butt ... when you assume, you make an ass, out of you and me, and it was my ass that was on the line, or at least flapping in the breeze.
My cholesterol is down to 169, which is aces over eights, but not really, because aces over eights is a dead mans hand, and I'm not dead, and unless the doctor is holding something back from me, I'm not going to be dead in the near future.
My good cholesterol is a little low.
Good cholesterol, who knew!
Exercise, walk, walk walk
Yeah, sure I'll start tomorrow, honest, no really honest.
Had my dosage of synthroid raised from .175 mg to .200 mg.
More energy, we'll see Kemo Sabe, we'll see.
I think that's it. Um yeah, except for one other thing, but hey, it's rather personal, so cool your jets until I know you a bit better.
See you next year Doc.
Don't let your meat loaf, and if you do, name it after me.
Will the madness never end?
Yes it will, but not till sunday when ...
The last installment of The Great Grand Ennui/Fat Free Milk Archive Exchange finally, FINALLY, hits the streets.
Wextra, wextra, wextra, that's what the newsies used to shout when a four star edition hit the street.
Wextra, wextra, wextra ..
Read all about .... The Great Grand Ennui/Fat Free Milk Archive Exchange Hit it Kevynn.
Sunday, December 15, 2002
Brad Pitt's Character In Oceans Eleven Is Always Eating...
I recieved a CD in the mail from Boz, the purveyor of The Grand Ennui, that we agreed upon as part of our "Exchange Things We Already Have, and Want to Get Rid of, Instead of Polluting the World With More Useless Christmas Gifts, That We Probably Don't Want or Need in the First Place" program.
- Neil Young With Crazy Horse "Broken Arrow"
When I opened up the package, I was kind of like all...(See that? That was authentic California speech) Anyway, I was like...Hey! Neil Young? He's not that bad. There's two or three songs of his that I like, maybe more. I had to go though, before I could listen to it, but did today. It lasted five seconds before I popped it out. In Boz's note he said that it sounded like it was recorded in a bowling alley bar, which I think is hilarious because he means that it doesn't sound like it was recorded in a bowling alley, but the bar of a bowling alley. That's funny. Bowling alley bars are scary. Limbo-Awesome, but scary. As a test I'd like to become a patron of a bowling alley bar for two staright weeks. For no reason. Two weeks. Eating lujke warm nachos and playing electronic darts. I like bowling once or twice a year, I guess. I like bars better. I like bars once or twice every one or two days. If I watched a bar and a bowling alley get in a fight, I would hope that the bar would win. I knew that I would be the honest fucker that I am and write exactly what my first listen of the CD was like. I promised to myself listen to it later when I had more time, and now I can, but my girlfriend is asleep on the couch, so I'll have to tomorrow. You know what? I'm gonna do it anyway...just real low...hold on.............wait, ill put it in the computer....hmmmm....let me take out the stupid video game out....
And I'm an idiot. I spent the last five minutes looking for it by the stereo-and it was right by the computer....
Okay...you know what? I put it in and skipped the first song after a bit...but in the last 10 minutes or so, the CD was playing and I didn't really realize that I was listening to it. This Neil Young album sounds like a mosquito. On a camping trip. But you have the flu. And you're too weak to wave the mosquito away.
You know what? Maybe Boz meant that this sounds like music that you would hear AT a bowling alley bar. That makes sense too. Hmmmmm....
I would get shot if I tried to play some of these songs in front of people. But I bet you could do all punk covers of these songs. See? Like this one sounds SO much like a Ramones cover tune.
Done. Album bad. Operation a success. Wow. That was a really bad album...
Now, can anyone else tell me what one of the worst albums are that you own? And why haven't you gotten rid of it?
Celebrity Boobs has become too easy, so it will be suspended until I want to do it again.
The last set of Retro Boobs belonged to Susan Sarandon, and lucy had the winning entry.
Hey this is the Grand Ennui, so deal with it.
I kind of like Avril Lavigne. I woke up about 5am one day last week and they were playing one of her videos on MTV, granted I had the sound turned off, so I don't know what she was singing about, but I think she pulled off the tube socks as arm warmers trick very nicely, and believe me it isn't easy, I've tried. That is Avril Lavigne who wears the tube socks on her arms, isn't it? If it isn't the bitch sucks, unless of course she is under 18 years old, and if that's the case, this post doesn't exist.
It's the truth, it's actual, everything is satis-factual, and we have the first winner in our Celebrity Boobs, Retro Division, not to be Confused with Rut-roh Division contest.
And who, might you asked did those retro boobs belong to?
None other than the original me-ooooooow Sex Kitten.
And I love how Ms. Bardot tried to slip that nipple slip by us, but it didn't work, did it.
Oh, yeah, the winning guess was lucy from Blissful Journey.
A tip of the hat, and a slip of the nip, to lucy, or should I say ...
loooooooo-cy, you got some 'splainin' to do!!
Desi, what a crazy Cuban handjob.
Heather, over at ChezPink has been making some pretty funny posts lately, or as she might put it, sum foik-ing helarryus post-its, sorry, I suck when I try to sound like a 20 year old, anyway, give her a look see. I don't understand half of what she says, which is about par for the course, for me, anyways, and I only drool on days that end in y, but seriously, I forgot ... oh yeah, give her a look see.
You know the drill by now, so let's just get it over with ...
The Great Grand Ennui/Fat Free Milk Archive Exchange Kevynn, why do we even bother?
My ennui is only overshadowed by my apathy.
Tuesday, October 22, 2002
HOW CAN I NOT WRITE 2NIGHT?
KNOWING THAT IF I DON’T, YOU’LL FEEL A PANG OF DISAPOINTMENT AND HAVE TO START OFF YR. DAY W/OUT A SMILE OR UNDERGARMENTS FULL OF POO. I HAVE AN OBLIGATION AS NICE GUY/Kevynn/ INSOMNIATIC/writer…I THINK. IT’S MY DUTY. I’M SWORN TO A LIFE OF VERBOSE SERVITUDE. Really!
THIS WEEK, I NEED TO WRITE…AND BAD.
WHAT I’D DO
I’M SUPPOSED 2 DO
IF I IGNORED FRIENDS AND THE OBLIGATORY DISTRACTIONS.
