Jesus Christ's Blog

I'm going into blog-tirement.

2007-07-24T18:28:00.000-07:00

Hi, everybody. How are you? Well prepare to be DEVASTATED, because I am officially announcing my blog-tirement. Or my blogination. (What do you call it when you retire or resign from blogging? Getting a life?) Anyhoo, I'm quitting blogging for awhile. WHATEVER WILL THE INTERNET DO? Well, from what I understand, there are a few other websites of note, and they are practically desperate for people to read them. I used to be desperate, but thanks to this blog, and a series of wacky adventures, I think I'm feeling comfortable enough now to do other things for awhile. More on that in a moment, but I'm sure you have a number of questions, including, "WAS IT SOMETHING I SAID?" My answer to that would be, "Baby… it's not you… it's ME." To tell the truth, I have a number of metaphorical entrees on my plate that need to be eaten, and frankly, I'm starving for time. (OOH! My writing has really improved!) These entrees are as follows:
1) TRUDY THE BANK TELLER. No dirty bird, I'm not going to "eat" her. (PMF.) But ever since I kissed her on the mouth (check previous blog posts for that sexxxxy scenario… PMF), I kind of feel like I've been sitting on my patoot (PMF), relationship-wise. It's time to buy her steak dinners at Outback, feed her cotton candy and Chick-o-sticks, and go all John Cusack in Say Anything on her patoot. (PMF again.)
2) HIGH SCHOOL FOOTBALL. While high school doesn't start for a month, I need to buy pencils, pencil cases and Pee-Chee folders—because I don't want to be made fun of. Plus, high school football practice begins in earnest in a couple of weeks… and if I'm going to be like my teammate Jeremy (that is, walking around without a shirt on) my abs are going to have to be ripped. And abs don't rip themselves.
3) MY ENEMIES. Whenever I blog, I'm basically giving ammo to all my enemies, like Rev. Sparkle, Terry the grocery store checker (see blog post #1… haven't heard from him in awhile, huh?), and especially DAMIEN, whose annoyances have practically become a full time job themselves. Now I can read Damien's blog and screw around with him for awhile. (PMF!)
And last, but definitely not least, 4) KAREN. THAT'S MY LAMB. Nobody in the world means more to me than Karen, and while it's been important for me to look after myself, it's time for Karen to have a good daddy. Not that I gave birth to her, or impregnated a sheep or anything. That would be gross.

So anyway, I guess that's it for now. It's been really great sharing all my stories with you, especially since most of the stories in the bible about me are so fakey. At least in this blog you were able to see what I was really all about. I'm a nice guy, I'm a jerk, I'm super smart and I'm a dope. Just like everybody else. But just remember, I'll always always always like you and think of you. And even though I don't control the weather, and can't afford an iPhone, it's still okay to pray if it makes you feel better. Sometimes just admitting you're scared, and getting it off your chest improves things a lot.
Oh, and while the bible can be super duper annoying and WRONG most of the time, they did get one thing I said basically right: Try to make a lot of friends and be nice to each other. Time goes by a lot better that way.

Ciao for now,
Your always pal,
Jesus "H is for Hank" Christ

Face! Facial! Bioré!

2007-07-23T16:43:00.000-07:00

HELLO. Where's it at, fruit bat? Today I am feeling VINDICATED, because not only has the new Harry Potter book been released, but I also totally "faced" Rev. Sparkle (he's the pastor of the Victory Baptist Church who thinks I mugged him when I was really only asking for $500 so I could get an iPhone). Do you know what "faced" means? Getting "faced" is when you really burn somebody, and yell, "FACE!" But if you super burn somebody, then you can yell, "FACIAL!" And if you super-duper-duper burn somebody, you can yell, "BIORÈ!" (Which are like, those nose cleaning strips.) Thought you'd like to know!
Anyway, to recap: I was standing in line outside the bookstore for like almost a week waiting for the new Harry Potter book to hit the shelves, and was having a really nice time with all my new Potterphile friends, when all of a sudden that buzz-kill Rev. Sparkle walked up and started accusing everybody of being Satanists and delving in "witchery" just because Harry Potter has a wizard or two. So I hit him with a "FACE!" and then a "FACIAL!" and Rev. Sparkle got so mad, he promised to return later with a bunch of his meaty Christian friends to do something… I don't know what. Maybe bore us to death?
Anywuggle, this got everybody in line REALLY NERVOUS, and they were afraid something bad was going to happen, and they wouldn't get their Harry Potter books. (Now, to you, this may not mean much—but to these people, missing out on the final Harry Potter book is like President Bush not getting to bomb Iraq. It's a big deal.) And I felt like everyone was looking to me to save the day, because I was the one who gave Rev. Sparkle a facial. (Hmmm… that sounds PMF-y for some reason.) But here's the thing: I DIDN'T WANT TO GET OUT OF LINE. I'd been there all week, and I certainly didn't want to lose my place. On the other hand, take one look at these Potter people, and you'll know they aren't exactly… oh, how shall I put this? Equipped to deal with conflict. Therefore… I devised a plan.
It was just about an hour before the Harry Potter books went on sale, and right on cue, here comes Rev. Sparkle with a throng of crazy Christian supporters, waving signs, clogging the sidewalks and spilling out into the streets. This was not good, because the cops could come along, and make EVERYBODY go home—which I'm sure was Rev. Sparkle's intention.
"HARRY POTTER IS THE STICKY BYPRODUCT OF THE DEVIL," screamed Sparkle and his minions. "REPENT NOW, OR FACE WHAT WILL SURELY BE AN ETERNITY OF BATHING IN A LAKE OF FIRE, AND DRYING WITH SCRATCHY TOWELS PROVIDED BY SATAN'S UNRELIABLE STAFF!" (I'm telling you, this Rev. Sparkle guy is weird.)
That's when the trumpets started to blare.
It was an incredibly loud blast of noise that may have been enough to drive the Christians to their knees, but we'll never know for sure—because when I came floating down from the sky, they were on their knees faster than a Catholic school choir boy. (PMF.)
(Note: It really is easy to fool Christians with a loud sound system, some dramatic lighting, and a rope and pulley system attached to a flag pole. As a group, they're a bit gullible.)
I was no longer in my wizard outfit, but decked out in my shiniest, whitest Jesus robes, with a neon halo attached to my head. And thanks to my microphone, and the reverb on the sound system turned up to 8, my voice was booming.
"THE END IS NIGH!" I yelled at the crowd. "IT IS THE RAPTURE, AND I SHALL NOW TAKE ALL GOOD CHRISTIANS UP TO HEAVEN TO MEET GOD, MY HOLY FATHER. ARE THOU PREPARED TO MEET THY MAKER?"
"Yes!!" cried the Christians.
"GOOD! FIRST OF ALL TAKE OFF ALL YOUR CLOTHES!"
"What?" they asked.
"THERE IS NO NEED FOR CLOTHES IN HEAVEN! REMOVE THEM!"
Reluctantly, they did as I asked.
"I AM PLEASED WITH YOUR NAKEDNESS!" (No, I wasn't.) NOW, RUN DOWN TO THE RIVER, AND JUMP IN. YOU MUST BE CLEAN TO ENTER THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN! AND THEN, WHEN YOU'RE DONE THERE, RUN HOME, MAKE A BUNCH OF SANDWICHES OUT OF THE REFRIGERATOR, AND GIVE THEM TO THE HOMELESS SHELTER. YOU DON'T NEED SANDWICHES IN HEAVEN! FOLLOWING THAT, DO 27 JUMPING JACKS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET, AND SAY, "TAKE ME GOD, TAKE ME! I AM READY TO FLY TO HEAVEN." AND IF YOU'VE BEEN A GOOD CHRISTIAN, WE'LL THINK ABOUT IT. NOW… GO!!"
And off they ran—even Rev. Sparkle—down to the river. Hope they got that sewer overflow problem fixed.
Anyway, the Harry Potter crowd loved my performance, and even carried me around on their shoulders for awhile. That was fun. But I think the part I liked best is when the bookstore owner gave me the very first copy of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. That was super nice. But you know what? To tell the truth, I'm not the biggest Harry Potter fan, so I gave it to the person who was in the very back of the line, and then I left. I had done what I came to do: Make some new friends, and make a couple people happy. Besides, if I didn't leave right then, I wouldn't get a picture of a naked Rev. Sparkle handing out sandwiches at the homeless shelter! (Now I can BLACKMAIL him for an iPhone! Hee… hee… hee…)
Oh yeah… BIORÈ!

Harry Potter and the Christian conservatives.

2007-07-20T19:11:00.000-07:00

Hello, how are you? Me, I'm kind of busy. Because I'm preparing for WAR. Regular readers of this blog already know that I've been living on the street since Wednesday afternoon, hanging out with a bunch of other Harry Potter fans in front of the bookstore waiting for the final book in the series—which is going on sale tonight at midnight! SO EXCITING. Now, I'll admit I didn't give two poots (PMF) about Harry Potter originally, but since I've been out here with some of the Potterphiles, I've become quite a fan myself! (Although it's been brought to my attention that my wizard outfit looks NOTHING like Dumbledore, and Karen's [that's my lamb] robot character doesn't even appear in the Potter books—but they like us anyway! But seriously… why doesn't Harry Potter have a robot character? They fly around on broomsticks, for the love of Pete. How hard would it be to add a robot?)
Aaaaannnyyyywaaayyyy, I'm really learning a lot of the Potter lingo since I've been out here, like, "muggle," "quidditch," "sorting hat," and "horcruxes." (PMF.) Plus I've been sharing some of my own lingo with the Potter fans as well, such as, "Chick-o-stick," "ninja," "high five!" and "poop duck." (PMF.) Oh… I haven't explained "poop duck" have I? That's when you fart and blame it on a duck. (PMF! …but it's still funny.)
But after that? Things started getting bad. Just when we were having a lot of fun, guess who walks up with a TV camera crew? REVEREND SPARKLE from the Victory Baptist Church! (Read some of my previous posts if you want to learn more about him, but in a nutshell, he's a tool.)
"There they are!" he yelled while pointing at the line. "There are the worshippers of SATAN!"
"Who's that guy," my new friend Morgana (she's a goth) asked.
"Reverend Sparkle," I said. "He's a tool."
"These Harry Potter books are manuscripts directly from the pen of the prince of lies," Rev. Sparkle yelled at the cameras, "and these poor souls are lost in its Satanic grasp! These books celebrate witchcraft and sorcery—and they are intended for CHILDREN, no less! If you give one whit for your child's immortal soul, you will BURN EVERY LAST COPY OF HARRY POTTER!"
"Ohhhhhhhhhhhh… Cramitupyourbutticus," I said. (PMF. Like I've mentioned before, this guy really brings out the worst in me.)
"WHO SAID THAT," Rev. Sparkle cried, whirling around.
"Umm… Jesus Christ," I said. "Remember me?"
"Ohhh… I remember YOU alright! And I'm not the least bit surprised you're here, since you TRIED TO MUG ME!"
(In actuality, I didn't try to mug him—but I did try to get him to give me $500 for an iPhone. Long story.)
"Tell you what, Reverend," I said. "I'm Jesus Christ, so SUPPOSEDLY what I say goes, right? And I say these Harry Potter books are perfectly okay, and you're acting like a tool. So why don't you just run back to your little fairy tale church, and steal some more money from little old ladies?"
That's when everyone on the street cheered. Really loud. And that didn't make the Reverend happy.
"NO ONE talks to me like that," he blustered. "I am a child of Christ, and YOU are a charlatan, a miscreant, a BLASPHEMER…"
"Yeaaaahhhh, and you've been eating ONIONS."
"That's the last time you cross me, Satanist," he said a little too quietly. "I'm going away for the moment. But I'll be back—and before midnight tonight. And when I return, I won't be alone. NO ONE will be getting these filthy books, and I'm going to make it a my personal goal to GET YOU."
"And I'm going to make it MY personal goal to get YOU… a basket of flowers."
"MMMFFF!" he squealed and stormed off.

"YAY, JESUS!" everyone cried. But I'm not very happy. I know Rev. Sparkle is serious about returning and doing something to mess up everybody's fun—and as long as I'm stuck here in line, I can't do anything to stop him. Yet… I can't get out of line! I've been waiting here three days for a book I originally didn't care about, but now care about quite a lot! But what we have here is a war—and these people are looking for me to lead them.
Lucky for them… I have a plan.

I almost got muggled.

2007-07-19T19:30:00.000-07:00

Greetings muggles! How are you? Fine, I trust! Me, I'm having a BLAST living out on the street in front of the bookstore, waiting for the new Harry Potter book to come out! BTW, I'd like to apologize for yesterday's technical difficulties, and for Jeremy (he's my shirtless football playing friend) posting that kind of (ahem) sexy (PMF!) picture on my blog. I just wanted him to let you know I was okay, not get you hot. So… sorry. He also apologized for putting up that picture, saying, "I was feeling kind of bloated when that photo was taken—I'll look for a skinnier one." Yeah, Jeremy. WHATEVER.
Anyhoozy, back to ME: I have been sitting here in line since Wednesday afternoon, and haven't slept a wink! Happily, I have sparkling conversation from my new street friends to keep me awake, and a little help from this AWESOME drink called "Red Bull." Ever heard of it? I've had seventeen of them since yesterday, and though my heart is making a kind of funny bumpity-BUMP-bummmmmmp -BUMPITY- bump-bump- bummmmmp sound, I feel wicked alert.
Otherwise, not much has happened, except four things of note:
1) My wizard costume kind of smells bad when it gets wet.
2) People driving by in cars tend to tease a wet wizard.
3) Maybe I should've brought a raincoat, or maybe some food other than Lamb Chow (that's for Karen). (Oh. That's my lamb.)
And 4) It's generally not a good idea to reveal how a very popular book is going to end, before it comes out.
See, I didn't get to read your comments yesterday warning not to reveal the ending, or I would've known that. For those just joining us, I'm not a big Harry Potter fan, so in order to "fit in" with the people outside the bookstore I read up on on the "spoilers" from the new book. When I announced that I knew which major character would die, everyone kind of flipped out; putting their fingers in their ears, singing really loudly, putting some kind of weird curse on me that sounded like "SHUTUPICUS!", and one lady dressed as a British schoolgirl got so upset, she ran into traffic and almost got hit by a car.
These guys take this Harry Potter stuff seriously!
Anyway, they got really mad, and accused me of being a "muggle-phobe" or something like that, and then started insulting my wizard costume, claiming, "You don't look anything like Dumbell Door, and your lamb doesn't look anything like Blobby."
"Well, first of all," I said, "Karen is dressed as a robot, so why should he be blobby?"
"It's DOBBY!" they screamed entirely too loud. "He's a house elf!"
"No, she's not," I countered. "She's a robot!"
"THERE ARE NO ROBOTS IN HARRY POTTER!" they continued to yell.
"FINE," I yelled back. "Why don't you call the young adult fiction police, and lock me up? Look, I don't know anything about Harry Potter, okay? Standing in line with you guys just looked like fun, and I wanted to meet some new friends!"
Well, that outburst calmed things down a bit, and a girl dressed as a ghost who apparently lives in a toilet, or something (?) came over and let me borrow "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone" so I could get caught up.
So anyway, that's what I've been doing. Reading a poop-ton of Harry Potter. (PMF.) And guess what? I'm enjoying it so much, I'm already half-way through "Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban" (that Sirius Black guy sounds scary!).
And even though I know how the entire series supposedly ends, the books are still really exciting—and who knows? Maybe those internet spoiler people are wrong. Or better yet? Maybe I'll come up with some kind of dis-remembering spell so I won't remember how it all ends!
"DISREMEMBERICUS!"

Hmmf. Well that didn't work.

Jesus isn't around, okay?

2007-07-18T20:08:00.000-07:00

Ummmm… hey. What's up, yo. Ummmmmmm… oh, yeah. Jesus isn't around right now. This is his friend Jeremy? From the high school football team? The one who doesn't wear a shirt? Yeah, that's me. Anyway, Jesus isn't around right now because he's waiting in line for some kind of baby book about a magician or something… I don't know. And he's trying to figure out how to get wifi while he waits in line. So he wanted me to write you this quick note so you wouldn't worry or nothing. He said he'd figure it out by tomorrow, and he'll talk to you then. Want to see a picture of me without my shirt on? Cool. Here you go.

WHOOOOOO! HIGH SCHOOL FOOTBALL! WHOOOOOO!

See ya.

I'm a magical wizard.

2007-07-17T18:26:00.000-07:00

Hey! How are you? I'm having FUN! You know why? Because starting tomorrow, I'm going to sleep on the street for at least 72 hours! Now, that may not initially sound all that fun to many of you, but believe me—its WAY fun when you're dressed as a magical wizard!
As you may or may not have heard, the final Harry Potter book is coming out this Friday at midnight. And that means tons of Potter fans will be camping out all week long so they can be first in line for the new book! Now, personally, I'm not all that interested in Harry Potter. (Is it okay for me to say that?) It's not that I think he's dumb or that it's a baby book or anything. I'm just not really into young adult fantasy fiction. As you know, I love military techno thrillers! YEAH! BANG! BANG! POW! POW! POW! Exciting.
Anywhosis, even though I'm not a big Harry Potter fan and I've only read like maybe half of one of the books—I can't remember which one… I think it had a spider in it?—I'm going to dress up like a magical wizard and camp out with all the Harry Potter freaks. Why? Because I like to make friends!
So here's my plan: A) I will dress up like a magical wizard. Harry Potter has magical wizards in it, right? B) Karen (that's my lamb) will dress up as a magical robot. Harry Potter has magical robots, right? And C) since the entire plot of the new Harry Potter book was leaked on the internet today, I'm going to learn all about it, and share it with all my new friends so I'll have something to talk with them about. They'll be super impressed with my knowledge!
Well, gotta make my cone hat, and color my beard white. See ya tomorrow! (Also, I'm glueing pieces of an old transistor radio onto Karen's back. So cute!)

Note to self: Don't use Axe Body Spray

2007-07-16T19:23:00.000-07:00

How are you feeling? Swell I hope. My feelings are rollercoaster-y. As you may have surmised from my last post, I was on the verge of cancelling my kissing date with Trudy (she's that bank teller I like?) because Damien (my mortal enemy and Trudy's ex) warned me that he implanted some nano robots in her mouth that would knock my teeth out and give me AIDS. Oh. And they would make all future hot dogs taste like pee. Anyweird, I decided NOT to cancel the date because "Jesus Christ always keeps his promises." (While catchy, that tagline can be difficult to live by at times. Why didn't I come up with a tagline like, "You have a friend in the diamond business"?) However, while I wasn't going to cancel the date, that did NOT mean I was going to kiss Trudy on the mouth and risk a life of illness, and dislike of hot dogs. And gumming those hot dogs. Instead of riding our bikes back to her house, where we would eat Nutty Buddies on her stoop, I would feign some sort of emergency, and dash away into the night.
As always, my plan neglected to go as planned.
First of all, apparently I wore too much Axe Body Spray, and the managers kicked Trudy and I out of the theater. Secondly, Trudy's bike tire had a flat, and I had to give her a ride home on my handlebars. Thirdly, it was hot, so Trudy and I broke into a motel pool for a late night swim. Fourthly, she was all wet and pretty, and looking into my eyes, and I started feeling all woozy in my head, and our lips got closer and closer until I suddenly came to my senses and screamed, "NANO ROBOTS!" And fifthly, I swam away as fast as I could.
"Oh, for the love of… what NOW?" Trudy exclaimed.
"Fact or fiction: You have nano robots in your mouth."
"Ummm… I believe that would be fiction," she said. "What in the world are you talking about?"
"Someone informed me that you and I shouldn't kiss because you have nano robots in your mouth that would disintegrate my teeth, make hot dogs taste like urine… and… and… that's kind of ridiculous, isn't it?"
"Yeah," Trudy said. "It kind of is. And that 'someone' you're talking about is Damien, isn't it?"
"Yup."
"Is that also why you stink of Axe Body Spray?"
"Yup."
"Swim back over here," she said.
I did.
"Look," she said. "I don't know what's going to happen with you and me. Maybe we'll date, maybe we'll stay friends, but I'm only going to say this once. Damien was a mistake—and maybe I dated him because I thought you never would like me. But things are different now. I'm fine with the way things are between you and me. Okay? That means if we need to take things slow, then we…"
That's when I kissed her. On the mouth.
It was nice, and confusing, and exciting, and I don't know what's going to happen with me and Trudy—but I'll always remember the two of us in that pool. Her looking so pretty and me kissing her. On the mouth.

And not a single nano robot got in.
(I know, because I ate a hot dog when I got home.)

Damien and his nano-robots.

2007-07-13T16:00:00.000-07:00

HELLO. Are you good? Me, I'm CONCERNED. So this afternoon I was getting ready for my big date with Trudy (she's a bank teller!) tonight in which I plan to kiss her hard… on the mouth! I gargled for 37 minutes with Listerene, ate 29 tins of Altoids, and was on my third stick of Old Spice deodorant when there was a knock on my door.

DAMIEN.

Regular readers of this blog know that Damien is my arch-nemesis and dated Trudy for a while, until she watched me play on the high school football team and got appropriately bamboozled. Anyway, he came to my door:
"Damien! What are YOU doing here?" I asked.
"Well, first of all I should ask if any of those shirtless high school football players are around. I really didn't appreciate being thrown into that dumpster."
"Well…" I said, "I didn't appreciate you going far out of your way to screw up my life—so why don't you cry me a river, build a bridge, and get over it?"
Snap.
"Look, hippie," he said, getting all red in the face. "I'll get to the point. I don't want you kissing Trudy on your date tonight."
WHAAAAA???
"How did you know I was planning on kissing Trudy?"
"I read it on your stupid blog, you idiot."
"Oh…. Well, so what?" I said. "Trudy doesn't like you anymore, in case you didn't get the memo. She likes ME."
"Well, I see that as a temporary arrangement. Sooner or later she'll realize that she wants a man—not a 2000-year-old hobo with holes in his hands."
"They're in my wrists, jerk. PMF."
"Whatever. If you know what's good for you, tonight you'll keep your big stupid lips to yourself."
"Or what?"
"Or you're really, really, really going to regret it," he said with a surprising amount of menace in his voice.
"Or… WHAT?" I responded.
"Okay. Fine. I wasn't going to tell you this, and if you say anything about it to Trudy, I'll deny it. Biological nano bots."

What?

"Biological nano robots," he said. "Teeny tiny cybernetic devices which I planted in Trudy's mouth, and that can only be activated by me. If you kiss Trudy, I will bring my creatures to life, and order them to infiltrate your mouth, where they will cause an insurmountable amount of damage."
"What kind of damage?"
"First… they make all your teeth fall out. Then they'll screw around with your taste buds, making any hot dog you eat taste like pee-pee. Oh, yeah. Then they'll give you AIDS."
"Goodbye, Damien," I said, and slammed the door in his face.

