I Am So High Right Now

Dude! I am sooo high right now!

Unbelievable...wow... hey, hey, did you, did you ever, like, you could, you know, you could... I heard this, you... if you, you took out all your ummmm brain cells, like, you took them one by one out of, took them from your brain, you know?

And you took out and laid, and put them down on a table or something like that and laid them down, each of them, and you couldn't even count them!

There would be so many!

You couldn't, there are too many brain cells to count... plus, you don't have a brain anymore, so it'd be hard to, to count them... anyway.... I'm so fucking high right now!

Yea!!!

Here's the complete list of the shit in my system right now:


1. Marywannafuckme

2. Diet cocaine

3. High-grade niacin

4. A whole assload of little round pills that had 'm's on them

5. WD-40

6. Heroine

7. Sugar smack

8. Quality shit

9. WD-41

10. L, S, and D, separately

11. Meta-amphetamine

12. Piss, vinegar

13. Imported pure Panamanian carbon

14. Ass'ed

15. WWJD-40

Have a Coke and a ???!

Secret documents forwarded to me by Secret Document Forwarding Services, International (1919 Rue de la Suspect Lettuce, Planchettes du Nord, France) detail the excruciating decision the good people at the Coca-Cola Company faced in trying to determine the proper ending to their famous "Have a Coke and a Smile" tagline from the early 1980s.  

Here are some of the options their creative teams developed, and why company elders rejected each.

1. Have a Coke and a cock! -- The two words were just too similar, leading people to two-fisting carbonated beverages or penises, but never in the strict one-to-one ratio the slogan clearly advocated.

2. Have a Coke and a stroke! -- It rhymes, but they couldn't guarantee you'd have a stroke, and advertising was then, is now, and forever shall be about telling the verifiable truth.

3. Have a Coke and a Pepsi! -- It was a nice gesture, but they soon realized that they were being too fair.

4. Have a Coke and an abortion! -- Seemed too much like social engineering on their part. Also alienated men, most of whom might never be able to have both.

5. Have a Coke and a sensible breakfast! -- Redundant.  Coke is a sensible breakfast.

6. Have a Coke and a something else! -- Yes, but what? Nicely vague, but left too much choice to the consumer.

7. Have a Coke and a virgin! -- Very popular with male executives, until they remembered they were selling to Americans.

8. Have a Coke and a non-negative anterior expressive phenomenon! -- This would have been chosen, but the jingle was a bit too supercalifragilisticexpialidociousish.

9. Have a Coke and a whiskey! -- This fell through when they failed to get a whiskey manufacturer that felt comfortable telling people to drink something that was clearly bad for them.

10. Have a Coke or a smile!

(and)

11. Have a Coke, but smile!

(and)

12. Have a Coke, and smile damnit! -- So close, but they felt these slogans made Coke, somehow, anti-smile.  It took four years after these candidates to come up with phrasing that included both Coke and smiles in a non-mutually-exclusive or peaceful context.

Epilogue:  The eventual tagline resulted in a huge increase in sales for Coke, but nothing could have prepared them for the success of its spin-off slogan: 1985's "Have a Diet, Caffeine-Free Coke and a diet, caffeine-free smile!!"  Industry analysts theorize that it was Coke's innovative, now legendary, double-exclamation point strategy that put this one over the top.

What the Driver in Front of Me on Maple Street This Morning Was Doing Besides Driving

Apparently not aware that the street contained more than one lane, the green SUV in front of me drifted sleepily from side to side, from curb to curb. I advanced backwardly and wondered what the hell this woman was doing.

Now, don't fret: I have no bias against female drivers. I have absolutely no intention of stereotyping an entire gender because of the poor driving skills of one. Quite the contrary, study after study has proven that women are remarkably adept drivers considering their tiny, distractable brains. Plus, they're just so cute there, behind the wheel, pretending to drive like real people.

