Man, I really want to comment on this hat. And I really want to say “Hellllooo ladies!” But I can’t concentrate because of that damned tattoo. Just look at that! Can you imagine how bad that must have hurt! It’s right there on the ticklish bit! JEEZ! Makes me itch just thinking about it. Still, very nice, large hat.
Hey, I just made up another song. Sing this one to the tune of “Beautiful Soul” by Jesse McCartney:
I don’t want another giant hat / I don’t need anyone to hold me / I don’t want another giant hat / because I’m scared there might be some kind of parasitic thing inside that will go into my ear canal like the thing in “Star Trek II” and eat my brains!
True story: I won a giant check when I was in fourth grade. It was for an essay contest, and my piece was titled “I Pity the Consciousness: Cartesian Dualism in the Milieu of The A Team.” Swept the damn awards, I can tell you. So I get the check and I’m all ready to take it to the bank and cash it, when Ms. Milliver comes over and asks for it back – it’s just a prop, she says, it’s not really a check, she says, they’ve got a gift certificate for O.G. Wilson’s that I can have and the check was never really mine.
Something changed in me that day. The young boy that had enough trust in his heart to take the world at face value grew up abruptly; things looked a little bit different from that point on, and although I would learn to trust again, I would go through my youth wondering what other cherished tenet of my faith might be built upon shaky sand.
Oh, and yes, hellllooo ladies!
I love me some hot dogs. Like to overcook them on the grill, burn ’em just a bit – because carbonization + ketchup = daddy is happy!
But this hot dog doesn’t please me. He’s behaving inappropriately. Not sure what he’s thinking in this picture, but I’ll bet you anything it has the words “eat” and “me” in it. Not polite, especially given how pleasant this woman is. She seems like she’s really sweet. She deserves better than some vile hot dog man/boy, acting ten kinds of fool with the ketchup and the mustard.
I hate to get all political, but this is yet another instance of the dangers of cut-rate, imported toys. Here we see a stuffed animal – a nice little doggy, yes? – attacking a young girl who was foolhardy enough to cuddle with it. Mercury is great for thermometers, people, but it’s not good for the water supply. Watch what you’re doing, and check the labels on the toys you’re buying!
HELLLLLLOOOO LADIES! This young lady knows a thing or two about having fun. Exhibit A: She’s playing Metroid. That’s old school! Exhibit B: She’s playing it on the original NES. That’s old school! Exhibit C: The NES system she’s using has a controller pad that is so big it borders on the surreal! Rock on, groovy lady!
I am a forgiving person, a gentle soul I assure you, but I don’t think I can ever forgive Kirsti Baumgartner. A young man’s heart is a fragile thing, Kirsti, and when that young man buys you an iron-on from the snack bar and gives it to you during couples skate, you don’t just walk away without saying anything. And I damn sure won’t ever forgive Mr. Johnston the maintenance man, who had the boys’ bathroom locked that day when I crapped in my pants.
Look at this water spigot! Outrageous! Far too big! Serves no practical purpose! AMIRITE PEOPLE! DROPS MICROPHONE WALKS OFF STAGE
“Smoke, smoke, smoke that cigarette / smoke, smoke, smoke and if you smoke yourself to death / Tell St. Peter at the golden gate, that he’s gonna have to wait / ’cause you’ve just gotta have another 20-foot-tall cigarette.”
Lady, look out! Two monstrous hands are extracting themselves from terra firma, and they’re slouching toward you! Start running now and you might stand a chance! Gaia has had all she is going to take of humanity, I suppose, and you, dear girl, stand poised to receive her wrath … RUN!