Think I'll go raise worms.

Right now, all I can think about is worms. No, it's not because I just ran into the wormy mail dude who used to read all of our magazines before he passed them along to us, IF he decided to pass them to us AT ALL. No, I guess it's because I am so stinking proud of myself. This weekend, I bit the bullet and dug around in the dirt in my yarden (miniscule yard + mostly flowergarden = yarden). And it actually looks like real, sane adult units live in that house. I am very proud and happy about that for some reason.

(Besides the fact that my dog Otis made me very proud at the vet and is super-cool and everybody loves him, even the vet, who is also super-cool. More later on that...)

Anyone who knows me could see this: It's fairly obvious that I could have a small affinity for worms. In most cases, I don't wanna touch them. But I would think about taking it to the next level of commitment -- by building one of these super-ecologically-ingenious little Worm Ranches and strowing earthworm unspeakables across my newly created yarden. As you can see, I ganked the illustration up there from here. So buy some supplies from them or something. (Free advertising, you guys, and thanks for letting me borrow the pic in retrospect.)

Oh come on, you know you need some worms. The world is a better place when worms are present. The wormy people remind you how not to live your life, and the honest-to-goodness worms churn up the soil and literally make the world a better place for us all. Still not convinced you could use some worms, huh?

Ok. A slightly younger me would've sent a box of steaming hot redworms to any people I had a strong distaste for, say like a mail dude who reads your mail before you do. But you know, I'm not that person anymore. No, really. I've gone all soft like that and I'd feel sorry for the worms. I can feel sorry for a rock, I'm serious. But go ahead and cast the first worm. If anybody has a strong disliking for me, I'd welcome a box of worms. Back then and even now. It's a strange and strong paradox, I admit.

Anyhow, I don't know if you read that first link, but earthworms eat moistened t-shirts. I don't know how you feel about this, but to me, it's liberating. I could raise worms for the absolute rest of my natural life on just t-shirts alone. That's probably not the best thing for them to be eating day in and day out, but I'm just sayin'.

More on Otis Goes to the Vet later. He's such a good boy. Only bad thing he did was pee on the scale. I know how he feels.

By the way, if you are looking for a good movie, rent "American Splendor ".

Also, I'm off to check out this new photoblog option on Blogger. Because I know you can't wait for pictures of me gushing over baby worms and giant dogs.

Book review, book review.

If you need a dose of something good before David Sedaris' latest book "Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim" hits the shelves, you have no other choice but to get "Birds of America" by Lorrie Moore. Such well-crafted sentences do not exist this side of Alcatraz. What, you think that sentence sucked. Well fine then: Buy Lorrie Moore... Buy Lorrie Moore...

And, I'd also like to influence a Klaus Nomi revisit and revival very soon. The world is suffering without his music. More on that later whether you want it or not.


But for now, for you, it's another friendly "Product Review, Product Review!"




Hershey's Dark Kisses, Hershey's Caramel-Filled Kisses and Hershey's Ice Cream Kisses.

Hershey's Dark Kisses just taste like a candle compared to Dove Dark Chocolate Promises. But the Caramel-Filled kisses make it allll betttterrrrr. They are so good that I'm never buying them again. Too tempting. And the Ice Cream Kisses Swirl Kisses are a mighty decent offering. At least the strawberry creme swirl ones are good anyhow. Not as tempting as the caramel ones, but I'm truly afraid of the other flavor combinations they may have come up with. If they had Pralines and Creme, I'd be in what is referred to as a World of Candy Pain.

Oh MAN, I just missed the Kiss Mobile when it passed through Memphis on May 3 - 9. Wonder if Ace Freeley was on it...I don't care for Gene Simmons. Not because he's an admitted womanizer, but because he's a freakishly ugly womanizer with a great big bloated ego bitchface. Oh the power of rock'n'roll.

You have to at least try the Caramel-Filled ones. Tell them my alien forces commanded you to do it.

Speaking of aliens,




I have a new favorite Otis story. The cat's in my lap, and he's a big cat, so I'm typing this with a 13 lb. added level of difficulty. Anyway, so I made an appointment for Otis to get his shots tomorrow at the vet. (Good thing he can't read. Yet.) He's never been there so they wanted all his info.

"Name?" It's Otis.

"Oh...Dee...Eye...Ess?" No, Oh TEE Eye Ess.

"Age?" (Well, Ron found him, so unless we cut him in two and count the rings) I'd guess 6.

"Breed?" Uhhh ... he's half Basset Hound and half Labradore. I guess you could call him Bassadore.

"(small silent pause)..." He looks like a Labradore, standing in a hole...