Also, I'm sure this adorable, horrible motorer had more important things on her mind than the lives of others. The details of her own life were obviously too crowded to fit concern for yours inside. She drove erratically, yes, but, let us not begrudge her the freedom to do so lest we fail to realize just how close driving erratically is to driving erotically. Eventually, her happenstance progress may have lead her into that four-wheeled bliss; perhaps right before leading her into that family of four, that fire hydrant or that maple tree.

What was this woman doing besides driving? Apparently anything, like...

1. Sweeping the width of the boulevard, protecting the east and west curbs from terrorist incursion.

2. Trying to improve radio reception by driving in the exact, synchronous form of the waves for her favorite oldies station.

3. Applying lipstick to her retinas.

4. Talking on her cell phone, and her other cell phone, and the cell phone she suspected was under the passenger seat.

5. Check her vehicle's "Swervability" index to see if she might need to get her steering wheel re-randomized.

6. The gear shift.

7. Adjusting her rearview mirror, on a continuous basis, with her ass.

8. Dancing with the birdies! The birdies! Oh look! Over there! More birdies! And on this side too!

9. Avoiding the sun's harmful rays; as she had forgotten to apply sun screen to her vehicle's sensitive skin.

10. Expressing herself automotively.

11. Veering... for love.

12. Mistakenly turning up the poisonous gas release valve rather than the radio volume knob.

13. Succumbing to car-rabies.

What's Creepier?

A test for you all. There are no right answers, only correct responses.

You need to reply openly and honestly, or the test will cry about your shallow, deceitful ways.

The test is called "What's Creepier?", and it has enjoyed a rich history dating back to the beginning of this post.

So, here we go:


What's creepier?

a) Getting a human head in your mailbox
b) Getting a human head into your mailbox
c) Getting a note in your mailbox saying that the human head didn't fit; so you can pick it up at your local post office
d) When you get to the post office, you find that they can't find the human head; so they give you another human head they've had in the backroom for a while

a) Finding out your wife is your long, lost sister
b) Finding out your wife's dog is your long, lost sister
c) Finding out your husband is your long, lost sister
d) Finding out your long, lost sister is your wife's husband
e) Finding out each of the above is true
f) Only suspecting that these things might be true and lying awake every night ... wondering, always wondering

a) Jesus farting
b) Jesus farting, then shouting "Yippee!"
c) Jesus farting, then weeping about it
d) Jesus insisting that you fart "right fucking now!"
e) A fart in the shape of Jesus

a) The eyes in a painting following you as you walk across the room
b) The eyes in a painting following your ass as you walk across the room
c) The penis in a painting following the eyes that are following your ass as you walk across the room

a) A spider
b) A spider dressed as a clown
c) A spider dressed as a clown doing mime
d) A mime dressed as a clown doing a spider
e) A clown

