Cleaning out the cat litter box is not usually the highlight of my day. Especially when someone has eaten something they should not have. This morning while I was dutifully digging in the Box of Treasures, I was startled to hear someone call my name. I looked around and saw nothing. Then I heard my name called again. I looked into the litter box and there was a little turd standing up on its end. It had a little face on it and was calling my name. After a few seconds of shock I replied, "Well hello Mr. Turd". "Hello Melvin" the little turd said. I asked "What can I do for you this morning Mr. Turd" "Well first of all" he said "you can call me Mr. Poopie. We really are not fond of the term, turd." "Well then" I said. "I didn't know that. But then I did not know Tu.. I mean, Poopies could talk" With a thoughtful look he said "I suppose not. I'm one of a couple of dozen talking Poopies ever to have existed" . I said with a tinge of sarcasm, "Well I don't know, but I think I may be honored. I mean, to have something as rare as a talking Poopie visit our humble catbox" He said "Thank you very much" I countered "You're welcome Mister Poopie" . He didn't know but I actually was enjoying saying the word poopie. Again I addressed Mr. Poopie and said "To what do I owe this great honor then". He said "It's not by accident Melvin. We have reason to believe that you just might be the 'Chosen One" . I was a little taken aback. I asked "Chosen for what?" Mr. Poopie answered me with grave seriousness in his voice. "The one chosen to solve the Great Problem." "Great Problem?" I asked. "Yes" he said. I continued "I'm sorry Mr. Poopie but I have no idea what you're talking about." He said "Really?" I said "Really". He moaned " Damn. It seems that I may have made a trip for nothing." I said "Yeah?" He explained, "If you were the chosen one, you would know" . I said "Okay, that's fair. And I do not know. At all. No clue." Mr. Poopie looked a little irritated and said to me in a rather snarky tone. "Well then, you are of no use at all". And with that Mr. Poopie disappeared under the litter and I didn't see him anymore. (I know, it's very strange to me too). I resumed the chore of digging the little poopies out of the cat box and it struck me. How very sad. To be told you are useless. By a turd.

I'm looking for answers. What exactly is Vienna sausage snot? Where does it come from? What is it made of? Is it toxic? If left alone would it coagulate into Vienna sausage boogers? Has anybody ever heard of Vienna sausage boogers becoming sentient and growing teeth? Has anyone ever known of Vienna sausage boogers with teeth chasing the cat? I don't believe Camo would actually make this kind of shit up, but it's beginning to sound a bit far-fetched.

I recently found out that Chinese fortune cookies are not really all that prevalent in China and that the whole fortune cookie thing is pretty much American crap. Armed with that knowledge and the desire to screw with people's heads, I decided it would be amusing to replace the bland, benign, mealy mouthed fortunes with ones more to my liking. IE: "DUCK" or "Remember that last date? Get your ass to the doctor". How about " Go home. Where there's smoke, there's fire." or "You will recover - eventually". There's always the " You will learn to live without sex. Your spouse will not". Or my favorite, "Your spouse fakes it. You needed to know" (especially fun to give to the ladies). "You put off life insurance - don't". That one's food for unsettling thought. Think how much fun it will be sitting in the restaurant and watching people turn pale and grab at their chest. This is greatness in the making!

So I was watching Kim Possible on Disney while ago and something occurred to me. I hope it never falls on me to save the world from anything. It sounds like a lot of work and has the potential to be rather unpleasant. I see the possibility of having to involve myself with a much higher level of physical activity than I I'm comfortable with. There is also the probability that I would be required to wear pants. The real deal breaker however is not being able to stop and have my nap. Even though I can't imagine a 'Melvin saves the world' scenario, it is possible I guess. If such a situation where to arise, I think it would behoove mankind to look for a plan B as I would very likely choose not to participate. To be fair, mankind should have known that to begin with.

From here forward my double-wide Melvin Manson will be referred to as "Melvin's Lair of Nefarious Naughtiness."  Please adjust all aspects of your miserable lives accordingly.

Melvin's Adventures with Bronchial Pneumonia.

