Carl Winslow's Corner: Deranged Orgasmic Rampage

Hey gang! It's your old friend and favorite TV dad again, Carl Winslow.



I just got back from the doctor, and he seems to think that my earlier behavior was the result of a benign brain tumor, and with the help of some pills he gave me, I can actually shrink the tumor, and return to my old sane self.

Well I got news for that motherfuckin' doctor; He can kiss my ass and blow my shit backwards if he thinks I'm gonna be taking any pills! I like who I've become. I like waking up with chunks of my thighs missing. I'm sucking out life forces, and living life in the fun lane.

In fact, I had a little fun at the medical building today before my doctor's appointment. I walked into a dentist's office on the third floor, killed Mister Dentist, assumed his identity, and puked in his patient's mouth.


Then I went to my doctor's appointment like nothing happened. Easy Peasy.

Been spreading my breast milk around, too.


You wouldn't believe how many people were raging to Carl Winslow's sweet milk.

As for me, I'm into latex cat bitches. I see them all day long regardless of whose toaster I tinkle in, so I'd better be into them. They're up in my sandwiches, too. I savor the flavor they leave behind.

You can really taste their shadows.

(original HCP via Uglyfood)

I've found that if you roll with insanity and don't fight it, everything comes into focus. You will become whatever you desire. The meat fortress of life awaits bold souls who cast off the shackles of rational thought and plunge deep into the gaga pond.

(original meat hut photo via Uglyfood)

I'll be there, children, dreaming of sac dragons and crapping black dust.

Hope to see you soon.

Babe, I Love You So, Please Don't Go

Blog update:

You might be asking yourself, "What the hell is going on with the banner at the top of this site? Why is Monty fading? Is this the Great Tribulation, the Campaign of Armageddon, and the Second Coming of the Messiah all those Christian kooks have been blabbing about? Is Uncle Monty ascending into the heavens to eat Gourmet Pringles with Jeezuss forever?"




Nope.
What's going on is the same thing that occurred in the documentary Back To The Future. He is fading just like the picture of the McFly clan. His future and our past is at stake. In order to stop his slow fade into non-existence, Monty has to create some of his patented, high-octane, off the Walt, awesome blog posts. Even half of the effort of what he's brought to the table already is enough to derail the ghost train. Mini-posts, a paragraph, dick-pics, ankle critiques; any of these will help. America's future is at risk.

For every day without a Monty's Baseball Soup post, the disintegration of his sweet soul will continue. I have conversed with the Ra on this matter


and he and I have devised a game plan that stops the atomic dispersion process. Every new post shall delay this tragic endgame for 3 days. After 3 days, the disbanding of Montgomery's matter will continue. Another post, another 3 days of being un-disappeared. This will go on until he is fully back in our realm, consulting the oracles of insanity and bloggin' bout it.


Honestly, does anybody want this to happen to America's Wisdom Grappler?

Poof! Dust...

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!


Write to and plead with him to stop this from happening. Tell him why you like reading the inner workings of his brains. His email is radbombz@yahoo.com. Not kidding. I'd tell you his address, but I've never been to his house, and I'm not sure if he has a residence. We meet at a pet store to discuss business, and he always wears the same clothes.

I don't want to lose you, buddy. Reach deep down into your heart and pop out some Internet comfort food for all to enjoy. Or else...

And on the Seventh Day, God Was Buggin'

"Stress is the result of resistance to experiencing what is happening."- Hans Selye

(Hans Selye with his favorite mouse, Vein LoMein)


That pretty much sums up my life. I read that sentence earlier today, and it's been violently echoing through my mind. People are always asking me how I am, and my response is usually:

1. "I'm anxious and stressed out about nothing in particular."
2. "Shut up and bag my groceries."

Most of the time, when I say #1, they are sympathetic, but proceed to passive aggressively ask me what I have to be stressed about, tell me that things could be worse, give examples from their own life or conjure the story of some poor schmuck they know who's got worms. I know they're just trying to lighten the mood and cheer me up, but I can hear "GET OVER IT" cutting through their soothing tapestry. Or maybe they're preoccupied with the guy doing lines of werewolf hair in the hallway, and don't have time for whine.


I'm just trying to express how I feel, and I definitely feel it, therefore, my stress is valid... Shit, I'm rambling and grumbling again.




I tried to "let things happen without resistance" at the grocery store today. To just go through the process of choosing a cereal without over-thinking it, but I couldn't shake the feeling that what I was doing at that exact moment was a hassle and totally bullshit. I hate going to the grocery store and I hate driving and I don't want to get a job and I hate couples that shop for groceries together.

Hey lady! Yeah, you. It's obvious that your fiancé doesn't care whether you get regular or bold n' spicy Chex Mix. Stop it! Look at him, slumped over the shopping cart, eyes glazed, mentally undressing Aunt Jemima.



