Goodbye...

2010, you have been quite the year. 2008 wasn't the best. It was one of my worst years in recent memory accompanied by 2003. Then 2009 came along and everything felt like it was going to be a better time and it was and it did. I won't do 2010 the injustice of putting it in the same category as 2003 and 2008 but it was an awesome year filled tough realities. Needless to say, I am enjoying the brief moments I have to sit down and write and pet my cat and think.

With hours left in this year, I caught myself rushing around to Brooks Brothers for a bow tie and then to buy wine and couldn't help but notice that I was sweating. With December being a relatively cold month, I was surprised, pleasantly, that today has been such a warm and beautiful day, hence the sweat. I stopped to take a moment to sit with Audrey and scratch her head when I realized that with all my rushing around waiting for another day to come to an end that this cat was oblivious to the frenzy that humans are putting themselves through. There is something completely gratifying about that. I should be so lucky to have such simplicity at some point in my life.

So now, I sit here alone and await the dinner party that will be filled with couples and me, the only single. How's that for simplicity? I suppose I deserve that. I was told once that I shouldn't live my life feeling that I regret anything I have done. The actions I take govern how I see and feel. This, I feel to be true. I will say this about this year, that I do regret losing a great friend. So now the countdown begins and I have to make my new beginnings in a new house and zip code. Maybe I'll love 2011. I will have to wait and see.

Fuck You Sylvia Browne.

The Oracle of Delphi. Nostradamus. James Van Praagh. Rasputin. When the great psychic powers of the ages come to mind these are the ones that are typically thrown out there. And if you were to ask a certain Mr. Montel Williams, he would throw out the incomparable Sylvia. Sylvia Browne that is. She's the world's only psychic walrus that can chain smoke with acrylic nails glued to her flippers.

Will the real Sylvia Browne, please stand up?

Walter Mercado

Surpisingly has a penis.

The other day, I was Facebook stalking my friend Soraya and got to thinking of all the good times we used to have back in the day making fun of Sylvia Brown and Walter Mercado, a Univision astrologer known to most latinos that should know better. I can not for the life of me understand how the hell lunatics that look like Bruce Vilanch in drag and a Puerto Rican Liberace get into the mainstream like this? It may be safe to say that they both might be good at blow jobs. How else explain the television exec that let this happen? Because we all know that pie eating contest winners are known for their panache, their joie de vivre, not their psychic abilities. How else?

As a young tyke, I remember coming home in the summer time, after night swim (a.k.a. the summer babysitter) to find my mom watching the Montel Williams show. I was never that big of a fan of Montel. Something didn't seem quite right with him. Maybe it was his penchant for white women or maybe it was that eight ball look he was rocking. Couldn't quite get my finger on it. In any event, he couldn't hold a candle to my girl Ricki.

Once hosted a show entitled "Back Off! You're a Lesbian.."

With topics from "Black Men Who Prefer To Date White Women" (Montel) to "Cut All the Drama, You Ain't Nuthin But a Fat Hoochie Momma" or "Weave Wars II", who could resist. One of my all time favorite show titles though, has to be "Girl You Must Be Trippin'...You're Too Fat To Be Strippin'". And who could forget the doorbell? Every time you heard that doorbell ring on the Ricki Lake Show, you knew some shit was going to hit the fan. Go Ricki, Go Ricki!

I've seemed to have gotten off track. Anywho, back to Montel. I blame him for unleashing that beast onto the world. Apparently, Montel would do anything for white pussy, no matter how decrepit and dusty. Now here are some videos of Sylv at her finest.

Merry Christmas Claire Slover

Barf Slover using her landline in the rain

The Grinch Theme Song

You're a fat one, Mrs. Grinch.

You really like to squeal.

You're as cuddly as a cat's mess,

Your virginity, no one wanted to steal, Mrs. Grinch

You're a black banana with a greasy black peel.

You're a monster, Mrs. Grinch

Your butt is a big hole.

Your vagina's full of spiders,

You've got garlic in your soul, Mrs. Grinch.