I'll admit he almost had me. But c'mon! What kind of mini-robot can make a hot dog taste like pee? I mean… really.
On the other hand… he does have an uncle who is nano robotic biologist at Harvard. And Damien does have ties to the government, and certain black ops military units. And he knows I'm scared of AIDS. Oh, wow… WHAT AM I GOING TO DO? I was totally going to kiss Trudy on the mouth, but there's no way I'm going to give up hot dogs to do it! And I need my teeth! And I don't need AIDS! My perfect plan is falling apart!! Maybe I can just stick my finger in her mouth again. No… the nano bots will enter through my fingernail! And what if she tries to kiss me? I'll have to shove my Nutty Buddy into her mouth to defend myself!
That's it. I'M CANCELLING THE DATE. I like Trudy and everything, but living the rest of my life with AIDS, no teeth and the perpetual taste of urine in my mouth is just not worth it!
DARN YOU, DAMIEN! IF YOU'RE READING THIS… WELL… I'M GOING TO INVENT A NANO ROBOT THAT'LL MAKE YOUR ICE CREAM TASTE LIKE POOPY!
(PMF!)
SO THERE!!!

(sob.)

My plan is to kiss Trudy.

2007-07-12T19:23:00.000-07:00

Hey! How are you? Fine, I hope. Me, I think I may want to consider thinking about possibly kissing Trudy. She's a bank teller, btw, and as friends we have had a long, sometimes tumultuous, but mostly fun relationship. However, now I am making the consideration of taking the "next step." Which is kissing her. ON THE MOUTH.
EEEEEE!!! I know. It's very exciting. After the whole Damien debacle (please see the thousands of previous posts on the subject of that jerk), Trudy and I decided to "take things slow" and see "where things went." Well, I've been thinking about it, and the "things" are definitely my lips, and the "went" is gonna be "onto her lips." Or at least I think I want to. I'M SCARED. I've kissed girls before and stuff, but I haven't kissed girls in a long time, and I'm pretty nervous about it. I'm pretty afraid that I don't quite remember how. However, I have been practicing a bit with help from a pair of fake lips I cleverly carved from a banana. I think I'm kissing too hard, though, because all I got was face full of banana.
Anywhoops, I'm considering kissing Trudy tomorrow night at the denoument of our movie date. Denoument means "end" by the way. Did you know that? It's a good word to use when you want to fool people into thinking you're smart. But back to Trudy. This is how I plan to kiss her: After tomorrow night's movie show, we will ride our bikes back to her house. We will park the bikes and each eat a Nutty Buddy on her stoop. Then I will say, "Oh, Trudy, apparently you have some Nutty Buddy byproduct on your lip. Here, let me retrieve it for you." Then as I brush the imaginary byproduct away, I will pause… and stare deeply into her eyes for exactly nine seconds. And then she will say, "Oh, Jesus!" at which point I will sweep her downward into one of those big dips you see in the old-timey movies, and then dive bomb my lips into hers. Naturally, I'll have to keep a very tight grip on her spine, because she will most likely swoon. After kissing her hard on the mouth for exactly 23 seconds, I'll sweep her back into an upright position, jump on my bike and say "See ya later, toots!" before speeding off into the night.
WELL? WHAT DO YOU THINK? Que romantique, eh? If there was any doubt in her mind that my lips are two molten pillows of fire, and that I'm 89 times the man Damien is, it will be dispelled when I swing the sledgehammer of my mouth into hers! Now if you'll excuse me, I must start getting ready for my date. That case of Altoids isn't going to eat itself.

Top o' the mornin', guvnah!

2007-07-11T19:30:00.000-07:00

Okay, NEW PLAN. Oh… hello! How's it going? Good. Anyway, NEW PLAN. Today I decided that instead of never going back to the Victory Baptist Church again, I would go back to the Victory Baptist Church again. AND NO, IT'S WASN'T TO STEAL MONEY FOR A NEW iPHONE. I am so over that invention. The reason why I went back is because I'm still pretty miffed over not being physically kicked out of the church once, but TWICE. (Check out the last few blog posts for details. I'm too tired to recount those particular adventures.)
The way I saw it? If I could get through just one of Rev. Sparkle's (he's the reverend) sermons, then I WIN. (Don't ask me what I win. That's not the point.) Anywow, I came up with a devilishly clever plan to infiltrate the church. I would go… IN DISGUISE. So Karen (that's my lamb) and I went to the local costume shop, where I found us the most perfect disguises: An English Bobby (that's a policeman) and an organ grinder's monkey. (I was the Bobby.)
It was a perfect plan—or so I thought.
When we arrived at the church, people were filing in for the Wednesday evening sermon, so Karen and I attempted to blend in with the crowd. That's when that same mean Deacon who threw me out the two previous times saw me.
"Oh, for the love of… what are YOU doing back here?" he asked.
"Cor' blimey, guvnah!" I said in the British accent I'd been working on all afternoon. "Have you gone all wet in the knickers? I don't know you from the Queen!"
"You're that guy who dresses up like Jesus."
"No, I'm not, guvnah! I'm that guy that dresses up like a Bobby!"
"And what's your lamb wearing?" he asked.
"Have you gone snackers? Any bloomin' idiot can tell that's a lam…a MONKEY!"
"All right. That's it. You're out of here," he said as he grabbed me roughly by the arm.
"Now see here, my good man," I said haughtily. "Can't a bloke and his monkey visit the religious institution of his choice and bid your Lord Christ a fine how's-yer-mum?"
"Sure… a real English Bobby could—but you're a weird, crazy person who dresses up like Jesus if he were a Bobby. SO GET THE HELL OUT OF OUR CHURCH."
"PMF, guvnah! PMF!"

That's when he picked me up, and aimed me toward the street.

"WAIT! WAIT!" I yelled in my real voice.
The deacon put me down.
"OKAY. FINE," I said. "I'm not a visiting English Bobby with his monkey. I'm Jesus Christ, and this is my lamb Karen, and I don't understand why I'm not welcome in your church."
"Well, for one, you tried to mug our pastor, and for two, you scared the vacation bible school kids with a fake hook."
"Yah, yah, yah, besides that."
"Because," he said, closing the door behind him. "You're obviously a homo."

WTF? (PMF!) What is wrong with these church people? Besides the OBVIOUS fact I'm not a gay person, they really shouldn't be throwing people around who look like Christ (whether they also look homosexual or not). That's IT! I knew there was a reason I hated going to church, and now my suspicions have been proven correct. They are all a bunch of homo-Jesus-Bobby-phobes!

Don't judge, Judy.

2007-07-10T16:06:00.000-07:00

Hello, and stop judging me. Lately I've noticed some comments on this blog wherein the commenter is totally judging my actions. Now, admittedly, I don't know much about this blogging business—but isn't it my job to write honestly about how I feel, and the things I do, and YOUR JOB to nod approvingly? NOD. NOD. Good, I'm glad we're in agreement. That's why I'm going to say some things right now, and I don't want any lip. This is all I want to hear:
NOD, NOD, NOD.
1) I'm dumping the whole iPhone idea. I know, I know. I've been moaning and groaning about the iPhone thing for two weeks, and have even threatened to rob a local church in order to get the money. But I changed my mind after reading a news report today that said Apple will be producing cheaper iPhones—WITHOUT THE PHONE ATTACHMENT. Now, PMF, but what the EFF?? An iPhone without the phone? That's like a Chick-o-Stick without the stick! (Or the "chick" for that matter.)
2) I'm thinking about wearing Axe Body Spray. So things are going better between me and Trudy (the bank teller, right?), but I think it's mainly because I'm no longer taking anything for granted. Now I know she's no longer dating Damien (that big dumb jerk who was mean to me for like, forever) however, there must have been a reason she was dating him in the first place. That's why I'm going to try wearing some Axe Body Spray, because that's what Damien wears. Hey, the girls on the commercials really seem to like it!
3) I no longer like Will Smith. Yes, I've written a lengthy post about how much I enjoyed the raps of Will Smith, and anything else that's done "Big Willy Style." However, I recently heard another of his rap songs, and hoo-boy did it stink. It's called "Just the Two of Us," and it's a really weird song about him and his new baby. First of all, DON'T RAP ABOUT A BABY. It's not right. Secondly, I don't understand what's going on—he talks about taking care of the baby all by himself, and never mentions the mother? Did she die in childbirth? If so, he doesn't mention it! Maybe he just left her there in the stirrups or something. Anyway, it's bogus, and he should write another great song, like "Gettin' Jiggy Wit It."
4) People shouldn't let roosters run free. So I was riding my bike (with Karen, that's my lamb) to check out the new rollerskating supply store in town, when out of nowhere suddenly these two roosters started chasing me! And we weren't near a farm or anything! They were just outside somebody's house! WHAT'S UP WITH THAT? Having roosters running loose is like having pit bulls with knives tied to their noses. Those things are VICIOUS! And from what I hear, they like to sneak up behind you, stab you in the back with their sharp beaks, and drain out all your spinal column fluid. Look. Roosters do not belong in an urban environment. And I'm sure the neighbors don't appreciate the crowing at 5 am in the morning. (By the way, do you know why roosters crow? Because they're gargling some poor victim's spinal fluid!)
Here's the part where you NOD, NOD, NOD.

Come to vacation bible school.

2007-07-09T19:30:00.000-07:00

Hello! How are you? I am EXHAUSTED! Another exciting day for ol' "J.C." (See, I was watching Magnum, P.I. and I really like the character "T.C." so I've decided I want people to call ME by my initials, too. Also, I think I'll learn how to fly a helicopter.) So I woke up this morning with a real "hankerin'" for a Chick-o-Stick, right? But as I was riding my bike to the 7-11, I heard this busload of kids approaching, and they were all singing out of the windows, "COME TO VACATION BIBLE SCHOOL, COME TO VACATION BIBLE SCHOOL!"
So I yelled back, "NO THANKS!"
And they yelled back, "WHY NOT?"
And I yelled, "BECAUSE I DON'T LIKE THE BIIIIIIIBLE!"
Obviously tired of yelling, one of the kids said, "Ehh, there's not so much bible. Mostly it's just arts and crafts and games and cookies and Kool-Aid."
"WHY DIDN'T YOU SAY SO?" I yelled. "I'M IN!"
"YAAAAAAYYYYYYYYY!!!"

So I hopped on the bus, and guess where it took us? To the Victory Baptist Church! (See Friday's post for the ridiculous story of that.) I was about to take off, but I figured two things: 1) I might find some money lying around I could use to buy an iPhone, and 2) I love cookies and Kool-Aid. I was following the kids into the classroom, when the teacher approached me.
"Oh, my goodness! You're dressed up like Jesus," she giggled.
"Ummm… yeah."
"Did Reverend Sparkle send you?"
"Mmmm… noooo… I'm here because of the kids, actually," I said.
"Oh, that's why I'm here, too," she said. "It's so important to introduce them to Christ at an early age."
"Well… HERE I AM!"
"Indeed you are! And you're a dead ringer, I might add. Would you tell the children a Jesus story?"
"Ummm… sure. It's the only kind I know."
"You are funny. OKAY CHILDREN!" she announced. "We have a very special guest for you today, who will be sharing with us a Jesus story. So gather 'round."

After the kids settled down, I said, "Oh-kay. So what kind of story would you like to hear?"
One little boy piped up, "How about the one where you fed the multitudes with one loaf of bread and a fish?"
"Actually, it wasn't a multitude. It was around 8 people. And it was a potluck, so in reality there was plenty of food. Too much, actually. We threw a lot of it away."
The teacher said in a rather stern voice, "Well… JESUS. Why don't you relate the story of how you calmed the great storm and saved the disciples. OKAY?"
"Ugh. I hate that story," I said. "Totally bogus. It was barely raining, and those guys in the boat were so drunk, they started to panic. So I yelled, 'PEACE! BE STILL!' so they would stop rocking the stupid boat. They did, and eventually passed out I think. I don't really remember. OH! Have you ever heard the one about 'the hook killer of lover's lane'? It didn't happen to me, but it totally happened to some friends of some friends of mine…"

At this point, I noticed the teacher running out of the room, but I just thought she had to go to the can, or something. So I kept telling the story, and eventually I got to the part where I was showing the kids my fake clothes hanger "hook" sticking out of my sleeve, and saying, "And the hook looked just… like… THIS!!!"
Everybody was screaming and yelling, and that's about when the same deacon who threw me out on Friday ran in and he threw me out again! (Does this guy ever sleep?)

This getting "thrown out of church" business is starting to get BORING. And twice in one week? And I didn't even get a dad-darned sugar cookie! (PMF!) What's wrong with my stories, anyway? Maybe I should've told them the one about Trudy (the bank teller) sticking her finger in my mouth.

Churches creep me out.

2007-07-06T15:30:00.000-07:00

How are you? Me? Creeped out. That's because I actually went to a CHURCH today. EWW!! Those places are so gross. Seriously, they're worse than hospitals. They play terrible music, you have to be all "reverential" and crap (PMF), and you can't even say the word "crap" (PMF). And as it turns out, they don't allow lambs! I took Karen (that's my pet lamb, btw) with me to the Victory Baptist Church that's close to my house, and they actually whispered to me that Karen would have to wait outside! Last time I heard, Christians were supposed to go ape-poop over lambs (PMF). UNBELIEVABLE.
Sorry about my PMF-ing all over the place. There's something about churches that brings it out of me.
Anywhoop, the "Victory Baptist Church." What a dumb name. What am I supposed to say, "Yay! Baptists win!"? And it's all fancy inside, with stain glass windows that picture me in a variety of nonsensical situations—AND right in the center of the back wall, there's a huge cross with me hanging off of it! THANKS FOR THE REMINDER, JERKS. Yeah, that day was a great "victory" for me, all right. (I'm being sarcastic.)
But I digress. As mentioned yesterday, I became intent on purchasing an iPhone after seeing my "friend" Jerry the vegan butcher waving his around. Unfortunately, I have no moolah. That's where the Victory Baptist Church comes in. I figure if they've been making money off my name for years, it was time for my tribute.
Unsurprisingly, the pastor was obese.
"I'm the Rev. Richard Sparkle. How may I help you, young man?"
"Hi, I'm Jesus Christ, and I'd like my money, please."
This took him aback, I think.
"Ummm…" he laughed, "… what?"
"You've heard of me, right?" I asked.
"Well, of course I've heard of our lord and savior. He died for my sins, and…"
"Cool. Then $500 ought to do it."
"Do what?"
"Pay for my iPhone."
"Wait… what??"
"Ohhh-kay," I said, as if I were talking to a THREE YEAR OLD. "Let's slow this way down. I am Jesus Christ. I want an iPhone. It costs $500. I died for your sins. You owe me. Is your 'eternal soul' worth at least $500? Then give me $500. Please tell me you understand."
He started looking pretty scared. "Are you mugging me?"
"NO, YOU…" I stopped myself. "Okay… look. How much does this church make per year?"
"Well… much of our money goes to charitable organizations and…"
"YAH, YAH, YAH," I said. "How much? A LOT. Right? And the way you get all that money is by dropping my name. Am I right?"
"That's a very simplistic…"
"YAH, YAH, YAH," I said. "Look, this is a free country. And you can continue to say whatever you want about me, but from now on, I want my cut. I'm not a greedy Christ, but I'm going to take what I'm owed. Jesus wants an iPhone. SO GIVE ME MY $500."

That was about when four burly deacons came running in and tossed me out on my patoot. PMF.

"Don't ever come in here blaspheming our Lord's name again!" Rev. Sparkle screeched as I dusted myself off.
"You don't want an iPhone anyway," said one of the deacons. "Their service plan stinks."

HOW DOES HE KNOW WHAT I WANT? What a bunch of hypocrites. And no, I can't call a lawyer because they're just exercising their rights to religion and "free speech." STUPID CONSTITUTION! I'm really at the end of my rope here. I MUST GET AN iPHONE. But how? Tell you what: Let's take the weekend and think about it, but at this point, I'm seriously considering going back to Victory Baptist Church on Sunday and making off with the collection plate!
That'll be me running down the street yelling, "VICTORY IS MINE!"

Jerry the vegan butcher has an iPhone.

2007-07-05T19:33:00.000-07:00

Hey, what's going on? For me, two things: 1) Can't hear so good, and 2) Jerry the vegan butcher has an iPhone. Turns out my fireworks display from last night was a bit too successful, and all I can hear right now is RING, RING, RING, RING. I can't even understand what Karen (that's my lamb) is saying. I see her mouth move, and it looks like she's saying something like "Ahhh! Ahhh!" But I don't know what she's talking about.
Speaking of Karen, remember a couple of weeks ago when Karen got herself into quite a spot when she stumbled onto a rooster fight and a botched drug deal? No? Well, she did. (You know, it really hurts my feelings when you don't regularly read my blog. Anyway.) Luckily, Karen escaped by dashing into a vegan butcher shop. Actually, the shop isn't vegan, just the butcher. His name is Jerry, and he was nice enough to bring her home. And I made a new friend! Sometimes I'll drop him off a tofurky sandwich, just to show my gratitude.
Anywow, today I dropped by his shop, just to say hi, and he yelled (because he's the type of person who always yells):
"JESUS, MY GOOD FRIEND! HOW ARE YOU TODAY?"
"What?"
"I SAID, 'JESUS, MY GOOD FRIEND!! HOW ARE YOU TODAY??'"
"Not so hot, Jerry," I said. "My ears are ringing from all the fireworks I shot off last night."
"THAT'S GREAT, JESUS. LOOK. I GOT ME AN iPHONE!!"
He pulled it out from behind the counter. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
"How did you get an iPhone, Jerry? I heard they were all sold out."
"MY BROTHER! HAROLD! HE WORKS IN THE TECHNICAL INDUSTRY! HE GETS ME ALL THE GADGETRY FOR FREE!"

Now, up until this point, I wasn't sure I even wanted an iPhone. But now was different. Jerry the vegan butcher had one, and I'm Jesus Christ. And I didn't.

"LOOK AT WHAT IT DOES. IT PLAYS MY KENNY LOGGINS. LOOK AT WHAT IT DOES. IT SURFS MY INTERNET. LOOK AT WHAT IT DOES. IT PLAYS THE POPEYE CARTOONS."
"That's great, Jerry, does it make phone calls?" I asked rolling my eyes.
"HMMM. GOOD QUESTION. I TRY THAT NEXT. BUT THIS iPOD IS PRETTY TIGHT, NO?"
"Yeah, Jerry, it's wicked tight. GOTTA GO!"
And I stormed out. Maybe I slammed the door. I don't know. I couldn't hear.

This iPhone situation is complete horse hockey. (PMF!) I don't ask for much in this world. I don't go around to churches asking for my cut of their weekly tithes. (Though I should.) I'm nice to people and I barely ever mention the fact that I was strung up on a cross and had two huges spikes hammered through my wrists. And I've still got the scars! They're gross! And yet, for everything I do and have done in the world, Jerry the stupid vegan butcher gets an iPhone, and I can't. HE DOESN'T EVEN KNOW HOW TO USE IT. And what's a butcher doing being a "vegan" anyway? Jiminy Crickets, this world is fudged up!
OOPS. Good thing I couldn't hear myself say that. In fact, I can't hear anything but the constant RING, RING, RING of the iPhone I don't have!
Well, that's it.
I'm sick and tired of this stupid world kicking me around. I'M GETTING ME A DAD-DARNED iPHONE (PMF!) IF IT'S THE LAST THING I DO!
Tomorrow, I think I'll pay a little visit to the local Baptist church. Me thinks SOMEBODY owes Papa Jesus a little moo-lah-lah! (That means money.)

Happy 4th of July.

2007-07-03T15:33:00.000-07:00

Hey! My head finally stopped hurting! YAY! And just in time for the 4th of July. Oh… how are you? Fine, I hope. Anywhoop, I won't be writing tomorrow, because I'm taking Grandma Christ to the rodeo. It's something we like to do every year. We watch the parade (which is good, except there are always too many tractors. What is it with country folk, anyway?), and we go to the fair (where we eat elephant ears, and tamales, and ride the bumper cars), and then we go watch the cowboys rope cows. Yeeeee-HAW! It's always fun, and a good excuse to wear my cowboy hat, my big belt buckle and my bolo tie with the dead scorpion in the middle.
THEN, tomorrow night I'm going to sedate Karen (that's my lamb) and shoot off fireworks with Trudy (she's a bank teller). Ordinarily, I don't approve of sedating animals—however, Karen is a psychological wreck on July 4th because all the loud fireworks wig her out. Two years ago, I came home from a night of fireworks, and Karen was hiding in the stove. NOT GOOD. This way, she'll sleep through the entire thing.
Anyway, as it turns out I am quite an expert at recreational fireworks, thanks to my friends at the Indian Reservation who have taken time to train me about the best lowgrade explosives. Here are my top five picks:
1) RAIN OF FIRE: This multiple repeater shoots one hundred incredibly loud balls of fire into the air, and then they explode, raining molten debri down upon the entire neighborhood. Might want to move the kids inside for this one.
2) BLACK CAT MAGNUM VELOCITY MISSILE: Light this one, and for the love of Dad, GET AWAY. With a loud kaboom, flames burn everything in a thirty yard radius as this missile catapults into the air, and turns the entire sky white with its explosion. (It's not nuclear or anything… I think.)
3) BULLET BOMB MORTAR: Picture a six-foot tall tube loaded up with 40 explosive shells the size of grapefruits. Seriously, if you light this one off, that's all you really need. It'll still be exploding in three days.
4) WAKE THE NEIGHBORS: This is what's known as a "Super Cake" and creates a beautiful kaleidoscope of colors in the sky. The downside is anyone not wearing earplugs within a one-mile radius will most certainly suffer permanent hearing damage. AWESOME!
5) SHOCK AND AWE: These beauties really live up to their name. Do you happen to have an asbestos suit? I like to wear one for this particular firework, because they have a "trick quick burning fuse" that causes a teriffic explosion within 1.2 seconds of lighting. (Sometimes sooner.) That's the "shock" part. Then, roughly 200 white-hot scrambling missiles fly no higher than five feet off the ground attacking anything that moves like a swarm of burning bumble bees. But that's not the "awe" part. The "awe" part comes after the stinging missiles explode, shoot shards of glass into your eyes, burns your clothes off, and emits a concussive BOOM that can fairly easily collapse a small structure, or shatter the windows out of an entire apartment building. So pretty, though.

Anyway, those are my favorites. But! If you're going to be around anyone shooting off fireworks, be sure to be careful. Some people aren't as conscientious with explosives as I am.
Happy 4th of July, everybody!

I don't feel good!

