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

Most brilliantly nefarious scheme ever. The aliens are going to beam me up to the North Pole. I'm going to infiltrate Santa's workshop disguised as an elf. Then I'm going to steal the list of all the naughty girls. Turns out aliens like naughty Earth girls.

So I decided that tonight would be a good night for some "nuke and eat" noodles. Mainly because there's nothing else in the house to eat. And by nothing I mean cat food. I'm not quite there yet. Anyway, I get me a pot, throw some noodles in it, put some water in there, like the package said, added a plop of butter, like the package said, and nuked the hell out of it, like the package said. Guess what? It sucked. It tasted like feet. This was a job for Old Bay Man! Yeah, I dumped a shitload of Old Bay in there on my noodles. Stirred um up and tasted them. Bam! Instant Blob of Noodley Goodness. I found a piece of bread with no green stuff and consumed my noodles and non-green bread with a generous portion of loud smacky noises.

The moral of the story is two fold. First, Old Bay is the true savior of shitty cooking. And second, get up off your lazy ass Melvin, and go to the damn grocery store.


Naughty words:
Hell
Shitload, shitty
Ass
Damn

Christmas Concerns

I don't know what figgy pudding is. But I do not believe I would occupy someone's home and swear not to leave until my demands for it are met. That just doesn't seem to fall within the parameters of Christmas spirit as I understand it.

Another Christmas Oddity that I find objectionable is to have my little hall decked with limbs full of pokey leaves that would scratch my legs and make it difficult to go to my potty to pee. I do not know how this could be festive. I'm sure it would be quite bothersome and unpleasant.

Another thing I believe should be cleared up is the issue of gay apparel. Now don't get me wrong. I am not homophobic by any means. I think Love Is Love and everybody should be happy. However, I am a confident heterosexual. Aside from the trying on of random tiaras from time to time, I am quite happy with the manly man clothing l usually wear.

I should also mention that I'm not at all comfortable with some stranger knowing when I'm sleeping and knowing when I'm awake and knowing when I'm good and knowing when I'm bad. First of all what is his definition of bad. We might have vastly differing opinions on that subject. I do not believe I should be held to someone else's standard of behavior. To have someone stalking me is bad enough, but for that person to be judging me on what he sees is a whole new level of creepy.

Roasted chestnuts and pumpkin pie suck and snow at any time of year is a pain in the ass. I could go on but I think I'm going to sit down with a drink and watch the Grinch.

Naughty words :
Shit 1 time

I have noticed from movies and TV that vampires never get VD. They drink blood indiscriminately with no protection yet they never become infected. Are they immune somehow? If so, why aren't our scientists studying them in detail to find out what it is about them that makes them impervious to VD? Come on science do I have to do all the thinking for you?

Give me the strength to change the things I can, the grace to accept the things I cannot, and a large breasted blond named Bamby, a really cool car, a shitload of money, my own island, swimming pool full of butterscotch pudding, a gold toilet, an otter named Bobo, fuzzy slippers, a handlebar mustache, the ability to fly, and new pants.


Naughty word:
Shit

Just washed down a BC powder with a Stella Artois. Don't do that. For the love of all that matters, don't do it.