"Really?" Yep, and he also looks like Cher right now too because his toenails are really long and that is not neglect, that is too much love...

"What color is he?" Black. I'm serious about the toenails. I tried to cut them and cut one too short --

"And then he wouldn't let you near 'im again --" No, My HUSBAND wouldn't let me near 'im again.

"Really." Yep.

"Okay... so I've got you down for 10:30am Saturday." Ok thanks!

"Okay... Saturday is my day off, but you know what? I'm coming in. I've gotta see what he looks like."

I know the feeling! I wish I could start a herd of Otards. Maybe one day: Otis' "Circle Bar Toenail" Dude Ranch and Cow Eatery. No cats allowed.

(Maybe I described him wrong. Scott says he looks like a giant Labradore head was transplanted onto the stumpy little body a Basset Hound.)

I love spreading the Otis Otardia Tardarella goodness. I wish he wasn't so shy though. I'd build an Otis Mobile and we'd tour the country, and throw out little plastic Otis whistles made out of Dove dark chocolate, and filled with caramel. He's the world's largest puppy and my biggest little buddy.

Damn, I'm glad Otis can't read.

Being unmotivated is hard work.


Today's aphorism and another useless tagline from the past:

"I think I'm tired of these damned aphorisms."

and

"Ho ho ho, Green Giant."



There's been a lot going on these days. And being too lazy to update a blog is just one of them. And lucky for you, especially with all the inane things going on the past few days, such as stupid people,supersizing people,super-stupid people.

That kind of stuff should equal an All-You-Can-Blog-Buffet of material. But eh, it's kind of depressing, don't ya think? Especially that part with the fathead making fun of the unfortunate beheading is downright disgusting. I hope he chokes on a chicken bone. The odds are good he'll choke on an entire chicken. I had to say it.

Besides, I still got the Spring Fever. Or that could be the hay fever. And it's almost summer by now, isn't it? Excellent. I'll be counting the days til the autumnal equinox now: 128 days from today. Never say I can't find the silver lining.

See, I had nothing constructive to say. I'd hate for this blog to take a turn for the nasty. So I'll have to think of something good to talk about besides "The Swan" being Almost Over. So when I can't think of anything good to say, it's time for a product review!

This blog may just turn into a Product Review Blog in that case. So hey, let's celebrate with a Pom Wonderful!




O Holy Mother of All That is Good. That's what this drink is. Overwhelmingly good. I had the Blueberry. Now I won't be able to concentrate until I have one of each somehow. It was one of those moments. It was so good, I went momentarily blind after I drank it. And not in that moonshine way. More like in "the first time you ever had birthday cake" way. Make the world a better place one mouth at a time, and try one of these today.

Next on the list: Hershey's Caramel Kisses and Klaus Nomi.

Today's aphorism, and another useless tagline from the past.

"Bring a sequinned hat and make a little money. It's Memphis."

"It's not nice to fool Mother Nature."




It's one of those days when I have nothing to say. I mean, like, absolutely nothing to say. It'd be nice to have at least one thing to say, but no. I got nothin'.

See?

Oh well.

My great big fat cat scratched Ron on the eyelid the other day and he lived to tell the tale. Ron thinks it was because his eye was twitching in his sleep. I'm sure that twitch has nothing to do with me.



Behold. My great big fat cat:






Besides eating and terrorizing an eyelid here and there, that's all he does. All day long. I wish I was my cat.

I told you I had nothing to contribute here today.

Nothing. And definitely nothing as cool as this. I will always love that little Fly Guy.

Oh well. Gimme a minute. Maybe I can think of something. Anything.









Nope.


Maybe tomorrow. Until then, spend some quality time with Kyle. Kyle is never at a loss for... whatever it is they call those things....

Today's aphorism*, and another useless tagline from the past.

"ghandi wouldn't have liked andy either."

"O-Cedar makes your life easier."


*Today's aphorism was contributed by our lovely and talented Kittyspunk. Thank you!




Your yoga stretch for the day.

Sit up straight, knees slightly apart. Clasp your hands together, and put them between your knees. Next, push your shoulders up and begin curling your upper body over to stretch out your spine, then squeeze your elbows into your waist, as if you are cold. Keep curling until you can't curl anymore, comfortably. As you enjoy the stretch, you will hear something similar to the breaking of a stick of chalk, a quick grind and snap in your neck. Oh muther @#$%ing ouch, that really hurts. So nevermind then, don't try this at home alone.





Oh Lordy Lord, Lord Lordy McLordmuffin,

Thank you for the Friday we are having. It's cold, it's gray, and it's beautiful. I can see Sunday from here, but for now, it's a beautiful sight. Long week, short weekend. But I'll take it anyway.