2007-07-02T15:26:00.000-07:00

UGH. How are you? I DON'T FEEL GOOD. My headache feels extra achey, and my joints feel like someone is jabbing them with pins (which I suppose is an improvement from spikes in the wrists). And what's even worse? NO ONE CARES. I've called up all my friends—even the vegan butcher—and just because I yell, "I DON'T FEEL GOOD" right when they pick up the phone, they don't want to be very helpful. All I ever hear is, "Have you taken any aspirin," or "Are you drinking a lot of water," or "Are you keeping bundled up?" or "Have you gone to the doctor?" Of COURSE, I haven't done any of these things! I'm Jesus Christ! If Jesus Christ is achey all over, what in the world is a doctor or aspirin going to do??
(Trudy—my very good friend the bank teller—brought me some chicken soup on her lunchbreak. That was super-duper sweet. Even though it tasted like poop. PMF—BUT I DON'T FEEL GOOD.)
Another thing that really annoys me about NOT FEELING GOOD (which I don't) is that people are always giving me that knowing look, like "Well… it could be worse." What they mean is that I could have a bunch of Roman soldiers beating the crap out of me, and nailing me to a cross. Well, yes… I suppose that would be worse. However, just because I still have spike scars on my wrists, and I went through a significant trauma on the cross, that still doesn't negate the fact that right now I DON'T FEEL GOOD.
Can't I NOT FEEL GOOD and have a previous traumatic incident? Is that OKAY with you people? I DON'T FEEL GOOD. Jiminy Crickets! Why is that so difficult to understand?
AND ANOTHER THING. What's up with the 7-11 NOT selling Ginger Ale? My stomach DOESN'T FEEL GOOD either. And yet, 7-11 doesn't stock any Ginger Ale because they quote, "don't sell enough of it"?? Tell that to my roiling tummy—WHICH DOESN'T FEEL GOOD.
Ginger Ale is delicious, AND it's a homopathic remedy. A lot of people think homopathic remedies are just for the gay people, but they help everybody. Especially the gays.
UGHHHHHHHH… I DON'T FEEL GOOD.
Alright. I'm going to lay down with Karen (that's my lamb) and see if cuddling her will make me feel better. Of course, I'll have to find her first. She slinked out of the house earlier, because whenever she entered the room, I would inform her…
I DON'T FEEL GOOD!

Kaaaaa-ren! I DON'T FEEEEEEEL GOOOOOOOOOD!

The big game.

2007-06-29T19:26:00.000-07:00

Hey. Have you bought one of those new iPhones yet? Yeah… me neither. So anyway… how are you? Me? Well, I'm excited to tell you what happened at today's BIG GAME. But first… a nutshell. Me! High School Football Team! Trudy! Bank Teller! Like Her! Impress her! Damien. Mean. Jealous. Threatens. Jesus. Scared.
Yep, that's about it in a nutshell.
So I have to admit I was pretty nervous about the game, because… well… what if I effed it up for everybody? (PMF!) I really don't know much about football to be perfectly honest, and other than the scrimmage game on Wednesday, I've never played the sport. But… I guess that's why Dad invented PEP RALLIES!
And boy, oh boy! Was that ever exciting and fun! It was held this afternoon at the local high school auditorium, and the cheerleaders cheered, the marching band played, and the coach and players gave motivational speeches. Even I was asked to say a few words, so I stepped up to the microphone and said…
"Ummmmmmmm… this thing on? OW! Is that feedback? Annoying. Anyway… ahem. FELLOW HIGH SCHOOL STUDENTS. How are you? Fine I hope. Me? I'm excited and nervous and scared about tonight's big game. Because I don't want to let any of you down. And I also hope to impress a girl I like named Trudy."
"She's a bank teller," added the coach.
"Yes, she is. Anyway, I hope you guys will still like me, even if I mess up. Because I really like you."
"Don't forget to tell them you're a FRAUD!!" yelled a voice from the back.

DAMIEN.

"Who said that?!" barked the coach.
"It is I, Damien. I work at the bank, too."
"Oh, yes? Well, get out of here, Damien. Unaccompanied adults are not allowed on school grounds."
"Then I guess you'd better get rid of JESUS, then, because he's the adultiest of all!!"
A gasp echoed throughout the school auditorium.
"That's right," Damien sneered. "Jesus is way too old to play on a high school football team. It's against every regulation in the book, so kick him off the team NOW, or I'll alert the authorities!"
I thought for sure my dreams were dashed to dust… luckily I had a plan.
"Hey Damien," I said. "How old do you think I am, anyway?"
"Don't play dumb, Jesus! You know as well as I do that you're 2006 years old!!"
And the entire auditorium erupted in laughter.
"What? Stop laughing," Damien cried. "I'm telling you that hippie football player is 2006 years old!!"
"Oooh, everybody," I said, "Can someone help me find my walker? It's hard to move around when you're 2006 YEARS OLD."
Even more laughter.
"Hey kids," I yelled, "Cut your hair! Get a job! When's Matlock on? I'M 2006 YEARS OLD!!"
That was all anybody needed to hear. Damien was "escorted" out by my shirtless football teammates with a loud "WHOOOOOOOO!!!" And to tell you the truth? I'm not sure what they did with him. And… is it bad that I don't care?

The game was the funnest thing ever. The stands were full of cheering fans. Including Trudy who yelled louder than anybody. Even Karen (that's my lamb) got in on the action, 'cause the cheerleaders made her a little cheerleading outfit, with little-bitty pom-poms tied to her legs and everything.
And even better? I didn't mess up once. I caught most of the balls I was supposed to catch, I made a couple of touchdowns, and I didn't tackle anybody on my own team. And we won the game! Plus, I got to take a shower with the rest of the guys! I've never showered with that many naked people in my life. It was weirdly fun. (I didn't like getting snapped on the patoot with a towel, though.) (PMF.)

After the game, Trudy met me outside the gym.
"Hey, Mr. Football Hero," she said.
"Preeeeetty impressive, huh?" I asked.
"You better believe it. You were great, Jesus. Really great."
"Thanks," I said. "Can I walk you home?"
"Sure."
We walked quietly for awhile.
"Soooooooo… where's Damien?" I asked.
"I dunno. Out somewhere I guess. I dunno. To tell you the truth, I don't think it's going to work out with him."
"You don't?"
"I don't think so. He's kind of weird… and angry… and to tell you the truth, since you and I stopped hanging out, I don't seem to have any fun anymore."
"Me neither. But that was my fault, Trudy. I treated you like you were Crapzilla. PMF."
She smiled.
"Forget it. Wanna chase cars and bark like a dog?"
"OMIDAD, I love chasing cars and barking like a dog!"
And so we did. We chased cars and barked like a dog, until we laughed so hard we almost p-worded in our pants.
Then I walked her to her door.
"Wanna hang out tomorrow?" I asked.
"Abso-tootley," she said.
"I really am sorry, Trudy. For being so dumb."
And I stuck my finger in her mouth.

If you don't know what I'm talking about, read this post from a long time ago. It'll all make sense. OH CRAP! (PMF!) I just remembered! I left Karen with the cheerleaders! By now, they'll have her wearing lipstick and drinking wine coolers! Gotta run! There's nothing worse than a drunk lamb painted up to look like Mary Magdalene!
Have a fun weekend!

The football player gets the girl.

2007-06-28T15:56:00.000-07:00

Hi! What'sa happenin', hot stuff? I took that from Sixteen Candles. I'm watching a lot of high school movies, since I'm going to be attending high school. And… I'M THRILLED about it! This "joining the local high school football team" thingy (see yesterday's post) is the best thing to happen to me since Karen (that's my lamb) gamboled into my life. And even better? I'm thinking it's a sure bet to make Trudy (my bank teller heartthrob) like me… and when I say "like me," I mean "LIKE me, LIKE me." As Jeremy (my new shirtless football playing teammate) likes to say, "Chicks like football players. And I mean LIKE, LIKE."
So anyway! Today was my lunch meeting (I'm not ostentatious enough to call it a date) with Trudy at the mall food court, and you should've seen her jaw DROP when I was waiting for her in my full football costume—sorry, "uniform"—and pads!
"What… in the world…" she said. "I LOVE it. Are you going to a costume party or something? It's totally real!"
"Nope," I said smiling. "Trudy, meet the newest member of the local high school football team."
"GET… OUT!! Really??" she squealed. (I love making her squeal.) "That is the most awesome thing ever! I'm so happy for you! I don't know how you did it, but you have really outdone your…"
"Well… well… if it isn't Jesus Lombardi!" (That's right… DAMIEN.) "Another day, another stupid costume, huh, Jesus?"
"It's a UNIFORM, Damien," I corrected.
"Damien… I told you not to follow me today," Trudy said.
"Last time I checked, it's a free country! Even if you want to dress like an IDIOT."
"I'm not just dressed this way, Damien. I'm the newest member of the local high school football team."
(It should be noted at this point, that I really despise Damien's laugh. It's a grating, high pitched laugh that digs into the marrow of your bones.)
"Stop it! You're killing me!" he screamed with laughter. "YOU?! FOOTBALL?"
"YEAH. HIM. FOOTBALL."
Damien turned around to see all my fellow teammates standing behind him.
"Jesus is our new receiver. WHOOOOOO!!!" Jeremy said. "You got a problem with that?"
"It's… ahem… it's a free country," Damien whispered.
"Yeah. Yeah, it is," Jeremy said menacingly, before turning to me. "Hey Jesus, you inviting your friends to tomorrow's big game?"
"Sure," I said. "If they can come."
"You're kidding me, right?" Trudy squealed again. "OF COURSE! I wouldn't miss it for the world!!"
"Neither would I," Damien said, trying desperately to stare daggers through the holes in my wrists.

Oh, boy. That was really a great moment. And Damien just sat there and stewed for the rest of the lunch, while I recounted the entire story to Trudy about how I made the team. (It also didn't hurt when a couple of the more attractive cheerleaders dropped by to say hello.)
I LOVE FOOTBALL… SOOOOOOO… MUCH!!
My one and only concern is something Damien said to me, right before he left:

"Good luck at tomorrow's big game, Jesus. It would be really bad if everything suddenly went HORRIBLY WRONG."

What do you think he meant by that? Eh. Probably nothing.
Drop back by tomorrow to hear the results of the big game. I hope I win. WHOOOOOO!!!

I'm on the team!

2007-06-27T16:15:00.000-07:00

Hey, hey! I would ask how you're doing, but I'm too busy being TOO EXCITED. Guess what? I'm on the HIGH SCHOOL FOOTBALL TEAM! Yay, me! I know! I can hardly believe it myself… but it's true! Want to hear how it happened? YAY! I'm glad you're interested!
Okay, so remember yesterday when I borrowed a video camera from my new shirtless friend Jeremy who's on the local high school football team? (I was using the camera to spy on Trudy—she's a bank teller—but I made the mistake of attaching the camera to Karen—she's my lamb—who was very nearly injured in a rooster fight and botched drug deal. Whoops.) Anyway, I was returning the camera to Jeremy, and I noticed he looked very upset. When I asked him what was wrong, he said one of his teammates hurt his knee and was going to be out for the rest of the season. Even worse, they had a very important scrimmage game today with their cross-town rivals, and no longer had a person who could run down the field and catch the ball. (I can't remember what the exact position is called.) Anyway, to make a long story short, I said, "I'll do it!"
Now admittedly I don't know much about the sport of football. But I am a former second baseman, I'm in very good shape and am gifted athletically.
"WHOOOO!!!" Jeremy cried. "That's freaking AWESOME, dude! But I'm not sure if the coach will go for it."
"Well, he doesn't have to know… I'll be disguised in the football costume."
"Uniform, Jesus," Jeremy corrected. "It's a uniform. But anyway… WHOOOO!!! That's a freaking AWESOME idea, dude! Let's do it!!"

So Jeremy snuck me into the dressing room where all the lockers are, gave me a football cos… uniform, and after tucking in my beard, said, "No one will ever know the difference!"
And he was right! All my new football friends I met at the car wash this past weekend were totally excited I was filling in for their fallen teammate. And whenever the coach looked at me suspiciously, one of my teammates would dump Gatorade on his head. But here's the best part! While I made a couple of mistakes on the field—such as accidentally tackling one of my own teammates—I was still pretty freaking AWESOME. In fact, during the last minute of the game, we were losing to the other team by five points—and the quarterback (His name is Tommy by the way… his hobby is studying classical poetry. He's nice!) said to me, "Jesus? Let your feet be winged birds that traverse this hallowed ground, and extend thyself fully to embrace the victory that is rightfully our own."
"Umm… what?"
"Go long, Jesus. GO LONG."

So I did! When Tommy told me to run, I ran as fast as I could down the field, and then to everyone's surprise, Tommy threw the ball to me! I stretched my arms farther than I ever thought was possible… reached out for the ball… and… I CAUGHT IT!
I ACTUALLY CAUGHT THE FREAKING AWESOME BALL, DUDE!
Then the other team fell on me, and it really hurt.
But apparently, I had scored a "touchdown!" And I won the game!
YAY!!!!!!!
My friends picked me up on their shoulders, and carried me around the field, screaming, "WHOOOO!!! AWESOME!! DUDE!! WHOOOO!!!" That is until the coach took off my helmet.
"Who's the hippie?" he asked the team.
Well, after Jeremy explained what happened, I thought the coach was going to be really mad. But he wasn't! In fact, he asked me to join the team, and take that other guy's place for the rest of the season!
"Mmm… don't I have to be in high school to play football?" I asked.
"Sure!" the coach said. "But don't worry about it, hippie. I'll just enroll you under some dead kid's name. I do it all the time. WELCOME TO THE TEAM!"

Needless to say, I'm quite excited. Not only did I get invited to join a great football team, I also get to go to high school! WOW! This is just like a movie! And I feel just like John Cusack, or Molly Ringwald or somebody!!
Oh, and by the way? Guess who's having lunch at the mall food court with a certain someone named "Trudy" tomorrow? AND GUESS WHO'LL BE WEARING THEIR FOOTBALL COSTUME?
(I mean, "uniform.")
WHOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

Karen the lamb: Superspy!

2007-06-26T15:51:00.000-07:00

What's up, buttercup? I was feeling especially sneaky today, so I sent out Karen (that's my lamb) to be my SPY! See, after my run-in with the high school football players this past weekend (see previous post) I decided that I need to be extra creative when it comes to wooing Trudy. (She's a bank teller. She likes Damien. I don't like him. She doesn't like me. That's not true. She likes me, but not in the way I like her. However, Damien doesn't like me in a very similar way to the way I don't like him.)
Anyway, I didn't want to be spotted lurking around after Trudy, because stalking is super gross. On the other hand, if I don't learn more about the stuff Trudy likes, how am I supposed to successfully pitch woo? That's where Karen the SUPERSPY comes in.
So I borrowed a mini-video cam from Jeremy—he's my new shirtless friend, and one of the high school football players I was telling you about—and I attached it to Karen's back. Then I took Karen to the bank (that's where Trudy works) around lunchtime, and told her to follow Trudy no matter where she goes. Then I went home and waited for Karen to return.
I'm really not sure where my plan went wrong.
I mean, that was a good plan, right? I don't know… I just don't know anymore. Anyway, Karen returned about three hours later, and I just watched the videotape. It seemed like everything was going great until Trudy actually left the bank. That's around when the camera showed Karen getting distracted by a kid carrying one of those Orange sherbet push-up ice creams, and Karen went gamboling after her. The kid seemed to really like Karen, so she took her back to this really shady looking apartment building. But the kid's parents thought Karen was some kind of weird white rat, or something, and told her to "Get the h-e-double hockey sticks out of here!" (Pardon their French.)
Karen apparently got frightened, and looking for an exit, accidentally ran down to the basement of the complex, where there were some people asking their pet roosters to fight each other.
Well, as we all know, Karen LOVES roosters, so she gamboled right into the ring! But as it turned out, the roosters were super mean, and started chasing her around the basement which got all the rooster owners mad, because I think they were betting on the outcome of the fight or something. So Karen was running around like crazy, and amid all the hullabaloo, she jumped onto some boxes, and scooted out the basement window, where she thought she was safe, right? But she wasn't safe because she scooted right into the middle of some kind of drug deal or something—I couldn't tell for sure, but one of the guys had a big bag of white powder, and everyone was pointing guns at each other. That sounds like a drug deal, right?
So Karen is in the middle of all these guys with guns, and somebody yells, "AIIIIEEE! White rat!" And the guns start going off. The camera was pretty shaky at this point (for obvious reasons) but there were a lot of screams and general chaos, and I'm pretty sure I heard people falling down. But happily, Karen escaped and ran into a nearby building to hide. However, the building she ran into was a butcher shop. Thinking back, I suppose it's a good thing the shop owner was vegan, because he was nice enough to read Karen's identification tag, and bring her home to me. Thanks vegan butcher!
Anyway, I have to say, while I certainly appreciated Karen's effort, she really didn't get the original job done, did she? That's why you're going out again tomorrow, young lady! And next time, you're going to follow Trudy. That means no more rooster or drug dealer fights! But that's for tomorrow.
For right now, I'm going to give Karen a big toasty bowl of Lamb Chow, a nice warm bubble bath to wash the rooster feathers off her, and read to her from her favorite book, "Goodnight Moon," as I rock her to sleep.
Sleep tight, my little superspy. You've had a busy day.

Let's hear it for high school football.

2007-06-25T19:29:00.000-07:00

Hello everybody! Good weekend? Good… good. My weekend? Just peachy… if it weren't for my dumb FEELINGS! I'm really trying to shake this Trudy (the bank teller) thing, but it's really hard! (Confused? See my previous blog posts in which I practically destroy my life, with a little help from that jerk Damien.) That's why my thinking has been all ka-blooey lately. Like last week? When I threatened to play all sorts of practical jokes on Damien in order to win Trudy back? I've decided against that plan. Why? Some high school football players talked me out of it. Here's how that happened…
On Saturday I woke up all super-duper bluesy, and so me and Karen (that's my lamb, FYI) decided to go out and make some new friends. That's something we do when we feel bluesy. However, only dumb non-new people were at the park, so I put Karen in the bike basket and we were riding to the blood bank when all of a sudden a bunch of shirtless young men standing on the corner started screaming at us.
"WHOOOOOO!!!"
"WHOOOOOO!!!" they screamed.
"WHOOOOOO!!!" I screamed back.
"WHOOOOOO!!!" they screamed.
"BAAAAAAAA!!!" Karen screamed back.
"WHY ARE YOU WHOOOOING AT ME?" I screamed.
"WE'RE HIGH SCHOOL FOOTBALL PLAYERS, AND WE'RE HOLDING A CAR WASH! WHOOOOOO!!!" they screamed. "WANT YOUR CAR WASHED?"
"I DON'T OWN A CAR, I JUST RIDE A BIKE, AND CAN WE STOP SCREAMING FOR A SECOND? MY THROAT HURTS! WHOOOOOO!!!"
"Oh. Okay," they said.

Turns out they were washing cars at the hamburger stand to raise money for their high school football team. Did I mention they weren't wearing shirts? I think this fact was getting Karen kind of excited in a particular way. (Pardon my thoughts.) Anyway, I said, "How much to wash my bike?" and they said "Well, a car costs $5, so how about $3?" And I said, "Well, how about I give you $10 if you wash my bike and tell me what to do about Trudy?"
They didn't know who Trudy was (she's a bank teller), but said they would be happy to hear my tale. So I told the high school football players the tale of Trudy (see past 55 blog posts for details), and informed them I felt pretty bummed about the way things had turned out, and that I was planning on playing a series of elaborate and cunning pranks on Damien in order to win her back.
They universally agreed this was not a very good idea.
"Jesus dude," one of them said, "Chicks are like so NOT impressed with revenge."
"Totally," said another, "Makes you look insecure, dude. Chicks dig dudes who act nice and stuff, and are comfortable with who they are."
"Quite so," said yet another. "The female of the species is a wondrous, but ultimately fathomless creature who can never truly be deciphered. One must simply sing a song for their heart, and trust that one's tune rings true."
Another football player burped in agreement.

Sing a song for Trudy's heart. I like that.
Anyway, I realized the shirtless high school football players were right, and I really liked them, so I ended up helping wash cars for the rest of the day.
I made 18 new friends, but that's not all. I helped a high school football team buy new uniforms, which is always a great way to beat the blues. Plus I learned—from some cheerleaders who happened by—that I have a "wicked hot bod." Did I mention I wasn't wearing a shirt?
"WHOOOOOO!!!"

Ha, ha. Damien, you got "punked."

2007-06-22T15:49:00.000-07:00

Hello, how are you? Me? I'm on a REIGN OF TERROR! I have a great new plan to win back the affection of Trudy (she's a bank teller that used to like me, until she didn't like me anymore) who is currently inexplicably infatuated with Damien (the jerk Trudy [the bank teller] currently likes). My plan is called… PLAN PRANK! I resolve to drive Damien absolutely nuts with clever, cunning pranks, thereby making him lose his temper with me, thereby making Trudy break up with him.
HOW DID I GET SO SMART??
I don't know. Just lucky I guess.
So anyway, here are some possible pranks I'm going to pull on Damien, that will hopefully drive him ker-AZY!
1. Ketchup packets under the toilet seat. After casing out the bank where Damien and Trudy work for a month, I'll learn Damien's poopy habits. (PMF!) Like when he goes, and stuff. Then I'll put two open ketchup packets underneath the knobby parts of the toilet seat, so when he sits down? SPLURT! Ketchup will shoot all over the back of his legs and pants! HAW! What a hoot!
2) Crickets in Damien's walls. This will drive him bonkers. I'll sneak into his apartment, take off the wall plug covers, and dump a jar-full of crickets into his wall. They'll start chirping, Damien won't know where to find them, and will eventually go insane. Then he'll have to be sent off to a mental asylum somewhere, and Trudy will date me instead.
3) Put rubber bands on his light bulbs. Eventually Damien will be overcome by the smell of burning rubber, go insane and be committed to a mental asylum.
4) Call the FBI and tell them Damien is a member of al-Qaida. HO! HO! HO! That'll get him good.

Oh, crap. (PMF!) I forgot that Damien occasionally reads this blog. Well, I was just kidding anyway. I wouldn't really play any pranks on Damien.
(Just kidding! Really I would, I just want Damien to think I wouldn't. Wink!)
However, if YOU have any good pranks I could play on Damien please supply them in the comments section below this post which I am writing right now.

Did you read where they are selling cucumber flavored Pepsi in Japan? WHY DO THEY GET ALL THE FUN??

British people aren't very funny.

2007-06-21T16:27:00.000-07:00

Hallooooo! (That's how British guys say "hello" when they dress up as girls. For some reason it always gets a laugh.) How are you? I don't have much to say today, but I will comment on two things: 1) Trudy (the bank teller who I have a crush on and is currently dating my mortal enemy) called today to say she was sorry for bringing Damien (that's my mortal enemy) to lunch yesterday, and that he was such a jerk. I said it was "okay."
And 2) Why aren't British people funnier? Karen (that's my lamb) and I was watching Benny Hill on TV last night, and neither of us laughed ONCE. I kind of don't get why everyone was laughing a lot when Benny was dressed up as an old guy in a wheel chair and he was being chased around by a bunch of semi-clad nurses. (The saxophone song in the background was kind of funny though. Why can't they just play that, and not show anything else?)
I don't think Monty Python is funny, either. EXCEPT for their movie, The Life of Brian which is apparently based on my life, and is SUPER-DUPER FUNNY! I love it!! You should watch that one, because it's great. Don't watch Monty Python and the Holy Grail, because it is boring and DUMB. And especially don't watch it with a bunch of Monty Python nerds—because all they do is scream "NEE! NEE! NEE!" during the entire flick. Annoying!!
And here's another weird thing about British people: sometimes even the funny ones are NOT funny. Like Rowan Atkinson? If you ever see his Black Adder series on TV—WATCH IT! It's even funnier than The Life of Brian! Meanwhile, if you see his other series, Mr. Bean, on TV—DON'T WATCH IT! You'll want to dig out your eyeballs with a rusty spoon.
But I'm open to suggestions about British people you think are funny. (Yes, I've seen Absolutely Fabulous—don't think it's funny. But I have seen the British version of The Office, and think Ricky Gervais is hilarious, except when he's on that HBO show Extras, when he's not funny and BOOOOOORING.)

