My mind is a dangerous place. Make sure you wear a cup.

Friday, August 11, 2006

Follow me.....

The move is complete! I have moved to Wordpress and my own domain. My new address is:

Please adjust your browsers, search engines, favorites, bookmarks, bloglines, blogrolling, trousers, underwear, thinking, attitude, and state of mind to the new URL.

We apologize for the trouble. But we look forward to seeing you at the new digs!

Thursday, August 10, 2006

Just a little turbulence worries

Easy now, folks. Don't panic, everybody stay frosty. We may be experiencing some turbulence today. At some point today the move to Wordpress and the new domain will begin, and things may get a bit wonky for a bit. We don't have any air sickness bags, so if you start to feel nauseous try to throw up on a poor person.

With that in mind, I figured I would just post a few pictures today that I have been holding onto for just such an occasion.

Here is an excellent reason why Mrs. Fab and I do not have children. The horror! The horror!

Can you imagine? I am shuddering as I type this. You can't tell, but I totally am.

As for this kid, she must have been lost:

And this? Best. Babyfood. Ever.

And last but not least. What do you think? Think this smoking area is a little heavy handed?

Okay, that's it for today. Nothing more to see here. Hopefully next time you fly Pointless Drivel we will have a shiny new airplane so you can travel in style.

That analogy totally sucked. But it's late and I'm tired.


Wednesday, August 09, 2006

I can't resist a music meme...

But first, I am going to try my best to go back to putting up one post per day. Well, two if I do a "Spiritual Side" post. That's the problem with having all this free time. I could easily do ten posts a day if it weren't for my impressive self-control.

If you have not yet clicked over and given some love to my tenant, Noi, please do so. She has been a surprisingly good tenant this week. She has promised to give me a massage later, and I think she is going to tell me a bedtime story too, because she said something about a happy ending.


I saw this at the always fabulous Dixie's site and I just had to have it. I won't be able to fill it out as completely as she did, because my musical tastes are not as well rounded. But I'll do the best I can, and where I fall short I will readily cop to my lack of knowledge or interest.

This was fun and a bit challenging to do. It's hard to narrow all the possible choices to just a few. Plus I had to do a little research to make sure I put songs in the right category. I also added a few segments of my own.

The idea behind the meme is that it's about music, and that you can put up to three answers to any question. But no more. One answer is OK, two answers is OK, three answers is OK. Four is not OK, and five is right out. Unless otherwise indicated, you can only choose songs, and be specific--putting "anything by Madonna" doesn't count.


Song(s) That I Loath to the Core of My Being
Stairway to Heaven - Led Zeppelin
Just Another Brick in the Wall - Pink Floyd
Aqualung - Jethro Tull

Musical artist(s) That I Loath to the Core of My Being
John Denver
Michael Bolton
Celine Dion

Rolling Stones Song(s) I Love
19th Nervous Breakdown
Sympathy For The Devil
Paint it Black

Beatles Song(s) I Love
Paperback Writer
Baby You Can Drive My Car
A Day In the Life

Who Song(s) I Love
Pictures of Lily
Who Are You
I Can't Explain

Dylan Song(s) I Love
Highway 61 Revisited
Tangled Up in Blue

Reggae Songs I Love
Sorry. Out of my element here. The only songs I know that have reggae elements are early Police songs

Country Song(s) I Love
The Song Remembers When-Trisha Yearwood
What Mattered Most--Ty Herndon
How Do You Like Me Now-Toby Keith

Country Artist(s) I Love
Patty Loveless
The Dixie Chicks
Brad Paisley

Movie Soundtrack(s) I Love
Purple Rain
Reservoir Dogs
This is Spinal Tap

Musical Sountrack(s) I Love
My Fair Lady

Cover Song(s) I Love
Knockin' On Heaven's Door--Warren Zevon
Hazy Shade of Winter--The Bangles
Me and Bobby McGee--Janis Joplin

Contemporary Top-40 Artist(s) I Secretly Love
Anna Nalick
The Pussycat Dolls (shut up)

Song(s) That Bring Me To Tears
The Walk--Sawyer Brown
Keep Me in Your Heart--Warren Zevon

Song(s) That Make Me Shake My Ass
Neutron Dance--The Pointer Sisters
Lady Marmelade--Patti Labelle

Classical Composer(s) I Love
Not this boy, sorry.

