TestoEsoRotica

Story time!

2008-03-11T15:25:00.001-05:00

Cee-Lo Phoenix’s Groovy Hotel Heist

It was unusually dry in the small town of Kissing Key, Florida and the lack of humidity had caused the air to become electric. It still smelled like the ocean, which is typical of Florida, and the salt still shrank out of the air and stuck to the skin like craft glitter, which is also typical, but now those guests who inattentively dragged their feet along the fresh red carpet in the lobby of the brand new Healthy Inn™ found their hands zapped as they reached for metal door handles or vending machine buttons.

Gavin, who worked at the front desk, knew this better than anyone else, as he stood explaining nervously to a German couple that he could do nothing about the unusual static electricity. That was how everyone had described it: unusual. And this description in itself seemed unusual. But that was how the whole morning had been: highly irregular, at least in terms of weather.

For one thing, the sun seemed more intense than usual, almost as though it was trying very hard to make everyone uncomfortable. And it wasn’t the ordinary friendly yellow color of a fried egg on a dark blue plate, no sir, the sun that had come up this Tuesday was almost completely white with intensity, and the sky around it had become a strange sort of yellow, as though stained with dust.

This strange baking sunlight made a special point of sneaking in where it wasn’t welcome, more invasive than regular sunlight, thought Gavin, more like fiery kudzu creeping in off the street and growing up the walls and along the floor of the hotel, further and further along with each hour on the clock.

He stood quietly and wiped beads of sweat off his brow. The hotel maintenance man passed by the desk with his blue uniform and the walk of a man wearing a belt full of tools and the confidence of knowing exactly what to do with each one. Gavin watched, a little jealous, a little self-conscious of how thin his 19-year-old self felt in his Healthy Inn™ standard polo shirt.

Ksht. “Report of minor flooding on third floor, rooms 33 and 37. Maintenance requested,” said the maintenance man’s radio.

Weird, thought Gavin.

& & &

On the second floor in room 25, somewhere vaguely above Gavin’s sweating and somewhat self-conscious head, Cee-lo Phoenix had found beauty. His hotel room, paid for by the kind producers at the Tommy Bender show, had come with all the hotel standards: towels, shampoo, little soaps, a mini bar, two queen size beds, a desk, a Bible, and this.

“This” was a brand-new 48” plasma TV, standard with every room in the Healthy Inn™ and made possible by the General Improvement Initiative proposed by the Board of Directors of the Hahn Hotel Group.

Cee-lo didn’t know these things, but he knew that he was entitled to “this.” He had even named it the most beautiful name he could think of: Jamie Lynn, which practically made it his. He just needed a way to get it out.

Here’s a quick fact about Cee-lo, and I’ll stick to the weird: out of all the people in Kissing Key, Florida, Cee-lo Phoenix had arguably the biggest dick, which seems strange for a man hardly four feet tall. Furthermore, he himself was not aware of this fact, only that it dipped in the toilet bowl from time to time when he wasn’t paying attention and that annoyed him. His two girlfriends however, were quite aware of it, but they weren’t very expressive when it came to matters of sex or Cee-lo’s junk, so he went unknowing.

Starla and Ray, his girlfriends, were gorgeous. Each took up a single queen size bed on her own, and in fact, they just barely fit through the door of the hotel room. Starla had brown hair and Ray had blond and Cee-lo loved them both. Just the night before, in fact, he had ridden them both like trampolines, bouncing from one to the other, just covered in sweat and so in love it hurt a little.

The girls had done such an amazing job on Tommy Bender’s show. The way Starla had burst on stage when Cee-lo professed his love to Ray, and how she hadn’t even held back when she swung at him, beating him with her pillow fists until the bouncers held them all back and the crowd cheered and Tommy Bender made a face like he wanted no part of it. That was how the show got ratings, and in exchange, Cee-lo and Starla and Ray got room and board and some money and a little fame.

The whole thing was a sham, and they went from show to show, playing the parts of their one-act like seasoned actors. First, America: Jenny Black, Tommy Bender, Marshall in the Morning, Jackie Noon, and so on and then to Europe, and back to America.

But now he was concentrating on this TV and he wanted it so bad his stomach was starting to ache, and it was annoying the girls a little.

“Why don’t we just cover it up and carry it out with our other shit?” asked Starla.

