Remember Bayou Day? -:- OR -:- Best of June 2005
Last night it came to our attention that zombies should never also be ninjas. They just wouldn't work out. Instead of being quiet they would always be making some kind of noise. Instead of dropping down cat-like from rafters they would just fall like bricks. They'd be the worst ninjas ever... but maybe pretty badass zombies.
. . .
On this day in history: Nick left the copy of “Oh my Goddess” in the car of our intensely fundamental Baptist preacher. Because it actually belonged to the Wells clan, Dave was immediately hanged from the gnarled willow at the edge of the old swamp. His body remains there to this day: green flesh now as taut and hard as a drum skin, eyes long since pecked out, toes eaten by swampfolk. Some of the innocent swampfolk have made a religious figure out of his corpse, and if you approach the swamp on misty nights you can hear their quaint music rattling on the breeze.
. . .
So considering all of the stuff that Ryan had over at his other place, you can imagine what my apartment looks like right now. It's like Megan's family is living there; boxes and junk all over the place.
. . .
It isn’t our inability to understand one another, though, it’s that she’s fucking stupid.
. . .
Mostly I’m concerned about Wes’s ability to fellate said truckers. . .
. . .
Don't taunt a desperate hobo when you're lost on the side of a freeway. He will stab you with a dull knife and try to take your bike.
. . .
An old man riding a flayed, hoofless headless horse.
. . .
Everywhere an unsentimental view of human weakness, with beautiful consequences. Mrs. May? Gored. Lucynell Crater the younger? Left sleeping at a diner. The fool and his turkey? Soon parted. The grandmother? Which grandmother? Doesn’t matter, doomed.
. . .
“You two don’t need to be wallerin around on that bed in there!”
Which was probably supposed to be a quiet instruction to her daughter, but was not.
. . .
And then we’d say “well, what if it was 14 percent milk?” And she’d say “Ugh.” And then “what if it was 30%!” “That’s disgusting.” “Tim, did you memorize that bass line yet?” “BUT WHAT IF IT WAS 50 PERCENT?! WHAT IF HALF THE MILK WERE FAT?” “I’m feeling sick…” “Tim?” “60! 60 PERCENT!” “Can he hear me?” (Andy, charging in from offstage, leaps into my arms) “Hey, beyatch!” “75 PERCENT! THREE QUARTERS MILK! IMAGINE WHAT THAT WOULD FEEL LIKE GOING DOWN!” “ugh…” “Tim, let’s hear measure 7.” “90 PERCENT!” “I’ll be…*gurgle* right back…” “100 PERCENT! 100 PERCENT MILKFAT!”
. . .
I dont care cuz they feed me rum and take pictures and touch me in places Im not supposed to tell about cuz I took a promise upon Baby Jesus not to tell any adults, not even my parents.
. . .
Sometimes I fill the bathtub with mascara. And I soak.
. . .
“…Good god, man! Do you have any idea what’s in your colon? Where do you think I got this little plastic lemur toy?…”
. . .
It's colonex or the garden hose, your choice.
. . .
By "inside the ball return" I mean literally inside the damn thing. The thing that pops the balls out was pulled away, revealing a hole in the floor and a track on which the balls should normally return. I was inside this hole, underneath the floor, poking a stick at bowling balls.
. . .
Dave is about, but his presence is as unpredictable as that of sasquatch.
. . .
I have decided to quit drinking. These past couple weeks it was gotten a little out of control, I have turned into a person that I don't want to be. The reason that I am writing this because if any of you sees me drinking this post grants you the right to beat the crap out of me.)
. . .
Im torn between my love of driving home or drinking rum.
. . .
And let me tell you, if you order the black bean burger with pepperjack cheese, you will think they have accidentally dropped the bean patty and cheese and put a 22 year-old redheaded goth in fishnets between the buns. Because it’s that damn good.
. . .
SHE'S BECOME TOM CRUISE'S ZOMBIE LOVE SLAVE!
. . .
But would you rather swim in cheese...OR COTTAGE CHEESE?!
. . .
Has anyone heard of Hostess Choc-O-Diles? It sounds pornoriffic, but its seriously a Twinkie with Ding-dong chocolate coating every inch of its 3". ...yeah.
. . .