Rap/Hip Hop Songs I Love
Cleaning Out My Closet - Eminem
Mama Said Knock You Out - LL Cool J

70s Disco Song(s) I Love
Funkytown - Lipps, Inc.
Turn The Beat Around - Vickie Sue Robinson
That's The Way I Like It - K.C. & the Sunshine Band

70s Supergroup Song(s) I Love
Come Sail Away--Styx
Most of the supergroup songs I love were made in the early 80's

Metal Song(s) I Love
Don't Fear the Reaper--Blue Oyster Cult
That's as metal as I get, I am afraid

Novelty Song(s) I Love
The Homecoming Queen's Got a Gun - Julie Brown
Convoy--CW McCall (I refuse to apologize for this)

New Wave Song(s) I Love
Don't Stand So Close to Me - The Police
No Compassion - Talking Heads
One Way Or Another - Blondie

Soul/R&B Songs I Love
Use Me - Bill Withers
Tracks of My Tears - Smokey Robinson
(Sittin' On) The Dock of the Bay - Otis Redding

Power Ballad(s) I Love
Every Rose Has Its Thorn - Poison
Amanda - Boston
Can't Fight This Feeling - REO Speedwagon

Pre 1950s Song(s) I Love
Was there music before 1950?

Punk Song(s) I Love
London Calling - The Clash
Rock and Roll Nigger - Patti Smith
Psycho Killer - Talking Heads

80's Song(s) I Love
Never Say Never - Romeo Void
Don't Pay The Ferryman - Chris DeBurgh
Come On Eileen--Dexy's Midnight Runners

Singer/Songwriter Songs I Love
Seven year Ache - Rosanne Cash
Sex + Gasoline - Rodney Crowell
Love Like Blood--John Hiatt

MTV Video(s) I Love
Objection (Tango)--Shakira
Boys of Summer--Don Henley
Centerfold--J. Geils Band

CMT Video(s) I Love
Celebrity--Brad Paisley
Born To Fly--Sara Evans
How Do You Like Me Now--Toby Keith

Song(s) to Have Sex To
Wicked Game--Chris Isaak
You're Lost That Loving Feeling--Righteous Brothers
Fuck Her Gently--Tenacious D (just making sure you're still paying attention)

None of the Above Song(s) I Love
You're So Vain--Carly Simon
I'm an Adult Now--The Pursuit of Happiness
The Heart of the Matter--Don Henley

That was exhausting. But I loves me some music!

Oh stop whining. I'm not going to tag anyone.

Tuesday, August 08, 2006

Et Tu, Father Time?


It appears I am getting age spots on the backs of my hands.

Great. Only one thing to do now.

Car? check
Garden hose? check
Duct tape? check
Unventilated area? check

'Scuse me, willya?

The spiritual side of Mr. Fabulous (part 3)

It's not common knowledge, but when I die, I am gonna be tapped for halo distribution in Heaven. So if you want a good one (not one of those refurbished deals) you might want to start being nice to me now.

I'm just saying.

Panty Meme, Panty Meme (say it three times fast)

Okay, so Tug tagged me with this Panty Meme because I commented on Martiza's site that I was disappointed she hadn't tagged me with this (for the record, Tug, I'm pretty sure I didn't whine).

Hey, the first rule at Pointless Drivel is to accept all challenges. Hence this post. So here is the deal:

Welcome to the panty meme. Here's how it works.
1. Copy the entire text of this post (the part shown in italics) and post in your blog. Reminder:Do not copy photos.
2. Add your name and link to the Panty Meme Participants list below.
3. Post a picture of panties. It's fun if you post a picture of your own panties, but it does not have to be. And BTW you don't need to be wearing them, but it's your blog you can do what you like.
4. Tag two people and change out the names below.That's it. Oh yeah....Have fun!