“Because, baby, precious, because they put this fucking thing on the back that’s fucking just creating a whole fucking fuck-load of problems.”

The thing is this: Cee-lo never swore. Ever. He thought it was bad luck. But when he was frustrated, the dam had a tendency to burst.

“What kind of a thing?” asked Ray, rolling her bulk over slowly on the bed like a rotisserie chicken and propping her head up with one hand so she could watch Cee-lo.

“The kind of a thing that would set off a goddamn alarm in the building. They would catch us before we took three steps. It’s wired in there, so I can’t remove it without ruining the TV. Fuck.”

Cee-lo had begun to swear less, as an idea was forming in his head. At the same time, a puddle was forming on his head.

The water was dripping through from room 35 and in to his room, like deliquescent spies checking up on him. He looked up and a drop caught him right in the eye.

“Why are you crying baby?” asked Starla, pulling her sun dress down over her thick thighs a little.

“Shut the fuck up,” said Cee-lo.

God he loved them.

& & &

I’ll make this quick, because Johnny Rivers disgusts me. I hate his music, I hate his lifestyle, and I hate him as a person.

Oh right, and he’s staying in Room 35 of the Kissing Key, Florida Healthy Inn™.

According to Johnny Rivers’ drivers license, his real name is Harold Jonathon Fogel, he is, in fact, a male, he is 6 feet tall, he weighs 180 pounds, he is not an organ donor, and he was born on the eighth of May in 1967, which makes him forty years old.

Not according to his drivers license, he was the guitar player for the band “Sisyphus” during the 1980’s when they became quite popular.

Also not according, he’s a womanizer.

Also, he has a drug problem.

Thanks to sound investment and a trustworthy accountant, he’s still worth around $5 million.

I’m also pretty sure his drivers license will not tell you that I hate him.

Well, I do.

According to the drivers license of the dead blond girl in his bathtub, the one who is responsible for all the flooding, her name is Julia Marie Faith, and right now she’s doing a spot-on impression of a drowning victim. She is 5’3”, 105 pounds, an organ donor, and she was born on the fourth of July in 1992. If you’re bad at math, that places her at fifteen years old.

Not according to her drivers license, she likes having parades on her birthday, even if the parades aren’t for her.

Also, she looks old for her age and she loves Johnny Rivers. Well, loved Johnny Rivers. Twice. And once in the hotel pool.

Also, drinks of vodka and Robotussin courtesy of Johnny Rivers make her sleepy. Very, very sleepy.

Sleepy enough to drown in the bath tub in fact, and leave the water running.

Johnny Rivers is realizing all this just now. The sun snuck in through his window and lit his face on fire (figuratively) just twenty minutes ago, waking him from a deep sleep.

“I can’t believe you could do this to me.”

That’s all he’s been saying for like, twenty minutes. It always has to be about him.

And now he’s saying, “Shit. Fuck.”

Knock knock.

That’s the door.

Shit. Fuck.

& & &

I’m guessing that Zachary and Samuel skipped the Sodom and Gomorrah section of the Bible, which is weird for two members of the Junior Jesus Mystery Solvers. The fact is, I’m happy for them. Zachary has liked Samuel for a long time, which is probably why they always buddied up to solve religious mysteries together over the last three summers (The Abortion Conundrum, Non-Believer Enigma, The Sin Stumper, etc.). You look confused, let me explain.

The Junior Jesus Mystery Solvers is not an accredited crime-fighting organization, it’s just a summer camp where Christian parents can send their children ages 12-15 to learn about Jesus in a fun and innovative environment, so says the pamphlet.

The summer camp puts the kids up in a hotel over the course of a week, and during the day the kids run around town and solve conservatively-themed “mysteries.” This week, they’re under the watchful eye of Pastor Roy, whose watchful eyes are presently busy in Room 47 with the mystery of “Where Are the Call Girl’s Panties, oh God, oh crap,” or so he’s been calling it (mystery not approved by the JJMS).

That’s probably how he missed Zachary and Samuel hooking up. He shouldn’t feel too bad, I missed it too. We can’t be everywhere, we’re just men.

And when that sun broke into their room this morning with its fire tendrils, burning every corner, they couldn’t help but notice that their girl roommate was gone, her bed oddly unoccupied. What was her name? Jesse? Jacquelyn? Maybe it was Julie. Or Julia. Something with a “J”.