Today Karen ate a foot-long hot dog! SO CUTE. I took a picture of her so I could post it on this blog, but it looked dirty, so I didn't.

I'm cowboy cool.

2007-06-20T20:39:00.000-07:00

Howdy, pardners! Guess what? I decided to wear a cowboy hat today in honor of my lunch at the mall food court with Trudy (you know… she’s the bank teller I’ve been telling you about?). I figured wearing a cowboy hat would accomplish the following tasks: 1) That I’m cool. Not “Fonzie” cool, but “Marlboro Man” cool—and without the lung cancer. 2) That I’m not desperate. Seriously, when’s the last time you saw a desperate cowboy, outside of Brokeback Mountain? And 3) I secretly know that Trudy is kind of hot for cowboys… or was that gas station attendants? Hmmm… poop. It was gas station attendants. Nevermind. Cowboy hats are still cool.
Anywhichway, as you know, I really made a horse’s patoot (PMF) out of myself recently, when I went ballistic on Trudy for tongue kissing Damien (but I don't blame myself too much, because he’s such a jerk). Apparently, I didn’t realize that I liked her, until I really liked her, hence the wig flipping.
But when I saw her today, I was INTENT on not losing my temper or freaking out in any way shape or form. I was going to be "Mr. Cool"… COWBOY COOL.
So when she walked up to the table I had five Hot Dog on a Sticks waiting for her.
"Howdy, ma'am."
"Well! Howdy yourself," she said. "Nice cowboy hat."
"Aww… twern't nothin'."
"How have you been?"
"Great, actually… I've been doing a lot of thinking and…"
SUDDENLY, DAMIEN SAT DOWN.
"Well… well… well," Damien said. "If it isn't Jesus Effin' Christ."
"Pardon your French, Damien," I said.
"Don't start, Damien," Trudy said.
"Jeez, I was just havin' some fun with the guy," he said. "I thought you told me to be friendlier to him."
"You asked him to come here and friendly to me?" I said to Trudy.
"WHOA!" Damien said. "Don't freak out, Jesus! You don't want me to call security, do ya?"
"STOP… IT," Trudy said. "Both of you. Yes, Jesus, I asked him to come here and be friendly to you, because Damien and I are dating now, and you're my best friend. So if Damien wants me to date him, you're part of the package. Isn't that right, Damien?"
"Sure… whatever."
"Is that okay with you, Jesus?"
"I'm cowboy cool," I said.
"Well, yee-haw," he said.
That's when Damien picked up TWO of the Hot Dogs on a Sticks and bit into them.
"You gonna eat ALL these hot dogs on a stick, Hop Along Christ-idy ?"

I won't bore you with the rest of the details. Suffice it to say, it was HORRIBLE! Damien is the grand exalted emporer of all P-HOLES! (PMF!) But I sat there, bit my tongue, and didn't freak out, or throw him over the railing into the aqua massage cart 30 feet below. I was cowboy cool—just like I had promised myself. Interestingly though, when they left, I noticed Trudy was scolding him all the way back to the bank. HA! This could work out in my favor after all—all I have to do is think of something that will tempt Damien to be an even BIGGER jerk than he already is. Hmmmm… Maybe next week, I'll come to lunch wearing a British Bobby hat! (They're so coooooool.)

Mmmm… the Pope doesn't even drive.

2007-06-19T16:23:00.000-07:00

How now, blog cow? Me, I'm pretty good. Actually I'm kind of confused because a) I'm supposed to meet Trudy (she's a bank teller… I like her… we have a complicated relationship… read the previous 47 blog posts for details) at the mall food court tomorrow for lunch, and I know I'm supposed to act all cool and stuff, but it's gonna be really awkward, and I'm probably going to end up acting like a ding-a-ling. And b) today it was reported that the Pope issued a new "Ten Commandments" but this one is all about driving etiquette. Yeah… that's what I said. "WHAAAAAAA???" But it's true. Here, read the report. By clicking on this blue thing, right HERE.
Can you believe that? It's like the Pope suddenly woke up and said, "Hmmm… you know… I don't think I'm meddling enough in people's lives. How about I restrict birth contro… no… did that. Ooh! How about if I ban gay peop… no… did that. Hmmmm… OH, I KNOW! Now I'll tell drivers what to do!" (By the way, the Pope really didn't say those things… that was just me being sarcastic.)
Anywhoop, here are the brand new Ten Commandments of Driving as passed down from the Vatican. (Sob! I'm so happy I could cry!) (Sarcasm.)

1. You shall not kill. (No "S," Herlock.)

2. The road shall be for you a means of communion between people and not of mortal harm. (What? Is he telling us to talk on our cell phones while driving? That's DANGEROUS.)

3. Courtesy, uprightness and prudence will help you deal with unforeseen events. ("Uprightness?" Like those teenagers who drive around all slumped down in their seats? That does look dangerous.)

4. Be charitable and help your neighbor in need, especially victims of accidents. (Oh, really? I was thinking about letting them bleed to death on the side of the road. Sarcasm.)

5. Cars shall not be for you an expression of power and domination, and an occasion of sin. (Hey, rednecks and teenagers who like to have sex in cars! He's talking to YOU!)

6. Charitably convince the young and not so young not to drive when they are not in a fitting condition to do so. ("Donnie? If I may, I believe you have imbibed too many beer bongs. If you are currently considering operating a motorized vehicle, may I further suggest that you are not in a fitting condition to do so.")

7. Support the families of accident victims. (Oh really? I was thinking of laughing while their loved ones bled to death on the side of the road. Sarcasm.)

8. Bring guilty motorists and their victims together, at the appropriate time, so that they can undergo the liberating experience of forgiveness. (Isn't that the job of the insurance companies?)

9. On the road, protect the more vulnerable party. (That would be me, everybody. I ride a bicycle.)

10. Feel responsible toward others. (Let me guess, the Pope ran out of ideas and couldn't think of a 10th commandment. Hey, Pope! That one has already been covered! Here, let me help out: Thou shalt not stop in the middle of the street to talk to your friend. Or how about this one: Thou shalt not covet thou neighbor's Hummer. Or how about: If thou are in the passenger seat, thou shall not lean over and honk the driver's horn. C'mon people! That is SO rude!

Got any more?

Yay, it's time for gay.

2007-06-18T15:37:00.000-07:00

Hello, how are you. I am feeling SO MUCH BETTER. Whoa, you should’ve smelled my shirt after I met with my dad on Friday. It was super sweaty, and boy, did it STINK. I should probably stop eating so much meat and Chick-o-sticks. Who am I kidding… Chick-o-sticks are so delicious I don’t care if I smell like the inside of a pig’s leather loafer. Naturally, I kind of felt like a jerk for falsely accusing my dad of trying to ruin my life… but should I really feel happy that he didn’t CARE enough to ruin my life? Patriarchal feelings can be so complicated.
Anywow, I’ve decided to pull the stick of self-doubt and loathing out of my b-hole (Pardon my French) and start loving life again! And that means putting on…
MY PARTY PANTS!
Everyone should have a pair of party pants. Do YOU? Mine are dark maroon, have a very sensual texture and are made out of 100 percent polyester. I’ve never had another pair of pants like them! They are a LOT like the costume Venom wears in the Spider-Man comics. I swear to dad, these pants fit me like a symbiotic life form! (Don’t worry—they don’t turn into Venom.) Anyway, today I was feeling so relieved, I put on my party pants, and my “Jesus is Coming—Look Busy!” T-shirt, and went downtown to buy some helium balloons. (Do you ever buy yourself helium balloons? YOU SHOULD.)
So I was walking downtown in my party pants, t-shirt, and carrying helium balloons when suddenly someone leaned out of a bar window and yelled at me, “WHOO! WHOO! GAY PRIDE!!”
Naturally, I yelled “whoo, whoo” back—even though I am not a gay. Though like many people, I do have "a gay friend" (Derek… he’s a cop)—and he is delightful. Here’s what I like about gay people: they are ENTHUSIASTIC. This may be why people often ask me if I’m gay (though I’m sure my party pants add to the illusion). I do things enthusiastically, and that’s often confusing for macho guys who have been taught to do things unenthusiastically. I mean, just because I’ve been known to walk down my street banging a big bass drum, and singing songs from the musical “Oklahoma,” why should people also automatically infer that I’m having sex with a gay person? It’s like saying, “Oh, he’s eating an orange. That must mean he’s an astronaut.”
But just so we’re clear, I don’t mind if people call me a gay. I just think it’s weird when people assume things—like just because I’ve walked on water, it doesn’t mean that their prayers for a new motorcycle will be answered. It just means that I know how to play a magic trick.
Anyway, I ended up going into the bar and drinking Frescas with these gay guys for the rest of the afternoon. AND THEY WERE SO MUCH FUN! Everything was “fabulous” to them, and life was obviously something they all enjoyed very much. I didn’t even mind when one of them pinched my tuckus! (PMF.)
So that’s my advice for this week: Put on your party pants, hang around with some gays, and learn to love life again! (And eat three fewer Chick-o-Sticks. They make you sweat yellow.)

That was a quick five minutes.

2007-06-15T15:56:00.000-07:00

Whoa. Hello! Wow, I would ask how you are, but I'm kind of feeling too blown away at the moment. So regular readers of this blog already know a few things: 1) I like Chick-o-Stix. 2) My mom is dead. 3) I have a lamb. Her name is Karen. 4) The girl I like (Trudy) works at the bank, and doesn't like me right now because I made her date Damien (who is a jerk) in order to regain the second base position on my softball team, and then I flipped out when she tongue kissed him, and then I really flipped out when Damien suggested that my dad was behind the whole mess. Did you know all that about me?
Anyway, it took forever, but I finally set up a five-minute meeting at 3:42 pm today with my dad to confront him, and tell him to STOP dinking around in my life! Naturally, things did NOT go as planned.
When I arrived at dad's offices at 3:37 pm, Francoise (that's his personal assitant) was super snotty to me, and didn't even offer me a Tab. (For some reason, dad's office only serves Tab.) It's too bad. I love Tab. Anyway, I was super-duper nervous, and had so much sweat was pouring out of my pits, Francoise offered to run to the break room for a sponge. He's a jerk.
But finally, I was escorted into dad's office. Oh my dad, that place is SO intimidating! Everything is either leather or mahogany, and he has stupid books lying around with titles such as "The Art of War."
Anyway, here's how the conversation went: (By the way, did I mention that my dad is a non-corporeal being? That is to say, he doesn't have arms, feet, and a head, and stuff? Well… if I didn't… he's a non-coporeal being.)
"Well, well. How's it hanging, son?" he said.
"Actually dad," I said, "since this can only be a five minute conversation, what do you say we dispense with the PMF pleasantries?"
"Okay…"
"I'd like to know why you asked Damien to ruin my life, because I am my own man, dad, and you have to learn to accept me for who I am, especially if you're never going to return my phone calls, or pull me down off the cross even when they're nailing spikes into my wrists, and…"
"Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!" dad said. "Who's Damien?"
"DON'T PLAY DUMB, DAD! He's the guy you paid to steal second base, Trudy, and Karen from me!"
"You're dating two girls now? Niiiiice."
"Wait… what?! I like Trudy—she's a bank teller—but Karen is my lamb!"
"Oh," he said. "That's a weird name for a lamb."
"QUIT TRYING TO CHANGE THE SUBJECT. I only have 3 and a half minutes left."
"Okay, fine. How about this? I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT."
"You deny that you paid Damien to ruin my life so I would come to work for you?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Prove it."
"Okay…" he said. "Let's put our cards out on the table. When have I EVER messed with your life, or for that matter, shown you any attention?"

That one stumped me.

"Jesus," he said. "I know I'm not a good dad. That's because I'm not a dad. The way I float around this office, I might as well be a purfume fart." (Pardon his French.) You know as well as I do—probably better than anybody—that those bible stories are made up, and I DON'T GET INVOLVED ANYMORE. Basically I've got about as much power as the Queen of England—except I don't get to make appearances. Look. I'm sorry if you've run into a rough patch, but I didn't cause it to happen. YOU DID. If you lost Trudy, Karen or this second base situation, maybe it's because you didn't do enough to deserve it. But regardless, I can't do anything about that. I'm sorry, but I don't control the weather, and I can't make you happy. You've still got a shot at it though—just remember: nobody's stopping you but you."
"Dad… wow… I'm really…"
"Don't worry about it. I get this all the time. Look, I've got a 3:48 coming in just a second. Do you want a Tab before you leave?"
"No… no, thanks. I gotta go. But dad?"
"Yeah?"
"I know you're not a real dad in the way dad's usually are, but you are my dad anyway… so, ummm… have a happy father's day."
"Ha. That's a good one. Thanks. Send me some Old Spice next year. FRANCOISE! SEND IN MY 3:48!"

The devil? Really?

2007-06-14T16:21:00.000-07:00

Hey, what's the haps, pap? I am bordering on being really creeped out! Last night I was watching The Exorcist on basic cable, and even though all that devil stuff is totally a pile of hooey (can "hooey" be placed in a pile?), that flick really gave me the heebie-jeebies! I mean I understand that the devil is supposedly able to make you do weird stuff—but that poor kid really looked ugly! She didn't need an exorcist, she needed a dermatologist!
And ugh with the vomiting! And the PMF language! Goodness gracious, that devil certainly has a salty tongue.
Then there was that part where the girl was doing "that thing" with the cross. WOW. I mean, I know that doing "that thing" is a natural part of childhood and everything, but c'mon! Can she not start with a carrot?
This is such a PMF conversation, I'm going to stop right now.
My point is that I had to sleep with my lights on all night—and the devil doesn't even exist!
OR DOES HE?
A few of you commenters have made the suggestion that Damien may be the devil… which I think is kind of preposterous. Let's look at the facts: First of all he wears a muscle tee. The devil doesn't wear muscle tees! Secondly, Damien doesn't say anything like what that little girl in the movie was saying. All Damien does is quote Joey from Friends.
On the other hand, he does lie. And he does trick people, which Damien definitely did when he tricked me out of second base on my softball team and Trudy's affection (she's a bank teller that I like). And he's always stealing my bicycle! (He eventually gives it back, but the tires are usually low, and the seat is all moist.)
A couple commenters also asked if I've checked his scalp for the numerals, "666." No, I have not. Damien doesn't like people to touch his hair. I would ask Trudy to check, but I'm pretty sure that wouldn't do much to mend our current relationship. Besides, having numerals on your scalp just sounds like something those Bible writers dreamed up while smoking pot. What a bunch of stoners.
Anyway, I just can't imagine Damien jumping into a little girl's body and flying around the room like a crazy person. I can imagine him asking her out on a date though, EWW!
Anyway, tomorrow's the big day when I have my 3:42 pm five-minute meeting with my dad in which I am supposed to really tell him off. I am scared. I mean, I know I'm not going to die or anything, but my dad really intimidates me, so I'm going to have to be super-duper brave. Wish me luck.
And remind me to wear an undershirt. I sweat a lot when I'm nervous. Did you know that about me?

Daddy, I'm angry at you.

2007-06-13T16:35:00.000-07:00

How are you? That’s interesting, but right now we need to focus on me because I’m angry at my DAD. As we all know, Father’s Day is coming up this Sunday, and while most kids will be with their dads playing baseball in the park, taking bumper car rides, or giving each other big hugs—my dad will be busy IGNORING ME! What’s his stupid problem anyway? He’s the worst dad in the world! And it’s been this way ever since the minute I was born. I mean, what kind of dad allows a baby to be born in a stable?! There’s freaking animal poopy everywhere! (Pardon my French.)
And did I get toys from those “wise men” that my father sent? No, but I did get gold, frankincense and myrrh! Who were those creeps anyway? They could’ve been pedophiles or day laborers as far as dad knew! And do you know how many times dad visited me when I was growing up? Let’s see… hmmmm… how about ZILCH? But I could’ve lived with that. Really, I could’ve. Except that every time I did something totally on my own—such as my magician act where I walked on water or “raised people from the dead”—people would always pooh-pooh it because I was “the son of God!” HEY PEOPLE! I WORKED HARD ON THOSE MAGIC TRICKS! THE OCCULT HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH IT!!
But maybe I’m being too rough on my dad. Maybe he was just an ordinary deity who was busy with more pressing matters and simply didn’t have enough time to PULL ME OFF THAT CROSS AND REMOVE THE SPIKES THAT WERE HAMMERED THROUGH MY WRISTS!!
So if you happen to be reading my blog, dad? Don’t expect any cigars, or Old Spice aftershave this year for Father’s Day. Because I am very, very, VERY angry at you!
(By the way, can you send me your new address? Your card got returned in the mail.)

I went to Trudy's house.

2007-06-12T17:49:00.000-07:00

Hello! How are you? I was just ruminating on the phrase, "O, what a tangled web we weave." Ever notice how old-timey people sometimes just drop the "h" after the "o" when they say "oh"? I think it's adorable. It's like they didn't have time to write the "h" so they just dropped it entirely. But it's not like they were busy or anything. I lived through old-timey times, and things were a LOT less stressful then. All you ever had to worry about was whether the cow was going to die, or if the bubonic plague was going to reach your hamlet.
Anyway, back to "tangled web." Since I'm in kind of a holding pattern with dad (see yesterday's post) I went to Trudy's house today (O! She's a bank teller!) to see if I could patch up the huge hole in our relationship. She answered the door.
"Hi," I said.
"Hi," she said.
[Looooooooong uncomfortable pause.]
"So I've been thinking about becoming a mall security guard," I said.
She didn't laugh.
"Okay, Trudy," I said. "I've been a real d-word, pardon my French…"
"Yes, you have."
"Okay, I deserve that, because I know you're angry with me, and you have every right to be."
"You're right."
"So… I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm super sorry for being so mean to you."
"How were you mean to me?" she asked.
"Huh?"
"In what ways were you mean to me?"
I was REALLY CONFUSED by this.
"Did you forget that I was mean to you?"
"No," she said. "I want you to tell me the ways that you hurt me. To make sure you're not just apologizing for the sake of apologizing."
"OH! I get it. Right. Okay. Ummm… I was really mean to you about Damien, and about you about kissing him with your tongue. That was none of my business."
"Okay… keep going."
"And… I'm really sorry for treating you like a commodity, when I asked you to go out with Damien and trick him into giving me back second base."
"And?"
"And… there's more? Ummm… of course there is. Ummmm… and… I'm sorry I got freaked out when you put your finger in my mouth?"
"And?"
"OH, COME ON!!" I cried. "What's going on here? Are we going back to the 4th grade with this apology stuff? I said I was sorry, and I really, really am!"
[Another long pause, then she gave me a real funny look.]
"Do you really not know what's going on here? Or are you really that naive?" she asked.
"I really don't know what's… oh… I think I do know what's going on here. You liked me. Like, 'liked me-liked me.'"
"Yeah. I 'liked you-liked you.' What did you think was going on?"
"I dunno," I said. "I guess I was just hoping you wouldn't."
[Pause.]
"Why?" she asked.
"Because you're perfect the way you are, and if we 'liked each other-liked each other' I'd have to be a different person, and you'd have to be a different person."
"Jesus," she said. "You're the same person. The person I liked. I'm the same person, too."
[Pause.]
"Yeah…" I said. "I guess you really are. (Pause) So, Trudy? Would you like to go out and eat a steak?"
"Wow… that's really sweet. But Damien's coming over in a bit, and we're going to a movie. But I'm really glad we've had this talk. We can have lunch later this week, maybe. Call me, okay?"
Then as she started to shut the door…
"I feel better about this," she said. "Do you feel better about this?"
"Sure," I said. "I feel better about this."

I don't feel better about this.

Great. I'm in my dad's "daytimer."

2007-06-11T16:53:00.000-07:00

How are you feeling today? Me, I'm feeling about this small. As you undoubtedly remember from last week, Doris the Holy Ghost (see the previous blog post for details—but in a nutshell she's part of the holy trinity and lives in Eureka, CA and smokes unfiltered Pall Malls) advised me to confront my dad, and ask him to stop ruining my life! And boy, did Doris' pep talk get me fired up!
On a side note, let's all start using the word "pep" more often. For example, "Karen (that's my lamb) humped the couch pillow with a lot of pep today!" (PMF.)
Anyway, after ending my video webchat with Doris, I immediately called dad's cell, and immediately got sent to voicemail.
"Dad? Jesus. YOU AND I NEED TO TALK. Call me as soon as you get this." CLICK.
Saturday passes… nothing. I call back. "Dad? It's your son, Jesus Christ? The one you allowed to hang on a cross with big spikes in his wrists? Yeah, that's the one. CALL ME BACK. NOW." CLICK.
Sunday passes… nothing. "I'm not kidding, dad! This is super important, and you better call me back! In about 36 hours I'm going to start getting really peeved!" CLICK.
Then suddenly? At around 2 pm today, the phone rings.
"Hello, this is Francoise, God's personal assistant. How may I help you?"
"Umm… okay… is my dad there?"
"Who is this again?" he asked.
"JESUS! JESUS CHRIST! Your boss' son!"
"There's really no need to get testy, now is there? How may I help you, Jesus?"
"For starters you can hand the phone over to my dad."
"I'm sorry, Jesus. Your father isn't available right now. That's why he's asked me to assist you. So how may I assist you?"
"You can't assist me! Only my dad can assist me! I need to talk to him personally."
"Ohhhh… wow," Francoise said. "I'm not sure if that's going to work for me… but if you want to set up an appointment, I can check his schedule."
"That would be awesome. And FYI? I'm being sarcastic."
"Yes, the tone was noted. I have a 5:30 on August 29."
"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?? He's my FATHER, and I want to talk to him as soon as possible!!"
"You know, yelling doesn't really work for me. However, I'll look again. (FROSTY PAUSE.) Okay, the best I can do is five minutes, this Friday at 3:42. Come to his office and don't be late. You'll have some paperwork you'll need to fill out."

(Yes, I was wondering what kind of paperwork the Son of God would need to "fill out"… but at this point, I was ready to end the conversation.)

"That sounds great, Francoise! And I really, really, really, REALLY want to thank you for all your help in this matter."
"Sarcasm really, really, REALLY doesn't suit you, Jesus. See you Friday!" CLICK.

Can you believe that?!? That Francoise is a real p-hole! (PMF!) But now I'm really going to let my dad have it! And all I have to do is figure out something smart to say. (Good thing I have till Friday!)

Doris, the Holy Ghost.

