My new adult entertainment name:
Candy Beans

(That's all. Just had to claim it. Carry on.)

Can't stand it, had to post
your weekend happiness early.

I don't know why Blogger's servers were down
hacking up hairballs yesterday.
Could it be...
YouTube?

Enjoyyyy.

I can't properly express my love for MXC.

My next job. I can't wait.





And finally, I'm saving my pennies up for Space Camp.
I'm getting the t-shirt for sure.

Bigfoot, alien hovercraft, and Nessie.

Try not to make eye contact.

And then I saw my shadow and, dammit,
there were 6 more weeks of summer.


(Eh, not a bad one for the end of the day.
Thanks to our contributing wildlife and oddities photographer,
Miles Stephenson for this rare shot. )


Summer. Hot. Need Gatorade.

Homicidal tendencies on the rise.
General heat riles up the bandits, while excessive heat
calms them down and occasionally heatstrokes them
right out of the game.
We've got an air advisory out today, too.
Would've been nice to know before the morning walk.
Memphis. It's all those FedEx planes.
It really is.

Air advisories.
They really have you by the goodies when it comes to air, don't they?
Gas prices soar. Ok, I'll walk or just won't use the car.
Fuzzy, huggable animals don't want to be eaten.
Not a problem, I'll have soy.
(Luckily, soybeans don't have cute wiggly-tailed babies.)
But air... man. There is no substitute for that, is it?
Gas masks, maybe.
All the rage with the military, I'm hearing.

Do they come in pink?

Oh, it's comin', babies. But eh, have no fear.
Things work out, you watch.


Did I tell you I'm going to the beach in two weeks?
*squeal*
Scott said he'd take a screenshot of me here
****yooooo-hoooo****
when I get there

Ron told me they have pink RAZRs on sale.
Dude. Like I can concentrate now.
I've been threatening this for awhile, but now, I mean it.
Tomorrow, my new life with a pink camera phone gets underway.

Please join me for the ribbon cutting.

It'll be my special brand of lighthearted boring,
so join me, won't you.
There will be pizza.
Thin crust.

And hooch.

But get there early for that,
brother.

Please vote for the cute little lamb in Video 1,
or we'll *have him seen to* with the kaiser blade.
In front of the children.
You want that? Huh? Do you?

Still unsure?
Vote for the cottonball detailing alone.

Plus, he'll punch you in the face if you don't vote for him,
and he's skyscraping tall. With a heart of gold.
Awwwww.

(For real.)


Speaking of, I have to admit something
so I can get on with my life.

I have a paralyzing crush on Stephen Merchant,
and I can't stop listening to the xfm archives.

I'm serious. I really can't.

Maybe you should listen, too. But fair warning:
He's mine, all mine.

(Yes, Angry Czeck, that was to you -- mine not yours.)

Giant fake teeth... check.

Giant fake boobs... check.

Giant real sad item... checkcheckcheckycheckcheck.

"Sure, I enjoy contortion...

...the kind that is graceful and beautiful*
and not to be confused in any way with this Garden of Eden variety
worming its way straight toward the tender, yummy children,"
I whispered sideways, eyes trained on the alien spawn,
as I instinctively began feeling around
for the cold steel of the loaded shotgun behind me...

The children did the right thing by remaining very, very still.
Personally, I'd have fainted and urinated on myself in that order.

But if you make it to the end, you'll notice that even Santa
looks to the camera for some sort of explanation or direction or whipcrack.

S-S...Santa?

I can't say for sure, and we don't know yet,
but Santa may have peed on himself, too.


(Santa tinkle? Has this blog officially taken a turn for the worse?)


*Also, not to be confused with this type of contortion:
where sitting on your own face in red pleather
not only suits you but also the middle-aged paperboy
enjoying the warm glow of the Dell monitor too, too immensely.


ps: the other day, I found one of these
crawling out of my shower drain and squashed it.

"Say, Mortimer, do these shoes go with my lipstick?"

Why certainly, my little chickadee...
sayyyyyy...how's about you'n'me get a bit of spiced rum in ya,
and take 'er for a spin by the light of the moon.

Yipes!

Thank you for the recommendation, Daniel.

Twenties, eh? Sounds worth it to me.

Does it come with a stripper pole,
or do I improvise with a column on the front porch?
Fortunately, the neighbors don't speak to me as it is.

Digging through the drafts,
here's a neato-cool one I forgot to post...
throwies if you haven't seen them.
Or even if you have, there they are again.

Feel the love.

Truly, it was just a matter of time.


It's iBuzz, the music-activated orgasm machine.

Brought to you by the makers of iPenicillin.

Kids, I've said it before, I'll say it again:
No matter how tempting it seems,
treat your iBuzz like Chapstick and hairbrushes --
get your own, and share nothing more than the music.
You'll thank me later. No handshakes, though.
A nod across the room will do just fine.

Enjoyyy.