“Looks like a real live mystery, Samuel!” said Zachary.

“What did we do last night?” said Samuel, seemingly less enthusiastic.

“How exciting! The Mystery of the Missing Girl!” said Zachary, “I’ll get my mystery-solving gear!” and he jumped out of bed.

“Are you a fucking Hardy Boy?” asked Samuel, but he followed reluctantly. He liked something about the enthusiasm.

“Maybe we should get Pastor Roy!” said Zachary.

“No, no.” said Samuel. He had a thick feeling in his stomach that he didn’t like. It was worrying him quite badly.

He had seen her, the missing girl, with a guy the night before, down by the pool. There was another feeling he’d had then, watching her in a cute pink bathing suit, her wet blond hair winding down her back, flirting with a guy much older than her. The bathing suit made her look even older than she already did, but in a way that he liked. Then Zachary showed up, and the night was all mini-bar wine and Truth or Dare.

“Let’s go look for her, and cut the Junior Jesus Sherlock shit. And take off that hat, you look gay,” said Samuel.

“I am gay,” said Zachary, and they were both quiet for a minute. The words were strange to hear and they cut through everything else in the air. Even the sun seemed to edge out of the room a little as a lazy yellow cloud passed in front of it. Zachary’s mystery solving hat suddenly seemed more ridiculous given the serious tone and he regretted wearing it for a minute.

“I’m going,” said Samuel.

Then the cloud passed and the sun blazed back through. The room once more lit up with intensity.

Shortly after, the fire alarm went off.

& & &

Cee-lo Phoenix’s plan would have been genius in the hands of a genius. But Cee-lo Phoenix was no genius, just a little guy with a big dick and two obese girlfriends. All things considered though, it could have gone worse, and I give him credit for that. Here’s what happened.

“I need a diversion,” said Cee-lo, pacing back and forth in the room, “but it has to be good. Really fucking good.”

“What about pulling the fire alarm?” suggested Starla.

“No. There would have to be a real fucking fire, otherwise they would just shut it off. And if we have a real fucking fire, the real fucking sprinkler system will ruin everything, including Jamie Lynn.”

“What about in the basement?” asked Ray.

“What about in the basement fucking what?” said Cee-lo. He was getting impatient. He was swearing a lot.

“Some places have their basement sprinklers run up on a different system. If you set a fire in the basement, it would set off the alarm and the basement sprinklers, but nothing else.”

“How the fuck do you know that,” said Cee-lo.

“The boys at the firehouse like me,” said Ray.

“Fucking convenient development,” said Cee-lo, and he stared at her real hard. Ray pulled at her sun dress nervously.

But that’s exactly how they did it. Twenty minutes later, a fire set from a pack of bar matches, a bottle of floor wax, and a bag of clean towels from housekeeping in the basement set off the fire alarm and the basement sprinklers.

And then the lobby sprinklers.

And then the second floor sprinklers.

And then the third floor sprinklers.

And even the fourth floor sprinklers until everything was soaked and continued to be soaked, including Cee-lo’s precious Jamie Lynn.

& & &

In room 35, things had gone from bad to worse, which is surprising considering that Johnny Rivers had already woken up in a house-ton of trouble. His mistake, he was thinking to himself, was in answering the door.

Two boys from the floor above had come down and asked him about the very nice puddle outside his room, and how they might get one of their own. The one kid had a hat on that Johnny thought looked gay. It said “mystery solving hat” on it. He didn’t like the sound of that though. And then the other kid had been staring at him pretty hard, like the way a jealous ex-boyfriend stares down the new boyfriend.

He was just telling them both to piss off when the fire alarm went off, followed shortly after by the sprinklers. And then the jealous looking kid, much to the shock of Johnny and the other kid, had dashed into his room and around the corner.

& & &

There was nothing flirty about the Julia that Samuel found. Same pink bikini and blond hair but the way she was just staring at the ceiling like someone had surprised her and she got stuck, it creeped him out and poked holes in everything else he’d woken up feeling that morning, like pins in a water balloon. And he leaned over on the towel rack and started to cry some but then stopped. That was when Zachary and Johnny found him.

“Fuck,” said Johnny.

Zachary said nothing.

The mystery solving hat now seemed fully ridiculous.