2007-06-08T14:47:00.000-07:00

What's up, my ninjas? Yeah, not much here either… except! I had an awesome video webchat last night with Doris, the Holy Ghost (she's part of the holy trinity and lives in Eureka, CA) and she really put my head back on straight about this whole Damien, Dad, and Trudy (she's a bank teller) thing. As you may or may not know (read this blog more often if you don't) Damien has stolen Trudy, my second base position on the softball team, and has made veiled threats against Karen (that's my lamb). Plus, for some reason it seems my dad has put him up to it! That's effed. (Pardon moi Francais.)
Anyway it seemed like there was only one more person I could turn to for help, and that's Doris the Holy Ghost—my dad's old personal assistant who died from lung cancer and is totally on my side about stuff. So I video webchatted her, and here's what happened:
I started to tell her the entire story, but she interrupted me to say, "HONEY. (Wheeze!) I read your blog. (Wheeze!) I know everything that's going on." (By the way, Doris still smokes. Unfiltered Pall Malls. Wow.)
"So what do I do," I cried. "I'm really at the end of my rope!"
"Okay, honey, (Wheeze!) first of all calm down. Doris is here, and we're going to solve this thing a bit at a time. (Wheeze!) First of all, Damien is a [f-word] [c-word] and a real [p-word] to boot—so we're not going to worry about him for the moment. (Wheeze!) Secondly, forget about second base. Your coach obviously doesn't want you to have that position, so either drop it, or tell coach to go [f-word] himself and join another team. (Wheeze!) Your team sucks hippo [d-word] anyway." (Wow. Do I really have to keep writing PMF after all this? Let's consider "PMF" as read.)
"Ohhh-kay…" I said. "But what about Trudy?"
"If I were you I'd take her out for a steak and then [f-word] her. (Wheeze!) That's the only way you're gonna know if you love her or not. Until then, be a man, go to her house, bring her some chocolates, and apologize for being such a little [p-word]. Then [f-word] her. (Wheeze!) Now, I know that sounds harsh, and I love ya honey, but sometimes you can be a real little [p-word]. (Wheeze!)"
"No, it's fine… you're right. I was wrong to yell at Trudy and for making her do that dumb favor. I'm a p-word." (PMF.)
"Now," she said, "Let's move on to the real problem which is your dad. He's a [d-word]. (Wheeze!) I have no idea why I worked with that [c-word] sucker for such a long time, but everybody has their issues. He obviously has wanted you to get into the family business for years, and instead, you ride your bike, eat at the mall food court, and play with your gay lamb. (Wheeze!) That's not a slur, honey. She really is a lezzie. (Wheeze!) He's obviously paid off this Damien [d-word]bag to take away the things you love, because he thinks it'll make you the kind of man he wants you to be."
"What? Really? My dad doesn't like me?"
"Honey… (Wheeze!)… he loves you. This is how men are. Except for you. Your brain's not shoved inbetween your balls. [She can say "balls," right?] (Wheeze!) You're going to have to confront your dad, honey. You're going to have to tell him you're never going to be the person he wants you to be. (Wheeze!) You're just gonna have to nut up, and be Jesus. You okay with that?"
"Yeah… I guess I have to be."
"That's right, honey. You have to be. Now give Doris a cyber smooch, and run along. My stories are about to come on the television and these cigarettes aren't going to smoke themselves. (Wheeze!) Just remember, no matter what your dad says: Life is a buffet, sweetie. And most poor suckers are starving to death."

I went to bed after that, held Karen in my arms, and had the best night of sleep I've had in two weeks.
Dad's going to get a little visit from me.

I'm stunned.

2007-06-07T19:41:00.000-07:00

Whoa. How are you? Boy, let me tell you, I am STUNNED. Sure, I'm stunned about the big revelation yesterday that Damien and MY DAD are somehow in cahoots, and they're both trying to ruin my life—but I'm also stunned I came up with two FANTASTIC new ideas today. Here they are:
1) Guys need to start wearing top hats and monocles again. It will be the new hip fashion that everyone is doing, so you better start now or risk looking "out of it" and "square." Plus, not only can you hide things under a top hat, but when you are surprised about something, your monocle can pop out. SPROING!!
2) This one's just for whitey. Ever catch yourself singing along with a rap song, but have to momentarily shut up whenever they say the "n-word"? ME, TOO. There's no way I'm going to say it (even though I probably could, since I'm from Ethiopia), so I've devised a new clever substitute for the "n-word" which is NINJA. Same syllables, plus ninjas are cool, and you're not being a racist. You can even use it when someone says something ridiculous by responding with "Ninja, please!"
That's why I was stunned. Because I could come up with such awesome ideas even in the face of being backstabbed by my own father. WHAT DO YOU THINK HE'S UP TO? Why would he tell Damien to try rob me of everything I hold dear (second base, Karen [that's my lamb] and Trudy [she's a bank teller])? It kind of blows my mind. I mean I know Dad and I don't get along very well—but this is some real Darth Vader/Luke Skywalker poop going on here! (PMF!)
Anyway, this has gone WAY beyond asking Trudy, the guys at the video store, or the mall security guy for advice. That's why I'm bringing out the big guns, and asking the only person (or thing, if you will) that can truly help me find an answer:
THE HOLY GHOST.
Ooooooh, is right! I ain't fooling around! Now I know a lot of you may have heard about the holy ghost (or "spirit," if you will), but are unable to really wrap your head around the concept. Well, first of all, the holy ghost isn't a "he," it's a "she." Her name is Doris (officially, "Doris the Holy Ghost") and she lives in Eureka, California. But no one else can see her. Now, in the bible, the holy ghost is the spiritual manifestation part of the holy trinity, with me being the physical side. But in reality she was kind of dad's personal assistant until she died of lung cancer, and moved to Eureka. However, I've always liked her, because she's SUPER SMART and a real no-nonsense kind of gal. Anyway, I've decided I'm going to have a video web-chat with her tonight, and ask her what I should do about Dad using my mortal enemy to ruin my life, and possibly kill my lamb. Cool? Cool. Tune back in tomorrow to see what she says. Rest assured, it will be extremely wise, and she will probably tell me how to solve "the Trudy situation" as well. (Eye roll.)
Until then, run out and buy a top hat and monocle. What's that? Wearing a top hat and monocle is too "hip" for you?
NINJA, PLEASE!
Heh.

Damien's revelation.

2007-06-06T19:54:00.000-07:00

Hi, hope you’re good, things are getting WEIRDER, so let’s just get right to it. (If you’re a new reader to this blog, I really feel sorry for you. You have a lot of catching up to do. Scroll down until you can’t scroll anymore, and read, read, read.) So yesterday I totally got in trouble with mall security because I yelled at Trudy (she's a bank teller) for tasting Damien’s tongue. (It’s because I asked her to go on a pretend date with him, so he’d let me play second base on my softball team and… OH FORGET IT.) Anyway, I was way out of line. And I know this, because after I was dragged back to the mall security office, I broke down in tears, and begged the security officer to help me solve my problem. Unfortunately, he said he was really uncomfortable with men who expressed emotions, and asked me to leave.
“BUT WHAT SHOULD I DO?” I wailed.
“I don’t know!" he said. "Go talk to that Damien character, tell him he's a [gd-word] [mf-word], and leave… me… alone! WOW, you're annoying!"
Geez. Sorry I was born, mall security guy.
Anyway, decided to take his advice. I marched right over to Damien's house and rang his doorbell. He answered the door dressed in one of those "muscle-tees"—you know, the ones with no shirtsleeves? And he was curling a dumbbell. What a d-bag. (PMF!)
"Well… well… well," he sneered. "Who's this ringing my doorbell? A Jehovah's WUSSY?"
"Look, Damien," I said. "I'm only here because the mall security guy said it was a good idea, so I'm going to tell you what's on my mind."
"That shouldn't take very long."
"Ha-ha, Damien. Very funny. Except it wasn't because I was being sarcastic. Look. You hurt my feelings because you tricked the coach into moving me off second base, so you could steal my position. And then you tricked me into trying to trick you with a fake date with Trudy, so you could trick her into liking you, and give you a tongue kiss."
"Yes, I did," he said. "And it worked."
"Don't you dare deny…. wait… uh … WHAT?!"
"I did it. I stole second base from you, and then I stole Trudy."
"But… but… why?"
"I wanted to rob you of everything that means something to you—and I did. Except for Karen (that's your lamb), and she's next on my list."
"WHAT? But… but… but… why?"
"Look, Jesus. I got a hamburger date with Trudy tonight, which means I gotta get pumped up—so… sayonara, sucker."
I slammed my hand into his door. "I am not going ANYWHERE until you tell me WHY YOU ARE DOING THIS TO ME!"
Then he gave me this weird look that kind of seemed sad in a way.

"Ask your dad."
And he closed the door.

The Trudy Tapes

2007-06-05T17:43:00.000-07:00

Hi, and WOW. Yesterday stunk. I feel a little better today, but yesterday? WOW. That was a low point. For those just joining us, it might be better if you stop now and read the previous few blog posts. Just keep scrolling down until you see a picture of Will Smith. Anyway, in a nutshell, Trudy (the bank teller) likes Damien (the jerk) and guess who's the dumb-butt (Jesus). Oh, yeah… pardon my French (PMF). Even worse, Trudy actually tongue-kissed Damien (EWWW!) and I didn't even get to play second base on my softball team—which was the whole stupid point in the first place! I suppose I should "count my blessings" or something idiotic like that, but all I can really be thankful for is that Karen (that's my lamb) didn't poo-poo in my new cotton candy machine. Oh, did I mention I bought a new cotton candy machine? It cost one thousand dollars. That wasn't a smart purchase, as it turns out, but what can I say? I shop when I'm depressed.
Anyway, after dragging myself out of bed, taking a shower, and buying a cotton candy machine, I decided to confront Trudy at the mall food court. I also decided to secretly tape record our conversation, so you could listen, and help me figure out what to do next. Here's an edited transcript of what we said:
JESUS: Thanks for meeting me.
TRUDY: No… sure, sure… are you okay? You look awful.
JESUS: No… no… no, no, no, no, no, no, nooooooooooo… I'm great. Just great. I brought you some cotton candy.
TRUDY: Thanks.
JESUS: I made it myself.
TRUDY: Wow… that's really cool, I love cot…
JESUS: HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME????
TRUDY: Whoa… whoa… what?
JESUS: You weren't supposed to tongue kiss Damien! You were supposed to keep not liking him!
TRUDY: Jesus… this was… this was YOUR idea! I didn't plan…
JESUS: You didn't plan to stick your tongue in his mouth? It just "fell" in there accidentally?
TRUDY: You're really upset. Why are you so upset?
JESUS: Because you were supposed to follow the plan and trick him and hurt him and get second base back for me, and I wanted you to do me this one favor, this one stupid favor, and instead of doing the favor, you did the opposite of the favor and instead of hurting him, you hurt me, and now you like him, which means I'm out of the picture and both you and second base are gone forever!
TRUDY: I haven't gone anywhere!
JESUS: Do you or do you not "like" Damien? And when I say "like," I mean "LIKE-LIKE."
TRUDY: (Long pause.) Jesus…
JESUS: Well?
TRUDY: I don't know how I feel.
JESUS: You don't know how you feel? YOU DON'T KNOW HOW YOU FEEL? Well, maybe I should ask your tongue! Since it was digging around in the back of Damien's throat, maybe your tongue will know how it feels! HEY TONGUE!! HOW DO YOU FEEL??
MALL SECURITY GUARD: Is there a problem here?
JESUS: NO!!! Why don't you beat it, Dork Tracy?
MALL SECURITY GUARD: Hey, sir. That hurts my feelings.
TRUDY: He didn't mean that, security person. He's just upset. I'll take care of this and we'll be quiet.
JESUS: I will NOT be quiet! And neither will Trudy's tongue! Because it's going to tell me how it feels! TELL ME HOW YOU FEEL, TONGUE!
MALL SECURITY GUARD: Okay… you're a pervert. Let's take a walk to my office.
TRUDY: That's really not necessary!
MALL SECURITY GUARD: Oh, yes it is. Let's go.
JESUS: See ya later, Trudy! Say hello to the inside of Damien's mouth for me, you backstabber! Oh, and I hope your tongue enjoys the cotton candy! Be sure to give Damien a taste, too!! OW!?!?! Let go of my hair, pig! Ohhhh, what are you gonna do? CRUCIFY ME? Been there, done that! Do you know who my dad is, you big dumb jer… [Tape ends]

Okay, so maybe I could've handled that better.
OH, MY DAD! Can things get any worse? Hmmm… guess they can. Karen just vomited cotton candy all over the rug.

I'm like whatever.

2007-06-04T19:37:00.000-07:00

Hey. What's up. I'm like, "whatever." This has been the stupidest weekend in the history of weekends. It was so stupid that I ended up sleeping through most of today, and woke up around 4 pm to eat a ham sandwich and take a nap. And I think I'll continue to take this course of action, because the world is one big fat stink hole.
So you remember what happened Friday, right? I asked Trudy (bank teller) to go out on a date with that dillweed Damien (trickster jerk), so he would return to me my rightful place as the second baseman for our softball team. (If you have no idea what I'm talking about, skip down three blog posts. Or go away forever. I don't care.) Anyway, I eventually figured out this was a really dumb and ineffectual plan, and decided to ride my bike down to the pizza shop, crash into their table and whisk Trudy away on my handlebars. The result?
THINGS DIDN'T GO SO WELL.
I went to every stupid pizza place in town, and they weren't anywhere! Plus I kept calling Trudy on her cell, but she wouldn't pick up. Frankly, I was scared poopless. (PMF—"pardon my French.") Finally she calls at noon on Saturday, and was all like, "Hi! What's up?"
And I was all like, "You scaring me poopless. PMF. That's what's up."
Turns out she's absolutely fine—and even worse? She said her date with Damien was "DREAMY." And not only that, she said Damien was actually "a really sweet guy" once you got to know him, and that she not only kissed him on the mouth, but she also stuck her tongue inside a little bit! EWWWWWWWW!!!!
I slammed down the phone and decided I wouldn't call her back until I could get the taste of bile out of my throat. At least I got second base back, right? Well, at Sunday's softball game…
THINGS DIDN'T GO SO WELL.
Damien was all like, "Jesus! Dude! That date with Trudy was super hot! She could be the one, dude!" And I was all like, "WHATEVER, dude! You're the catcher now, so why don't you start catching?" But right when I went to second, the coach walked up and was all like, "Jesus… what are you doing?"
And I was like, "Damien said I could have second base back."
And he was all like, "Well, Damien doesn't coach this team, I DO. Get back behind home plate!"
I kind of don't remember much after that. I think I went into some kind of comatose state that people go into when their entire world starts spinning really fast and falls apart and comes crashing down like the Red Sea on top of their heads. The next thing I knew Karen (lamb) was licking my face at 4 pm today, which is her code for "eat a ham sandwich." I did, and felt a little better. That is until I cried myself to sleep. I just woke up again a minute ago to evacuate my bowels, and thought I'd write this. I'm going back to bed now. I've got some more crying to do. Maybe I should have faith things will get better. But since it won't, I can't.
Night.
Whatever.

I'm right. You're wrong.

2007-06-01T15:49:00.000-07:00

Hey, how are you feeling? I'm feeling preeeeeeetty concerned. Apparently my brilliant plan to regain second base from that trickster Damien, by tricking him into thinking Trudy the bank teller (who works at the bank) likes him by going out on a pizza date with him and kissing him on the mouth isn't a very popular idea with my commenters. (Check the posts from yesterday and the day before for full details.) It would be okay if a couple of you thought my plan stinks—I'm sure even the guy who invented Glide tooth floss had his detractors—but almost EVERYONE thinks it stinks! So that must mean one thing…
YOU… DON'T… GET… IT.
I'm certainly not "whoring Trudy out" (Pardon your French) as you so Frenchly put it. She's a friend, and friends do friends favors. For example, Trudy moves, like, every two years, and guess who has to lug her collection of Christmas Barbie Dolls up and down the stairs? And when she forgets to record The Amazing Race, guess who saves it for her on his TiVo? And who illegally downloads the new R. Kelly album for her even though it's totally illegal? Oh, that's right… That would be ME.
What do you say we flip the situation, since everyone keeps reminding me about the whole "do unto others" thing that I supposedly once said, but really didn't. Let's imagine that Trudy really wanted Dr. Jessica Hovley's dentistry job. (If you don't know who she is, read this post right here, and come right back. No dawdling.) I really don't like Dr. Jessica Hovley, because she's kind of mean, and called me a queer. (Pardon her homophobic French.) However, if Trudy wanted me to go out on a pizza date with Dr. Jessica Hovley, and pretend to like her, and end the evening with a real juicy kiss on the mouth? Well, I'd certainly…
Oh, poop.
This is bad. This is really, really bad. Just the thought of Trudy's lips on that slimey creep makes me wanna go… BLECHHHHH!!!! But… I really want to play second base! But what if she catches some herpes from him? But what if I never get to play second base? That's at least as bad as herpes! You can treat herpes, but you can't treat not playing second base! But I don't want to hurt my friend! But I really want to play second base! Trudy's feelings! My needs! His herpes! Second base!
AUUUGGHHHH!!!
What time is it? Almost five? Those guys are going on their pizza date right after work! That's it. Second base be darned. (PMF.) I'm going to ride my bicycle over there RIGHT NOW, and heroically crash my bicycle into their table, break up their date, and say something like, "Damien! You can keep your stupid second base and your herpes, because Trudy's coming with ME." Then I'll put her on my handlebars, and we'll ride to Quiznos for dinner. (Oh yeah, I forgot to mention… I like Quiznos again.)
How does that plan sound?
(P.S. Please don't use the word "whoring" in the comments anymore. It's dirty.)

I choose trickery.

2007-05-31T16:29:00.000-07:00

Hello! How are you? I am feeling grateful for all of your good advice regarding this Damien situation. (If you're just joining us, I'm mad at my "friend" Damien for tricking me into giving up second base on my softball team, and so I asked everybody to help me decide how to re-trick him back.) Based on your comments, many of you think I should either hit him hard with plagues of locusts (Which is an impossibility… what am I? The Aquaman of locusts?) or "turn the other cheek." That probably would be the "Christian" thing to do. Luckily for me, I'm not a Christian. As far as I'm concerned, Christianity is just some weird religion people made up about a bunch of fibs that other Christians said I did. I don't even know what "turn the other cheek" means. That's why I'm voting for… TRICKERY! (Thanks for your ideas, though, and I really do like you.)
So here's how the trickery is going to work, okay? All I have to do is find something that Damien wants more than second base, right? And that's a pizza date with Trudy, the bank teller (she works at the bank)! As previously mentioned in this blog, he really digs "Trudy's booty" (his French, not mine), and so I called him up and asked him flat out: "Damien, if I convince Trudy to go out on a pizza date with you, can I have second base back?"
And he was all like, "Ummmmmmmmmmmmm… okay."
"YAY!!!"
"On one condition…"
"Oh-oh…."
"Not only do I get a pizza date with Trudy," Damien said, "She also has to kiss me on the mouth."
"NO PROBLEM," I said. This is gonna be easy!
Although as it turned out, it wasn't so easy, because a) The softball game is this Sunday, and the pizza date would have to be tomorrow night, and b) Trudy thinks Damien is gross. In fact, when I brought up the idea at the mall food court today, she gave me this funny look like I had hurt her feelings or something. Why? I HAVE NO IDEA. All we're doing is tricking Damien into thinking she likes him. Besides, she had no problem sticking her finger in my mouth (see my earlier blog post) so why is it such a big deal to eat a slice with Damien and peck him on the lips? After all, second base is at stake.
Anyway, she said she'd do it, and then left suddenly saying she had to get back to work.
What a gal, am I right? That is the true meaning of friendship, people, and if you'd do well to remember the kindness Trudy extended to me, and imitate her in your daily life. (In fact, they should make up a new religion called "Trudyism.") Anyway, I definitely owe Trudy a big favor for this one, so the next time we meet for lunch, I'll buy her a Hot Dog on a Stick.
Big date's tomorrow! Stay tuned to see how it all works out! Oh, second base, I can already feel you underneath my cleated feet!

I'm mad at Damien.

2007-05-30T20:49:00.000-07:00

Hey. What's up. I'M MAD. And I'm mad at Damien! He's what you call a "feelings hurter," and I'm the one whose feelings he hurt. I've mentioned him before. He's the guy who works at Trudy's (she's a bank teller) bank, and plays on my softball team. Now as you know, I used to play second base, and I was good at it too! But Damien told the coach I would be a better shortstop, so I switched positions, and Damien took second. But as it turned out, I stunk at shortstop, so Coach demoted me to catcher—and Damien stayed on second! At the time Trudy told me Damien had planned the whole thing in order to get second, and he does tricky things like that all the time. I didn't believe her, but after what happened today? I'm thinking he's a real… a real… CREEP! (Pardon my French.)
Today at practice, I was catching and the batter hit a foul tip which cracked me right in the nose. (It didn't hurt as bad as two spikes through the wrists, but still….) Anyway, I decided I'd had enough. I went to Damien and was all like, "Damien. I like you. And I've been thinking a lot about it, and I like playing second base better."
And Damien was all like, "I see why you feel that way. Second base is awesome!"
And I was all like, "Right… but I really want to play second base. Can you please give it back to me?"
And he was all like, "Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm… no."
"No?"
"Uh, yeah. I'm thinking… no."
And I was like, "But I want it."
And he was like, "Well, you can suck me." (PARDON HIS FRENCH!!)
Frankly I was speechless. Nobody ever speaks to me that way! But then it got worse.
"Look, Jesus. You're a nice kid," he said. "So why don't you turn around and walk your sweet little butt (Pardon him again!) back to homeplate. And remember… you catch the ball with your glove, not your nose. Dork."
I HAVE NEVER BEEN SO ANGRY IN MY LIFE! (Not even after the spikes through the wrists thingy.) I just ran off the field, hopped on my bike and rode home as fast as possible. I don't like hating people, but you know what? I think I may hate Damien. In fact I think I might hate him so much that I want to GET HIM. Like, really get him!
That's where YOU come in.
I need a really tricky trick that will get me my second base back. But I'm not so good at trickery, so can you help me trick Damien into giving me second base back? It's got to be super clever, because he's good at spotting tricks. Please write your trick ideas in the comments section below. I know I don't ask you for help very much, and it feels weird. But Damien is a feelings hurter and he hurt my feelings. Please help me hurt Damien back.

I do things "Big Willie" style.