I wouldn't touch you, with a black guy's nine-and-a-half inch pole.

You're a large one, Mrs. Grinch.

You can't even walk a mile.

You have all the tender sweetness

Of a crusty old pedophile, Mrs. Grinch.

Given the choice between the two of you I'd take the crusty old pedophile.

You're a foul one, Mrs. Grinch.

You're a nasty, wasty cunt.

Your cunt is full of unwashed cocks.

Your snizz is full of gunk, Mrs. Grinch.

The three words that best describe you, are, and I quote: "Stink. Stank. Cunt."

Christmas Pussy

Spread 'em Tommy!

Two thousand and ten years ago, a virgin and her husband hauled ass into Bethlehem to give birth to the king of jews, or so the story goes. Luckily for me the WE Channel's idea of holiday inception was to play the classic Big staring Tom Hanks and Elizabeth Perkins because nothing says christmas like two average white poeple. Everyone knows the story of Big. unless, you were born and raised under a rock before 1995. The movie is basically the tale of a 12 year old boy who wishes to be "big" and in turns becomes an adult who gets an executive position at a toy company and gets to do an older woman. It's sort of like the Mary Kay Letourneau story but more romantical and with a magical fortune telling machine and less statutory rape.

Tom Hanks' character Josh is likable enough for someone you want to put in a station wagon and drive into a lake. After his rat faced friend makes him feel bad for being awesome he goes and pusses out. Cue the sad music and send him around town, walking around aimlessly like a pedophile staring at all the kids about town wanting to recapture his lost youth. Waa waa. In that same lame boat is also Susan, played by Elizabeth Perkins. The only interesting aspect of her character other than her 80's fashion a la Designing Woman was her ability to fuck her way up the corporate ladder.

Style Stars

But, by far, the best character is Josh's butthole best friend Billy. He is one of the biggest pussies in all of movie history. right up there with any Pauly Shore character and Charlie from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. He also played the asshole little brother in Honey I Shrunk the Kids. For some reason, this little punk can't be happy that his ONE friend is an adult raking in the big bucks and wants to cry because he doesn't want to play walkie talkie with him. If there was ever a reason to advocate childhood physical abuse, it was that kid. It was like whoever green lighted the movies Frankenhooker and Cannibal Holocaust must have given him a break. Thank god that kid never went on to star in anything else other than a Wal-Mart surveillance video.

Being puked on helped him get off.

University Square Apartments

This song just came up and Pandora and it reminded of painting my room red, jigsaw puzzles during the 2004 Democratic National Convention, gravity bongs during the Olympic opening ceremony in Sydney and Char's thai food. Thank god those fucking cavemen in that Geico commercial didn't ruin this song for me.

"Röyksopp - Remind Me" lyrics

(chorus)
Will remind, will remind, will remind me,
Will remind, will remind, will remind me,
Will remind, will remind, will remind me,
Will remind, will remind, will remind me.

It's only been a week,
The rush of being home in rapid fading.
Prevailing to recall
What I was missing, all that time in England

Has sent me aimlessly,
On foot or by the help of transportation,
To knock on windows where
A friend no longer live, I had forgotten.

(chorus)

And everywhere I go,
There's always something to remind me
Of another place and time
Where love that travelled far had found me.

We stayed outside til two,
Waiting for the light to come back,
But hid in talk I knew,
Until you asked what I was thinking.

(chorus)

Brave men tell the truth,
A wise man's tools are analogies and puzzles,
A woman holds her tongue,
Knowing silence will speak for her.

So now I'll never know,
As you will only sleep beside me,
And everywhere I go...

(chorus)
(repeat)

It's only been a week,
(Will remind, will remind, will remind me,)
The rush of being home in rapid fading.
(Will remind, will remind, will remind me,)
Prevailing to recall
(Will remind, will remind, will remind me,)
What I was missing all that time in England
(Will remind, will remind, will remind me.)