They all stood for almost a full minute, staring at the girl in the tub. Then Johnny spun around, walked out of the bathroom, slammed the door shut, and jammed it with a nearby hotel chair, trapping the two boys inside.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck” he said to himself, grabbing his wallet and things from the bedside table and running out of the room. This felt wrong.

He ran down the stairs, past the empty checkout counter and out into the bright sunlight. Very wrong.

The sun ignored the water on his skin and he shivered despite the searing heat. Then he ran off down the sidewalk.

This was very wrong.

& & &

The fire was spreading. Five minutes after it started, the sprinkler system abruptly cut off and the dry air began sucking at the moisture like a nursing baby. The sun that had lounged in the lobby and hallways all morning now turned arsonist, and busily began spreading fire like graffiti on any surface that would take. The black smoke from the Healthy Inn™ began to mix with the yellow clouds in the sky.

From two blocks down, Johnny Rivers saw the plume of smoke rising above a line of palm trees and he hesitated. Then, like a train thrust into full reverse, he slowly began to head back towards the hotel, walking at first, and then running. This was wrong, but it didn’t have to be like this.

& & &

“Fuck fuck fuck!”

“Don’t swear baby, it’s bad luck,” said Starla. Neither she nor Ray had ever seen Cee-lo this angry.

“Fuck!” he yelled in her face. They were moving as quickly as they could down a stairwell.

They only had a few flights to go, but the girls were moving very slow. Cee-lo could smell smoke and it was making him incredibly nervous. Plus the sprinklers had cut off; none of this was going right.

The steps felt like forever but they finally made it to the door at the bottom and burst into the lobby. The lobby doors were very close. Cee-lo could make it, but the lobby was already looking pretty bad. The girls were moving slow and wheezing hard. There was no way they could make it, not at all.

“Baby slow down, you’re going too fast,” said Ray.

“My legs aren’t as long as yours babes,” said Starla.

They were fighting hard for breath. Cee-lo didn’t look back, he just kept walking as fast as he could.

“Baby? Where are you going? Baby? Are you coming back for us? Are you going to get help?” the girls words fell into the distance, crested, and fell away like waves on a beach. He was halfway to freedom. Flames burst from the door to the basement. He was so close.

And then he was out. Cee-lo looked back. The girls were only halfway across the lobby. He saw the fire break through the basement door and explode into the lobby, tearing down on the girls in their red sun dresses like a bull on a wounded bull fighter, twisting around like a spin cycle, cleaning everything out of the lobby.

Cee-lo kept going and got in his van, parked out front in the parking lot. He put it in drive and peeled out, watching the hotel in his rearview mirror.

None of this had gone right. None of this. And the sun was so fucking bright, seemed like he was driving right into it.

He watched in his rearview mirrors as a single figure ran back through the crowd outside the hotel and into the lobby and disappeared in the flames. The crowd surged in surprise, like they were going in after him, but held back.

A few minutes later the figure re-emerged with two others, two boys it looked like. The one had on some kind of stupid hat. The crowd poured forward and enveloped them, surging and pulling them back from the burning hotel.

Then the whole Healthy Inn™ went up, flamed, spired like a dragon, reached for the sky and then it was too bright for Cee-lo Phoenix to look anymore and his eyes began to water.

2007-10-05T18:27:00.000-05:00

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Uploaded by the_mayan

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Friday's column, unedited.

2007-09-22T16:03:00.000-05:00

“My name is Chris, I’m 21, I’m an English major, and this girl won’t next me because I have a huge Dick…ens collection.” If you’re familiar with some version of that line, oh man is this article for you. If it was lost on you, just forget it. Go look at the pictures. There’s some nice ones on page 2. But seriously, at one time or another we’ve all sampled from the variety of reality-drama programming afternoon TV has to offer. Scripted dating shows, scripted makeover shows, and whatever the hell category Real World falls under, at some time or another you’ve probably watched at least one of them. Don’t be embarrassed. It’s like a $4.99 Chinese lunch buffet, it’s almost impossible for us as college students to stay away. Drama brings out an animal instinct in us, a voyeuristic need to feed our curiosity. “But there are so many shows, which one will provide me my drama fix?” Come along and I’ll tell you.