For the record, it's all sad and lonely here around the office without Scottshead. He went to Coachella. That dirty, rotten, stinky bass turd.

But that's ok, I have my newfound fascination with Klaus Nomi to keep me busy. I'm fascinated. No, really. We watched "Urgh! A Music War" last night, and poor dead Klaus was ahead of his time. So far in fact that he could probably never really fit in anywhere in the concept of human time. To me, that's fascinating.

But then again, I was that weird kid who bought the broken toys in the store because I felt sorry no one would buy them.


And finally...


Hmm. I'm not exactly sure why the obesity rate is skyrocketing in America these days.

Maybe it's a mindset that doesn't just celebrate something's arrival every 17 years with a parade or just by observing wistfully, instead we figure out how to make tacos out of them.

"The cicadas are comin' the cicadas are comin', grab a fork and some BUTTER!"

Today's aphorism, and another useless tagline from the past.

"Say what you will about professional killers, they get their 'To Do lists' done."

"Ball Park Franks. They plump when you cook 'em."


Remember, kids. Someone got paid for writing that tagline. Maybe it was Darrin Stevens right after Mr. Tate died and the Associate VPs cleaned house, firing Darrin after 20 years of his blood, sweat and tears, only to replace him with a cheaper, fresher *ad jockey*. Advertising doesn't make you bitter. No, really.

Aw, life is good, and not all advertising is bad for you, as long as you can handle the truth -- so here's a piece of candy that'll rot somebody else's teeth for a change and not yours.

Enjoy!

ps: As always, your aphorism contributions are welcomed here. If I can only remember to check my email. Must... remember..

M&M's are cruelty-free.

Things that make me a frownie-puss:

-- hitting the ground running

-- being asked what is on my plate

-- 004dk.eos.net.FtpError: login error messages

-- hurting someone's feelings. unless i really can't stand them.

-- being allergic to serotonin reuptake inhibitors in this day and age

-- hearing the words "frownie" and "puss" used together by an adult

-- the word "giggly"


Things that make me a giggly-fool:

-- thinking about owning a cheese shop with an adjacent wine bar

-- eating an ice cream cone under the Eiffel Tower

-- being fitter, happier, more productive

-- red, green, yellow and blue M&Ms

-- Christine, for fixing the 004dk.eos.net.FtpError: login error

-- sitting in the middle of 5,000 people singing Weird Al's "Amish Paradise"*

-- sitting in the middle of 5,000 people singing Weird Al's "Fat"**

-- sitting in the middle of 5,000 people singing Weird Al's "Yoda"***


*Sometimes life is good.

**But it's better when it's ***really good.



Today's aphorisms, yesterday's taglines.

Here's a new feature. It's dedicated to that guy at the smalltown university in stickville. He's pretending that he's getting his triple-major-masters in poetry. Maybe you know him. He's been a college student for almost 17 years now. On purpose, he has greasy hair, thick rosy glasses, thin skin and miraculously, a wife. Not so unbelievably, she could probably pick her teeth with his head. He scoffs aloud, perambulates most presumably, as he quotes his own principles in aphorisms, and hopefully if I get a copy of them, you'll find them here. Probably not all 17 college years' worth, but I'll see what I can do.

People fascinate and inspire me. No, really.



Today's aphorism -- for you, for life, for everyday living:

"Everything looks better with rhinestones. Everything."



Today's useless tagline from the past:

"We love to fly, and it shows."





"Ron, it's your mom on the phone!"

Ron: "Oh yeah, and we went to see Weird Al on Saturday..."

Ron's mom: "Oh! That is so exciting!! Didya get any watermelon on ya?"



Say goodnight, Gracie.

How many times can I say I love you, Altoids?

Why? Because they try. I haven't played the game yet but the music is enough for me to be happy.

Enjoy.

Oh, and yes, I do suck for not posting more often like I used to. And for ending a sentence with a preposition. Well, I'll try. But I can only promise to give you links to things like this banana guard and this camel spider. But hopefully, that's why you're coming here in the first place. And for those of you out there Googling your way here in search of "flexy girl pee holes", I have no idea what that is, but I think you need to talk to your prison counselor about your special needs.

I'm just saying.

Oh and heya, Kathy Sue! Congratulations on your art show and sale of paintings! Now -- on to fabric design, chop chop!

For the rest of you out there, I hate people who say "chop chop", too. See? We were meant for each other. I'll be better with posting regularly from now on. No, really.

Fox, Fox, Fox...

If you execs screw up the only good Sunday night tv lineup in America, I will feed my gigantic dog Otis 2-alarm chili for three days, find my way into your houses or your pools and leave him in while you're out making these decisions.