Mr. Fab

Tense Teacher (stick me with a creative writing meme, willya?)
Ms. Demmie

I feel like tagging more, but I won't break the rules, like some people I could mention, eh Tuggster? :)

Now, I showed this meme to Mrs. Fab, because I figured I would need her to take the photo(s). I was in full diva mode, wondering out loud which shot would be most artistic. Should I be wearing them? Perhaps with them tugged down a bit to show my sexy sexy tan lines? Should I wear the black ones or the red ones? What would be the best angle? Which room had the best light? So many things to consider...

Mrs. Fab solved the problem easily. "Why don't you take a picture of them on their native soil? The floor."

Monday, August 07, 2006

One brain, over easy...

Things I was thinking about while I was in the tanning bed just a few minutes ago:

1. "Art, commerce, art, commerce, art, commerce..."
2. "I wonder what happened to the mirror in here."
3. "Why is Autumn never working when I come in? I like Autumn"
4. "I can't forget I am meeting Janette for lunch today at Pomodoro.
5. "It sucks that there is a Starbucks next door. I miss my Frappacino's."
6. "I will never have the guts to walk into the nail salon next door."
7. "I need to go to Publix today to replace the Coke Zero of Mrs. Fab's that I am drinking today." (sorry baby)
8. "I need to write my resume today."
9. "I could just update it if I could find the old one. It's probably where my earpiece is."
10. "I wonder if I took off my eye protection, I would absorb the ultraviolet light and develop cool superpowers like Cyclops."

My dooced "to do" list...

As many of you know, on July 26, 2006 at approximately 5:00 pm I was dooced. Sacked. Canned. Fired. Terminated. Because of my blog.

Now that the grieving process has run its course, it is time for me to be practical, to think of the future. Today is the first day of the rest of my life after all, correct?

Here is my post-dooced "to do" list:

I am going to need to choose a shopping cart to put all my worldly belongings in. Metal or plastic? Metal is more durable, and can likely carry more, but it is heavier. Plastic is much lighter, but will it hold up when the going gets tough? Hmm...

I am going to need a shiv. When I am in line at the soup kitchen, sometimes the jostling for position can get pretty intense. Especially on days they have crackers. I am going to need a little protection in case something goes down.

Maybe I better get two shivs, in case I break one off in some guy's aorta. I think toothbrushes with the bottom end filed down is a popular choice. Not only are they deadly, but with the color choices available, they can also be quite festive.

You see a lot of poor people line their shoes with newspaper when they start to come apart. I think this is a mistake. Newsprint doesn't hold up well under the stress and strain of living on the street. I think glossier paper is the way to go. I need to start saving those Parade magazines that come in the Sunday paper.

I also need to start stockpiling those plastic bags that you get at the supermarket. I can make my own underpants out of those.

I need to grow a beard. Not just for practical reasons (razors and shaving cream just aren't in the budget anymore) but I think it would look cool. And I hope it's one of those long flowing beards, you know? Because then I would look wise. And my street name could be The Prophet. The key to success on the street is often a cool name, you know. The Prophet. I like that. Commands respect, right? I can picture two cops driving by in a squad car and one turns to the other and says "Look. There's The Prophet taking a leak next to those garbage cans in the alley."

That's what I have planned so far. I feel pretty good about it. The devil is in the details, you know?

I'll tell you who I feel really bad for. My renter. She's gonna be out on the street too. And she's frail and delicate. She can't be humping a shopping cart all over the place. She'll have to go back to Singapore. And you know what they do to homeless people there, don't you?

Every see Soylent Green?

Stop over and see her before she please go see her if you haven't already.

Sunday, August 06, 2006

She is an evil one, she is...

Who? Tense Teacher, that's who. She tagged me with a meme from hell. It's creative writing. I have to write a chapter in an ongoing story. What the heck is she thinking? This is a good story. I can only fuck it up, believe me. How does she know I'm not going to fill it with over sexed lemurs, Nazi frogmen, Canadian cannibals and a guy named Frank? And a puppy.

I don't think I can write normal. You think my writing style was hatched just for this blog? I can remember a creative writing assignment in my senior year in high school. We were shown a picture of a shopping cart full of wigs and we had to write a story about it. My story was about a crazed madman who was roaming the department store scalping women and tossing the tops of their heads in his cart.

