Watched Total Recall, Popped a Total Boner

Thought a lot about what it takes to be a champion today. I've always been a winner, and now it's time to give back to the community. Here ya go...

Good Work, Detective

10 Things I Enjoy

1. Calling milk "cream juice"


2. Transplanting my skin onto a car. Car becomes friend.



3.




4. Showing up early for a 9:30 tea-bagging


5. Saying baffroom instead of bathroom



6.




7. "Squestling" - squirrel wrestling


8. Pinning down a priest, aggressively feeding him cotton candy



9. Howling at the moon with a mouth full of hot dogs




10. Swallowing dice, shitting winners!

Dirty Lips, Lucky Wife

I thought my father was a disembodied spirit, but the old man said, “I never died. There were nineteen of us drowned in the river, all of whom were eaten by the fish-goblins except myself."




It further appeared that my family was under fox influence, many strange things of this kind having happened before. Once, the mouth of a mule closed itself tightly, with a bulge visible from afar; and it was only when I cut it open with a knife that I saw my father curled up in it like a dog. I then helped him out, and asked him how he managed to get in; but this he was unable to say.




It is customary in my village, when any one is sick, for the womenfolk to engage an old sorceress or medium, who strums on a tambourine and performs certain mysterious antics. She stretches forth her neck and bounds several feet into the air, saying, “The spirits have come to eat” and immediately all the candles are blown out and everything is in total darkness.





Should there be any unbelievers among the party, the spirits are at once aware of their presence. “Disrespectful mocker! Where are your trousers?” upon which the mocker alluded to looks down, and lo her trousers are gone—gone to the top of a tree in the court-yard.

And should any daring fellow try to peep in while the séance is going on, out of the window darts the spear, transfixes his hat, and draws it off his head into the room, while women and girls, young and old, hop round one after the other like geese, on one leg, without seeming to get the least fatigued.




In the middle of their fun, up came a stranger with a face about three feet long and a very tall hat; whereupon the others were much alarmed, and cried out, “The hill spirit! the hill spirit!” running away in all directions as fast as they could go.

That night, I dreamed that the judge of Purgatory appeared, and, reproaching me with his base ingratitude, bade the devil-lictors seize me and scald my feet in a cauldron of boiling oil.



I then woke up with a start, and found that my feet were very sore and painful; and in a short time they swelled up, and my toes dropped off. Fever set in, and in agony I shrieked out, “Ungrateful wretch that I was indeed,” and fell back and expired.




A woodsman returned to the village, and when he arrived there in the dusk of the evening, he found several men holding lights to the ground as if looking for something. On asking what was the matter, they told him that while sitting together a man’s head had fallen from the sky into their midst; that they had noticed the hair and beard were all draggled, but in a moment the head had vanished.

Subsequently, another man was carrying a basket when someone saw a man’s head in it, and called out to him; whereupon he dropped the basket in a fright, and the head rolled away and disappeared. Such is the story of my head.

Itchy and Tender

Gettin' Blow Jobs and Wearin' Sunglasses

Stranger Danger

I was watching The Strangers yesterday, and was I was all, "Where's Balki and Cousin Larry? This isn't what I ordered. You're not my pretty butterfly. Are you my pretty butterfly? No!"




I made my own version of The Strangers and sent it to director Bryan Bertino, who should spell his name Brian like the rest of us. So far, he hasn't returned my calls. I did a mock up poster and everything. I wonder why he hasn't gotten back to me?

(original poster here)


My version would be way cooler. And funnier. Two Jews and a black TV cop from the early 90's? Box office gold.


But I guess there's no use fixin' what ain't broke. The Strangers is a damn fine movie. I felt vulnerable and tense throughout my viewing. Word of advice: If you plan on watching it alone at 2am in complete silence, have a hatchet nearby. For safety swingin'. You're gonna need something to feel more protected. I wanted to buy a gun after watching it...

And that is why I recommend The Strangers.

Smell ya later.

Learn The Lessons, Master Biter

A couple weeks ago, my friend Rob decided to have his head shaved. At a party. Here's what happened...