I DON’T WANT TO WRITE ANYTHING ANYMORE. I'ts late. I THINK THAT….
OH, I DON’T KNOW…
MY LITTLE SISTER USED TO KEEP SNAILS AND SHE MADE A LITTLE HOUSE FOR THEM. IT HAD SEPERATE ROOMS. A MINIATURE T.V. THE WORKS. SHE’D CRY IN THE MORNINGS THOUGH, WHEN WE WERE GETTING READY FOR SCHOOL. I COULD SEE THE DEWEY, PHOSPHOURESCENT TRAILS SHIMMERING ON THE WALKWAY. OVER THE WALLS AND OUT INTO THE BUSHES…SHE’D CRY. I WOULDN’T SAY ANYTHING. REALIZING HOW STUPID AND BEAUTIFUL IT WAS ALL IN THE SAME MOMENT…
LIKE THIS MOMENT.
READY TO PULL THE WORLDS EARS OFF
TO WRESTLE IT
TO STAND ON TOP OF ITS COMATOSE BODY
BEATING MY CHEST
A Monkey Thomas Malone
Its time to go to sleep… now...
Though you’re probably already slumbering…
time to go to bed
hopefully dream of
me closing my eyes…
and dreaming of …
writing better things than this...
P.S. I forgot to include something...
a link to a talking kitty
Boz Here: what the hell are those damed heiroglphyics that Kevynn keeps using, a remnant from the "Idiot Language" of his childhood perhaps?
I am now on to my next half-assed project that I most likely will never see through to fruition.
I am trying to find a place on the web where I can design my own custom Grand Ennui t-shirt.
It's pretty easy if you want to order a ton of them, but I only want one, either in black or grey, white will not do, and I am already starting to lose interest as I type ...
Such is life.
I just woke up from one of those naps where you always feel worse after you take it than before you took it, and my back is stiff, and my mind is foggy, and I just surfed all the usual blogs, and none of them entertained me, even though all the commenting systems are back up, so what gives people?
Amuse the fuck out of me, and soon.
Thank you ... punks.
Yeah, sure, whatever, we already have a winner in the Famous, or Even Remotely Famous Boob Contest,
and the winner is blah, blah, blah ...
Shanti, everybody's favorite angst ridden young bopper
and yes, blah, blah, blah,
the boobs belonged to Ashley Juggs, I mean Ashley Judd.
Ashley Judd and her prize winning boobs, and how much do you think Naomi and Wynona paid for them?
It's getting close to that time again, isn't it. Oh, you know what time I mean.
Oh, I think you do.
It's almost time for the Bozmeister and the Kevynnator to switch roles,
Damn, I almost said switch genders,
But I never do that, well not since parole and community service I don't, and Kevynn only does it weekends down at the pier when the sailors give him drinks and tips.
So sue him, he's got the legs for it.
But that is a story for another time and another place because right now it is time for
Wait for it .....
The Great Grand Ennui/Fat Free Milk Archive Exchange Part the French word for three:
Kevynn's blog post, thingie, archive post.
God, I can't wait to be old. Serious.
I need to start planning my retirement fund.
It'll be great. I plan on living til' a hundred and eleven.
That sounds good, doesn't it? 111 years?
I want senior citizens to mutter to themselves, " Damn look at that guy! He's friggin' old!
I want to make up stories about myself and to mess with my children's heads.
You know how when you were young, you had no concept of history
and would ask your parents what it was like to live during the great depression
even if they were in their later thirties?
Or to ask them where they were when Lincoln died? I want to tell my children and grandchildren that I helped write The Dead Sea Scrolls,
but the part with "written by Kevynn Malone" got lost. I want to tell them that I created "The Rave". That I smoked Crack before it was "hip".
That I knew the original Betty Crocker and that Aunt Jemima wasn't really that fat. It was a marketing ploy,
she was actually quite the looker and that we once engaged in some heavy-petting after the homecoming dance sophmore year in high school.
I will cackle things out loud in public. I will name all of my body parts and talk to Wal-Mart employees about them like they were real people.
I will have no problem wearing diapers. What was fine for me when I was an infant, should be fine for me as the senior-ist citizen.
Staring at the ceiling for hours on end and breast-feeding. What? Did you think I meant playing with Fisher Price toys and eating baby food?
As I get older, my wardrobe will get worse. If I wear anything even remotely fashionable, I will wear an enormous baseball hat ten sizes
too big for me on the following day as penance. I will pretend to fall everyday at various eateries and make people feel guilty
for not telling me to "watch my step!" I want to watch t.v. for twenty-eight hours straight. All local news coverage. I want to kick ass, though.
Whether it's through my cane or a gnarled, old fist meting out punishment-I wanna be able to kick yo' butt.
I am getting old.
Look what I'm writing about...only old folk do that.
Maybe this is getting old too.
Like I told you earlier 442 Glenwood Avenue has been rocking my cranium all day long, but I have a cure for that. I just rummaged through my voluminous cache of CD's and pulled out a real plum.
Growin' Up too Fast, the Girl Group Anthology Rocks the house,
reet, sweet, and oh so complete.
Ok, so the music is all white bread, without a hint of soul, so what, who said white bread is bad?
And maybe about 25% were actual hits, they all could've been hits, maybe.
My favorites are Diane Renay, Leslie Gore, the Angels, of course the Pixies Three and
The one, the only ...
Shangri-las If the Ramones had been girls and recorded in the mid 60's they would have been
The one, the only ...
The Shangri-las, I think they got a kickback from Aqua-net.
My kind of computer geek. My kind of computer geek. My kind of computer geek.
Now if I turn around real quick, and click my heels, my dream should come true.
If Bettie Page were a computer geek ...
If Bettie Page were a computer geek, and what is with all this Bettie Page stuff lately, and I almost typed stiff, and how Freudian would that have been... train of thought once again derailed
If Bettie Page were a computer geek, something something something
Ok, so you all angst ridden young boppers curl up in the fetal position and chill to The Pixies. But let me tell you something, you don't know angst till you've curled up and chilled to
The Pixies Three.
Angst, 1964 style.