Everyone knew which one was mine. I am not hooked up right.

You can read the first three chapters here. And you can read Squid's chapter four here. And you can read Tense's chapter five here.

Ah crap. Here goes nothing...

"You!" I exclaimed, as he sat there with a bemused expression on his face, "What did you do to me?"

Karen grabbed my arm and tried to pull me away. "We have to get out of here" she hissed, "Now!"

She was stronger than she looked, and she managed to drag me out the door before I could speak again. Once we were down the steps and out onto the sidewalk I whirled around to face her, confused and angry. "What is the matter with you? That's him! That's the guy with the quarter, with the..magic..with..he started all this! I have to find out what's going on!"

"I already know" Karen said, "And trust me, we have to get away from here. Don't argue, please! I'll explain when we get back to my shop."

She pulled me down the street to where her 1974 Ford Pinto sat idling at the curb. Karen always left the motor running. She claimed she had placed a spell on the car which kept it safe from vandals. I thought the truth of the matter was that no one wanted to steal it. I never shared this opinion with Karen, though.

She hustled me into the car and scooted around to the driver's side and slid in. She stomped on the gas pedal without so much as a glance in the rearview, and I braced myself for a crash as I heard a driver behind us jam on his brakes. No impact. He must have stopped in time. I glanced over at Karen as we rocketed down the street. Her lips were pursed, her jaw was clenched, and her knuckles were white on the steering wheel. For a moment, I forgot the magician in the jail cell, Mr. Ferguson, everything.

"Karen?" I touched her arm. "For God's sake, what's wrong?"

"Not now," her lower lip was now quivering. "We have to get to the store. I have to show you something. You need to believe."

"I believe, I believe! I told you that," I said plaintively, "After all that's happened, I believe."

She glanced over at me, up at the rearview, and then back to me. "Then believe me, girl, when I say that we need to get to the store or we're both dead." She glanced into the rearview mirror again.

"What? Are we being followed?" I looked back through the rear window but couldn't discern if anyone was tailing us. I looked back at her. "Dead? Karen, this doesn't make any sense. Talk to me!"

Karen jerked the wheel and the car squealed and protested as it straightened out and shot down the side street where Twinky Things was located. She hit the brakes hard and the Pinto screeched to a stop at the curb in front of the shop. She pushed me against the door, "Go, go!" she urged.

"Let me get the door open first Karen!" I pulled the latch, she pushed again, and I tumbled out onto the curb in a heap, "Karen!" I yelled, "Damn it!"

I scrambled to my feet as Karen got out on her side. I began to brush myself off as I angrily began, "Karen, what is wrong with you? What on earth..."

The black SUV struck her before I even knew it was there. The big vehicle seemed to have come out of nowhere. I watched disbelievingly as she was tossed like a ragdoll into the air and over the truck as it sped down the street, never slowing down. I watched, transfixed as Karen's body seemed to pause in midair, and then land in the street, broken, with a sound that chilled my blood.

I stood there for several moments, frozen, my heart hammering in my chest. My friend...

I took a tentative step forward toward her, then a second and a third. I knew she was dead. He neck and her limbs were at unnatural angles. A growing pool of blood spread out from her body, and...

I paused. Leaking out of her head. Was that...

Brains. Oh God...

I vomited into the street. Tears filled my eyes and I had to get down on my hands and knees. I vomited again. After a minute, when I had nothing left, I begin to pull myself up by grabbing onto the Pinto.

A pair of hands grabbed me and helped me stand.

I whirled, terrified.

It was Will.

Okay. I did my part. I am going to tag...CrankyProf. She is so erudite and stylish. I just know she is going to do a fabulous job. I can think of no one better to pick up the baton!

Now that you have basked in the mediocrity of my prose, head on over and say hi to my renter, Noi, will you please? I need to head over there too. She has had a lot more people sign her guest map than I have. I must find out her pie? Erotic massages? Three Stooges impressions?

I'll figure it out...

Saturday, August 05, 2006

Back in the saddle again... a renter, that is. On whim I advertised a room for rent, and as luck would have it, one of the very first bidders was a favorite of mine and a classy lady. Noi from Voicing My Thoughts.