I Am Staring At Your Breasts

I AM STARING AT YOUR BREASTS
A Monologue For 1.5 Actors


Huh? Wha... oh, hi! Nice to see you! So glad you could all make it!
....
What's that? All? Did I say "all"? Well, I'm not sure why I...
....
Of course, it's just you. Right.
....
No, I didn't ask anyone else to join us. That would be rather awkward, if I asked you out to my favorite restaurant on a date, and also asked someone else.
....
No, of course not. I've been looking forward to this all month!
....
Yes, yes, I know. Well, you're a popular woman, of course. Anyone can see that!
....
I just mean, you know, just looking at you...
..I..
No, bu...
..It's just...
Uhh.
....
"Date"?
....
I said "date"?
....
I'm sor...
.No...
of course not, it...
....
To discuss, righ...
..Yes.yes...
Well, yes, I can see how that might seem like...
....
I meant more like date, as in appointment, that you make, you know...
....
In a date book, that's right.
....
Meeting? Yes, yes, yes, "meeting" is a better term.
....
Yes, popular in the sense that you've made quite a splash at the company.
....
You're welcome.
....
Well, I know Frank and Rich were very jealous that I was meeting with you here.
....
Probably, just because, ummm... you know, they really like the food.
..Yeah..
That's what I meant.
....
That's a beautiful dress, by the way.
....
No. I...
....
I compliment...
.I..I...
I compliment all the gals around the office on their clothing.
....
....
....
Women.
.Women...
Yes.
....
Yes, you are the only woman in the office these days.
....
Right, so I compliment you, but I would compliment other women.
....
Yes, and we need to work on that.
....
That's why we're meeting. Right.
....
Right. Because...
....
Right, exactly.
....
That's why you were hired, of course.
....
Well, you were hugely recommended to deal with problems of this shape. Scope.
....
No.
....
So, I hired you to get to the bottom of this problem.
...Yes...
We need to come up with a strategy; so this company stops burning through...
....
Right. That's what we need, and we heard you were a real shoot-from-the-tit kind of...
....!
What!? No!
....!
No!
..Lis...
Lis...
....!
Listen! There's no point in being all hormonal about this. It...
....!
....!
....!
....!
That's what I... slip of the tongue, that's all it was. I'm sorry.
....
Really, please?
....
I realize that; that's why I hired you. To figure out why we can't hold on to good women at this company.
....
Yes, yes, well, I guess that's your area.
....
Something's driving these women from our office, and as the new sexual harassment policy adviser, we need to get a firm grip on these problems.
....
Well, I didn't want to say...
....
Yeah, I worry about Gary too. Just between you and me, I think he's the root of the problem.
....
Well, with the five previous sexual harassment advisers we had this year, he was always making them uncomfortable.
....
Oh, doing things like asking them how large their breasts were, asking if he could touch their breasts. Minor things like that.
....
Oh. I mean only that I don't think he was ever serious.
....
Of course, of course, sure, yes. You're absolutely right. Yes, it is serious.
.Very...
Very serious, and...
....
Fire him? Uhh...
....
Well, but, you know, that's just Gary, you know?
....
No, no, I'm not...
...I'm..
I'm not defending him at all. He's just, well, you know, that way.
....
No, no, I just mean, he's a normal guy, and...
..Right...
Of course, I know some women might not appreciate his sense of humor.
....
No, it's not funny, you're right.
....
But, he's a good guy, and...
....
What?
...No...
What? He's not the only one?
....
I'm not sure what you mean.
....
No, no! No, I would never do...
....
I just...
.I..I..I...
I... just have a hard time focusing... looking people in the eyes.
....
Well.
....
Uhhh... fine! Alright! Yes, I am staring at your breasts!
....
Because they're soooo... Can I just touch...
...@#&^*#...!!
Wait! Hey! Come back!

Shit.

(end)

Brendon Makes Some Observations

- Have you ever noticed that ranch dressing looks an awful lot like semen? I have. It's one of the reasons I never eat salads when directing porn films.

- Sometimes, when I look down, I see my left foot; sometimes, I see my right. Still other times, when I look down, I see the foot that I found in the cemetery. It's fallen out of my sandwich again.

- Hey! Look at that! Neat.

- I suppose it's easy to say that a cube has six sides, if you want to stereotype cubes that way, but why do you need to be so prejudicial? Cubes are people too.

- Have you ever stapled your eyelids shut so you could get some sleep? Don't. It doesn't really work.

- Oh. You didn't see it? That's too bad.

- It's really hard to make fun of illiterate people when you're a writer.

- If you're on fire, put it out. If you're under eighteen, then make sure you get a parent's permission first. If you're an orphan and under eighteen, then there's nothing you can do, but that's okay, no one loves you anyway.

- No, no. It wasn't that cool. Don't worry about it.

- Did anyone else notice that FDR, JFK and LBJ all had three initials in their names, and they were all president of something? Also, they're all dead. Explain that!

- If you're short, you can blame your genes, but I think we all know that you're just not trying hard enough.

- Holy crap! There it is again! Amazing!

Other Military Strategies Besides "Shock & Awe"

With the overwhelming success of the "Shock & Awe" strategy in Iraq, it may seem tempting to apply that tactic to every new war we create.