The Pixies Three, and you thought the 80's was the hair band decade.
The Pixies Three, and I actually owned this record, and I suppose 442 Glenwood Avenue will be bouncing around my head for the rest of the day.
And don't forget ...
Goofy Eddie's gonna bring his ukulele.
This is really weird. Up till today the most unique visitors I have had in one day has been 100, but today, only 10 hours into the day, I already have 154 visitors. I keep getting listed in the Fresh Blogs on the blogger home page, even though I haven't updated in 8 hours or so.
Cool beans, huh!
Even though most of them surf in, and surf on out as soon as they find that I don't have any pics of Britney's cooter, and I think that is the first time, and probably the last time that I ever use the word cooter in referring to a women's cooter. a few have stuck around and checked out the
genius that is boz.
What ya think?
How many hits do you think I will get from the phrase ..
Maybe if I throw in ...
Justin Timberlake's uploaded internet pic of Britney's cooter.
Yeah, that ought to be worth a few.
Would you settle for Daisy's Cooter?
It is 4:11 am and I am awake, after about an hour of sleep. What the fuck is my problem? I mean, I like to sleep, it has always been one of my favorite pastimes, I mean there used to be a time when I could take a nap that would last maybe an hour to an hour and a half, and that was just a nap, arghhh, this is gibberish, big deal, maybe my fingers will get tired, and then I can get some sleep.
I can see the ads.
Having problems sleeping? Try typing. 9 out of 10 doctors recommend typing over counting sheep for their patients who suffer from ...
a. lack of sleep
c. did I say lack of sleep yet?
e. necrophilia, wait that does sound right, I think I mean narcolepsy, or something
f. sleep apnia
g. did I mention lack of sleep?
h. could this be due to lack of cheese?
i. the heartbreak of lionel ritchie songs being looped thru your brain
j. hahaha, i. made me laugh
k. I'm shooting for the whole alphabet now
l. I wear size 12 shoes, big, but not grotesque
m. put them all together they spell mother
n. lack of brain cells
o. Hamlet was of the asian persuasion
p. and so is Kevynn, in a half assed sort of way
q. the homo
r. get it, homo starts with a q!!
s. I think it's working
t. either that or I am hallucinating
u. get your hands off my uvula, creep
v. vestal virgins compliments of procul harum
x. three more to go
y. make that two
z. well, paint me stupid and call me boz, or something
Kevynn's blog post, thingie, archive post.
Wednesday, October 16, 2002
If I ever met God I would ask him:
What music he likes.
If he was taller than me.
I’d tell him to cut his hair. He looks like John Frusciante. Yeah, it helps you get chicks-
but, c’mon. It helps you sleep better when it’s short. You don’t have to do that girly ‘flip’ thing.
I’d ask him where Hannah my cat was…
If I could borrow some money.
I’d tell him he needed to get some new clothes.
And would ask him if he works out. Is there a gym in heaven,
and what would the membership commitments be in the after-life?
Does he want to go skating tomorrow?
Can he pull some strings and help me get out of work this Saturday night?
Will he help me with the final drafts of my screenplays?
Has he ever seen True Romance?
Would it be okay if he could kill all bad poets?
How could God create light before he created the sun?
How could God create me in his own image?
Does he have bad eyesight, asthma, and two different-colored eyes?
How could he create the Olson Twins? Knowing the evil that lurks in the heart of men?
I’d ask him if he liked beer, and what kind. He strikes me as a Guinness drinker.
Do his ears ring every time someone says, ‘Oh my god?’
Wanna play ‘UNO?’
Wanna play chess?
I don’t think I’d want to play him though, his mind would always wander elsewhere,
and he’d be impatient, whine and accuse you of cheating and throw the game across the room and call you a ‘bitch’ if you beat him.
Why are some of your followers so 'you' damn stupid and SO fucking mean?
AND…if he really existed-How come lightsabers aren't around yet?
My apologies for excluding Allah, Buddha, Zeus, Satan, that stupid sniper in Maryland, and David Koresh…
Boz here ... That post brought to mind a verse from a John Prine song Everybody
While out sailing on the ocean
While out sailing on the sea
I bumped into the Saviour
And He said pardon me
I said "Jesus you look tired"
He said "Jesus so do you,
Sit down son
'Cause I got some fat to chew"
Differences between men and women, #238. A woman will bitch, moan, and complain when a man leaves the toilet seat up, but a man never complains when a woman leaves the seat down, he'll just go ahead and take a leak.
I don't usually give props, (props!!! is boz going ghetto???) to professional, or pseudo-professional, or neo-professional, or demi-professional, or even quasi-professional sites, but I kind of like this one.
Hurry up and visit, if you are so inclined, because I am liable to delete the post at my whimsy. (whimsy!!! is boz going effete on us, again???)
Just because I am paranoid doesn't mean I don't know that blogspot is screwing with my mind.
Ohhhh, I know they are.
They've got one of their tech support dudes, or dudettes, hiding in my cpu, hiding and laughing at me. I can hear them when I am really really quiet, speaking Kevynn's idiot language.
can you hear them too?
Little strips of scotch tape on the carpet with black marker X's on them in front of the chalk board.
I sat somewhere in the back. To the right, I think.
Eating birdseed off of the ground and getting in trouble for it.
Going to speech therapy every Wednesday.
This was probably because I was still living with my fragmented-English mother and played with my babysitters son-who was retarded.
He was cool, though. We always had a crap-load of fun. Smashing our heads into Lego piles and spitting on each other.
My father would get furious with me though because I always came home speaking gibberish. He called it my "Idiot Language".
I guess It started to rub off on my older brother too, so i had to go to speech therapy.
It wasn't that bad. It just made you feel like you had toddler cooties. Everybody would look at me when the teacher announced Kevynn Had To Leave.
Oh well. Now, I love to speak. I can't shut up usually. And I'm an eloquent bastard in real life.