(mocking jeer sing-song) That's gonna be your huzz bend! That's gonna be your huzz bend! That's gonna be your huzz bend!

Bring Forth the Fuss

Glitter Barf : Two Dumbasses

Really? You do realize that you have a $50,000 ode to mediocrity and lasagna around your neck, right? Has Garfield Minus Garfield taught you nothing? What's your next acquisition, a ruby-studded lunch box full of gummy worms?



And you... shame on you and your passed-out public transportation boner. Camouflage shirt, too. Way to blend in, sugar-growler.

Sadder Day

Today, I was visited by an old acquaintance of mine who I hadn't seen in a while. I call him Depression Toad.


Up until a few weeks ago, I hadn't felt his presence in months. I had problems, sure, but nothing that couldn't be defeated with Internet porn, taking a walk while listening to music, reading magazines while drinking coffee, or thinking about Ol' Dirty Bastard.



Then, my Zayde passed away. My enthusiasm for life, this blog, getting a job, and personal relationships greatly waned. I don't know if it was seeing my Bubbie in tears or lack of sleep coupled with the stress that week, but my general attitude changed. I was on a pretty good roll for a few months there, even after some invasive procedures into my stomach and teeth. But those three days in Toronto killed it.

When I got back, I decided that I needed new furniture, and spent too much time on craigslist procuring new items. I made new business cards. I got weirder with this blog. I did everything but sit down and talk about my shit to someone who cares enough about me to listen without passing judgment.

I realize now that I was just trying to keep myself busy, because I already knew that I had lost a step, and wanted desperately to keep rolling on as if nothing had changed. This faulty behavioral path backfired, obviously.

And today was a wakeup call. I got up after 11 hours of sleep, drank some coffee, felt horrible, took a nap, woke up, felt like compressed gray gloom, got invited out to a bar by a friend, declined, felt guilty, ate some food, and here we are.

The good thing is that I realize what I must do to pull out of this tailspin, and I will. But today reminded me of bleak Chicago winters, especially last winter, when everybody feels the way I did today; alone, tired, irritable, not wanting to go out, and having to psyche yourself up to get up and go to the bathroom or make something to eat.

I truly fear those winter days, because I need a little help from somebody who cares during those times. But it's hard to get together, as people are reticent to do anything outside their comfortably heated apartments, and they probably feel like shit as well. I'm not good on the phone, so I need to meet up with someone in person. But it takes a reason or a gimmick to get someone to come out of the house when it's 14 degrees outside and the sun was last seen with its father, Gilberto Hernandez, last November (missing children jokes are hilarious, right?). God, Jesus, Allah, and Buddha, I hate the fucking winter!

But maybe that's what this blog is for, on certain occasions. Letting off some steam so my pipes don't burst. Shifting the burden of sadness from me onto you. I hope my wretched rant wasn't too much, and if you've gotten this far, thanks for reading. I feel better already.

What do you say, Depression Toad?

Dick You, Bitch! Stop Me!

Once, when my son and I were hunting, I followed a gazelle, leaving my child to tend to our donkeys.

A She-ghoul swooped out of nowhere and ate my child.

A week went by, and when Friday came, a stranger raised his tent pole not far from my village.

He emerged from his shelter one night and wandered into a saloon.

“This is truly a fine moonlight night for a drinking bout,” he proclaimed, “It quite reminds me of the night when Prince Kang feasted at Pear-Blossom Island.”

I asked him if he was hungry, and on receiving no answer, pushed some food over towards him. The stranger immediately set to feeding himself by handfuls, and in no time a shoulder of pork and a quantity of boiled dumplings had disappeared.

His appetite was appeased and he turned to thank me, saying, “For three years I haven’t had such a meal.” He then drew a short sword from his belt, and, tapping the blade with his fingers, began to accompany it with a song.

The song put me to sleep and upon opening my eyes I was among the clouds, and around me was a fleecy atmosphere. Jumping up in great alarm, I felt giddy as if I had been at sea, and underneath my feet I found a soft, yielding substance unlike the earth.

“I am the Arcturus star," the stranger said. "Your friendship is cherished by me. Truly our destinies are knitted together, and I will repay your kindness by becoming your son.”

I said to him, “If you really are one of those wonderful creatures, you will be able to get me anything I want; and I should be much obliged if you would begin by giving me five ounces of silver."

Upon making my request, I was carried away by a typhoon. After being tossed about for many days and nights I arrived at a country where the people were hideously ugly.

Looking in a mirror, I saw an awful sight. I soon realized that the image in the looking glass was my own face. My eyeballs protruded, my beard curled up like a hedgehog, my ears drooped forward in flaps, and I had three nostrils.

It is a wise rule to resist the beginnings of evil.