Has sent me aimlessly
(Will remind, will remind, will remind me,)
On foot or by the help of transportation,
(Will remind, will remind, will remind me,)
To knock on windows where
(Will remind, will remind, will remind me,)
A friend no longer live, I had forgotten.
(Will remind, will remind, will remind me.)
(chorus)

Funny Shit on the Nanny/Fuck Hallmark Channel

You learn something new everyday or so it is said. Today, I learned the french word decollete while watching, of all things, the Nanny. I've been forced to watch the Nanny late night on Lifetime because Hallmark Channel thought it would be in the holiday spirit to crush mine by removing Golden Girls reruns from their nightly line-up. I still find myself flipping to channel 47 in the hopes that there isn't some made-for-TV abomination starring some washed up has been soap star of yesteryear. At least play a good made-for-TV movie like Death of a Cheerleader starring Tori Spelling as a popular girl (clearly fictional) that gets killed for being the kind of bitch you want to stab in your mom's station wagon, you know the kind.

Take that Donna Martin!

Quintessential Jewish mother, Sylvia Fine

Anywho, back to what I was talking about. Sylvia, Fran's mother, is up to her usual hi-jinx of trying to get Fran to land herself a successful man. In the process of doing so, Sylvia attempts to hike up Fran's skirt to advertise the goods for her new rich doctor boyfriend. Along with that piece of motherly advice, Sylv tells her to "show some decolletessen". Just the sound of the word decolletessen, which, by the way, is not a word and that she pronounces day-c0ll-eh-tessen. What she is alluding to is the word décolleté which means the bust or meat pillow region. Naturally, she throws her master yiddish spin on it by combining décolleté and delicatessen, a store to buy meats and such. Pure genius! So, I guess the only thing left to say is, MISTA SHEFFEILD!!!!

Black Swan

Monday is typically my day off of work and I had a pretty good idea of what I wanted to do with part of my day. Before the Price is Right, I sent out a text to a few friends to see who was up to take in a little matinee delight. Sadly, Barf was sick but thankfully Mere was game. The two of us had been talking about going to see Black Swan for quite some time and today was going to be the day.

First off, HOLY SHIT! This has to be one of the best movies I have seen in a very long time. Natalie Portman as Nina Sayers is sure to win just about every best actress award that she will be nominated for. From start to finish, this movie is hauntingly magical and almost didn't want it to end. Can't help but feel extremely troubled for Erica Sayers played by Barbara Hershey of Beaches fame as the terrifyingly dominating single mother. You can feel the anxiety that the character gives to Portman's character the entire movie. I mustn't forget to mention Winona Ryder as the tragic dying swan. Ryder's scene with Portman in the hospital is burned into my brain. HOLY SHIT. This movie sure as hell beat watching that stupid Sandra Bullock movie I caught earlier today on HBO called All About Steve. Now that was a shit show!

Happy Birthday Hayley

So a few weeks ago, on a Sunday, Nathan came over so he and I could go out and have a drink because I was in sore need of liquor after my drunken nap that consumed most of my evening. We went over to Nathan and Hayley's apartment, in the ghetto no less, so he could change clothes and get an herbal refreshment. I immediately beeline it to Hayley's bedroom where I find her bundled up in bed watching bravo and a fresh US Weekly to boot. We have tons of laughs on account of my delirium and whatever shit-show Bravo is showcasing at that given moment, whether it be hordes of famewhore housewives, a Dr. Phil lookalike matchmaker or even a smart ass haircutting lesbian alien named Tabatha.

Scissor me timbers

"Have yous seen my aquanet Joe?"

Patty, from Millionaire Matchmaker

All joking aside, we came to the conclusion that one star in particular was not shining to it's full potential. I'm not talking about that culinary snooze-fest host Padma or that over accessorized elderly chipmunk Rachel Zoe. Of course, I am talking about Sweetie from the Real Housewives of Atlanta. Sweetie is Kim's assistant/friend/slave. Clearly, I have the wrong job because Sweetie seems to be living the high life, fancy polyester weaves and Kim's palatial duplex at her disposal. Hayley and I decided that someone needed to start her a fan page on facebook. Following an extensive image search I came up short on photos I had to nix the endeavor. So in honor of Hayley's day of birth, I decided to post some pictures of Sweetie and Kim working.