Never one to rest on my laurels - because I've misplaced them - I say, let's think creatively. Let's develop new plans for invading and subduing other nations that don't stand a chance, and will actually stand a negative chance when we hit them with these brilliant military schemes:

1. Mock & Guffaw

2. Exterminate & Explode

3. Run Around & Scream

4. Johnson & Johnson

5. Stun & Mime

6. Stretch & Breathe (also good for yoga)

7. Fuck & Run

8. Gambol & Cavort

9. Kill & Maim

10. Love & Leave

11. Sniff & Lick

12. Piss & Moan (works well when combined with Bitch & Complain)

13. Rinse & Repeat

14. Lift & Separate

15. Thrill & Delight

16. Trudge & Bore

17. Empathize & Kill

18. Shake & Shimmy

19. Surprise & Entrance

20. Enslave & Liberate

21. Bemuse & Befuddle

22. Kill & Kill

23. Destroy & Deny

24. Belittle & Bewitch

25. Dance & Drink

26. Shucks & Awww

What I Am Smoking Today

I was recently asked by a fellow male-underwear model / cannibal / blogger the following question: "Are you going to eat that thyroid?"

After sharing the gland in question and posing for the new Sunday Times fishnet micro-briefs glossy insert, he saw me lighting up. Curious, he inquired: "What are you smoking today?"

I grabbed my life-long friend by the ears, took a playful bite out of his left shoulder (he hardly ever uses it), then we sat around the photo studio's campfire in our man-thongs, hoisted a couple long necks and a couple beers, and bled and joked about what indeed I might be smoking on such a fine day.


1. Asstango 100s

2. This thing I found in my cat's litter box

3. Ennui Naturals

4. The tragic and the sublime

5. Lo-Tar MiddleSkoolKools

6. A twenty dollar bill, unfiltered

7. Sardine Menthols

8. Film School Prerequisites

9. 100 grams of high-grade imported pussy

10. Incredulity

11. Seriously Not A Penis Substitute UltraLites

12. The U.S. Constitution, amended

13. The stares of the questioning horde

14. Dignity Away

15. Stupid Fucking Cunt Slims

I Have Made The Following Difficult Choices About How My Personal Data May Be Used By My Bank

Recently, I received in the post a pamphlet from my fiduciary institution of choice.

Actually, I received five of them. One for me and one for each of the not-me who live with me.

I read all five.

They were that well-written.

They sketched a harrowing landscape of thieves holding up banks all over our good Earth; not with guns, but with computers. Computers that shoot bullets, and computers that filch personal data from bank customer files and then use that information to create alternate versions of me that then take out alternate home loans and alternate credit cards to buy alternate homes and alternate life-like sex dolls that I swear I never would have bought with a credit card anyway.

Thankfully, my fiduciary institution of choice, which, for the sake of them being a bunch of overly-litigious tight-asses, shall remain nameless - as nameless as anything that rhymes with Hell's Cargo can remain - has given me choices of how they can use my information within their esteemed company.

Hereby, I make the following stipulations about how my bank (rhymes with Bell's Margo) may use my personal data inside their gold-plated walls:


1. Shirley, in accounts receivable, may never again, and I repeat, never again, perform a striptease using my social security number as the alternate lyrics to "Big Spender", even though it fits the rhythm. I thought it might turn me on and convince her to erase my overdraft charges, but it turns out it accomplished only half of those goals.

2. Gladys, in mortgages, may not use my full birth name as her password to her Danielle Steele fansite chatroom. I will accept spelling variations, but that's it.

3. Ricky, the Wednesday drive-through teller, may not use my county and state of birth as his personalized license plate; unless of course, he was also born there, or he buys a Jaguar.

4. Tom V., the security guard, may not be allowed to use my recent job history as the basis for his incendiary letters to the editor about the plight of the working man in contemporary America.

5. Michelle, in management, may use my credit score during luncheon meetings, but only if she makes air quotes with her fingers when "linking" the score to my name.