Twas good fun. Afterwards, we refined the creepy pick up lines, and laughed the night away.

A doll was made with the leftover hair. I sent it to my grandmother, whom I hate. She sent me a photo in response. It was of herself in bed, snuggled up to the doll. I just can't seem to creep her out. Never been able to. She's unflappable. Except for her skin, that's mighty flappable.

Ralph Wilson Stadium

Ralph Wilson Stadium in Buffalo is nicknamed "The Ralph".

Jesse Jackson Crying

Me too, Jesse. Me, too. How's Vada gonna cope?

Lately I've been hearing all this shit about saving the bees, because bees are dying in massive numbers, blah blah blah... Fuck them bees!

Teriyaki Laffy Taffy

Carl Winslow's Corner: Vision Quest

Hey gang! It's your old friend and comrade, Carl Winslow, back for more amazing adventures inside my vortex of throbbing misery.



Native Americans have strong traditions regarding vision quests. Wandering about the forest in a drug-induced, dehydrated state forces you to confront your innermost fears. And if you are strong enough, you will summon the courage to conquer those horrors, proving your worthiness to the tribe.

That's all well and good for them, but how's old Carl gonna get in on that action? If they get respect from the community by going insane, why can't I? I knew the answer as soon as I posed it to my brain box, my friends... I must get high on exhaust fumes to prove my worth, Injun-style.




Oh, goodness! What a world it has opened up, my children. I've been delirious and unstable for years, but this puts the frosting on the coffin. Fumes have given me powers. I wander the sewers, talking to rats. I give them milk in exchange for their secrets. Now I know where all the best garbage is.



I can control birds with various amulets. My arms play the drums while my legs play soccer. I can write a thank you card to a sailor while stabbing him in the arm-pit with a sharpened paper towel! Multiple tasks, infinite possibilities, and I'm never gonna ever gonna be stuck inside an igloo ever again. Dinosaur sex!



My vision quest has just begun. I must fly away to distant lands and procure meat from the elder owls. Wish me luck on my journey.
Hoooooooooo!

Groin Coins

Here I sit in Monty's Baseball Living Room, using his internet. My internet has been down for 3 days now, which explains the lack of postage.



It's been really nice at my place without internet access. I'm doing things called reading and watching movies. It's been relaxing. I've rediscovered the ability to charm my penis.




Re-watched one of my favorite movies today, Searching for the Wrong Eyed Jesus. Not that anybody listens to me, but it's worth checking out.

Here's a short story, quoted from the film:

"We were riding fast. Night time. We were high as hell. Earl was riding on the hood with a hatchet in his hand, in case he saw the warlocks. And a tree was coming up with a low overhang, and he swung that axe at the limb. Big, live oak limb. And the axe hung. And Earl just disappeared off the hood, cause we were going 30 miles an hour when he did it. (laughs). And it looked like the warlocks got him.

Turns out he was just so high and so drunk that he had held on to the, uh, axe handle. And it had pulled him off. He was laying in the middle of the road just laughing like hell. Most people it would've killed, but he was one of them tough, insane Louisiana...people. I guess he's either dead or in prison now. He's one of those types. Probably grew up in a nice little house like that one right there. Broke his mama's heart."

Bueno.

Surrender to the Grave '97, Woooooooo!

Stephen King's It was the only movie that ever terrified me as a kid. There's just something scary about a shape shifting clown with razor-sharp teeth.


RadBread says:
"To enjoy true happiness,
one must first discipline
and control one's own mind...
I miss my dog."

Bogus Rowboat Breakdown

The shu-mang is a poisonous herb. It is a creeper, like the bean, and has a similar red flower. Those who eat of it die, and become shu-mang devils, tradition asserting that such devils are unable to be born again unless they can find some one else who has also eaten of this poison to take their place.



Walking along the path into town, I was overtaken by a violent thirst. Now it chanced that a one-eyed priest came to collect alms in the town, and with him he carried a canteen.