Sweetie getting her sweat on.

All in a hard day's work. Who says that GEDs aren't the way to go?

Stars and Stripes Forever

I think, it is pretty safe to say, that as Americans we are raised to think that we are better than the rest of the world. We are the best and the brightest but with our recent economic woes, we are coming off more like Randy Quaid to the rest of the world's Dennis Quaid. Frank Stallone to their Sylvester. Damn it, we're Screech and everyone else is Bayside. Ugh.

When the hell did we become this?

So we aren't part of the "cool kids" group anymore because we're poor, so what! Who wanted to hang out with China and Russia anyways? Not us, they reek of bad teeth. That's right, I went there. We still look better than most of them. Sure, we aren't the Argentina's or the Sweden's of the world in terms of looks but we hold our own. Now, we know that there ain't nothing more American than having good teeth. Ask any Miss America judge and they'd agree.

--Here are some prime examples of patriotic teeth:

America's Dream Team from right to left: the ravishing Glenn Beck, the smoldering Ann Coulter and America's sweetheart Dick Cheney

--Now here are some prime examples on un-American types:

Romanian Gypsy teeth, although fancy looking, are probably turning the inside of her upper lip green.

Say "herro" to my to my toothy Thai friend.

All of India always remembered Gandhi's half brother for his quick wit and charm.

The winner of Cambodia's Next Top Model has done a lot to combat childhood obesity.

Don't be hatin' on this Haitian, y'all

Thanksgiving Fountain

After having a stressful two weeks after my return to Charleston, I was ready for some holiday excitement. For the most part, Thanksgiving has always been a day of turkey, mashed potatoes and alcohol. I just can't wrap my head around why southerners don't have mashed potatoes on the damn dinner table every Thanksgiving. Who the hell wants sweet potato casserole? So I was happy that this year I was able to have all three. God surely was shining down on me.

Even the Hoff has a few glasses of wine with dinner.

The night before Thanksgiving is truly a magical occasion. It's called Drink, Drank, Drunk! After closing the restaurant early on account of it being slow and the impending holiday, I called my landlord John Payne to see what shenanigans we were to get into that night. So, the plan was a solid one that consisted of going out downtown and getting tanked. And so it was to be. Here we are in our late 20s and early 30s and still bingeing. Oh , the sweet stench of youth!

After an after hours warehouse party and more alcohol in the man shed, John and I had to creep back into the house as to not wake the lady of the castle, Claire a.k.a. Barf Slover. It was truly out of a children's story where the poor defenseless billy goats try to get passed the evil (fat) troll under the bridge. Sure enough, the moment we walk in, it is on like Donkey Kong. This bitch was furious with us. All just because we came rolling in at 4am. What a bitch! All I knew was that I needed to get to my room quickly and lay down with my iPod in as not to hear the beast devour the biggest billy goat. Before I knew it, John Payne is laying next to me in bed to avoid the troll diva.

the evil troll Barf Slover.

So, I wake a few hours later to Claire still on her tirade about something when I walk passed the bathroom to see her on her hands and knees cleaning around the toilet. She turns around and looks at me and yells "get the fuck out of this house" and "you better not think of showing your fucking face for Thanksgiving dinner". At first, I was completely thrown off guard and had no clue why she was being a bigger bitch than usual. Then, she let me know that I had pissed all over the bathroom as she watched and all the while my headphones were still in my ears. Talk about an epic fail.

Who really wants to say that they have pissed all over their friend's stuff. Sadly, this wasn't the first time this had happened to me. The most eventful time though, happened on Lemon Street when Brad and I called #211 home. Brad, Heidi and I were sleeping in bed when I got up in a drunken stupor, turned around and began pissing all over Heidi. But I digress.