…like if Ronald McDonald and the Burger King show up on your doorstep some morning holding revolvers and threatening to blow your brains out if you don’t choose one of their namesakes as the place where you eat your breakfast dinner…
. . .
We will strip him of hair using Bondo.
. . .
On this day in history: Nick left the copy of “Oh my Goddess” in the car of our intensely fundamental Baptist preacher. Because it actually belonged to the Wells clan, Dave was immediately hanged from the gnarled willow at the edge of the old swamp. His body remains there to this day: green flesh now as taut and hard as a drum skin, eyes long since pecked out, toes eaten by swampfolk. Some of the innocent swampfolk have made a religious figure out of his corpse, and if you approach the swamp on misty nights you can hear their quaint music rattling on the breeze.
. . .
So considering all of the stuff that Ryan had over at his other place, you can imagine what my apartment looks like right now. It's like Megan's family is living there; boxes and junk all over the place.
. . .
It isn’t our inability to understand one another, though, it’s that she’s fucking stupid.
. . .
Mostly I’m concerned about Wes’s ability to fellate said truckers. . .
. . .
Don't taunt a desperate hobo when you're lost on the side of a freeway. He will stab you with a dull knife and try to take your bike.
. . .
An old man riding a flayed, hoofless headless horse.
. . .
Everywhere an unsentimental view of human weakness, with beautiful consequences. Mrs. May? Gored. Lucynell Crater the younger? Left sleeping at a diner. The fool and his turkey? Soon parted. The grandmother? Which grandmother? Doesn’t matter, doomed.
. . .
“You two don’t need to be wallerin around on that bed in there!”
Which was probably supposed to be a quiet instruction to her daughter, but was not.
. . .
And then we’d say “well, what if it was 14 percent milk?” And she’d say “Ugh.” And then “what if it was 30%!” “That’s disgusting.” “Tim, did you memorize that bass line yet?” “BUT WHAT IF IT WAS 50 PERCENT?! WHAT IF HALF THE MILK WERE FAT?” “I’m feeling sick…” “Tim?” “60! 60 PERCENT!” “Can he hear me?” (Andy, charging in from offstage, leaps into my arms) “Hey, beyatch!” “75 PERCENT! THREE QUARTERS MILK! IMAGINE WHAT THAT WOULD FEEL LIKE GOING DOWN!” “ugh…” “Tim, let’s hear measure 7.” “90 PERCENT!” “I’ll be…*gurgle* right back…” “100 PERCENT! 100 PERCENT MILKFAT!”
. . .
I dont care cuz they feed me rum and take pictures and touch me in places Im not supposed to tell about cuz I took a promise upon Baby Jesus not to tell any adults, not even my parents.
. . .
Sometimes I fill the bathtub with mascara. And I soak.
. . .
“…Good god, man! Do you have any idea what’s in your colon? Where do you think I got this little plastic lemur toy?…”
. . .
It's colonex or the garden hose, your choice.
. . .
By "inside the ball return" I mean literally inside the damn thing. The thing that pops the balls out was pulled away, revealing a hole in the floor and a track on which the balls should normally return. I was inside this hole, underneath the floor, poking a stick at bowling balls.
. . .
Dave is about, but his presence is as unpredictable as that of sasquatch.
. . .
I have decided to quit drinking. These past couple weeks it was gotten a little out of control, I have turned into a person that I don't want to be. The reason that I am writing this because if any of you sees me drinking this post grants you the right to beat the crap out of me.)
. . .
Im torn between my love of driving home or drinking rum.
. . .
And let me tell you, if you order the black bean burger with pepperjack cheese, you will think they have accidentally dropped the bean patty and cheese and put a 22 year-old redheaded goth in fishnets between the buns. Because it’s that damn good.
. . .
SHE'S BECOME TOM CRUISE'S ZOMBIE LOVE SLAVE!
. . .
But would you rather swim in cheese...OR COTTAGE CHEESE?!
. . .
Has anyone heard of Hostess Choc-O-Diles? It sounds pornoriffic, but its seriously a Twinkie with Ding-dong chocolate coating every inch of its 3". ...yeah.
. . .
…like if Ronald McDonald and the Burger King show up on your doorstep some morning holding revolvers and threatening to blow your brains out if you don’t choose one of their namesakes as the place where you eat your breakfast dinner…
. . .
We will strip him of hair using Bondo.
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