2007-05-29T17:51:00.000-07:00

How are you doing? As for me, I've decided to get "jiggy with it." I was very surprised to learn over this past weekend that I'm a big fan of Will Smith's music. Especially his rap music! Have you ever heard his rap? Quite impressive. However, apparently everyone doesn't think so. I played softball yesterday with Damien (he's the guy who Trudy accused of stealing my second base position), and he pooh-poohed Will Smith. "Oh, that guy hasn't done crap (Pardon his French) since he stabbed Jazzy Jeff in the back," said Damien.
"He killed Jazzy Jeff?" I asked.
"NO! Will Smith became a big TV and movie star, and kicked Jazzy Jeff to the curb!"
"He kicked Jazzy Jeff?"
For some reason Damien gets exasperated by our conversations, and once again he walked away. Regardless, I "wikied" Will Smith, and there's no mention of him killing or kicking Jazzy Jeff, therefore I still like him. Here are my favorite "Big Willie" rap numbers in descending order from the songs I like the most to the songs I like the least, which I guess is what "descending order" means.
1) "Wild, Wild West"—I really like this song the best, because he tells the entire story of the movie in the song, thereby saving me the $1.99 rental fee. Plus it also has that guy Sisco who sang the "Thong, thong, thong, thong, thong" song.
2) "Gettin' Jiggy With It"—It's important in this day and age to remember to get jiggy with things. Anything one does can be improved upon by adding jigginess, and the absence of jiggiosity is a sad thing indeed.
3) "Summertime"—This one has Jazzy Jeff in it (pre-kicked)! Plus it has great lines like, "Riding around in your jeep or your benzos/ Or in your nissan stting on lorenzos." Do you have any idea what that means? I don't. And yet? I love it!
4) "Miami"—This is a very fun song to sing, because it has Mexican language in it! There's this one part where he sings, "Welcome to Miami," and then this pretty-sounding girl sings, "BENVENIDOSAMIYAMI!" I say this phrase a lot, and I've never even been to "Mi Yami!"
5) "Parents Just Don't Understand"— Big Willy? You really speak the truth on this one. My dad is especially frustrating. One day I was at the mall with Trudy (she's a bank teller), and my dad spotted us going into Hot Topic. And he actually yelled down the concourse, "JESUS!! JESUS H. CHRIST!! You don't need anything from that store!" I mean, how would he know what I need, or what I don't need? I totally wanted a Green Day t-shirt from Hot Topic. What? IS THAT SOME KIND OF STUPID SIN OR SOMETHING? Anyway, whatever. So to all you kids all across the land? Ain't no need to argue, parents just don't understand.

That's all I have to say about that, except for two things in descending order from least important to most important: 1) Jazzy Jeff was not killed or kicked by Will Smith, and 2) Life is better when you got "Big Willy style all in it." GET JIGGY WITH IT!

What I am doing this weekend.

2007-05-25T16:53:00.000-07:00

Hello, how are you? I'm wicked busy. I've got a huge Memorial day weekend planned, and that means a lot of preparation! I'm glad Monday's a holiday or I'd be in trouble. Actually, since I don't work, it doesn't really matter if Monday's a holiday or not. Anyway, I can still be busy though, right? RIGHT! Here's what I'm doing this weekend:
1) Karen (that's my lamb) stinks. So I'm taking her to the salon for a wash/cut and a mani/pedi.
2) Read a Captain America comic.
3) Work on my non-fiction novel wherein I debunk a bunch of bible stories.
4) Skateboard!
5) Take Grandma Christ to her bingo game. BOOOOORING!
6) Learn all the words to that song, "I like the cars—the cars that go BOOM!"
7) Spend an entire day speaking like Fat Albert.
8) Remove all the energy-efficient light bulbs from my house. They suck. (Pardon my French.)
9) Stage a fight between my rubber dinosaur and my Jar Jar Binks figurine.
10) You know those joke cans of peanuts where snakes pop out? I want to make a joke can of snakes where peanuts pop out.
11) Eat three boxes of Popeye's chicken.
12) Challenging Trudy to an Indian leg wrestling match, and then defending myself against the name's inherent racism.
13) Rent Patrick Swayze's Roadhouse, and laugh, and laugh, and laugh!
14) Rock out to the Spice Girls.
15) Chase a car while barking like a dog. Have you ever done this? It's wicked fun!
16) Stilt walking!
17) Call everyone on the Mo-Mu page of the phone book, and tell them I like them.
18) Look at my collection of postcards that depict monkeys eating meatballs.
19) Floss.
20) Remember that every day can be really fun — especially those that start at the mall.
Have a great weekend, everybody!

Today I'm wearing a cape.

2007-05-24T16:28:00.000-07:00

Hello. And you are fine, I trust? Excellent. Yesterday we talked about the intrinsic power of "the high five." Today, we talk about how life is better when you wear a cape. (By the way, I'm practicing to be a "motivational speaker." Remember when I said I needed to make a little extra money to buy Captain Janeway figurines from the Star Trek: Voyager show? This is how I intend to do it. I'm gonna dream up a bunch of different ways for people to feel better, then I'm going to travel around from Holiday Inn conference room to Holiday Inn conference room, charging people for my awesome ideas. I won't charge you, though, because I like you, and I don't believe in charging my friends to make them happy.)
Where was I? Oh, yes! Life is better when you wear a cape. Example: Today I said to myself, "I'm going to wear a cape." So I did. And not a big dumb go-t0-the-opera cape, but a cute red "Look at me, I'm Superman" cape. And since I had some extra fabric, I also made a tiny cape for Karen (that's my lamb). Then we went down to the mall, and and ran up and down the concourse with our capes flowing behind us! It felt great!
That is, until Jasper (he's the mall security guy) came along.
"Jesus," he said with more than a note of exasperation in his voice. "What are you doing?"
"Karen and I are FLYING!" I yelled. "See ya!!"
"Hold on there, Jesus," he said. "You can't fly in the mall."
"We aren't really flying, Jasper. You can see that, can't you?"
"Well, you also can't run around acting like a crazy person, either," he said.
"Umm… why not?"
"Because this is the MALL. Crazy isn't allowed here."
As we later learned, "crazy" also isn't allowed in the grocery store, car dealerships, and funeral homes. But you know what? That didn't stop Karen and myself. We went to the park jogging track and hid in the bushes. Then when someone would jog by, we'd sneak out… and then RUN PAST THEM REALLY FAST, YELLING, "WE CAN FLY!!!"
Turns out that kind of crazy isn't allowed either, and Karen and I got a warning ticket from the park patrol for "unnecessarily scaring people." (Is giving a lamb a warning ticket even legal?)
Regardless, we had a FANTASTIC FUN DAY. And I would like to congratulate "the cape" for making it happen. So… okay… I guess the moral is: Wear a cape today!
[Be sure to join me for my next motivational speech at the Ramada Inn near the airport. It only costs $100 and 37 cents.]

High five!

2007-05-23T19:41:00.000-07:00

Hey there, people who like to read! How are you? I'm feeling so great, I want to give you a… HIGH FIVE!
That was a test. When I said I wanted to give you a "high five," did it make you feel weird? Many of you are saying, "Yes." And if I were to ask you why, you would say, "Because high fives are not only old-timey, they are often indicaters of the kind of meathead behavior often attributed to frat boys and douchebags." (Pardon your French.)
"NOT SO," I SAY!
Handing out "high fives"—and especially "jumping high fives"—is one of the most enthusiastic life-affirming gestures you can do for someone. Giving someone a high five says, "I don't think you're doing a good job… I think you're doing a GREAT job!"
Take today for example. I was passing by a hemorroid clinic and decided to go inside. (I currently do not have hemorroids, I was just curious what a hemorroid clinic would be like.) But when I went inside? Holy cats, what a BUMMER. Everybody in there was super depressed—but I guess I can imagine why. So I said, "Who's in charge here?" And a doctor came out and said, "Me, Dr. Dunderserenson." (Or something like that.) "Well, Dr. Dunderserenson," I said. "HIGH FIVE!!"
Perhaps unsurprisingly, he left me hanging.
"Why do you want a high five, sir?" he asked dejectedly. "I don't want a high five," I said. "I'm giving a high five! Because anyone who works on people's hemorroids really deserves a… HIGH FIVE!"
"You know… you're right!" he said, and gave me a super-high jumping high five! And by the time I left, everybody was giving high fives. (Except that one guy who was getting a hemorroid snipped. He said he would catch me later.)
So what are you waiting for, America? There are a lot of people out there who are doing their best just to get through the day. Make the world a better place, and help them out with a… HIGH FIVE!
(Hint: You might want to bring some sanitizer along. Some people's hands are disgusting.)

Religion isn't a competition—but if it was, I would win.

2007-05-22T15:16:00.000-07:00

Buenos dias, amigos. Que hora es? Wait... that's not right. Cómo es usted? Look at me! I'm speaking SPANISH! And… now I'm done. Because that's all I know. Here's something I learned today: If you eat a corndog while walking down the street, people look at you funny. I was taking Karen (that's my lamb) for her noon walk, when suddenly I was STARVING! It was a real tricky situation, because when I get low blood sugar, I get super testy, and the closest Arbys was like, ten blocks away. So I stopped into 7-11 to get a corndog, just to tide me over until I could eat five beef 'n' cheddars. (For only five bucks? Such a deal!)
So anyway, I'm walking down the street with Karen on her leash, eating my corndog, and people start staring at me and laughing. At first I thought I had some toilet paper on my sandal, but I didn't. Yet people were laughing anyway! So when this postman starts laughing, I stop him and say, "Hey. You're a postman, right?" And he's like, "Yeah?" And I'm like, "Well, then in a sense, you're my employee, right? So answer this question: Why are you laughing at me?"
And he was all like, "Ummm… because you're Jesus, and you're walking a lamb, and you're eating a corndog."
I don't get that.
See, I hate to complain, but this is just the kind of pooh-pooh (Pardon my French) that really makes me angry. Anybody else in the world can walk their lamb and eat their corndog in peace, but when I do it? Everybody gets all laffy-taffy!
And it's because of all this dumb Christianity stuff! I read a report today that said Christianity (in all its many forms) tops the list as the world's most popular religion. Like, BY A MILE. Christianity has roughly 2.1 billion followers, compared to Islam (coming in at #2) which has 1.3 billion. The list continues like that all the way down to Scientology (which at #22, only has 500 thousand followers). I know it's not a competition, but I was pretty psyched to see that. I really despise those Scientology freaks.
But here's my point! The only reason Christianity beats out those other religions is because it has more sub-religions than all the rest. Everybody jumps on the Christianity bandwagon including Catholics, Protestants, Methodists, Pentecostal, Anglicans, Latter Day Saints, Evangelicals, Baptists, Southern Baptists, Jehovah's Witnesses, Quakers, etc., etc., etc., so it's no wonder they are the top religion in the world, and it's no wonder everybody laughs at me when I walk down the street walking my lamb and eating a corndog!

BECAUSE THERE ARE 2.1 BILLION PEOPLE WHO THINK THEY KNOW WHO I AM, AND WHAT I WANT, YET NO ONE EVER THINKS TO ASK ME HOW I FEEL ABOUT ANYTHING!!!

Sorry. I get upset sometimes.
Life is good. I just need to remember that. Corndogs are good, too! In fact, after talking to the postman, I went back to 7-11 for three more.

Lightning can be dangerous.

2007-05-21T16:16:00.000-07:00

Hello, how are ya? I'm feeling on the verge of thrilled, because a famous person knows me. One of my favorite columnists in the world, Dan Savage, who writes a sexual advice column wrote ME an email today alerting me to a news story about a Jesus statue who got his arm blown off by lightning.
More on that in a minute.
But first: How cool is that? Dan Savage wrote ME! I know they occasionally run my blog in their Seattle newspaper (where he lives and works), but I kinda thought he might hate my guts. Why? Two reasons: 1) He's a gay. 2) He's a Catholic gay. Gay people sometimes hate me, because they think I hate the gays. I really like the gays. One of my good friends Derek is one of the gays (and a cop). He's not Catholic, though. Catholics sometimes don't like me either. Especially ex-Catholics. I get blamed for a lot of dumb junk that happened to them when they were in Catholic school, like all that useless memorization, the crazy rules, mean nuns, and the non-consensual buggery. (Oh… pardon my French.) Anyway, I'm really psyched that Dan Savage doesn't hate me, because I'm a big fan of his column even though it's sexual.
So to Dan Savage I say, "Holla!" (Maybe he could give me some advice about Trudy [she's a bank teller who recently stuck her finger in my mouth, which made feel weird down there… pardon my French]?)
Now, about that Jesus statue getting his arm blown off. Apparently there's a big 33-foot statue of me in Golden, Colorado, which was struck by a lightning bolt on Sunday. It knocked off one of my arms, a hand, and damaged one of my feet, "sending marble plummeting to the ground." One of the nuns there said, "There were pilgrims up there on the hill. The biggest miracle is no one got hit with the falling debris."
First of all: PILGRIMS ARE FUNNY! Ever see those funny hats they wear? Hilarious! I'm glad they didn't get hurt, but boy! I sure would've liked to have seen all those pilgrims running everywhere!
Secondly, neither I or my dad had anything to do with this. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: WE DON'T CONTROL THE WEATHER. If I did, believe me, I wouldn't even own a pair of galoshes. We also don't control if people get hit—or don't get hit—by debris. If any of those pilgrims had gotten hit by a big 11 foot version of my arm, I'm sorry to say it would've been their own dumb fault for hanging around a 33 foot me in a thunderstorm… while wearing funny hats.
Anyway! Thanks Dan Savage, for the tip! Be sure to read his funny and smart column here. Warning: it's kind of sexual sometimes!
Oh, and I ate at Red Robin this weekend. It was gross. They gave me a balloon, though. Nice.

Call me "drooly."

2007-05-18T16:20:00.000-07:00

Hi. How are you? I'm pretty drooly. I went to the dentist today, and… oh, yeah. I forgot to tell you. Since I certainly can't return to Dr. Jessica Hovey's office (see some of my earlier posts), I had to get my check up and cleaning from "the evil Dr. Siew" (see some of my earlier posts). Anyway, he said he wanted to do some kind of weird heavy-duty "deep gum cleaning" or something like that, wherein they numb the poop out of your mouth (Pardon my French) and really scrape all the gunk off.
I think he gave me too much novacaine, because it's been six hours and I still can't feel half of my mouth. It's totally embarrassing! After my appointment, I stopped by a store to check out some sunglasses, and I totally sounded developmentally delayed. "I'm loobing fo' thub thunglathes," I said, to which the sales clerk replied, "I don't know what you're saying, and you're drooling on my counter."
But there are some upsides to being completely numb. For example, you can eat horrible foods and not be bothered too much by it. I ate some celery (which I ordinarily despise) and thought it was "okay." Plus my friend Trudy the bank teller (she works at the bank) came up with a great game over lunch called, "Let me put something in your mouth and you guess what it is."
Here's how it works: I close my eyes, she puts something in my mouth, and then I guess what it is.
I wasn't too good at the game, but it was fun. She put some spagetti in my mouth, and I guessed "orange juice." Then she put an ice cube in my mouth, and I guessed "steak." Then she really threw me for a loop when she put her finger in my mouth. I guessed "Chik-o-stik" and bit her kinda hard. She yelled, "OWWWW!" and I apologized… but you know what? I was kinda weirded out it.
"Why did you put your finger in my mouth?" I asked.
"I don't know… I thought it was funny. You know… sexy funny," she said.
"I'm used to you being funny," I said, "but not sexy funny."
"Are you mad?" she asked.
"No. But I am disappointed. I really wanted a Chik-o-stik."
We kind of laughed it off, but when I got home I really started to wonder about that whole finger in the mouth thing. Does that seem weird to you? Do friends stick their fingers into each other's mouths all the time, and I'm just not aware of it?
Anyway, I went home and changed my shirt. I had drooled spaghetti all over it.

Panda Lamb!

2007-05-17T15:11:00.000-07:00

Hello, how are you? I'M SCARED! I was surfing the internet today when I saw the above picture on Britain's Daily Mail website. It's a panda lamb! Or a lamb panda. Frankly, I don't know what it is, but one thing's for certain—it's an aberration of nature. How do I know this? Because when I showed this picture to Karen (she's my lamb… my normal lamb), she let out this really piercing, guttural scream and ran underneath the bed, where she's been hiding all afternoon.
See? This is what happens when science starts dinking around. (Pardon my French.) One minute you see a calm, peaceful glen teeming with sweet gamboling lambs, and the next? Big fat panda lambs sitting on their bottoms stuffing their sickening faces with bamboo! Okay, maybe that doesn't sound as scary as I would've liked. But here's the thing! If they start genetically engineering lambs to look like pandas, THEN WHAT'S NEXT?
They (and when I say "they" I mean the military scientific governmental genetical engineering industrial complex) are obviously starting with the "cute" cross-overs to woo the pre-teen demographic: Panda lambs, bunny kittens, and baby polar bear ducklings. Then, when the public has been mentally sedated, they'll move on to their REAL objective: Rhino Lions, Monkey Fed Ex Delivery Persons, and eventually? A race of super-powered soldiers that are a combo platter of angry weiner dogs, pedophiles, Charlton Heston, and rocket-powered ostriches. (Not only do these ostriches fly, they'll kick your head in!)
Write your congressperson! Mail a scathing letter to your local daily newspaper! Create an online petition! Do whatever it takes to stop these maniacs before they genetically alter us all into oblivion! Today it's Panda Lambs. Tomorrow? Hyper intelligent Koala Pugs. (Sure, it's cute—until they're carrying rifles and hunting you for food!)

Let's talk gum!

2007-05-16T19:45:00.000-07:00

Hi! Question! Can lambs eat gum? I hope they can, because Karen (that's my lamb) has been eating gum all day. Not bubble gum… just sticks of chewing gum. And I only give her a half stick at a time. So I'm not being dangerous. She loves it and I want to make her happy. She's especially fond of Fruit Stripe gum (that's the kind with the Zebra on the package) and so am I! I love it so much! Especially the orange flavored Fruit Stripe. In fact, I love orange flavored Fruit Stripe so much, I eat all the orange Fruit Stripe out of the package and give the rest to Karen. She's not so picky, but she seems to prefer cherry. I know this because she poops cherry poop. (Pardon my French-French.)
Some people claim that gum stays in your stomach for seven years, but I think that's a fallacy. How do I know this? Because it goes right through Karen in about 45 minutes, and comes out in a fairly similar fashion to the way it went in. One day she ate so much Fruit Stripe that I had to pull it out of her bottom hole in long strings. I know… GROSS!
Anyway, here is my top ten favorite gums:
1) FRUIT STRIPE! (Yay!)
2) Bubble Gum Cigars. (I think they make me look sophisticated.)
3) Peppermint Chiclets. (A classic.)
4) Altoids Gum (Particulary "Hot Cinnamon Death" flavor.)
5) Bazooka (The comics are funny!)
6) Orbit (The girl on the commercial is pretty.)
7) Icebreakers Ice Cubes (If Marshmallow Peeps were gum, these would be peeps.)
8) Trident Splash Strawberry (Tres exotique.)
9) Juicy Fruit (I don't let people see me chew this, because it looks old-timey.)
10) Hubba Bubba bubble gum (It kind of stinks, but I love the name!)

I LOVE GUM! Do you love gum? Tell me if you love gum.

Jerry's dead.

2007-05-15T13:52:00.000-07:00

Hi everyone. How are you feeling? Well, Jerry Falwell's feeling dead. Frankly I wouldn't have even known, except that at least 30 people came up to me today to say, "Didja hear? Jerry Falwell's DEAD." Then they all gave me this look as if I was supposed to have some big freakout—and were surprised when I didn't. Why should I have a freakout? I didn't even know the guy! This must be the way black people feel when white people assume they all know each other. That's racist, man. RACIST!
But to tell the truth, I did meet Jerry Falwell at a party last year. But I didn't know it was him, okay? And while I'm sorry he's dead and all, I was not super impressed. First of all, he was really sweaty. And he kept following me around all night, butting into my conversations… laughing too loud at my jokes, and quoting random bible verses that didn't have anything to do with what we were talking about. Hello? Annoying!
Anyway, after the party, a few of us went to Denny's for a Moon Over My Hammy. (So… good!) And I was all like, "Who was that annoying sweaty guy, anyway?" And my friend Derek (He's a gay. And a cop.) was all like, "Honey. That was Jerry Falwell!" And I was like, "He's a preacher, right?" And everybody started laughing! "HONEY," Derek said. "The minute you get home, Wiki 'Jerry Falwell.'"
It took a few minutes to explain what "wiki-ing" someone is all about, but when I did wiki him, frankly I was shocked. He really sounded like a d-word! (Pardon my French.) Not only did he say mean things about the gay people (like my friend Derek… he's a cop), he hurt black people's feelings, and spent more time dissing labor unions, public schools and the Teletubbies than talking about ME. Now correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't talking about ME supposed to be his JOB?
Anyway, that's all I know about Jerry Falwell. From what I can wiki, he was a mean, self-centered person, and now he's dead. Now if anyone else asks about him, I'll just have this to say: "Too bad there's not a hell—otherwise, he'd be up poop creek. (Pardon my French.)"

I need a job.

2007-05-14T15:42:00.000-07:00

How are you today? Me? I need a job. Well, I don't need a job. But I would like some extra money to fix up my bicycle, and add to my collection of Star Trek:Voyager action figures. There's this one 12" Captain Janeway action figure (MIB) that I really want. But on eBay, it's like $100. Fudge that! (Pardon my French.) Anyway. I need temporary employment. And Quiznos is out, because I'm still mad about those counter guys hurting my feelings, and knowing me, I'd eat myself out of a job.
So here's my idea: I want to be… a whisperer!
From what I've read, "whispering" is the hottest new employment trend. You've got your "horse whisperers," your "dog whisperers," and even your "ghost whisperers." I mean, what's the big whoop about whispering? I can whisper the crap out of these guys. (Pardon my French.) The question is, what kind of whisperer shall I be? I'm really good at picking songs for other people to sing in karaoke, so maybe I could be a "karaoke whisperer." I'm also marginally talented at suggesting delicious, non-crowded breakfast spots (AKA "breakfast whispering"). I could definitely be a "lamb whisperer." For example, just today Karen (that's my pet lamb) was really acting out. She wanted to go to the park, but I needed to drop some books off at the library. She pitched a huge hissy fit. So I told Karen, "If you'll go to the library with me, I'll buy you a jumbo Slurpee from the 7-11." I didn't whisper it though. That's where I messed up, I think, because Karen ran into my bedroom and defecated on my slippers. (Is "defecation" a French word? Pardon me if it is.)
Or maybe I could be a "co-worker whisperer." You could hire me to come into your office, and tell your co-worker something you're too scared to say. Such as "you're wearing too much perfume." (Except I would whisper it.) Or, "no one really cares about what happened last night on Dancing with the Stars. Could you be quiet, please?" (Except I would whisper it.)
You are welcome to suggest "whispering" jobs for me. Oooh! Maybe I could be a "blog whisperer" and write a bunch of critical suggestions in the blogger's comments section. How much do you think someone would pay me for that?

I got the music in me. Whoo!