So, Thanksgiving wasn't a complete wash because eventually we were able to hang with some friends around a fire in the yard and rage late night. It was an extremely fun night. One of the last things I remember before bed was a lovely bottle of prosecco that tasted damn good. I pass out, wake up and go about my day happy that nothing crazy had went down. Champagne usually does a number on my memory but I seemed in the clear on this one. Or so I thought until I received a text from John that read THANKS FOR PEEING IN MY DRAWER. Oops. So much for God's shining light.

Forest Gump, the musical

I'm just making an observation y'all but if my memory serves me correct Jenny, Forrest's pea to his carrot, dies of AIDS. And according to my memory, I am correct. She does in fact die of AIDS at the end. So, now that we have that clarified, I have to touch on another pressing issue from that award winning tour de force. I'm just saying that if she got pregnant by Forrest then they mustn't have used a condom! With that said, wouldn't Forrest have AIDS too?

and this little girl died of AIDS

Forrest Gump overcame metal leg braces. He ran that dern football like a machine, he did. He went to Nam. He's a world class ping ponger! And he's a shrimpin' millionaire, for crying out loud!! He manages all these feats despite being classified a retard and we're supposed to believe he possesses an invincible anti-AIDS penis? Implausible! I forgave the parts where he claimed he inspired the SHIT HAPPENS bumper sticker and the HAVE A NICE DAY t-shirt but I have to call bullshit on this one.

Flirting at the Bar...

With nearly two months gone by and no new post to self promote on Facebook, I figured I had to get back at it and get the juices a flowin'. I recently returned home to my beloved Arizona, where the political landscape is as red as a Sarah Palin's power suit and the Crypt Keeper's big sister, Jan Brewer, reigns as queen. Much to my surprise, the same state that elected Maleficent, also decided to legalize medical marijuana. So, Arizona is now a Christmas State of both red and green. On that note, ho ho ho, to you and yours.

Governor-elect, Jan Brewer

Anywho, minus this country's shift to the right and Arizona's shocking ability to stay set in it's republican ways, I was excited to be back in Arizona for the first time in nearly a year. Seeing downtown Phoenix was exciting with its new restaurants and businesses sprinkled everywhere. It felt like a real city and have to admit that I was impressed with the amount of people riding the train system. See, the train isn't as ghetto as the city bus because you don't have to wait a grillion hours while the driver attempts to unwedge his or her self from out of the snug four feet of space between the steering wheel and the back of the driver's seat, to flip the switch that unfolds the handicap ramp for someone who will inevitably take my seat. But I digress.

I can honestly say, that I haven't walked around and taken public transit as much as I did while in PHX as compared to the past year. Get up, walk to Z Pizza for beer and a cashier who was easy on the eyes. Get up, walk and buy $4 6-packs of Drifter. Walk to the Arizona Center for horrible mojitos at 1130 the Restaurant (don't go there). Light rail it to Tempe or up to Frances on Camelback. Get up and walk to the little corner store on 7th Avenue to purchase fake marijuana called Spice. Stagger Stagger Stagger. It was truly a pedestrian paradise which saw me walking to get $4 6-packs of Drifter on a pretty good frequency.

Needless to say, I was a blackout mess that, within less than two days into my trip, lost my phone in a drunken stupor which involved a gay bar, a cocktail being thrown in my face and journey in a strange car with a faceless stranger. Although, I mustn't give the full credit of my blackouts to the alcohol alone. To give credit, where credit is due, I have to give a shout out to the queen's ransom worth of fake marijuana I smoked. It's a weed-like substitute , mind you, that is legal to smoke but the long term effects or toxicity aren't known yet. So all signs are pointing to a long and healthy life in my future. All these fond memories culminated into a mythical encounter on my final night with homeless wood nymph.