Noi is from Singapore, which for those of you who are geographically challenged, is just outside Atlantic City, New Jersey.

The only reservation I had about renting to her was that she is a HUGE Oprah fan, while I detest Oprah with the white hot intensity of a thousand suns.

Pop on over and see her, will you? She is everything I am not. Classy, elegant, smart, and sophisticated. And her blog is purty.

I have a cockfight to go to. I'll preach about her at greater length tomorrow.

Be a pal! Go over and say hi! For me?

For the love of God, make it stop!

Granny is a tranny.

That is the phrase I have had in my head since Thursday morning. I don't know why. I think I saw the word "granny" somewhere and just added the rest.

I can't get it out of my head. I find myself saying it myself all the time. Sometimes I sing it when no one is around. Mrs. Fab doesn't even know about it. Until she reads this.

Granny is a tranny. Granny is a tranny. Granny is a tranny.

What does it mean? Could I have heard this before? Is it a bizarre song of some sort? Does anyone know?

Granny is a tranny. Granny is a tranny. Granny is a tranny.

It made me giggle at first. But now it is scaring the crap out of me. I can't get rid of it.

Granny is a tranny. Granny is a tranny. Granny is a....aaaaaarhg! Fuck!

Hold me.

Just so you know...

...I have decided against any tanning of the nethers, although I will continue to tan. But I think I'm gonna cut down my visits by a third.

...My auto fill boxes are once again pristine, thanks to the fabulous Lynda.

...I am going to solve the post problem by simply making certain posts password protected when I move to Wordpress. That way I don't have to move anything.

...I have determined that I will have to categorize every single posts. I already have, on the new site, certain categories anyway.

...I think I have sent a fantasy football invite to everyone who asked for one. If you have not received one, or you missed the first call, please let me know. Again, it is a free auto-draft league.

...I have ultimately decided against a chat box for now. I think I have enough to keep up with at the moment.

...I have, sadly, resigned myself to the fact the my bluetooth earpiece is gone. I can only assume that either aliens or the government are involved. Or both.

My target date for the big move to Wordpress, new template, and new domain is Friday August 11.

Once again, I would like to thank everyone for chiming in with their assistance and opinions. I love you all, in a very chaste and innocent way.

Friday, August 04, 2006

The male tanner's quandary...

Okay. Take a deep breath people. This one is about my penis.

There will be no pictures.

This year I have become addicted to tanning. Yes, I go to a tanning salon. Yes, I live in Florida. Yes, I realize many of you think that makes me weird. Well trust me, if it wasn't that fact that made you think I was weird there are a myriad of other facts you could choose from.

Now how many posts about a penis are going to contain the word "myriad"? How well read am I?

When I first started tanning I was as white as a ghost. I was so without color I was practically translucent. So I had to start slowly. Six minutes. Eight minutes. You get the idea. And when I started I kept my underwear on. I did not want the nethers to get crispy, you know? Nothing worse than crispy nethers.

And I was glad I did. Because those first few weeks were a little uncomfortable as I laid the base down. Lots of aloe was employed, if you get my drift.

So it has been several months now and I have quite a nice tan, thank you very much. Of course, when I am naked, it looks like I am wearing a pair of very white shorts. My nethers and ass practically glow in the dark. If we put a blacklight in the bedroom we could make some pretty freaky movies. Blow your mind, homes.

So now I am thinking that maybe it is time to go the extra mile and go for the all-over tan. This leads to many questions. Obviously I can't sit there naked for the whole twenty minutes. When it was over, you would be able to fry an egg on my balls. But how many minutes to start? Five? Six? And should I do it at the beginning or the end? If I do it at the beginning, the lamps will be a little cooler, but then I have to get out, put the underwear on, and get back in. If I do it at the end, I can just take off the underwear while I am in the bed, but the lamps will be hotter.

See what I mean?

I was hoping the manager would be there when I stopped in yesterday, because she is probably about my age and a retired cop, and has seen it all, so I was hoping to ask her advice. But she was not there. And I was not about to ask the giggly 19 year old blonde who was manning the desk anything about my Dingus Deluxe. So I had to wing it.