Really. I'm not as stupid as I am on the written page. I was a drama-fag for a bit in high school until all of the party people left. I got smart and went into Home Ed and Guitar. I've done voice-over work for advertisements and cartoons. So lick It...Mr. KINDERGARTEN! You sucked! Except for the part where I got in trouble for chasing around all of the girls with the dead mouse I found out in the field. And except for the part where I ripped off a bunch of Dristan from my fathers medicine cabinet and took it out on the bridge over the sandbox and poured it into the dirt, thinking that a Dristan tree would grow...Except for the parts when I used to cruise around during reccess on one of the three-wheelers like a pimp. Cruising for...what...solidarity? A lack of confusion? Damn, I was a wacky kid, but still cool. If I have a kid like I was back then-I'll be lucky. I wasn't that bad. At least back then.
I really didn't want to do this tonight, but if I don't Art Garfunkel gets to come over and kick my ass. So I guess it is Sunday night with Simon and Garfunkel, like it or not.
Artie is small but wiry, and he kicks like a girl when threatened.
Oooh, ooh, ooh, The Professional with Jean Reno and Natalie Portman is just about to start on Bravo.
Be there, or be square.
I was there for about half an hour.
I'm back to being square at square one.
The hottest girl in my 10th grade class was Diana Teal, and baby she was hot. I don't know, maybe it was her peaches and cream complexion, or her soft brown hair, or her deep blue eyes, or the one extra button she always kept undone on her starched white blouse, or maybe it was the way the sunlight twinkled across her braces when she smiled. It didn't really matter, like I said she was hot, and she knew it. She was an office aide, and I remember the time she walked into my Biology class and my lab partner, Paul Heideloff, saw her and said "Yowza" in a voice so loud that even Mr. DiStefano, our teacher, with his bad rug and all, had to laugh, but Diana didn't blush, she didn't even break stride, at the most she might have let the florescent lights play across her braces as she gave a little half smile at the realization of the power she held over a bunch fifteen year old walking, talking hard-ons.
It isn't fair, it just isn't fair.
We already have a winner in the Boom-chock-a-locka-locka, Boom-chock-a-locka-locka Boob Contest. The correct answer is everyone's favorite paganesque slut, bitch, whore cutie. Fairuza Balk. And our winner is JR from The American Undershirt. A tip of the hat, and a plauge on his house goes out to JR.
Can you hear it?
Celebrity boobs, celebrity boobs, celebrity boobs, celebrity boobs, celebrity boobs, celebrity boobs,
It's getting louder ...
CELEBRITY BOOBS, CELEBRITY BOOBS, CELEBRITY BOOBS, CELEBRITY BOOBS, CELEBRITY BOOBS,
Yes, I guess it's time once again for Boobs of the Rich and Famous, Celebrity Style. Peeps, I've always wanted to say that ...
Peeps and perps, name these boobs.
A hint? Would you like a hint?
Fine, but this is going to deduct from the point value.
Hint: She was in a female buddy movie, but I don't think it would be fair to say witch one.
It is comforting to know that I am finally starting to get a higher class of search engine hit.
Someone just surfed in from a search engine located on Walmart.com looking for joe millionaire nude pics.
Clean-up on aisle eight.
People and things I remember for no particular reason.
Toothpaste in aerosol cans.
They put the last clean shirt on my poor brother Bill.
The gap between Marge Rivard's front teeth, which, by the way, did not detract from her earthy sexuality.
My 9th grade Algebra teacher's distaste for clock watchers which led him to put a burgundy curtain in front of the classroom clock.
Duck and cover.
Girls who wore pink lipstick in junior high school.
The Johnny Ginger Show.
Jill Stephens, hubba, hubba, hubba.
Things that go bump in the night.
He & She, and Paula Prentiss's sexy throaty voice.
That one time at band camp.
Danny Simonescu and his PF Flyers.
That girl with the skinny legs.
The girl with the "you catch me, you fuck me" Mustang.
The first day of the rest of your life.
If I were a French I would probably be a petty thief, like Jean-Paul Belmondo in Breathless. Do you see the connection? Jean Seberg, Jean-Paul Belmondo, who by the way, must be one of the ugliest men on god's green earth, ok, next to that Gerard Depardeau, and I will be damned if I am going to look up the correct spelling of G.D.'s name, and what is it with these French and their ugly men, I mean Charles DeGaulle wasn't exactly an Adonis either, ummm let me think a minute
Jean Seberg, Jean-Paul Belmondo, Breathless. I'm sorry but I was reading a blog tonight that mentioned the movie Breathless, and I am afraid that is what brought all of this on, because .....
leave me ....
The French, beautiful women, and butt ugly men.
Only in America.
Good night Chet.
Oh man, I wish Jean Seberg would have lived next door to me growing up.
I wish Jean Seberg would have lived next door to me growing up, and not just because I would have been able to look into her bedroom window from my bedroom window, but that would have been part of it, no lie, but golly gee, she was just so neat-o, and I bet she would have looked like whipped cream and other delights in a pair of baggy blue jeans and her father's old pin stripe shirt, out washing the car on Saturday morning. Hi Rick, hi Dave, hi mom, hi dad, what's for lunch, and did Mary-Ellen call yet?
I woke up early Saturday morning and got hooked on one of those low rent Pirahnna movies on TNT, Pirahnna 2 or 3 or infinity, not sure which, not important though, the important thing is that Alexandra Paul was the female lead. You might remember her from Baywatch, the early years, as the tall skinny lifeguard with no tits, which would have made a nice contrast to Pamela Anderson, wouldn't it. Anyway, let's have a look at ...
Alexandra Paul, the least busty Baywatch Babe.
Alexandra Paul, no boobs, but some of the longest legs this side of Legomania, a small landlocked country in the Balkans.
Nice Docs Alexandra.
The wind is howling tonight.
It makes me think of Zimmerman, not yet Dylan, walking down the streets of Hibbing, collar up, hands stuffed in pockets,
Buddy Holly and the Everly Brothers be-bopping back and forth across his brain,
cold as a witches tit,
A buddy and I were once accused by Canadian border guards of trying to smuggle boots into Canada.
"You got boots?"
Um, no, the sign says you have to declare any purchases before you enter the country, and I bought a pair of work boots.
"You got boots?"
They're for work, I didn't bring them in to Canada to sell, or anything.
"You got boots?"
For work, I bought them for work.
"You can't bring boots into Canada."
Not to sell, honest, they're for me.
"You got boots?"