Corner Store Delight

So, right when I began to think I was the most tragic figure in all of greater Phoenix, she had to waltz into my life like Bristol Palin on Dancing With The Stars, lumpy and awkwardly. So, to set the scene, I am downtown at one of the coolest spots I have been to in a really long time with some great friends at a place called Hanny's, a former department store turned trendy restaurant and bar. We were enjoying the general splendor of our surroundings when I realized that I had to call Delta to check-in for my upcoming flight. That's when homegirl burst into my life.

So, as I'm trying to figure out why I can't check in online I had the fattest, craziest thing in all of Phoenix, yell into my ear as I walked passed her. So as I whip around to see who the hell was being such a jerk, I see homeless Carnie Wilson bumpin' and grindin' in her seat at the bar. She then proceeds to make wacky jazz hands when she suddenly looks me dead in the eye and flips my off. She then began to dance up a storm at the bar and grabbed our server, who, would be considered legally a midget, as he walked by and yelled into his ear, HEY, I'M TALLER THAN YOU! as she hysterically laughed and continued to flop around like a bra-less walrus wonder in a camisole. She then moved from the bar to a more intimate corner of the restaurant to practice her craft. It looked like she was making her way down the damn Soul Train line much rather than enjoying a free glass of water. I was sort of glad to see that with downtown reshaping itself that it didn't get rid of all the crazy homeless people that add a certain, je ne sa pas. I had to rest assured that at least I didn't smoke whatever it was she had or at least don't remember doing so.

YOU SHORT, FOOL!

Golden Girls

Earlier today, I heard my favorite Golden Girls quote in a long time. Basically, Dorothy's flunking the star quarterback at the high school she's substituting and people are upset. I figured , since, today marked the day that many a school kid in the lowcountry returned to school so it is an appropriate quote. So, as they sit around the kitchen table, Blanche decides to offer up some sage words about the importance of high school sports.

"As a former cheerleader and ex bad girl in a health film, I can tell you the importance of school sanctioned extracurricular activities"

Daytime Television

After going to yoga yesterday, I committed myself to not spending my next morning watching a solid four hour block of Golden Girls, Price Is Right and the Young and the Restless. I can honestly say that I kept good on that commitment. I managed to squeeze a trip to the bank, household chores, reading, writing and still catch bits and pieces of all of the above mentioned TV shows. A lot of domesticities to pack in before 1:30pm on my day off.

OOPS!

Of my limited TV time today, I did manage to watch some commercials. Daytime television is filled with some incredibly awful stuff like bladder leakage commercials which are always geared towards women because grandpa never leaves a puddle here and there. If it's not that, then it's a home pregnancy test commercial with some confused woman thinking stoically off into nowhere. Baby girl should have been thinking about that before she went off to that kegger. On the plus side, Aunt Flow can take a vacation. My favorite of all these are definitely the douche commercials when the female announcer proclaims You know when your feminine care product isn't working. Yeah, you know your douche isn't working when you can smell your pussy!

IF I KNEW YOU WERE COMING I WOULD'VE FRESHENED UP!

"Me rikey"

But the most shocking thing of all occurred during "I Love Lucy". It was your typical episode, Lucy tries to make something better but somehow messes it up. Like the time she tricked Fred and Ethyl into that Ethiopian sex ring. Anywho, Lucy pretends to be Ricky's agent and tries to get MGM Studios to offer him a better contract but instead they release him from his current one. Whoops. Lucy better have some splainin' to do. So when she tells him, he slaps the shit out of her and the audience goes wild with laughter as she looks dazed and confused while he begins smashing every piece of glassware in sight. Call my a cynic but I'm pretty sure a lot of that was happening when the audience wasn't around. They should have called the show "I Beat Lucy" and then I bet she wouldn't have been begging to be in the show all the time.

Arizona Sweet Tea

So yesterday, I was making simple syrup for the bar at work and it got me to thinking about my little brother Ralph. When I say little brother, I mean my 6'2'' 220lb college football player brother.