Day 1
I just got back from the doctor. I went over there because I am sicker than any human being that has ever lived on Earth. After I got all checked in, the doctor lady came in and went to work. She took out several chicken feathers and a string of rats teeth from a drawer and shook them at me. She threw them on the counter and studied the way they happened to fall. She then made me get on the table where she sat a small black rodent on my back. After a few minutes she consulted with the rodent and said you have a lot of congestion. I said that's good right? She said no. At that point the doctor lady left the room. In just a minute the nurse lady came in with two giant hypodermic needles. She filled them with noxious, putrid, steaming, liquid drawn from two identical black cauldrons. Before I had the chance to even ask she threw me on the table and jammed both needles in my ass cheeks. I did not enjoy that as much as you might think. Then she brought out this hose contraption and a little box that made a buzzing noise. She made me sit in a chair and breathe smoke through this hose. I suspect it was dragon's breath. Used to make my lungs fireproof so that they wouldn't turn to leather before tomorrow. She said I would have to return tomorrow to see what was going on and if the potions now swimming around in my scrawny ass had actually done anything. Then she said something about removing my lungs and having them washed off in a pan of green alcohol. I told her I thought it was a good idea. Before I left the doctor lady confirmed to me that I was the sickest human she had ever seen in her career. And there were people in the cemetery who were not as sick as me. She also confirmed that I had the plague. She didn't say what kind. Maybe she will know tomorrow.

Phlegm. Phleeegm. Ffffflegm. Phlegmy phlegm. Phlegmy McPhlegmface. You ever notice that when you say a word over and over it starts sounding silly after a while?

Day 2
It's a beautiful day to feel like shit. After another miserable night of coughing. At one point I died. I mean my heart stopped then I stop breathing. Luckily, the Cat saw me and ran to the bathroom, grabbed the toilet bowl plunger, jumped up on my chest, yelled "CLEAR!" and started plunging on my chest. Got me going again in 15-20 minutes. So I was lucky on that one. Pretty quick thinking for a cat, really. He came back and jumped up in my lap a few minutes later and looked into my eyes. I thought we were going to have, you know, a 'moment'. He squinted his eyes a little bit and said "I own you now". I said "yeah, so what else is new".
I have to go back to the doctor now and see what magical shit we're going to do next. I'm pretty sure she's going to call for an exorcism.

Two more shots in my delicate little ass. More dragon breath. Now waiting for chest Xray. Just conjecture on my part, but I suspect that both lungs have collapsed, all my blood has turned to snot, and my brain has atrophied to the size of a peanut. OK that last one may not be related.

Day 3 - 6
I died. But I got better.

Day 7
Finally getting better. Bronchial pneumonia is a decidedly sucky thing to have. By consuming twice my body weight in steroids and antibiotics I did at least manage to stay out of the hospital. I still have a couple of weeks to deal with the aftermath of the steroids. They do NOT play well with my psych medications. Batshit crazy and breathing or nicely medicated and smothering. No contest - heeers JOHNNY!

Day 8 - 16
It has been pointed out to me on several occasions, that I might have a propensity to overshare a bit. That there are things best not mentioned that I mention. Regularly. I will try to keep that in mind. So, I have this huge snot wad in my snorkalophagus pipe. At some point during the last week it has become sentient and subsequently possessed by a particularly tenacious demon. Now, I have not studied demonic snot wads enough to know whether they have little claws like a lizard or little suction cups like an octopus or little round sticky pads like tiny green frogs. I suppose it is even possible that it has afixed itself in place with duct tape or perhaps Gorilla Glue. Whatever the case, it has not allowed me to extricate and expectorate as is my fervent desire. Never in the history of mankind has anyone ever wanted to "hock & phloooie" a demonically possessed snot wad out the back door and across the yard as I do at this moment. We all have our personal demons and our internal battles I guess.


There are some naughty words. I am too lazy to count them up. Screw you.

5:30 in the morning, and I have been up all night watching the most frighteningly stupid movies I could possibly find. The nail biter I'm currently watching is cleverly named "The Incredibly Strange Creatures Who Stopped Living and became Mixed-up Zombies". It is true. I swear it on my disproportionately scrawny ass. I could not possibly make up a title like that.

Some good has come out of it though. I have been inspired to create my own artistic endeavor. The retelling of "Godzilla" through interpretive dance. I'm planning a one-man show with a great deal of gratuitous nudity and violence. It's going to be artsy as hell. And you know I'm all about the arts.

Naughty words:

• Ass
• Hell