I decided to do it at the end. Of course that meant I had to keep checking the timer to see how many minutes were left, but that was a minor inconvenience. Then, with about six minutes to go I took the plunge and whipped off the briefs.

And then the neuroticism kicked in. Big time. Overdrive.

I worried about my Dangling Participle. What if there was floppage to one side? Do I need to be cognizant of that? If there is, do I need to turn it the other way halfway through, like when you cook a hotdog?

Sometimes it retracts to a certain degree like a frightened turtle. What if that happens for a number of sessions in a row? Then if I get an erection will my Fetus Feeler have rings on it? You know: brown/white/brown/white/brown/white/with a brown head? What the hell kind of look is that?

Is the answer to make sure my Hammer of Thor is erect during the session? That way I would ensure an all over tan. However, that leads to other complications. Like walking out of the room and into the reception area with a big old boner. That would sure give the coed something to giggle about.

I don't want to "take care of business" while I am lying there. The poor girls have enough to clean out of those things with all the lotion and sweat. I don't think they want to be scooping cum out of the bed.

Plus what if I have the top of the bed low enough that the tip of my Man Cannon touches it while standing at attention? I think that would be my least favorite place on my body to get burnt.

I have heard that some men put a sock on it when they tan. That to me makes no sense. Then when you are naked it would look like you were wearing a white condom all the time. To me, that image is very disturbing. Plus the sock would dangle over your biscuits, am I right? That is not a good look.

It should be an easy thing to do, shouldn't it? Yet this is the kind of minutia I get bogged down in all the time.

It's a wonder I even leave the house some days.

Thursday, August 03, 2006

Questions? I have questions...

Okay my friends...I need some advice, and I have a few other questions to ask y'all. I have very little mind of my own, and so I need to rely on others to do my thinking for me. Actually, I am pretty brain dead as I type this. I haven't slept for shit in a week, and I am a zombie. I am going to have to get something else from my doctor today.

Okay, here we go:

*Chat Boxes. Should I put one in my sidebar? As time goes by, I think I like the idea of one more and more, as a way for peeps to just throw out a how-do-you-do, ya know? But I can't remember seeing any male bloggers who have one. For that reason, should I pass? Will I have my testicles reposessed if I get a chat box? And if so, will I be retro-fitted for a vagina?

*Categories. I am soon getting a new template, moving to Wordpress, and will be on my new domain. Yes, I know I have been saying that for a long time but I swear, it's really gonna happen. Here is my question. With Wordpress I will of course have the option of categorizing my posts. I like that idea. But I have over 500 posts already in the can. Is it worth it to go back and categorize them all? I would have to quit my...oh yeah. Well, it would still take a lot of time, wouldn't it? However, my OCD will not allow me to just categorize from this point on, leaving all those other posts floating out there homeless. So it's all or nothing. What should it be?

*Does anyone know if I can start another Blogspot blog and move certain posts from this one to that one? I mean, without having to copy and paste? Is there a utility I can use to do that? I just don't think I want to take all of this blog with me when I move. Especially the earier stuff, which is crap.

*You know those fill-in boxes, like when you are commenting and you are asked for name, email, and url, and how once you type in the first letter or two it fills it in for you, or gives you a drop down menu to click? Over the last few months I have made several false entries. Consequently, when the box drops down, it includes a bunch of useless choices. Is there a way to get rid of those? They are really starting to annoy me. Update: Lynda knew how to fix it. Lynda is a genius. All hail Lynda! I said hail her, dammit!

*I have a couple of openings still in my Yahoo Fantasy Football league. It is a free league. Anyone play fantasy football and want an invite? Of course, if a lot of people want to play, we can start a whole blogger league. Yeah, that's right, like I need one more thing to be a geek about.

And last but not least, where in the world is my fucking bluetooth earpiece?

Wednesday, August 02, 2006

The spiritual side of Mr. Fabulous (part 2)

I have a Get Out of Hell Free card. Which means that when the end times come, and many of you are being consumed by flaming goats and being terrorized by game show hosts, I will be all like "Ha ha, so long suckers!"

It's a feather in my cap.