6. Pat, in customer service, may not use my work fax number unless sending me endlessly funny redneck joke lists.

7. Kyle, in accounts payable, may never learn my real middle name. We were separated at birth, and I'd like to keep it that way.


Well, that's as far as I go.

I hope this has given Smells Largo enough guidance to protect me from in-house misuse of my personal data. If not, I'm sure their lawyers will give me a call, asking for further direction.

The E-Mail about My Penis and Its Size

Under the tantalizing subject heading "sdioryht" (I had no idea that's how you spelled that), I received an electronically-couriered message this afternoon complete with a portal to a web site that offers, apparently for free, advice on how to, and I quote exactly here: "Permanently Enlarge Your cock At Home".

The reader may wonder at the wisdom of putting the word of most concern in only lowercase while capitalizing its sentence companions. I see their plan: By leaving "cock" literally smaller than its peers, it reminds you that your genitalia may also be of inferior size compared to the genitalia owned or rented by your friends.

Leaving aside typographical matters, note that this very short epistle offered many other sage bits of advice. To wit, those words were, and, again, I quote most definitively: "sdnofeid scotchif sea-holm sdrowssu".

Ahh, yes. Wise words. Wise words, indeed.

Now that I have been convinced of the efficacy of clicking on this portal, let me just say that it behooves one to contrast the merit of this message to those that propose to do otherwise.

For instance, I submit to you that it is far, far better to "Permanently Enlarge Your cock At Home" than to:


1. Temporarily Enlarge Your cock At Work

2. Permanently Ensnare Your cock At Home Or Work

3. Permanently Enlarge Someone Else's cock At Home

4. Permanently Enlarge Your Wife's vagina At Home

5. Mistakenly Enlist Your cock In The Army

6. Permanently Entomb Your cock At The Cemetary

7. Permanently Engrave Your cock At Your In-Law's House

8. Occasionally Entangle Your cock At Your Knitting

9. Temporarily Enbritish Your cock At The Weekend

10. Permanently Enlarge Your Wife's cock At Home

11. Permanently Enlarge Your heart At Home

12. Immediately Ensever Your cock Anywhere

13. Sporadically Enlarge Your cOcK At Home

I Play the Dozens and Fail Miserably

So, I thought I'd try to be a little more "urban". (Note to my faithful readers: when a white guy uses the word "urban", he means "black".) Having to use the word "urban" goes a long way toward explaining why I struggle so in my intramural Dozens league. Maybe one of you crackers could help a cracker out.

What follows is the text of my most recent attempt at decisive derisive victory. I have excerpted only my comments from the debate as I felt my opponent was hyperbolic, mean-spirited and evasive in his treatment of my momma's weight issues. While he made some good points, his words seemed designed only to hurt rather than to search for positive remedies for maternal obesity. Therefore, I refuse to reprint them here.


Yo' momma so fat, she is in grave danger of contracting adult-onset diabetes.

Yo' momma so fat, I believe it may become increasingly difficult for her to climb stairs.

Yo' momma so fat, this is perhaps due to various genetic factors and a sedentary lifestyle combined with unhealthy eating habits. A real triple-whammy.

Yo' momma so fat, people feel uncomfortable looking at her and consider her to be a lesser person even though body fat does not determine a person's true nature.

Yo' momma so fat, she can't see her toes... because her fat stomach gets in the way... and... ohh, I'm sorry. That was unnecessarily cruel, wasn't it? My sincerest apologies to both you and yo' momma.

Yo' momma so ugly, she won an ugly contest. Hmm? She... right, sorry... she was runner-up? Well then, I hereby retract my initial claim about... What's that? My momma came in first? Well, thank you for the good news, my friend. I must remember to congratulate my momma right away.

Yo' momma so fat, I really feel, despite your attempt to steer the conversation toward my momma's apparently award-winning ugliness, that we must concentrate on some effective strategy for decreasing yo' momma's weight problem. She is truly headed for a miserable future if she cannot manage to lessen her body-mass index considerably. I implore you to stop yo' pointless japery and take the matter to heart.