my brain just threw up a little…

Evil: God isn’t interested in technology. He cares nothing for the microchip or the silicon revolution. Look how he spends his time, forty-three species of parrots! Nipples for men!
Robert: Slugs.
Evil: Slugs! HE created slugs! They can’t hear. They can’t speak. They can’t operate machinery. Are we not in the hands of a lunatic?

a godzilla banging a fuel tanker… priceless.

Dear Woman.

Please go away. At this point in our relationship, it is best that you just leave. Lets just dodge this ugly baby of the romance, which will grow up to be a rather fat slow human, who on the best of days will not enrage bus drivers thus not provoking them into a vehicular homicide. We are at the stage where it is not too late to pull out! You have sent me a message laced with nonchalant suggestions of how how little you care for my interests, and how important it is for you to uphold your interests. As though my interest in you is a driving force comparable to that of a mac-truck. As though you are the epitome of perfection, beauty, grace, and wisdom, sought after by all humans equipped with testicles and anything resembling libido inhibiting their common sense. You must be expecting every single male on this side of the planet running after you with deed to their house in their left hand, their wallet in their right, a 2.6Kt engagement ring in their teeth, balancing a book of poetry written just for you on their head full of hair,  clenching their sculpted buttocks on the bouquet of elegant long stemmed roses to match your lipstick, and that longing “puppy-in-love” look on their faces.

Oh dear… no wonder your profile has been collecting dust rhinos for over three years.  Please look at my profile again. Look closely, please. Do you see anything that says “Seeking over-ambitious, high maintenance, gold-digging, drama queen.”  ? Well, when you see THAT on my profile, you may go ahead and drop me a line asking me about my mating habits, my looks, my accent, and my income again. Until then – do the world a favor, hire a surgeon who would be willing to suck away about 120lbs off of you, fix your teeth, give you a nose-job, saw off your head, and mail it to Jerry Springer. This way, you see, you will not be pestering those who really do not give two flying dry chihuahua turds for your attitude. You will also get all the attention you ever needed. And there will even be a crowd of shock-starved idiots to be dramatized by your very pretty head. They will also be safe from falling further into the abyss of arrogant ignorance, a place where you certainly would send them to if you were able to speak to them, thus lowering their standards.

Good day to you, Pretty.

P.S. Before any fem friend I have thinks it is about them – it is NOT! It was some dafty Cali bimbo on match poking at me with some serious arrogance and rudeness. It made me a little grumpy.

Dear Fluffy Lord! Thanks for pointers! I guess I am just way too picky.

This one looks too fake. That’s a stretched fake smile that would cost a car salesman his job.

This one is more than I can lift, and so scary I won’t stick a harpoon in it, never you mind me sticking my precious in this.

This one looks like my mom. It is not my mom, and according to the listing this one is younger, but she sure as hell looks like my mom.

This one looks like a kid, has two kids, recently separated and is looking for a guy younger than she is, a guy who makes 75K+, and has no kids. Who is she kidding.

This one is too young. “Enjoyz dansing…” – appears to be a little daft too.

This one is 71 and looks very serious. If she looked a little less serious I would be more sarcastic, but without sarcasm I will just say “Last roll.”

This one is lying. I can see 3rd chin in the 1/2-faced picture, and a fold of fat on her wrist. 130lbs 5’4″ she is NOT!

This one looks like Death. No, seriously. The Death from Discworld. With skin, sans the scythe. Oh, and big hair on that.

This one “curvy” and “wanted a Heart for God” – fail goes both ways on this one, I guess… and no picture. I cannot lift “cuvry” and “no picture.” I also do not fit that heart-god thing. I am a heartless twat, and I do not believe in their god. Next!

This one lists “bodytype – average.” Fail – I can see her upper arm, it is bigger than my leg. If this is average, men would be a lot more polite to ladies. On average, that is.

This one is an epic fail all over the place – wrong age, wrong bodytype, wrong … just about everything. Come to think of it, I think its a woman, but with this service you can just never be sure.

Dear Fluffy Lord! Remember that talk about Smart, Beautiful, and Kind. This bunch I just looked at are not fitting these criteria at all. Are you hinting that I would be better off single? It really is far more appealing than spending any time with any of the fine ladies whose profiles I just looked at in the last hour.

sigh

NEXT!

Goat the Gout is back. Well, it is starting to gnaw on my foot… again.

I have never shot a goat. In fact, I have never shot an animal! This one I would shoot with no remorse. In fact, I am so angry with this Goat the Gout, I would not even bother with a gun. A knife would do fine. Not even a sword. A knife would do just fine. A blunt one. In fact a butter-knife would be preferred.  Die Goat, DIE!

There is something wrong with my head. I sat in the waking stupor for the last ten minutes telling myself that it is not a reason to feel guilty when you overslept and did not make it to a social function on a weekend. There is really no reason to feel bad aside from … well, I wanted to make it there.

It’s all fine and well, but I would like to throw some hot food and drink down my hatch, and run off to Steven’s to stick my hands in the fire and have a few good jolly laughs, hopefully not at my expense.

And I will do the theater tomorrow for their last showing.

Hey, I am allowed to oversleep the day after my Bday! (bidet, lol)

and now, dog walking!