They're in the trunk, if you want to see.
"You got boots, in the trunk?"
Um, yeah, in the trunk, in between the kilo of grass and the black tar heroin.
"Ok, you can go, but don't try to sell those boots in Canada."
No Canadians were harmed during the writing of the preceding post.
Ok, I just had to say it.
Eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh.
Near death experiences. A gun to the side of my head.
A switchblade to my throat.
Drowning, not once, but twice, on the same day.
Falling out of the back of a moving truck.
Someone intentionally trying to run me down.
Picking a fight with a former Missouri High School State Wrestling Champion.
Sliding and skidding out of control down the highway after hitting a stretch of black ice.
Renting, and watching Godfather III.
That's all for now, maybe more later.
What 'ya say, anybody ready for another round of Boobs, Celebrity Style.
The current boobs.
Name that tattoo, I mean name those boobs. Did I say tattoo? I didn't say tattoo did I? 'Da plane boss,'da plane.
Starring Judith Light in a very special episode of Fa-aaaaaaaaaaantasy Island.
No hints you Corsican scum.
No hints you Corinthian leather.
She was a winner
that became the doggie's dinner
she never met that much to me
ahhhhhhhhh poor Marie
poor Marie ... ad infinitum.
above lyrics generated by the random Nick Lowe lyric generator.
One last post before midnight?
Smooth like Velvetta, with half as many calories.
Geez, I look like Doc from Gunsmoke tonight. That would be Milburn Stone.
And the guy I grew up believing was my father,
was originally offered the part of Marshall Dillon, but turned it down and suggested ... James Arness, who is the brother of Peter "don't call me Roger" Graves, and the part of Matt Dillon on the radio version of Gunsmoke was played by William Conrad, aka Cannon, aka the Fatman, from Jake and the, aka The Eggplant That Ate Cincinnati.
I need a shower.
I need a lover who won't drive me crazy
I need a lover who won't drive me mad
I need a lover who won't drive me crazy
Some girl who knows the meaning of
'Hey hit the highway'
I need to know if it's John Cougar Mellencamp
I need to know if it's John Mellencamp
I need to know when to leave well enough alone.
Or maybe it's Pat Benetar.
It ain't me babe
No, no, no, it ain't me babe
It ain't me you're looking for ... babe
Ah, for the days when I use to get drunk and sing songs by the Turtles till the wee hours of the morning.
Elenore gee, I think you're swell,
And you really do me well,
You're my pride and joy, et cetera.
Damn, those guys have got to be sixty years old by now, good things Turtles live hundred and hundreds of years, and that's people years, not turtle years. Screw it, I'm going to bed, and make like a turtle ..
And, imagine me and you, I do
I think about you every night
It's only right
To think about the girl you love
And hold her tight
So happy together ...
I just upgraded my zonkboard to uber zonkboard so that Kevynn could swear on it. Only seven bucks for a year, and if I smoked, which I don't that would be two packs of cigarettes, which in the days when I did smoke wouldn't even last me a day, so a year for seven bucks isn't bad, and I just rationalized the upgrade in a couple of easy steps.
Also I am looking for add-ons for the site, if anyone knows of any, just let me know. Things like dancing hula girls that tell the time, you know, that type of thing.
I'm goofing off on cam right now. Pierced nipple pic, both tattoo pics, grinning and mugging, shucking and jiving, tossing and turning, reeling and rocking, bitching and moaning, cussing and swearing, et al.
If you had to pick either RATSY, the woman who isn't maya Angelou, or Winona Ryder to go to the senior prom with, who would you choose? If the women who isn't maya angelou was dressed in her underwear I would probably choose her, but if I wanted someone to rifle through the coat room looking for Versace scarves, dvd players and spare change I would choose Winona Ryder, but if I wanted someone to do the duck walk and party hearty with I would definitely pick Singer Superstar Songstress RATSY.
Who is this woman, and why is she taking off her underwear?
Who is this woman, and why is she taking off her underwear,
who is this woman, and why am I smiling,
who is this woman, and why does the caged bird sing,
this wouldn't be maya angelou, would it?
I am way too easy, easy like Sunday morning, on a Thursday night. We already have a winner in the Boob contest. mayamaya is the lucky winner. It looks like I am going to have to get medieval on you people in the hint department, yes? no? huh? what? huh?
Winona Ryder in her work release duds.
What we have here is a failure to communicate ... communicate.
I have a confession to make. I am sexually attracted to women in their 40's with dirty blonde hair,
two of them in particular,
and believe me it is merely physical.
The first one is a receptionist in the lab at the hospital where I get my blood tests. She is English and has the accent to prove it, she wears skirts and bulky sweaters, and has fine bone structure and short lank dirty blonde hair, which is probably streaked, that falls down over her right eye.
The second one is a co-owner of the dollar store in the town north of here. She is petite and tanned, with long dirty blonde hair, and wears jeans, baggy shirts, sneakers and contacts, and from a distance she could pass for a 20 year old, and even close up she could pass for a mid-thirty year old.
They are both definitely snark-alicious, at least in my book, but why bother, so I won't, fantasy isn't bad, and they are both married, but I don't really know that, and I am hemming and hawing here, and perhaps there is a 40-ish dirty blonde out there with my name tattooed on her ass, either boz or Ken, it doesn't matter to me, ramble, ramble, ramble ....
I have a bad case of heartburn, which is better than a good case of assburn, I guess, so I am going back to bed for awhile till my generic Zantac 75 takes care of my non generic heartburn, then I have to get out and do something, cause we are going through a February thaw with temps in the low 40's and I hate to waste this kind of break in the winter weather, so I will do something, even if something is just going out to listen to the trees, ok, so the trees don't talk, but they do bark, and didn't I use that joke (joke?) a week or so ago, the heartburn has rendered me senseless and clueless, and probably feckless too, so I am going back to bed .. baby?