Arriving at my destination, I felt a pain in my heart, which I at once attributed to the priest's elixir, telling my friend what had occurred. “Alas! you are undone,” cried the other; “he was a shu-mang devil. My father died in the same way, and we were unable to save him. There is no help for you.”



This worked me into such a state that I immediately laid a complaint before the magistrate. The priest was accordingly summoned and interrogated. The magistrate commanded his lictors to search him and from about his person they drew forth two wooden men, a small coffin, and five small flags.



Two months passed away, and I began to experience a feeling of great lassitude, which I tried at first to shake off, but by-and-by I became very thin, and could only take thick gruel.



One day, someone drew aside the screen and walked in. It was her. Approaching the bed she said with a smile,"I died young, leaving the web of my destiny incomplete, like the silkworm that perishes in the spring."



“I recollect my mother saying that when I was born I was able to speak and that, thinking it an inauspicious manifestation, they gave me dog’s blood to drink, so that I should forget all about my previous state of existence."



On the morrow, I went straight to my uncle's house. Two devils sat at the head of his bed, one holding an iron staff, the other a nettle-hemp rope four or five feet in length.



After a while he got angry at something I said, and drew from his robe a glittering knife about a foot long. Seeing him do this, I ran out in a fright. He then threw his dagger up into the air, and whoosh! a streak of light like a rainbow, and something came tumbling down with a flop.



I stopped, got a light, and ran to see what it was; and lo! there lay a white fox, head in one place and body in another. “There is your friend.”



When I returned to my house I found that, instead of my former poor-looking furniture, beautiful carpets were laid down from the very door, and thousands of colored lanterns were hung about in elegant designs.



In a few years I died, upon which a tiger walked in and roared its lamentations in the hall.



While my relatives were standing round the grave, out rushed a tiger, and sent them all running away in fear. But the tiger merely went up to the mound, and, after roaring like a thunder-peal, disappeared again. Then the people of that place built a shrine in honor of the Faithful Tiger, and it remains there to this day.




Dedicated to Joshua, who punches things that shatter.

Lunar Mud Crotch

We are very jolly tonight, but I have hardly room for any more wine. Will you drink a parting glass with me in the palace of the moon?

Thoughts on McCain From a Washington Outsider

Watched the debate the other night. This is what happened...

John McCain looked uncomfortable. Barack Obama looked like he was coolly waiting for his turn in a billiards tournament.



Tom Brokaw looks and sounds like Admiral Akbar

(Big ups to Stacy for uncovering the truth)


McCain makes it too easy for everybody (including me) to have a shot at him. What with his forced laughter, raging contempt for Obama, and neck skin that sags like a scrotum over his shirt collar. He represents the "old men that give out raisins on Halloween" demographic, which I normally identify with, but for president? No fucking way!

I like my old people staring plaintively out the window, complaining about the dirty forks at IHOP, glued to the Weather Channel even though they don't go outside, shuffling around the retirement home in a bathrobe, having cane fights, and ruining three dollar matinées for Kid Douche by coughing and grunting every ten seconds. Thank you very much.

McCain mistook Go-Gurt for a microphone at a recent rally. How is this furiously confused man going to act if he becomes president?




Also, muffucka looks like Mr. Burns






Abe "Grandpa" Simpson, too



And Cindy McCain's eyes. Jeeezus!



Imagine having sex with her. If she looks into your eyes when you're making sweet love, game over. Boner gone. You'd have to have do it in the dark, every time. That's a real turn-off, if you ask me.



It's pretty obvious who I'm voting for. But the race would be a little closer if McCain and his campaign team weren't so inept. I mean, Sarah Palin? Really? It's almost embarrassing.

The McCain that I liked in 2000 is gone. Whether he sold his soul for a shot at winning his coveted prize or just went bonkers isn't clear. You can check out his alarming change of heart in a series of articles that Chris Jones did for Esquire. He's had unlimited access to McCain since 2006, and the articles are fascinating. Sad, too. You can read part 1 here. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4.


Don't worry, no more political blogs until after the election, I promise.

This is what you really came here for, isn't it?