As we all know, simple syrup, is nothing more than sugar and water. Try and have a margarita without it, go ahead. Anywho, Ralph and I used to make sugar water and drink it all the time when we didn't have anything sweet in the house like redneck holy water, or, rather, mountain dew. It just seemed a lot faster and fatter than going to the corner store. Fast and fat? Now, if that's not an oxymoron, I don't know what is y'all. When I stop and think, sugar water is just like sweet tea, only, sans the tea. That explains fat southern, for sure.

One thing not surprising about this situation is the fact that Ralph and I wore "husky" jeans for a few years there in the early '90s a.k.a the Era of Andrea Zuckerman. Remember her? The editor of the West Beverly Blaze. That liar didn't even live in the school district! I digress. Wearing your shirt while swimming doesn't make anyone feel smaller but rather makes you stick out like a fat thumb. Thank God, he and I were able to get out of that shame spiral before we ended up shirtless in our underwear on the Maury Show, flopping around like Baby Jessica.

VW Cabriolet or 5 year old girl?

Notice the opposite use of acid wash jean shirt to pants.

Found Off of Morris Island

This is the remnants of a tree that was on the beach that I found while doing a photo shoot for Julia Faye's swimwear line in which I looked like a dark Adam Lambert. So basically a hot tranny mess. Anywho, it never ceases to amaze me how beautiful nature can be even after it stops living.

Stuff That Looks Like Dead People

This is the bathroom door at Casey Moore's in Tempe. You have to admit that it looks like Jimi Hendrix! Even when I'm sober, I still see it!

At the Thrift Store...

Ha! Estelle Getty with a baby grocery basket filled with stuffed animals! Loves it!

Bestiality O's

I love me some cereal. I don't have a particular favorite. I just love to eat it although I haven't purchased a box or a bag in a coon's age. I can just sit there fisting a box of cereal for hours like a tasteful adult film. In a bowl or in a cup, nom nom nom. I can spend hours gabbing about cereal. In college, a friend told me how her grandmother wouldn't call it cereal but rather breakfast food. For example, Amy go ahead and pour yourself a bowl of breakfast food.

If only this were just a sweet little post about going cuckoo for generic Cocoa Puffs but it's not. This is about that damn Cinnamon Toast Crunch! You know the one I'm talking about. The one where the desperate woman in sitting on her couch talking to her dog about the bowl of cereal that is sending her into reckless abandon and ecstasy. She's sick. What is this bitch's problem? So this is what she says to the dog, You know that feeling when I scratch your ear and it's like ooh yeah, well this is mine mmmmm.

This is the dog. Doggy style anyone?

Why is she talking to the dog like that? Does she not know that bestiality is illegal in the United States? Dirty talk to animals should be outlawed especially on TV because if I see someone fucking an octopus during a Count Chocula commercial, I'm gonna be pissed.

octopussy

Mexicans v. Crypt Keeper

Housekeepers rejoice!

Today, U.S. District Court Judge Susan Bolton struck down key sections of Arizona's new immigration law, SB 1070. Sorry Arizona Governatrix Jan Brewer. I bet grandma is pissed! You better believe she plans on putting up a fight. Let's hope she doesn't break a hip in the process.

Gov. Jan Brewer

I'll get you my pretties and your little churro too!

After all this is said and done, we have to remember that Article 6 of the constitution says that federal law trumps state law. Suck on that Republicans and Tea Partiers. Somewhere, there is a Mexican landscaper, eating a carne asada burrito from Filibertos in a pick up truck and smiling a little bit bigger.

This carne's for you Juan!

Calhoun Street Bedroom

Purty.

Random Sketches on Restaurant Stuff

Cock-a-doodle-do

Drawing on a bar napkin from the Upper Deck

I envisioned a Roman marble bust while taking the Deck's everyday special, a shot of whiskey and a PBR. I always manage to lose bar napkins after I doodle on them. Sort of makes it feel like a miscarriage, losing the napkin. Well, a miscarriage of artistic gestation. This is one of the few babies that has survived. Sometimes, the mood to create artistic whoopi can occur on something as random as the styrofoam lid to my Mexican leftovers after a few cervezas.

Seated woman and hot sauce