2007-05-11T20:06:00.000-07:00

Hey, did you have a great day? I had a GREAT day. Here's what happened to me: So I was digging around in the attic looking for my dad's golf clubs, when I found my old Casiotone MT-100! Back in the 80s, that keyboard was the real poop! (Pardon my French.) I was in a new wave band back then… and I'll pause while you laugh. My friend Trudy (she's a bank teller) loves laughing at the fact I was in a new wave band, but we were actually pretty good! Our band was called "Rad Town Awesome" and we played in all the hot spots around town. I had a funny haircut—as was the fashion of the time—a blue sharkskin suit, checkered Van sneakers, and a skinny tie that looked like a piano keyboard. And asymmetrical sunglasses! However, they eventually kicked me out because I wouldn't shave off my beard—which was definitely not the fashion of the time.
So no big deal, right? Just join another band. However, as it turns out, its tough to get into already established bands—even when you're a musician of my high caliber. I even took my Casiotone and a mixtape of my jams down to L.A. to audition for a few bands… and got pooh-poohed by every one! For example, there was one band I thought I'd be a shoe-in for: Jesus and the Mary Chain. I mean… c'mon, right? I'm Jesus right here! They said the name was a metaphor. A metaphor for what? I'M JESUS! I'M RIGHT HERE!
And the same thing happened when I auditioned for Animotion, A-Ha, and Kajagoogoo. Weirdly enough, Kajagoogoo was super mean. They were all like, "EWW! Like, it's… Jesus!" As if I had cooties or something. "How is anybody supposed to take Jesus seriously?" That hurt my feelings. And I was like, "Well, I didn't think credibility was a big deal for a band named after baby talk." Anyway, I came back home and eventually just dropped the music thing. No big deal, I just got interested in other stuff.
But today, when I found my Casiotone? Baby, I rocked OUT with my cross out! (And NO, I didn't play Christian music. I hate that stuff.) Here's what I played:
1) 99 Luftballoons — Nena
2) I Ran — A Flock of Seagulls
3) Bette Davis Eyes — Kim Carnes
4) Karma Chameleon — Culture Club
5) What I Like About You – The Romantics
6) Pump Up the Jam — Technotronic
7) Der Kommissar — Falco
8) Electric Avenue – Eddy Grant
9) Hungry Like the Wolf — Duran Duran
10) The Safety Dance — Men Without Hats

Karen (that's my lamb) went nuts when I played "Super Freak" by Rick James. She started cavorting and gamboling, and when I started dancing like Molly Ringwald in The Breakfast Club? Karen and I blew the roof off that mother! (Pardon my French… wait. Is that French?)
Anyway, what a fun day. I should play my Casiotone more often. Maybe I'll try to get into another band. I hear INXS is looking for a singer.

Lazarus didn't die.

2007-05-10T14:12:00.000-07:00

Hey, yall. What's up? I'm confused today because one of my nice commenters (Lelo in Nopo) asked me to do a "meme." I had no idea what she was talking about, and then when she told me what she was talking about, I wondered why they found it necessary to call it a "meme." It's just answering a question and posing it to five other people. Where I come from (Ethiopia) that's called a "chain letter." That's why I'm going to do it. Because everyone knows if you don't forward a chain letter, someone close to you dies in a very horrible manner. So… thanks, Lelo!
Okay. The question is "Why Do I Blog?" Hmmm… it's kind of a long story. Okay, so the bible, right? It tells this story about me in the book of John, about an old buddy of mine named Lazarus. As the story goes, he had two sisters named Mary and Martha, and they all lived in the town of Bethany, a two-day walk from where I was staying at the time. Allegedly, one day Mary comes running up and says Lazarus is deathly ill, and could I come heal him. I say yes, but for reasons only known to John (who wrote the story) I sit on my patoot (Pardon my French) for two days until I leave. By the time I get there, Lazarus is not only dead, he's been buried in his tomb for four days. Everybody freaks out, but I say, "I'll handle it." I get the locals to roll away the rock in front of the tomb, and tell Lazarus to come out. He does, everyone celebrates, and because I'm so awesome, I get two spikes hammered through my wrists. THE END.
I hate this story. It's stupid on a number of levels, but if you really care, here's what really happened. Lazarus was an old fishing buddy of mine, and what we call an "obliteration drunk." I mean, he could really get blotto. One day he had one snoot-full too many, and passes out in the middle of the marketplace (kind of like an old-timey 7-11). His sister Mary asks me to help her pick him up since I owned a donkey and cart at the time. Unfortunately, I was in the middle of getting my hair cut, and said I'd drop by in 20 minutes. By the time I got there, Pilate's soldiers had gotten there first and threw him in the drunk tank. It costs 30 pieces of silver to bail him out (which I was forced to borrow from my friend Judas), and when Lazarus stepped into the street, he's still completely stinko, and starts screaming, "Lishen, everbody! Jeshus here shaved me, I wash a dead man, shee? But Jeshus raished me from the dead!" Then he vomited on my sandals.
A few desperate people believed Lazarus, one thing led to another, and the next thing I know, I'm hanging from a cross with two spikes through my wrists. So… thanks, Lazarus. And thanks, John. THE END.
And that… is why I blog. Because that's the last time I let John write anything about me.
THE END.

Damien plays on my softball team.

2007-05-09T19:41:00.000-07:00

Hey, everybody! "How YOU doin'?" I saw Joey on Friends say that once. My friend Trudy (she's a bank teller) who works at the bank says, "that is the dumbest pickup line EVER." But since she really likes Friends, I think the real reason she doesn't like that line is because my other friend Damien says it a lot. Have I told you about Damien? He plays on my softball team. Did I tell you I play on a softball team? Well, I do. I play for First Federal Savings and Loan—that's Trudy's bank. We've never won a game, but we have fun. Anyway I play second base… well, I used to play second base, until Damien told the coach I'd make a great shortstop. However, when I didn't make a great shortstop, the coach demoted me to catcher, and Damien took second base.
Trudy tried to make me think that Damien planned the whole thing out in advance because he really wanted to play second base. But I call that "phony-baloney." (Pardon my French.) Damien knows I had two spikes hammered through my wrists, and therefore would never do anything that conniving.
One day I asked Trudy, "Why do you dislike Damien so much?" And she was all like, "Three reasons: 1) Every morning at the bank (he works in the collections department) he greets me with, "How YOU doin'?" 2) He always narcs on co-workers so he can move up the corporate ladder, and 3) he stole your bike."
And I was all, "Damien didn't steal my bike… he borrowed my bike."
"For seventeen months?"
"I didn't know there was a statute of limitations on borrowing bikes," I said.
Anyway, I did get kinda mad at Damien one time when he asked Trudy out on a date. Not that I care if she dates anybody. Because I don't. However, it was the way he asked her. After one of our softball games, Trudy was congratulating me for a particularly skillful play I made at the plate, and Damien walked up, and was all, "Actually, Jesus missed that tag, but I'm happy the umpire saw it differently. Hey Trudy. You got a sweet booty."
And Trudy was all, "Gross!"
And Damien was all, "Maybe, but you're going out on a pizza date with me." And Trudy was like all, "No way." And he was all, "Way!" Then he added, "It might not be now, but you WILL go on that pizza date with me, Trudy. Because Damien ALWAYS gets what he wants. Mind if I borrow your bicycle, Jesus?" And I was like, "Sure."
Trudy got real mad at me about that, but what was I supposed to do? He said he needed it to visit his uncle who had infantigo.
I'm not a gay person or anything, but if I were Trudy I may have said "yes" to the pizza date. The way he looks at you sometimes, his eyes make you want to say "yes."
Oops, gotta run. Damien just called and said he needs me to do him a favor and deliver a bag to the rough side of town. Apparently it's full of Snickers! Boy, whoever's getting that bag is lucky. I love Snickers!

I visited my Grandma.

2007-05-08T14:42:00.000-07:00

Hello! I would ask how you're feeling, but I know you're feeling confused, so let's not waste each other's time. Last week I wrote about staying over at my Grandma's house, and everybody flipped out! I got a couple comments about it, and all my friends—even the gay ones—were curious as to how I could have a grandma. Well, first of all, everybody has a grandma, so why should I be any different? I'm not mad at you or anything, but it really hurts my feelings when people treat me like I'm one of the X-Men or something. Actually, that's not true. I would be psyched if people treated me like Wolverine and I had those blades that popped out of my knuckles. Scha-SCHWING!
Anyway, let's clear up all this confusion: I only have one Grandma left, and that's Grammy Christ. She's my dad's mom, and those two don't get along very well. She lives in assisted housing just outside of town, and since dad never comes by to visit her (or me, for that matter), I pop in now and then. Usually… I regret it. She's kind of a nag, and a real square when it comes to those of us in the "now" generation. Plus she can't hear and has shingles. And she's a racist.
For example, I was forced to stay over at her place the other night because she was afraid there was a black person in her closet. So I said, "Umm… Grammy, that's racist." And she said, "I'm not scared because he's black, I'm scared because he's going to kill me."
But even after I offered proof positive that there weren't any black people in her closet, she made me stay the night anyway. For dinner we had chipped beef on toast (which was from one of those frozen Boil 'n' Bags), even though I offered to go to Arbys. (Yes, I'm still mad at Quiznos.) Then she forced us to watch syndicated repeats of Everybody Loves Raymond, which is annoying, because I DON'T LOVE RAYMOND AT ALL. In fact, I think it's kind of ostentatious to name your show Everybody Loves Raymond when there's at least one person (me) who thinks he's kind of dumb. (No offense, maybe he's nice.)
Then when Grammy's not slipping into a nap, she's nagging me about my hair, my love life, and my taste in music. (Sometimes just to annoy her, I'll say, "I like Jay-Z, Grammy… the BLACK Jay-Z!") On the other hand, I know she just wants someone to talk to (especially 'cause dad can be such a jerk sometimes), so I always make sure we look through the old photo albums together, which always makes her happy. And even though she calls me by my brother's name half the time, she can still remember the name and birthdate of every person in our family! And she always gets happy/sad talking about grandpa, who I never met, but she was really in love with.
Maybe I'll get a girlfriend soon, and we'll get married, and have kids, so they can visit me when I move into assisted living. That would be nice.
Does everybody automatically get racist on their 83rd birthday?

I like enthusiasm.

2007-05-07T21:09:00.000-07:00

How's it going everybody? I hope you're… outtasight! See, nobody says "outtasight" anymore, and I wish they did. It requires enthusiasm, and nobody I know is very enthusiastic. Except for Karen (that's my lamb), who is super enthusiastic. She likes to gambol—and before you say anything, that's "gambol" not "gamble." "Gambol" is something lambs do. They run, jump and play— which is gamboling. And yet everytime I point out that Karen is gamboling, people look at me like I'm Tony Soprano or something. I'm tired of people being so judgmental all the time.
For example, I bought Karen a "Dora the Explorer" sweatshirt from Target. I buy all of Karen's clothes from the Target toddler section, because… well, duh! They don't make clothes for lambs. Sometimes I buy my T-shirts from the boys department at Target because they have nice bright colors. But I have get the "morbidly obese" size.
Anyway, I took Karen to the park, and dressed her in her Dora the Explorer sweatshirt. And she's running around and playing, and I'm watching, when this kind of hippie guy walks up and says, "Nice Dora the Explorer shirt." And I said, "Thanks!" And he said, "I was being sarcastic." So I said, "Why were you being sarcastic?" And he said, "Because I don't like it." And I said, "Well, why don't you like it?" And he said, "Because you're turning your lamb into a billboard for corporate America."
And I said, "Okay… well, first of all, I wasn't under the impression that corporate America needed advertising. It seems to be doing fine without it. Second of all, Karen needs a sweatshirt or she'll get cold. Thirdly, you kind of strike me as a dumb, judgmental hippie—so can you please walk away?"
What a weird thing to say, huh? I would've stayed mad about it, but Karen was really gamboling hard, and it's difficult to hate the world in the face of such unbridled enthusiasm. And that gave me an idea. After the park, we went back to Target and I found an XXXL Dora the Explorer shirt in the boys department. I bought it and when we got home, I took a big magic marker and wrote "TEAM ENTHUSIASM" on the back of our shirts. Then we went roller skating! Boy, that was fun.

The Quiznos guys don't like me.

2007-05-04T13:37:00.000-07:00

Hey, how are you? Sorry I didn't post anything yesterday. I slept over at my grandma's house.
Anyway, I received some distressing news today: The guys over at Quiznos don't like me. As you know, I eat at Quiznos ("Mmmm… Toasty!") somewhere around 27 times per week. However, today when I went there for lunch, there was a problem. Every day I like to order the Honey Bourbon Chicken sandwich because it's slimming. And these people know that. And yet? They kept asking me dumb questions and mumbling. They would be all like, "Mumeemawmamaymimah?" And I was all like, "What?" And then they'd yell at me, "I SAID, 'DO YOU WANT MAYONNAISE WITH THAT?!"
Of course, I don't want mayonnaise with that, you dumb-butts! (Pardon my French.) The Honey Bourbon Chicken doesn't come with mayonnaise! I didn't say that, but I thought it.
Then they were all like, "Muhmoomimamoasyuhmonmoasy?" And I'm like, "What?" Then they yelled at me again! "I SAID, 'DO YOU WANT THAT TOASTED OR NOT TOASTED?"
It's freaking Quiznos! (Pardon my French.) Of course I want it toasted! Again, didn't say it. Thought it. So I said, "Toasted, but would you mind speaking up a bit?" And they were all like, "Oh. Sorry. Would you like a half? Or a-whole?"
For some reason they were snickering about that.
"I would like a-whole," I said. And then they busted out laughing.
I really don't get those guys at Quiznos. I don't know why they don't like me. They must be athiests.

I don't control the weather. OKAY??

2007-05-02T20:56:00.000-07:00

Hey, I hope you're good, I'm ANNOYED. So get this: I like Chick-O-Sticks, so everyday I ride my bike down to the 7-11 to get one. Today when I was looking through the candy section for a Chick-O-Stick that wasn't broken, a big hail storm starts up outside. Suits me, gives me an excuse to read Details magazine for free. So I'm standing by the door, eating Chick-o-Stick and reading, when this guy I don't know walks up and says to me, "You're Jesus, right?" (I get recognized a lot for some reason.) And I'm like, "Yeah." And he's like, "That's great. How about stopping the hail so I can get to my car? Thanks."
Ummm… hello? I CAN'T CONTROL THE WEATHER. And even more importantly, I'm not this jerk's valet! (Pardon my French.) See, all those stupid stories in the Bible give people the impression that I'm some kind of long-haired David Blaine, walking around doing "street magic." (Actually, that one trick he does where the victim picks a card, and somehow it winds up in the middle of a chocolate cake really freaks me out!) I don't raise people from the dead, I don't turn loaves into fishes—I just ride my bike and eat Chick-O-Sticks! IS THAT OKAY WITH YOU??
Anyway, I was just about to tell the guy in the 7-11 off when the hail storm suddenly stopped all by itself. So the guy turns to me and says, "Now that's impressive. Thanks, Jesus! God bless!" Then he dashes off.
Well… what are you going to do? I just waved as he got into his car. It's hard when people expect a lot out of you—but it's even worse when you disappoint them. That's why I'm learning magic tricks! So the next time a lady says to me, "Can you cure my son's cancer?" I can say, "No, but I can guess the card that's hiding in his underpants!"

My head feels funny.

2007-05-01T19:01:00.000-07:00

Hi. Whooaaaaaa… I feel funny. Oh. How are you? I feel funny. Like, I don't know… like the world is a bit spinny and colorful. Weird.
Anyway, today I decided to make crowns for all my friends. I went to the store and bought a bunch of yellow construction paper, but they were out of my normal glue, so I bought this really bizarre German kind like my dad had in his old wood shop. It's in a yellow can, and it has this syringey-squirty top, and it smells SUPER funny!
So I was like, "Hey Karen!" (That's my lamb.) "Hey Karen, come smell this funny smelling glue!" The great thing about Karen is that she'll smell ANYTHING. You could totally pick something out from between your toes, and she'd smell it. I kind of admire that in a lamb.
Anyway, Karen smelled the pot of glue, and she started acting really weird, like hopping around on her back legs, and running into the screen door. PRETTY FUNNY. But I was like, "Oh, come on, Karen. It can't smell that bad," and took a big whiff of it myself.
That's when I started feeling funny. Colors went all ka-blooey and I felt like I needed to sit down or something. Then a big orange walked into the room, and I said, "Hello," and the orange said, "What's up?" and I said, "Well, you're a big orange and you just walked into my room. That's kind of what's up." Then—and this is pretty hard to explain— the orange kind of started peeling itself from the inside, while singing Bryan Adams songs. Starting with "Summer of '69." At first I was frightened, but then I was psyched. I love "Summer of '69." So I started singing along, "AND WHEN I HELD HER HAAAAAND/ I KNEW IT WOULD LAST FOR-E-VER/ THOSE WERE THE BEST DAYS OF MY LIIIIIFE!/ WHOA! YEAAAAAHHH!/ BACK IN THE SUMMER OF '69!"
Then I fell and hit my head.
I feel a lot better now, and the singing orange is gone. However, I caught Karen in bed with an oven mitt. I should be really concerned, I guess, but since she seems so embarrassed, I'm just going to drop it.
Anyway! Back to making crowns! Now… where did I put that glue?

Worst… Date… Ever.

2007-04-30T19:40:00.000-07:00

Hey. What's up. That's good. I'm soooooooooo bummed. So you remember how I was so hyped up to have a date with my dentist, Dr. Jessica Hovley, right? And how I actually went out and bought a new pair of loafers for the occasion? Well, those were the biggest waste of new loafers I've ever bought in my life. My date… was HORRIBLE. I mean, I've got mixed feelings about abortions, but if I could've aborted that date before it started, I would've done it! NOTHING WENT RIGHT. What follows is a litany of my date with Dr. Jessica Hovley, who I never want to see again… even professionally!
1. When I went to her house to pick her up, the first thing she said was, "Where's your car?" And I said, "I don't drive a car. I either walk, ride my bike or take the bus." And she was like, "Who are you? Forrest Gump?"
2. She was deadset against going to Quiznos, and forced us to eat in some sketchy Ethiopian place. And she was all like, "What's your problem? I thought you were from Ethiopia?" And I was like, "Yeah, but there's a reason America's better, and that's Quiznos!"
3. During the entire meal, all she talked about was what a "d-word" (Pardon my French) her ex-boyfriend was. Then when she finally got around to asking about MY life, she got all grossed out by the spikes-through-the-wrist part! Hey, baby! I'M THE VICTIM HERE! I'M SORRY IF MY BRUTAL TORTURE "GROSSES YOU OUT"!
4. Instead of going to see Are We Done Yet?, she insisted we attend a poetry slam. Frankly, if given the choice? I'll take the cross.
5. By this point, I was so ready to get out of there, I offered to pay for her cab ride. And she was all like, "Aren't you coming home with me?" And I was all like, "Ummmmmmm… no." And she was all like, "What are you? QUEER?" And I was all like, "Ummmmmmm… yeah. Gotta go!" And I ran like the dickens! (Pardon my French.)
Anyway, it was awful! And when I called Trudy the bank teller (she works at the bank) to tell her how awful it was, she started laughing… and I tried to get mad, but I started laughing, too. I guess it was pretty funny. Anyway, the next day, Trudy and I went bike riding, and it was really fun. Everytime I would ask her a question, she'd reply, "What are you? QUEER?" and I'd say, "Ummmm… Yeah!" And ride off really fast. We laughed all day long.
I'm never letting Dr. Jessica Hovley touch my teeth again. I mean, c'mon! Who doesn't like Quiznos?

Yay! I have a date!

2007-04-27T16:09:00.000-07:00

Hello! Hope you are fine, because I have a date! And it's with the most beautiful woman in the world… Dr. Jessica Hovley! OH BOY, OH BOY, OH BOY! I can't believe I actually asked her, but after going back and forth about it for a couple of days, I finally just said, "Oh, fish sticks! (Pardon my French.) I'm just going to do it." So I called her office today, and said, "Dr. Jessica Hovley, I think you're pretty, and I wish you would go out on a date with me." AND SHE SAID YES! I tell you, at that moment, I felt like I was back in heaven!
Then I panicked.
What am I going to wear? Where am I going to take her? Should I kiss her? What if she tries to kiss me, before I kiss her? What if we try to kiss at the same time, and chicken out? What if I try to kiss her, chicken out, and then try to kiss her again, but she is so totally disinterested at that point, she doesn't want to kiss me at all? Who's going to babysit Karen? (That's my lamb.)
So I calmed down, and called my friend Trudy the bank teller to give me some advice. For some reason she didn't pick up, so I left her a voice mail asking all those questions and she still hasn't gotten back to me. I wonder if she's still mad? I really don't understand her problem with Dr. Jessica Hovley. Maybe she hates dentists?
Anyway, I've decided to go all out, and buy some new Lucky jeans, a Ralph St. Lauren shirt, and some new loafers. I also bought some Axe body spray. And then I was thinking I'll take her to Quiznos (I hear they have a new Peppercorn Parmesan Turkey with Bacon sandwich I've been itching to try). Then maybe a movie? I'm thinking either Ice Cube's Are We Done Yet?, or Disturbia. Mostly I just like saying the name. Distuuurbiahhh. Distuuurbiahhh. "Dr. Hovley, may I interest you in a trip to Distuuurbiahhh?"
Anyway, the date is tomorrow night (Saturday), so if you have any advice, leave it in the comments section quick!
Wouldn't it be great if we got married? Maybe we could move to Distuuurbiahhh. Ha! LOL! ROTF. Just kidding. I do want to marry her, though.

Love is a confusing thing. Did you know that?

2007-04-26T20:04:00.000-07:00

Hello. How are you, I'm going CRAZY. This whole Dr. Jessica Hovley thingy is driving me bananas. If you don't know what I'm talking about, Dr. Jessica Hovley is my dentist, AND I LOVE HER. But she doesn't know I love her! That should pretty much catch you up.
So I haven't been able to sleep, because all I do is thrash around all night and wonder, "Should I ask Dr. Hovley out on a date, or should I not ask Dr. Hovley out on a date? Should I ask Dr. Hovley out on a date, or should I not ask Dr. Hovley out on a date?" Then I get up and eat breakfast, wondering, "Should I ask Dr. Hovley out on a date, or should I not ask Dr. Hovley out on a date? Should I ask Dr. Hovley out on a date, or should I not ask Dr. Hovley out on a date?" Things have gotten so out of hand, Karen (she's my lamb) pooped on the floor in protest! I kind of think it was a warning shot across the bow, however, because she chose to poop next to the heater instead of on my new cardigan sweater only two feet away. It's a nice sweater. I bought it from The Gap.
So here's my problem: I don't know whether I should ask Dr. Hovley out on a date, or if I should not ask Dr. Hovley out on a date. To help me decide, I wrote out a list of pros and cons:
PRO: I want to kiss her all over her cute face.
CON: She might dislike me.
Again, that about sums it up. And it's not just Karen that's peed-off (Pardon my French), my friend Trudy the bank teller (she works at the bank) is still mad at me from yesterday (the "hot dog on a stick incident"). How do I know? Well, I called up Trudy, and was all like, "I'm sorry about yesterday. Are we cool?" And she was all like, "Yeah, I guess we're cool." And I was all like, "So what are you up to?" And she was all like, "Not much. What are you up to?" And I was all like, " I was just wondering should I ask Dr. Hovley out on a date, or should I not ask Dr. Hovley out on a date?"
AND SHE HUNG UP ON ME!
I kinda don't get it. I hate it when Karen and I fight.
Did you see American Idol last night? It was stupid. I wonder if I should ask Dr. Hovley out on a date?

I'm in love.