Damn, is it Thursday already? I am just Thursdaying my life away, one Thursday at a time. Has there ever been a song written about Thursday? I think the rest of the days of the week have their song. I should check on that, and I should trim my toenails too, but I'm not going to do either tonight. Monday, Monday, Ruby Tuesday, I'll have to think about Wednesday for a bit, Friday On My Mind, Another Saturday Night, Sunday Will Never Be the Same, ok, Wednesday Morning 3 AM, see I was right, there are no Thursday songs, and don't argue with me, ok, just let me be right this one time, ok, and don't raise your voice, ok, and throw another shrimp on the barbie, ok, and call me, don't be afraid you can call me, maybe it's late, but just call me, call me and I'll be around, ok.
Here it is straight up. Sullivan from Last Day of My Life linked to me yesterday. I looked around his journal/diary/blog whatever, not getting into it very much, I knew he said something about being a homeless guy, I didn't know if he was jerking around or if he really was homeless, and I left it that.
So tonight I gave his site a closer look, and man, it is incredible. You have to at least check it out, but don't go to the link in my list, go back to the beginning. Believe him, don't believe him, feel sorry for him, admire him, whatever, just read it. It is fascinating. Last Day of My Life.
We have a winner in the last Celebrity Boob contest. It is Diane Lane, the Golden Globe winner for the movie Unfaithful.
Hubba Hubba, it's Diane Lane. She played the ho' in the original mini-series Lonesome Dove that was always giving out free pokes.
Oh yeah, the correct answer was given by Sullivan from the blog Last Day of My Life.
Kevynn and I are undertaking another joint endeavor, hopefully this will be more successful than our last joint endeavor. Kevynn and I will be scouring each others archives looking for our seven favorite posts. Then on either Sunday or Monday of next week, we will be posting one a day for seven days, and as usual after going over what I just wrote I am not too sure what we are going to do either, so you shouldn't feel left out in your confusion.
In a nut shell here is what we will be doing. I will check out Kevynn's archives and find my seven favorite posts that he has made, and starting next week I will post one a day for a week.
Kevynn will be doing the same thing with my archives, more or less.
It will be sort of like Fitzgerald and Faulkner exchanging short stories, but I don't like Faulkner too much because he writes too much about cow sex, of course Kevynn is into pig sex, and that is pretty close to cow sex, but I think just a little faster, and when I talk about cow sex I don't mean between a cow and a bull, I mean sex between a cow and a man, the Snopes family had some crazy whammajammers, but I don't know about Kevynn and his pig sex, but I have an idea, but I don't even want to go there, so let's let sleeping dogs lie, or have sex, or whatever, and maybe The Fitzgerald/Faulkner and boz/Kevynn comparison is appropriate after all, except for the skill level, neither Fitzgerald or Faulkner had a blog, so they can't be expected to be accepted as our equals, such is life. The hacks.
My next big project will be to do an in depth study of the movie Girl Interrupted by in depth study I mean post a lot of pics, and no, Whoopi Goldberg, another woman who I have never had sexual thoughts about, will not be included.
About time, but the only problem is I don't have anything to post now. I am frustrated, out of words, out of site, get it site, and not sight, and slowly going out of my mind, and who recorded that song "going out of my head over you" it was probably someone who was posting on blogger, or somebody else. I am typing frantically, so many things, ch'yeah, right, so little time, and did anyone catch my flash of #117 earlier today?
My back hurts. I am all Motrined and Ben-Gayed up, and who knew, not that it makes any difference, and lucky I found that Ben-Gay last night, so don't expect much from me, as if you ever did, go Wings go, 2 pucks to zero pucks after two.
I will be guest posting on The Sinister Sister tonight, and this weekend I will be hosting Saturday Night Live, on Sunday I will be a panelist on Meet The Press, I'll be with Oprah on Tuesday, and my new book Not Just for Breakfast Anymore will be in bookstores the first week in March.
I am also available for weddings and bar or bas mitzvahs.
Contact me at email@example.com for availability and pricing.
I heard a joke on the Fox News Channel's Morning Show today, and by the way, aren't the three people who host that show about the three dimmest bulbs in the fixture, anyway here is the joke, and I paraphrase, because I can't emulate the sound of the female anchor's gum cracking sounds.
French Dude to American Dude (feel free to substitute Dudette for Dude, if that is your inclination)
French Dude: You American's have no right to invade (insert country of your choice, because as I once stated this is a politics free blog) It is wrong, it is war mongering, you have no right to be the policemen of the world, you stick your nose in everywhere, blah, blah, blah, blah, yadda, yadda, yadda.
The east coast has 2 feet of snow, big deal. As I look out my window I see at least ..... hmmmmm, it must be at least an inch of snow, but it's an inch of Michigan snow, and Michigan snow is a special breed of snow, and it is a special breed of snow, because I live in Michigan and I have to shovel it. Two feet of snow on the east coast, big deal, I don't have to shovel it, so deal with it you effete pansies.
I can't believe all the saps that are still with HaloScan, it's been three days, and it's not like it is the first time, if your significant other treated you like HaloScan treated you, you'd be gone in sixty seconds ...
or booked on the Springer Show ...
Well, Jerry, it's like this ...
or both ...
It's 4:30 in the morning, excuse the bile of this post, but, it is the truth as typed through my sleep encrusted eyes.
Ok, that was kind of harsh, it's the truth as I see it, which may or may not be the truth as the rest of the world sees it, but I can't speak for the rest of the world, well I could, but that would be presumptuous, and wrong, very, very, wrong, so where was I?
saps, HalocScan, three days, significant, sixty seconds ...
Springer Show ...
4:30, bile, truth, encrusted, world, presumptuous, wrong,
blah, blah, blah, balh,
Ok, if you promise not to say anything about my comments system going down, I'll promise not to badmouth HaloScan anymore.
While I am at it, I want to apologize for calling you saps, that was a poor choice of words, it wasn't a wrong choice, just a poor choice, and I meant saps in the best possible way.
I feel like such a Nancy Boy. Like I told you the other day, at least I think I told you, that because of the cold dry weather my hands are turning into velcro. The dryness got to me tonight so I hunted around the cabinets for some kind of lotion. There wasn't a big selection, it was either Ben-Gay, and who knew, not that it makes any difference, or Generic Vitamin E Skin Lotion. The Vitamin E is helping some, but I smell like Irma La Douce on a Saturday night.
