I like suspenders. In fact, I am wearing a pair right now. Is there anything more civilized than a fat man wearing suspenders? I think not.

Oh, and thanks for answering my query from a couple days ago. I hope the bayou swallows you all.

Superman is dead. Michael Keaton is next. Actually, he is good as dead already. A supporting role in First Daughter and an upcoming performance in Herbie: Fully Loaded is akin to carrer suicide. One can only hope that Toby Maguire suffers a similar fate.


Go to Hell

It is Saturday night. What am I doing; writing a blog entry about doing nothing on a Saturday night. Go me.

I have the giant multi-dimensional spider and hamster devotees to keep me company, at least.


Anyway, I noticed a certain someone visiting my lovely domain of inane verbosity quite often. This special lad, lass or stupid ass hails from Baton Rouge, Louisiana. Curiosity is a goading bitch, which makes me wonder who this person is. Most of my regular visitors I know personally, or at least, of. Do me a favor and drop me a line, or comment on this message, as to how you found this bastion of hate and why you continue to read it.

I am about the personal interaction with my readers. Actually, I am curious how all of you came to read this site, even the ones I know. I encourage my regular readers, all twelve of you, to answer the two aforementioned questions.


Go to Hell

Better Left Unsaid
A True Story from an Hour Ago


The Cast of Characters

Mom-My Mother

Issy- My Little 8 Year Old Brother

Pete- Family Dog

Me- Resident trailer-bound Cynic


Background: Issy left the back door open which allowed Pete to run wild. Mother searched high & low for several hours but could not find the puppy gone lost. Late Saturday night, Pete came home and all appeared well, but was it really?


Phone: Ring, ring, ring, get the fuck up, ring, ring-a-ding-ming

Me: Hola, comment ca va?

Mom: Why didn't you go into work?

(I can clearly hear Issy playing in the background.)

Me: I am tired.

Mom: It is 1:oo pm, how can you be tired?

Me: I went to bed at 2am, and you know I need twelve hours of sleep to function properly.

Mom: You are killing your father.

Me: He is old. Old people die all the time, don't try to blame me for cell degeneration.

Mom: Bitch.

Me: How is Pete doing?

Mom: I should kill that dog, stupid bitch.

Me: Last night, Issy said Pete smelled funny.

Mom: He was probably out fucking.

(I hear childish laughter coming from Issy and the phrase "Petey was fucking" several times.)

Me: Mom...you can't say that in front of your son.

Mom: You know what fucking means.

Me: I meant in front of Issy.

Mom: Fuck you, you are the reason he is bad.

(Issy picks up the line in the kitchen)

Issy: Petey is a dog fucker.

Me: Shut up. You have no business saying that.

Issy: Bobby is a dog fucker.

Mom: Yes, yes he is.

Me: I am not.

Mom: Click

Issy: Can I am come over?

Me: No!

Issy: Dog fucker. Click


El Fin

Ha, told you so.


Go to Hell

Who cares? It is amazing that a league of wayward P.E. teachers and closest lesbians has been a resounding failure. Go figure.

Go to Hell

Rodney Dangerfield died at 82 years young, yesterday. He left behind an incredible legacy of smiles, laughs and a whole lot of respect.


Go to Hell

I need to lose weight. My goal is to drop an Olsen twin, give or take three bulimic episodes.

Why this sudden desire to lose weight? Is it for health reasons? No, it has nothing to do with my 180/110 blood pressure reading, skyrocketing cholesterol, or inability to climb a flight of stairs: I want to lose the weight for a much more important reason; I need to get laid.

It is my sincerest hope that Bob will be able to have intimate relations by years end.



Go to Hell

I worked hard today. I won't bore you with the particulars, lets just say I spent the last ten hours lifting furniture, with the occasional break to pack boxes and speak with the geriatric. I may belittle my current profession (auctioneer) but I do have to admit, it is hard work, which is why I usually make father do the lion share of it.

Today, I felt sorry for the old man and decided to take the load off his shoulders, both figuratively and literally speaking. I learned my lesson. Hard work only leads to back spasms, groin pulls and a loss of sexual desire, just ask my father.

"Slothful I am, but horny I will always be. " (Bob, 2004)

I like quoting myself, it makes me feel special.


Go to Hell

The roof, the roof, the roof is on fire. Or, it will be very soon. Man can have nuclear weapons, Martians may have mastered the phase-shift photon cannon, and monkeys have learned the particulars of fecal projectiles but none of these species can match the unbridled fury of nature; volcanic eruption.

And, while I am on the topic of eruptions, have you seen Teri Hatcher lately? She looks unbelievable, and yes, worthy of my sexual fantasies once more. Thankfully, she has progressed from the anorexic crack-whore look of yesteryear Radio Shack commercials and transformed herself into a goddess, once again.

I would definitely give her the how-to and why-not, wherever and whenever she wanted it.


Though, I do have some reservations touching an older woman, especially one that has popped out children. I can't compare to a child's head, maybe I will just wait for her daughter to grow up.


Go to Hell

I know that race and sports is a touchy subject, and that I am a raging racist for talking about the wedding between the two, but I can't ignore the this fact: that samurai can fucking hit.

I am only using accepted, positive racial stereotypes from now on. I am a changed man and no longer a fan of the klan.

Though, truth be told, I am still pissed about Pearl Harbor and hope that kamikaze-loving, single hitting bastard is dropped at a nuclear testing site and forced to relive Nagasaki, H-Bomb style.

Keep that last part between you and me, since I am supposed to be a reformed racist and all.


Go to Hell