2007-04-25T20:00:00.000-07:00

Hi. How are you, fine I hope, I'm in LOVE! That's right. I decided last night… well actually over breakfast… that I am in love with my dentist, Dr. Jessica Hovley. As you know from yesterday's post, I visited my new dentist and instead of hating her, I thought she was hot. Plus—and I don't know this for a fact—but I think she likes me. She totally winked at me when she said, "Don't forget to floss," AND she told me I had "handsome choppers."
So I made two poached eggs this morning, some toast and soy sausage, and made a decision: I AM IN LOVE WITH DR. JESSICA HOVLEY, AND I DON'T CARE WHAT ANYONE THINKS ABOUT IT.
Especially my friend Trudy, who is a bank teller. Sometimes we go to the mall food court on her lunch break from the bank. So today we were having a hot dog on a stick from Hot Dog on a Stick, and when I told Trudy I was in love with Dr. Jessica Hovley, she got all mad!
"You don't even know this woman," Trudy barked. "How would you know if you're in love? Besides she could be married!"
And I was all like, "She can't be married, she winked at me. I tell you, she was definitely digging my scene."
And you won't believe what happened next! Trudy threw down her hot dog on a stick, and yelled "FINE, why don't you marry her then!" Then she stomped off.
I really don't get why Trudy can't just be happy that I found the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. On the upside, however, I got to eat the rest of her hot dog on a stick.
Bye!

Dr. Hovley? You're lovely.

2007-04-24T19:41:00.000-07:00

Hey, what's new? That's interesting, but listen to this. Remember yesterday when I said I hated dentists (especially my old dentist, the evil Dr. Siew) because they are always so mean to me, and treat me like I'm a huge inconvenience to everyone on the planet because I choose not to get my teeth whitened? And how I was going to visit a new dentist today, and if he climbed all up in my grill (so to speak) I was really going to tell him off? WELL, YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT HAPPENED. When I arrived at the dental clinic, I told the receptionist I was there to see Dr. Hovley (my new dentist), and the receptionist said, "She'll see you in just a moment."
She? SHE?? A woman dentist? As my favorite comedian Yakov Smirnoff always says: "What a country!"
Seriously, why didn't anyone think of this before? A woman dentist is perfect! You've never heard of a male gynecologist, right? That's because women are NICE, and understand what it's like for people to be poking around all inside of them—so for me, a woman dentist is just what the doctor ordered. GET IT?!?
Even better? Dr. Jessica Hovley is BEAUTIFUL. And soooo sweet! She didn't scold me once, and at one point even said, "Jesus, you have some really handsome choppers." WOW. Frankly, I don't even remember what she was doing in there. I just stared into those amazingly blue eyes as she scraped, prodded, drilled and used that weird noisy thing to suck all the saliva out of my mouth.
When it was over, she gave me a little bag with a new toothbrush and some Crest paste. Then she winked and said, "Now don't you forget to floss!"
I won't, Dr. Hovley. Whenever I scrape my tongue, or pick some meat out of my teeth, I'll give it everything I've got. Because Dr. Hovley… I'll be doing it for you. Dr. Hovley will want a husband with nice teeth.
There was a sale on socks at Target today, so I got six pairs. What a great day!

I despise you, dentist.

2007-04-23T20:08:00.000-07:00

Hey. How's it going. Me? Not so great. Remember about a week ago when I said my teeth hurt? Well, as it turns out I have to go to the dentist tomorrow and I'm not at all happy about it! Here's an eternal truth: Dentists never have good news. I've gone to the doctor, and I've received good news. I've gone to the veterinarian and received good news. But dentists? NO WAY. They are the buzz-stompers of the medical community. I actually had to quit my previous dentist because he was such a bummer. I called him "the evil Dr. Siew." He was some Chinese guy I think, and everytime I came in for a visit, he'd dream up some new way of charging me two thousand dollars. "OH, this is not good, Mr. Christ," he'd say, digging around in my mouth. "You have an abcess here, a large cavity there, and your gums have receded into your jawbone. You, Mr. Christ, have a very challenging mouth." OH, I'M SO SORRY, DR. SIEW. I'M SOOOOO SORRY MY MOUTH IS "CHALLENGING" AND YOU ACTUALLY HAVE TO WORK FOR A LIVING.
Well, I'm going to a NEW dentist tomorrow, and I'm not taking any crap! (Pardon my French.) The second he gets all negative, and starts insulting the teeth my dad gave me, I'm gonna tell him off, but good! "Look here, Mr. Fancy Pants!" I'll say. "They gave you a degree in dentistry, and not in drippery. You are nothing but a glorified garage mechanic, so cut with the 'tut-tutting,' climb under the hood, and fix it. And when you're finished? THANK ME for bringing you my business. And YES, I floss! Every stinking day! (Pardon my French!)"
The fun part about going to the dentist is afterwards when I always eat a pint of KFC's mashed potatoes and gravy. It's soooooo goood. But what I hate is waiting around for the novacaine to wear off, and listening to all my friends yell, "Hey, Jesus had a stroke!"
I wish I had some novacaine when I was on the cross, though. That would've helped.

I'm really funny today!

2007-04-20T15:37:00.000-07:00

You know how some days you really feel dumb, and other days you feel really funny? Today I'm really funny! Example: You know how I really don't like cursing, right? I don't mind if other people say curse words—it just makes me feel uncomfortable when I do it. Like, instead of the "s" word, I'll say "sugar," or instead of the "f" word, I'll say "fuddy-dud," or instead of the "c" word, I'll say "cungerella." That kind of thing. So I was talking to my friend Trudy—the bank teller— on the phone today, and once again she was complaining about her job, and how the managers never treat her right. "The bosses always interrupt my lunch break," she says, or "they always make sexual remarks about my nude pantyhose," or "when I work the drive-thru teller window the microphone smells like feet." Anyway, after listening to her complain for 20 minutes, she finally ends her rant by saying, "Seriously! It's as if all that bank cares about is money!"
And I'm all like—get this— "No 's', Herlock."
SEE?? See what I did there? Instead of saying "No [blank], Sherlock," I just took the "s" off the front end of "Sherlock," and since I was talking to a girl, it became "Herlock"! No "S", Herlock! ISN'T THAT FUNNY?
I thought it was hilarious! In fact, I was laughing so hard at my joke, I couldn't hear anything Trudy was saying to me, so she hung up. HA! I'm laughing about it now! I tell you, I'm regular Wayland Flowers and Madame!
I'm thinking about buying a cowboy hat. Will that make me look stupid?

I just found a box of cassettes from the '80s.

2007-04-19T11:26:00.000-07:00

Hello. How are you? I'm excited! I woke up this morning determined to Spring clean my house, but guess what I found when I was emptying out my closet? A shoebox filled with old mixtape cassettes from the '80s! Talk about bringing back memories. Weirdly enough, I was really into goth stuff back then. There's a lot of Ministry here, along with Bauhaus, The Cure, and The Smiths. I don't really remember dressing differently though. I do remember jogging around the park with my walkman, and singing, "EVERYDAY IS HALLOWEEN!" Ha. Good times.
Ooh! And here's a Rick Springfield tape! "Oh, I wish I had JESSIE'S GIRRRL…yeah, I wish that I had JESSIE'S GIRRRL! Where can I find a woman like THAT!"
And look! A "Dead or Alive" tape! "You spin me right round baby right round, like a record baby round, round, round, ROUND!" Man, I remember this crazy party where Debbie Fortenberry and I danced to this song, and then made out in the bathroom. But then that jerk Tommy Anderson got super drunk and threw the air conditioner out the window, which hit a car, and the cops came in and busted up the party.
And what's this? Stryper's Greatest Hits? Sah-weet! Hey, did you know they were a Christian metal band? I didn't! I listened to this tape for years without the slightest idea. Kind of ruined it for me actually. I don't like Christian music, because ONCE AGAIN, they refuse to ask me for my opinion. It makes me feel weird when people I don't even know are telling me how much they love me. I wish Avril Lavigne would write a song about me. She'd "keep it real" I bet.
I had some soy sausage for breakfast this morning? IT STUNK.

I really want some Popeye's fried chicken.

2007-04-18T19:43:00.000-07:00

Hi, how are you? Fine I hope, but I'm starving. Man, what I wouldn't give for a box of Popeye's fried chicken. Yes, I know that whenever someone eats a box of Popeye's fried chicken a child dies in India… but I can't help myself! I love the stuff. Sometimes I'll get a box of Popeye's fried chicken and scrape off all the meat and skin into a bowl, and combine that with some mashed potatoes and gravy and crumbled up biscuits. Then I mix it all up in a blender, and eat every last bit in front of the TV while watching Meg Ryan movies. I LOVE POPEYE'S FRIED CHICKEN!
One day I ate so much Popeye's fried chicken, I think my heart stopped. And I was like, "Oh, my dad! I'm dying! Who's going to take care of my lamb Karen?" It was such a sad thought that I ate another entire box of Popeye's fried chicken while I wrote out my will.
Do you like gizzards? I do. I love gizzards, and Popeye's makes some great ones. A lot of people say, "Eww! Gizzards are intestines!" And I always say, "You're right, gizzards are intestines. And breasts are chicken titties." (Pardon my French.)
I really wish someone would pick me up a box of Popeye's fried chicken to eat. I'd even let them borrow my bike. I'd go myself, but someone has to watch Karen, and besides, I ate two boxes of Popeye's fried chicken for lunch today, and my stomach hurts.
Just a reminder, I had two spikes hammered through my wrists. So if you're passing by Popeye's, I'd like a box of their fried chicken, please. Extra spicy. Really, it's the least you can do, considering the whole spikes-through-the-wrists thing. Did I mention I'm starving?

Put a stop to Lamb-ism.

2007-04-17T11:04:00.000-07:00

The people in this town are "lamb-ist." Oh, sorry. Hi. How are you? Good I hope. Anyway, the people in this town are "lamb-ist." And it really hurts my feelings.
Since Spring is practically here, I decided to pull my bicycle out of the garage, and ride to the park. But then I saw Karen—that's my lamb (I love her!)—looking up at me with the saddest eyes. She wanted to ride, too! While I pretty much ALWAYS give Karen whatever she wants, I don't want her to get hurt, so we took the bus down to the bike shop to purchase a bike seat and helmet for Karen.
It did not go well.
From the moment we walked into the shop, the employees looked at Karen like she was some type of contagious rat. "May I help you?" sniffed the guy behind the counter. And I was all like, "Yeah, I need a bike seat and helmet for Karen, here." This amused the bike guy to no end. "Oh, ha, ha, ha, ha, NOOOOOO…" he laughed mirthlessly. "We don't sell barnyard equipment."
Everyone thought that was super funny -- except for me and Karen.
So I was like, "Maybe I'm missing something, but what's so funny about blunt head trauma?"
And he was all like, "Sir, we don't supply helmets for sheep."
And I was all like, "First of all, he's a lamb. Second of all, can you speak to me like a human being without being such a big stinking pee-hole?" (Pardon my French.)
And he was all like, "DUHHHHHH!"
And I was all like, "I thought so." And we left.
Anybody know where I can find a nice, safe bicycling helmet for Karen? Let me know. To cheer Karen up, I took her to McDonalds for some fries. They aren't lamb-ist.

Illegal downloading: I don't see it as a problem.

2007-04-16T19:41:00.000-07:00

How's it going? Good I hope. Anyway, I was in the mall the other day with my friend Trudy—she works at the bank—and she's all like, "Let's go to Sam Goody's to get the new Hillary Duff CD." And I'm like, "No thanks, I've already downloaded all the good songs. I'll meet you over at Hot Dog on a Stick." And she was all like, "What do you mean you've already downloaded it? You mean ILLEGALLY?"
Trudy hates it when I do anything "illegal." She's a real square in that way. That's why she works at the bank.
"Its wrong to illegally download music," she said. But I was all like, "Whatever, Judge Trudy." (She really hates it when I call her that!) "I'm serious, Jesus," she said. "Hillary Duff worked really hard to make those songs, and she should be compensated." "Oh, yeah?" I said. "Well, I had two spikes hammered through my wrists." And Trudy was all like, "Oh, will you PLEASE let go of that already?" And I was all like, "Sure, I will… as soon as I get compensated for it."
SNAP!
Well, that shut her up for about 20 minutes. Later we got two beef 'n' cheddars from the Arbys in the food court, and spent an hour sitting outside of Hot Topic laughing at the goth kids. It was a pretty good day.

My teeth hurt today.

2007-04-13T10:59:00.000-07:00

My teeth hurt today, so I'm just answering a reader's question. Is that okay? Thanks. Lelo from Nopo writes...

I have a question. I've always wondered what you smell like. At first I thought Irish Spring soap. But then I thought, patchouli. I mean, you've got long hair and stuff, so patchouli made sense. But then I thought maybe you're a Stetson man. So. What do you smell like and do you use scented products?

I swear to dad I'm going to cut my hair completely off. If you're a man, you simply can't have long hair without someone accusing you of being a hippie. I really dislike hippies, actually. You ask them a simple question like, "Hey, what's the weather like today?" And they're all like, "Our nature Mother decrees that it shall BE whatever it shall BE." LAY OFF THE POT, CHEECH AND/OR CHONG, AND GIVE ME A STRAIGHT ANSWER!
Anyway, I only use Old Spice cologne, and here's why: Not only did Details magazine say that Old Spice is the best cologne (used sparingly), my dad told me it's a great way to get chicks. His theory is that a lot of women my age have fathers that used Old Spice, and since they grew up smelling it, that will activate an unconcious desire inside these girls to get close to me.
But that's kind of weird, isn't it? I don't want to have sex with a girl that's thinking of her father -- even subconciously. It also reminds me of brainwashing, which is wrong. However, I did see a hypnotist in Las Vegas named Dr. Naughty who brainwashed a girl into taking off her blouse on stage. That was pretty funny. But still wrong.
Anyway, I hope that answered your question. My teeth still hurt. Maybe I should call "Dr. Naughty." Ha! LOL. Just kidding. He's not a real doctor. Ow. My teeth hurt.

Two's a Crowd!

2007-04-11T12:55:00.000-07:00

Hi everybody. What's up?
Anyway, I had a kind of crazy night last night. My cousin Jacob and his wife Marie are having a baby, so they dropped off their pet lamb Sybil (that's her on the right) yesterday, saying "Can you watch Sybil for a couple days, thanks, bye!" And I was like, "Wait..."-- but it was too late, they were already driving off. People with babies can be SO selfish. Oh, sure, like I had nothing better to do than to watch your dumbo lamb. There goes my evening of playing Guitar Hero II.
Another annoying thing about lamb-owners? (And I know I am one, but I never pull crap like this, pardon my French.) They always say, "Watching one lamb is just as easy as watching two." You know what? IT'S NOT AS EASY. Instead of one lamb eating the flower arrangement off your table, and pooping on your signed copy of Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul, now there's another one. At least when my lamb Karen poops, it's adorable. (Pardon my French.)
Example number two: Just because they're lambs doesn't automatically mean they get along. Would you put two serial killers in the same room, because they might have something in common? Well, let me tell you, that Sybil turned out to be a real b-word. She turned her nose up at Karen's milk bottle, dropped Karen's favorite squeaky frog in the toilet, and worst of all, she dragged her bottom across the carpet, leaving a filthy trail of stink. (I only thought dogs did that!) Then she kept Karen and me up all night with her incessant baa-ing. OH GREAT! Now she's into my Star Wars memoribilia box! If she even touched my 1983 Boba Fett action figure from The Empire Strikes Back (mint in box), SHE IS SO DEAD. Jacob and Marie better have their stupid baby quick. You've heard of the anti-Me, right? Sybil is like… like… the ANTI-lamb.
Have you heard the new Hilary Duff album? It's not so bad! I think she's pretty.

I hate the way this guy draws me.

2007-04-10T14:26:00.000-07:00

Another dumb thing about being me? Artists are always trying to draw me, and yet they generally screw it up. It's insulting really. You know how many artists have actually called me up and asked, "Jesus, would you like to pose for a painting?" ZERO. It's like they already have a checklist of my visual attributes ("Long hair... check. Beard… check. Soft, dewy eyes… check."), slop them down on a canvas, and call it a day!
Take this guy's dumb painting for example. It's by some guy in Tennessee named Spencer Williams—WHOM I'VE NEVER MET—and it doesn't look anything like me! And who's that kid on my shoulder? I don't know him! I kind of don't like kids very much, and I certainly don't walk around hoisting them up on my shoulder.
And look at my face! This is the WORST depiction of my face since Willem Defoe played me in The Last Temptation of Christ (pretty good movie, though). This painting makes me look like a garbage man or something... I don't know. It makes me look like I'm going to take that kid and dump him head first into a wood chipper. Not that I would. I'm just saying. And I kind of look high, don't I? Like I'm some kind of stupid hippie that just rolled out of a van stinking of pot. And why are we in the clouds? Is the kid dead? If he is, there's not much reason to carry him on my shoulder, is there?
And I'm not even going to get into the way this kid looks. I mean, his nose is all bent, his eyes are uneven, his haircut is HORRIBLE… I guess it explains a lot that the artist is from TENNESSEE.
Anyway, I'm tired of looking at stupid pictures of myself and it makes my head hurt. Today for lunch I had a tofu scramble. I'm still hungry and my stomach feels like it's stuffed with cardboard.

"Do You Know Who I Am?"

2007-04-09T09:49:00.000-07:00

Ugh. I really hate having to say that ("Do you know who I am?"), but every now and again the situation warrants it. Anyway, so yesterday was Easter, and as mentioned earlier this holiday really bums me out, because people are either constantly reminding me about that time I was brutally tortured, or they're completely ignoring it and looking for eggs. Both really make me angry and upset. So instead of dealing with these people I try to pamper myself. I woke up late, drank my coffee out on the porch, and read the latest issue of Details (the one with Justin Timberlake). But because people kept walking by and saying, "Happy Easter, Jesus!" (which to me is tantamount to "Happy Crucifixion, Jesus!") I decided to go to the movies where I could get some peace. Unfortunately, I chose that new Tarantino/Rodriguez movie Grindhouse. Holy cats, that movie is violent. Not crucifixion violent, but pretty gory nonetheless. And the film was all scratchy, too. But when I asked for my money back, the manager told me that it was "supposed to be that way. It's artsy."
Bull... poop. (Pardon my French.)
Anyway, I didn't like the movie, and the Twizzlers made my stomach hurt, so I decided to get some take out from my favorite neighborhood Mexican joint. But when I called them, no one answered! And they're always open! "That's weird," I thought, and started walking home. But when I was passing by the Mexican place, I noticed something really weird... the chef and his entire family were inside eating!
Bang! Bang! Bang! I knocked on the door. The chef opened the door a crack and said, "May I help you?" And I said, "Uh... yeah! You can help me by answering your phone when I call!" And he was like all, "Sorry, Senor. We are closed." And I was all like, "No, you're not! Your family is right there eating!" And he was all like, "Senor, we are closed. It is Easter." And I was like, "Who died and told you to close on Easter?" He seemed somewhat confused by that. "Okay, let me put it another way... DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?" Well, he was pretty embarrassed when he found out -- but he still didn't want to cook me anything. So I was like, "LOOK. I had two huge spikes hammered through my wrists, so the least YOU can do is make me some stinking FOOD!" Well, that shut him up, and he agreed to take my order. "What would you like, senor?" And I was like, "Oh, I don't know... how about a hamburger and some fries?" At that point, he looked like he was about to say something else... but thought better of it. Anyway, I went home and ate my hamburger and watched some old episodes of Arrested Development on my DVR. It was good, I guess.

Easter Weekend: Whoop-eee.

2007-04-06T11:58:00.000-07:00

So Easter is this Sunday, and I'm pretty bummed. People are always telling me, "This is your day, dude! Cheer up! You're all 'resurrected' and shit." That's easy for them to say. It's like telling someone who was physically assaulted, "Are you still upset about that? It's been THREE DAYS."
Anyway, that's why I started the whole Easter bunny thing. To get the focus off ME. Of course that didn't work all that great either, because people always say, "Dude! Why is a rabbit delivering eggs? It doesn't make any sense!" I know it doesn't make any sense -- that's why it's funny! Why can't people get that? Anyway, I got tired of people complaining, and that's why I added in the marshmallow peeps. Because they're chickens. Unfortunately THAT decision was questioned as well. "Yeah..." they say, "but... why are the chicks made out of marshmallow?" FOR THE SAME FREAKING REASON BUNNIES ARE MADE OUT OF CHOCOLATE!
CHRIST!!!
I really hate Easter. Total bummer. Went to the grocery store today, and they were out of pita bread again. Life sucks.

Karen the Lamb, Superstar!

2007-04-05T10:53:00.000-07:00

Exciting news! So last month "The Preacher's Pulpit" (which is only THE most popular monthly digest for the reverend industry) asked me if Karen—my pet lamb— could be featured ON THE COVER OF THEIR MAGAZINE. Wow! Naturally my answer was "yes, yes, YES!" But then they informed me Karen would be posing with a lion. Now, hold on just a minute! To say the least, I was skeptical. I realize that this "lion lying down with the lamb" thing is one of the most endearing images in modern Christianity… but it's a different story when the lamb in question is your lamb. When I voiced my concerns to the photographer, Cisco (that's his name) told me that Brian (that's the lion's name) is super cool, and I had nothing to worry about.
I was still unconvinced.
So Cisco said, "Look… I'll prove that Brian is completely harmless." Cisco took me to Brian's cage and showed me the tranquilizer gun they used to shoot him. That was the biggest needle I'd ever seen! (Ick!) They had also removed all of Brian's teeth as well as having him neutered and declawed. "This cat is so out of it, he won't even know your lamb is there!" Cisco said.
Well, that's all I needed to hear! They took the picture, and I must say Karen was a star! She sat perfectly still for the shot, and just like Cisco said, Brian never even acknowledged her existence. In fact, Karen accidentally pee-peed on Brian, and he NEVER EVEN MOVED! Ha! LOL, ROTF! Karen really is the funniest, cutest thing EVER. That's the picture up above. Isn't it precious? Oh, I love you, Karen!

Terry is a real jerk.

2007-04-04T13:54:00.000-07:00

Hi, how are you doing today? I'm fine, I guess.
So there's this guy, Terry, who works at the grocery store. And he's totally rude. He's a cashier, and though I really try to avoid him, all the other lines are always too long (probably because Terry is such a jerk) , and I hate waiting. So today I was in a big rush, so I chose Terry's line. BIG MISTAKE. I was just trying to buy some Lamb Chow for my lamb, Karen, and Terry was all like, "What? Is that for your widdle-bitty lambsy-wamsy?" And I was like, "What if it is?" And he was like, "Well, I eat lambs like yours for dinner." And I was like, "Well, you're not going to eat Karen, because I love her." And he was like, "HA! Karen's a stupid name for a lamb." And I was like, "Terry is a stupid name for a guy." (Which it is.) Then he got all flustered, and was all like, "Well… Jesus Christ is a stupid name for ANYBODY." And I was like, "Well, I died for you sins." And he was like, "Nobody asked you to die for their sins, so quit being such a martyr." And I was like, "Well, somebody DID ask you to do your job, so how much do I owe you for the stinking lamb chow?" (Pardon my French.)
Anyway, he finally checked me through, and even though I feel like I won the argument, my feelings still feel hurt. Why does Terry have to be such a jerk, anyway?
Whatever. Had a turkey, bacon and avocado sandwich from Quiznos today. It was good.