"HELP ME!! I'M SO BEAUUUUUTIFULL!"

I'm a product of my own twisted, mangled, smoking-gun, train-wrecked environment. I tried not to watch. I really did. But it was just like filing slowly past a fatal car accident bad enough to stop 5 o'clock rush hour traffic in Atlanta. I tried as hard as I could not to look. But at the last moment, the very last moment, I turned to stare at the bloodstained sheet on the side of the highway. In less kind and gentle words, I watched "The Swan" on Fox.

What more can I say? If you don't know the premise of this reality show, I'll lift it from the site for you, so you can smolder in endless eternity with me:

THE SWAN offers women the incredible opportunity to undergo physical, mental and emotional transformations with the help of a team of experts. Contestants must go through an intensive “boot camp” of exercise, diet, therapy and inspiration to achieve their goals. Each week feathers will fly as the inevitable pecking order emerges. Those not up to the challenge are sent home. Those who are will go on to compete in a pageant for a chance to become “The Ultimate Swan.”

Aww, that sounds so nice, doesn't it? I think I hear Tinkerbell...

Each contestant has been assigned a panel of specialists -- a coach, therapist, trainer, cosmetic surgeons and a dentist -- who together have designed the perfect individually tailored program for her. The contestants’ work ethic, growth and achievement will be monitored. The final reveal at the end of each episode will be especially dramatic because it will be the first time that contestants will be permitted to see themselves in a mirror during the three-month transformation process. Two women will be featured every week and at the episode’s conclusion, one will go home and one will be selected to move on to the 1st Annual Swan Pageant.

Don't be shy, Fox boys. They downplayed the biggest and best part of the whole transformation: Stripper implants and moose lip injections. Forget therapy, hun. Here's a brand new pair of double D's to turn that frown upside down.

Of course I just had to see how much lower things have sunk since the "The Littlest Groom" so behold, Fox found this show idea stuck to the bottom of his shoe and decided to serve it up steaming hot to you and me. Don't get me wrong: a tiny part of me wanted to see a girl cry so hard that her new nose fell right off. I know who I am, I'll admit that much. I wanted Human Jack'o'lantern. However...

And at the end of the show, the women who've been deprived of a mirror for 3 months end up paraded through a line of their re-creators. As they look upon her new face and body with tears in their eyes, the applause seems to be for the woman, but really, it's for themselves. The curtain is drawn back and the women do the same thing: They clutch their faces and scream "OH MY GOD, I'M SO BEAUUUUUTIFULL!" And then they almost tip over like cows on their high heels, but the tightness of one woman's dress kept her standing til the end.

And now she just looks like The Grinch staring out of a Ho Suit.

Oh well. What do I expect? This is all making Janet Jackson's boob look good. Actually, I have to take that back.

This show is almost as disturbing* as watching a lab rabbit get sprayed in the eye repeatedly with aerosol hairgel. You know, it's for the good of the people. The beautiful people.

I will not be right with this show until they choose to deepen it thoroughly with one of the following options:

(1) The pageant is really not a pageant at all. Instead, the women are loosed into an outdoor arena in which they must fight each other to the death. Thanks to Kenny for this one.

(2) They awake to find they have only one boob implanted, and must live on an island for 3 months in order to win the other boob.

(3) I want a follow-up report show every 6 months, and no one can get a divorce or get a job at a stripjoint by the airport.

(4) I could go on for days here, so anyone out there who'd like to send me an idea, I will post it with credits.


But in times like this, and more times than not, it helps me to ground myself after such a disturbed view like this. To read about simple people with simple lives, and I'm not talking about that show with Paris Hilton and her pitchfork-toting pals either. I mean people who know who they are, people with real conviction, who would never change a thing that would conflict with their personal, moral beliefs. People with less independent thinking going on than mine, in my sad, souless broadcasted environment. But really, why do I care because:

I'M SO BEAUUUUUTIFULLL!!!! DEATH TO THE UGLY, THE POOR AND THE UNFRESH!


*It's almost as disturbing, but since rabbits are inherently innocent and have more self-esteem than the average housewife apparently, then you know where I'll be on Monday nights: "Birds of America" by Lorrie Moore. Something of substance to read as I work my second job at a stripclub near the airport.








Oh I do, too, have a sense of humor. Still. After all the pain.

If you clicked the last link in the above post, make sure you click the News of the Strange slideshow on that page. Now that's the namebrand of weird I smoke. Such as this next one I like to call "Penny for Your Thoughts, and for Your Colon":







Someone, please save this man from himself. Send him some information on Traditional IRAs.