The Shalom Harlow pic I won't post in here, because I run a clean blog, no porn, no full frontal, no nips, only pokies, no shoes, no shirt, no service. Tell me about skinny now, why don't you, but she is Canadian, and god bless our neighbors to the north even though they spell it neighbours, I think the superfluous u is left over from colonial days when Britain imposed a u tax, not unlike the stamp tax and tea tax here in the states, that led to our War for Independence, but Canada was too busy perfecting hockey and curling to notice, and my train of thought has just left the station, so I guess I will just end it here. I'm coming Shalom darling, and I didn't mean that in the biblical sense.
BTW, Shalom is on the left, and that's our babysitter on the right.
We have twins you know, they nearly starved to death as infants. A sad story really.
I need a break, my head is spinning from all the love I feel in here. Do you feel it too? Don't forget, I'm not just a brain, I am also a sex object, and I deserve to be treated as such. There must be a hockey game or something on now, or something.
Since HaloScan has been so goofy lately a lot of people are looking for new comment systems. Here is a url where I found my current one, it also has a number of other systems. Check it out, if you must.
I think I'd like to marry Shalom Harlow in my next life.
Ok, I know she is skinny, but I can live with skinny, and I know she has a funny name, but funny in a cute way, don't you think, and besides boz and Shalom go together real nice, it sort of rolls off your tongue doesn't it.
Honey, boz and Shalom are coming over tonight better stop and pick up some diet Coke at the Stop and Go.
Sure, I noticed the magic marker on her chest, but hey, I don't think that is indelible, and who wouldn't pay to have the chance to wash it off, and of course there is the one thing about Shalom Harlow that you just can't deny ...
UNDERPANTS. Shalom baby, I'll be right up, I just have to say goodnight to all these fine people.
(whistling)Got a date with an angel.(whistling)
I'm sitting here on Yahoo Messenger waiting for action, but the action she don't come, and if you haven't noticed I am typing wit a cajoon accent, bruddah, and this post isn't going anywhere, is it, and I bet you noticed that before I did, and you have already stopped reading and returned to surfing for porn, but I am sort of getting on a roll, so don't mind me, I think I'll make like a thousand monkeys and see if I can come up with something even slightly resembling ... anyone, resembling ..... anyone, resembling .... anyone, slightly resembling ..........
And now for something completely ... anyone, Bueller, anyone.
I guess sometimes it is just best to cut bait and torque up the old Evinrude and head for shore.
Connie, over at Chubby Momma's is having a Name That Celebrity Bulge contest. Should I feel flattered or ripped-off? Damn, I knew I should have went the copyright route. I feel so violated. Anyway, mosey on over and have a look see.
It's Psychedelic Sunday at the Boz Pit, anyone with love beads gets in for half price, and anyone named Sunshine, with a driver's license to prove it, gets in free. Tonight's opening acts will be the local bands, Fuzzy Apricots, Electrical Band-ayd, and Luv Station, and tonights featured act all the way from San Francisco California, The Toad Messengers. Tickets $2.50 in advance and $3.00 at the door. It's gonna be a happenin' ... baby's!
They've got microwave ovens on sale at Kmart for $39.00, too bad I don't need one. Mine is one of the prototypes from back in the 70's and about the size of an AMC Pacer.
Do I hear Gilbert O'Sullivan singing in the background?
Alone Again, Naturally. I bet they played that song at Billy's wedding reception.
Stop me before I tweak again!!!!
I'm like an addict who needs a fix. I can't stop tweaking my layout.
Hey man, I didn't touch your TV, or your VCR, or your CD player,
and how would I know what happened to the money in your wallet!
You shouldn't leave that stuff just laying around.
Or is that lying around?
I've got a jones and I've got it bad. You can see the tweaks all up and down my arms.
Would somebody please give me a Hershey Bar?
I feel like I am in a bad episode of
And dat's the troot ...
Another day, another doughnut. Doink, Boink, Bink, Bam, I'm at a loss of words, and at a loss for ideas, but who cares, I like to take up space ... ace! Man, my hands are so rough from this cold dry weather it feels like I am wearing velcro gloves, and that's the truth. Did someone just burp. or was it just a blip on the radar screen of my so-called life, and even though Claire Danes was jailbait on that show I wouldn't have minded punching her mother's ticket. Hell, I even know who played her mother. It was Bess Armstrong, the all american girl, baby.
Bess Armstrong, the b&w years.
I just got the sickest search request imaginable, and I have had some pretty sick ones. The absolute sickest search request I have ever gotten, and I am positive I will ever get was a request for kevynn nude. How about it kevynn?
I like the Celebrity Boob Contests so I will probably be doing more of them, and if any of my readers would care to submit their boobs we could have a Name the Blogger's Boobs Contest, that could be fun. I am already slavering in anticipation.
By the way, the last set of Celebrity Jugs belonged to Uma Thurman, and lucy was the correct answerererer, after about 17 guesses.
There is a new blogger out there named Lola, slide on by and give her a glance, what can it hurt.
Man, I love that song.
by Ray Davies as performed by the Kinks
I met her in a club down in North Soho
where you drink champagne and it tastes just like Coca Cola
She walked up to me and she asked me to dance.
I asked her her name and in a dark brown voice she said, "Lola"
L-O-L-A Lola, lo lo lo Lola
Well, I'm not the world's most physical guy,
but when she squeezed me tight she nearly broke my spine
Oh my Lola, lo lo lo Lola, lo lo lo Lola
Well, I'm not dumb but I can't understand
why she walks like a woman and talks like a man
Oh my Lola, lo lo lo Lola, lo lo lo Lola
Well, we drank champagne and danced all night,
under electric candlelight,
she picked me up and sat me on her knee,
She said, "Little boy won't you come home with me?"
Well, I'm not the world's most passionate guy,
but when I looked in her eyes,
I almost fell for my Lola,
Lo lo lo Lola, lo lo lo Lola
I pushed her away. I walked to the door.
I fell to the floor. I got down on my knees.
I looked at her, and she at me.
Well that's the way that I want it to stay.
I always want it to be that way for my Lola.
Lo lo lo Lola.
Girls will be boys, and boys will be girls.
It's a mixed up, muddled up, shook up world,
except for Lola. Lo lo lo Lola. Lo lo lo Lola.