Cocaine, Meth and Heroin

by Shelli aka Lil' Fab

My brother! Hmph! He turned me into an addict. Well, I was one anyway, but he just egged me on. Gave me new things to be addicted to. The cocaine, meth and heroin of the internet.

I used to be fine. Sometimes I would dabble in a little heroin, aka site stats. I would check now and then. I was content to see 50 or so a day. Then he introduced the coke to me. You may know it as BlogMad. Yah. If I am awake and near a computer, you can bet I am surfing BlogMad. Have you seen me there? That dazed look in my eyes? Suddenly, I was popular, man. My site stats went out of control. They went from 40 to 50 a day to as many as 170 one day. I hit 15,000 hits on my site meter on July 11 and currently, I am a little over 18,000 hits. So, now I am on coke and heroin.

Ahh, but the best was yet to come. I told him I am not interested in meth, or as he calls it, Blog Explosion. I will NOT battle. I Do Not want to rent to or from anyone. I am not doing it. Until he asked me to vote for him one day. Well, he didn't ask. He blackmailed me. "If you don't sign up and vote for me, I'm telling Mom about the time you..." (Ahhh, you thought I was going to tell you what he had on me. No way! That's between him and I. And some other people. That's all I am saying.)

You guessed it. Not only did he get me to sign up and vote for him, he got me to battle. It was sweet at first. High all the time. I won 12 battles in a row. No losses. 12-0! I thought, "This is awesome!"

He pushed, "Sis, you're kickin' ass. You'll get to 100-0!"

I thought I would be happy to get to 20-0. But it was not to be. And the lows, man, they are low. You want to get back and take another hit. Can't let your rank fall. Gotta keep it up there.

Now it is a vicious circle. Hit the heroin. Snort some coke. Take a hit of meth. Start all over again. Keep those site stats up. You gotta surf BM if you want to do that. Keep your rank up on BE, but you gotta battle to do that. I'm dancing as fast as I can. Thanks, bro!

Psst...sis...over here. Hey, you wanna try something that'll make you feel real good? It's called MySpace. Go on, take a taste. First one's free...special deal for family members...

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

The spiritual side of Mr. Fabulous (part 1)

God often speaks to me, but more often than not it is only about gum.

Potpourri? Smorgasborg? Whatever...

I had a doctor's appointment yesterday. It was with a doctor I had not met before. Here's a fun fact: If you meet a doctor for the first time, and he does not understand your sense of humor, and you ask him, deadpan, what the street value is of the drugs he is writing you scripts for, he will not find it humorous.

The word "ejaculate", if you say it really quick, kind of sounds like "jacket" but trust me, you don't want to get them mixed up.

I was on Interstate 75 today and I passed a Dodge Caravan. There was a box tied to the top of the Dodge Caravan. It was not a big box, I would say it was about the size of regular size cooler. It was actually more of a crate, with wooden slats, and there was newspaper all around the inside, so you couldn't see what was inside. But here is what I found so vexing: It was a relatively small box, and there was plenty of room in the van. Why tie it to the roof? What on earth would be in the box that would cause them to do that?

I also saw a car that had its gas tank flap torn off. You know, the little door you open to get to the gas tank? Ripped off. How is that possible? I am 44 years old, I have never seen that before.

Okay, I have thought about what I want to do for my next career. So far I have narrowed it down to Lemur Wrangler or Evil Genius.

I had a close call in the tanning bed today. A couple of minutes into my session I realized that the flap in my briefs was askew, and my winky was exposed. Can you imagine if I had gone the whole twenty minutes like that? I am wincing just imagining it.

I was thinking today that if I formed a band of crimefighters a totally cool name for us would be the Cocknockers.

Mrs. Fab seems genuinely perplexed when I follow her around, asking her in a 1970's blaxploitation voice if she wants some Chocolate Lovin'.

I am still trying to get around to see everyone, but I have still been slammed and my Bloglines is not letting my know when most of y'all update. For some reason, I blame Tony Danza. I often like to curse him and blame him for all of society's ills.

Okay, to the best I can figure out, only one other person from my high school class has a MySpace account. Does that mean that they are all lame, or me and the other person are lame?

I still can't find my earpiece. I have looked everywhere.

I blame Tony Danza.
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