Ham Rugby and Buggering Weird Al

I am back. I have to say, I received no replies to my questions of yesterday. I am disappointed in all of you. Well, the hell with interactivity then, this is MY show and it is a one man show at that.

What was up that lady I saw carrying a ham like a rugby ball? I had half a mind (assuming I had some to spare) to tackle her. I thought better of it because store security may have been pissed. Then again, if explained correctly they may have agreed and tackled her themselves. Oh well, another opportunity to create complete mayhem squandered.

What else is there to say today? I could go on about American Idol, but I think the fix was in when Kat remained while Chris went home last week. Happily, I did not see or hear the show Tuesday but my sources (wife and son, so I am left to wonder about their credibility, but that is a story for another day) tell me that Elliott and Taylor were solid performers, but Kat was not so great for a third show in a row. Yet, she is still there for the final and the wolfman, Elliott, goes back to Virginia to howl at the moon and attack people on the moors.

Okay, back to reality, is my life really so pathetic that I am excited by white goods (washer and dryer) and American Idol? I hope not, because that is a sign to hang myself by the cord to my laptop (not my penis, sick people, though it is long enough to the do the trick, if I do say so myself). I am not going to do anything like that. I figure I have too many people in life to at least torment. Besides, that is ending life with a whimper and not a bang. I want to go out with a bang or at least take a few people with me. As I read that, I sound like a great candidate to be a suicide bomber. That is scary.

Speaking of scary, the wife says to me yesterday that she was looking in the mirror and thought that she looked like Weird Al Yankovic. She explained it was her curly hair and glasses. I am so disturbed by that thought on so many levels. I mean, how can I fuck, er make love that's the ticket, her again. I am going to be thinking of Weird Al while drilling her (I am too graphic and if she ever reads this I am going to be cut off, thankfully there is always masturbation). That is not good for anybody. Now, I am not gay, not that there's anything wrong with that, but if I were to switch teams, Weird Al does not do it for me. Then again, grab a handful of his long hair and you could ride him like a pony. Try to get that image out of your head now!

My work here is done. It is showmanship. Leave 'em with a really disturbed mental image, there is not much more disturbing an image than fucking Weird Al up the ass while you grab and tug his hair from behind, unless it Weird Al riding your butthole or trying to stuff his dick in your mouth while he sings "Eat It" (I do not know how I come up with these images but they flow so naturally from my sick mind). There try to sleep. Now you will know why I have not slept since I woke up Wednesday. Ciao!