Worst… Date… Ever.

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!

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?

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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?"

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.

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!

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.

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.