Well I left home just a week before,
and I never ever kissed a woman before,
Lola smiled and took me by the hand,
she said, "Little boy, gonna make you a man."
Well I'm not the world's most masculine man,
but I know what I am and that I'm a man,
so is Lola.
Lo lo lo Lola. Lo lo lo Lola.
Geez, I'm glad Valentine's Day is over and not because the holiday sucks, even though it does, but because now I won't have to read all your whiny blog posts for another year. Valentine's Day is actually kind of fun if you are a bargain hunter, ok, make that cheap.
Things I bought for Valentine's Day
1. Lunch at Burger King with a buy one get one free coupon.
2. A one lb. box of chocolate from the discount supermarket for $2.49,and the candy was very good, because I ate most of it.
3. A huge stuffed dog with a rose stuck in it's mouth from Kmart marked down from $9.99 to $4.99.
4. No cards.
Things I received for Valentine's Day
1. A smiley face Valentine cup, with the price tag still on it, for 50 cents.
2. A bottle of musk after shave with the price still on it, for $1.00.
3. A bathmat with the price tag still on it, for $4.00.
4. No cards
Kind or weird and a little embarrassed to admit it, but I just woke up from a nightmare and I'm kind of afraid to go back to sleep, so I guess I'll just hang out here for a while, with the light on, and watch the Snoop Doggy Dog infomercial for Girls Gone Wild. I haven't the slightest idea what the dream was about, but it messed with my mind, and no lucy, there was no Nyquil, or any other OTC drug, maybe just a little too much diet Coke, or something. Jeepers, talk about getting your hackles raised.
Ok, it is coming back to me, at least the premise is. It was one of those George Bailey type of dreams, one of those what would it be like if there were no Ken, and I mean Ken, because boz is just for pretend, and Ken is for real, and so am I, and somebody ring a damn bell so Clarence can get his wings and I can get back to sleep, and that Lionel Barrymore was such a twerp, and I mean twerp in the worst possible way, and my fingers are getting tired, and my eyelids are getting heavy, and, and, and ...
Ladies and gentleman, the part of George Bailey was played by Jimmy Stewart and the part of Clarence was played by some character actor that I don't know the name of and the part of Ken was played by boz, or was it the other way around.
I'm all better now. Kiss Kiss, hug hug, good night.
I think boz just might be my Clarence.
Well, I'll probably dream about Snow White tonight, I think she was always my favorite Disney Babe, at least in the animated category, of course as a five year old sitting in front of the old 17 inch Muntz, no one could beat Mickey Mouse Club's Karen Pendleton.
Karen Pendleton, be still my pre-pubescent heart.
Good night all, and good night Karen, wherever you are.
Holy Nuclear Warheads Batman, I was just blog surfing and ran across a blog, that shall remain nameless, nameless because I didn't bookmark it and I can't remember the name of it, hence remaining nameless would be the logical choice, anyway, I checked out the link section, because I am always looking for interesting new blogs to read, and this dufus, dufus being a neutral noun, had their blog links categorized by how often he frequented, doh, you got me there it's a guy, but probably a wussy guy. He turned it into a friggin' popularity contest.
Dufus: Let's see, she goes on the A list, and oh my let's put him on the B list, and this is definately C list, and yadda yadda yadda and blah blah blah.
Put all the damn links together, if you don't like 'em, nuke 'em.
And another thing, how can they call it Jumbo Shrimp ????
A good number of people have made nice comments about my new layout, ok, about 6 or 7 people, but when you are me, and you aren't really used to nice, 6 or 7 is a good number of people. Anyway, I just used one of the pretty basic templates that was created by HalfWayGully, and designed for Blogger use, followed their directions, and ran with it.
This is the template I used.
Sitting here in front of the computer pretending that I am making a contribution to internet life in general is not getting the bird cage cleaned. The same bird cage that I promised myself that I would clean yesterday, and if I am going to be honest with myself, the day before that and the day before that, and quite possibly the day before that. It's still early, so I have time.
Happy Valentine's Day to all my babes out there, who secretly adore me, but are afraid to admit it, and I don't blame you, because if I adored me, I'd be afraid to admit to it too, but there ya go, buy yourself a box of chocolates, and a nice card, rent yourself a chick flick, charge it all to my account, break out your vibrating boz, and knock yourself out, for myself I'm going back to bed. Take care, beware, life's not fair, but you shouldn't care, baby!
Songs my mother used to sing me, Chapter One.
A bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck, a hug around the neck, a hug around the neck, for you!
and I think there are about 238 more repetitions of a hug around the neck for me.
Still listening to 80's music. Ya know, leg warmers were very sexy, and that Pat Benetar, what a minx, and I'd pay to watch Cyndi Lauper She-Bop. The 80's, when Michael Jackson sang about Billie Jean, instead of sleeping with Billy and Gene ... doink.
I feel like Jar Jar Binks today, wait a minute I got that wrong, I look like Jar Jar Binks today, and I think I probably smell like him too, and ya know I don't even like Star Wars, but still I know who Jar Jar Binks is, and shouldn't that be wrong, terribly wrong. I was going to make a sexual comment about Jar Jar's masculinity or virginity, or one of his -inity's, but I think it is time I dragged this blog out of the smut hole it has been wallowing in for the past month or so. Better let me think that one over ...
Smut stays, but I will not mention Jar Jar Binks or Wil Wheaton, who I think may be related, but don't get me started on that kettle of fish, ever again.
Holy Geez, Bananarama was even more 80's than Madonna.
Is Bananarama just another phallic symbol, or is it just another one of my hang-ups, and if you replace the dark haired chick with a short chubby chick you've got the Dixie Chicks. Here a chick, there a chick, will the circle be un-friggin'-broken.
I'm playing my five disc 80's CD compilation and guess what song is playing? It's Turning Japanese. Hmmmmm, do you think I oughta, it would be kind of appropriate while the song is playing.
Nah, I don't think so, my wrist is kind of sore and ...
I need a shave.
Do it tonight boz. Sure thing Frank.
Damn, I picked my nose on cam.
Don't worry, no one saw you. You sure?
Damn straight Sherlock The voice of my conscience was played by Frank Sinatra.