As far as pure drama per square inch of programming, it’s hard to beat MTV. Having been plagued with troublesome music videos for many years, MTV has finally launched an aggressive campaign to return to the quality reality shows that defined their early programming and earned them the name of “Music Television”. Fan favorite and 20-season-long staple “The Real World” continues to ask the question, “What happens if you put seven college kids in a house together with no supervision and enough alcohol to knock out a herd of elephants long enough to harvest their tusks? Oh yeah, and they have no TV.” So far as I can tell the answer continues to be: they hook up with anything and everything that moves including, but not limited to, the opposite sex, the same sex, rocking chairs, shiny surface reflections, and off-balance washer-dryers. At this point is anyone still surprised by this? Is there a guy out there laying his money on “Bible study” each week when he watches “Real World”? Keep betting on it. They’ll come around soon.

Inevitably, the amount of hooking up and the limited selection of options for hooking up generates an enormous volume of drama. Crushes are betrayed, backstabbing occurs, and long-distance relationships are rent asunder. If you’re into the pure, undiluted stuff, “Real World” is the moonshine of reality TV drama. But lets say that’s not your thing. Let’s say you like your drama a little rougher around the edges but with a hint of strawberries. More cat fights, more backstabbing, in general, more skanks. Let me introduce you to the “Boone’s Farm in a brown paper bag” of reality show drama: Rock of Love with Brett Michaels.

“Flavor of Love”, having opened the dams of the river up which the spin-off salmon could swim, paved the way for Vh1’s cutting-edge, “washed up celebrity that people kind of remember from the 80’s in some sort of wacky love situation” formula. If you like contracting venereal diseases through your eyes (not proven by science), I suggest sitting down and taking a gander. On a typical episode, Brett Michaels dresses up like a little kid playing cowboys and puts a variety of questionably moralled women through some love tests. I know what you’re thinking and no, the love tests aren’t Educational Testing Service approved; Brett usually just picks whatever will get the girls most naked or, failing that, muddy. As you can imagine, the combination of skanks, frivolous competition, the possibility of money, and a values scale based completely on appearance generates an absurd amount of drama, but of a variety that’s much cheaper and dirtier than the unscripted “Real World”. If you want to feel really guilty about your drama fix, then this is the show for you.

If neither of these options satisfy you, don’t despair, these are but two among the endless options of reality show drama out there. If you like your drama triple-filtered and smooth, try watching an episode of “The Hills”. If you’re content watching two homeless guys fight over a roast beef sandwich, try an old episode of “I Love New York” on for size. Maybe you’re a “40 oz. Steel Reserve with breakfast” kind of person; check out “Blind Date” on late night. There are all sorts of options and varieties, no matter what your taste in drama.

But please leave the drama for the reality shows. There’s no need to bring that into real life. Seriously, your hook up stories are only interesting to you.

Analogies!

2007-07-02T21:19:00.000-05:00

Octopus:octopi
Cactus:cacti
Syllabus:syllabi
Jesus:???

I make it rain on these ho's

2007-06-10T11:52:00.001-05:00

I make it rain.
Not in the Fat Joe, hip-hop sense of the phrase, but in the "I'm a super villain with a weather machine" sense of the phrase.
Better grab an umbrella.

What?! What did I say?!

2007-06-09T11:58:00.000-05:00

How come it's ok to tell your friends that you had sex on a playground late at night, but if you subtract one person and say "I masturbate on playgrounds late at night", they're calling the cops?

Damn moral police.

Daddy's leaving again

2007-05-16T11:50:00.000-05:00

The blog is on temporary hiatus. I apologize, but my mind is completely elsewhere. I'll be back in a week or two.

2007-05-13T09:55:00.000-05:00

Happy birthing pod day!

Daddy's Back

2007-05-07T08:41:00.000-05:00

Are the Berenstein Bears Jewish? That's just something I've been wondering about.

If you've read those books and you know what I'm talking about though, don't a lot of those books seem highly improbable? Like in one the Berenstein Bears go for a drive. I mean, bears driving a car? What the heck, that just doesn't seem realistic. And in another one, they're wearing clothes. Those authors have a poor grasp of bears.

There was one that really got me where Papa Bearenstein mediated a conflict between the children by introducing ice cream to the situation. While this is all well and good, the conflict would have been more constructively mediated if Papa Bearenstein had used reflexive I-statements paired with gentle, but firm consequential punishments. I mean come on, we can only suspend our disbelief so much.

Clearly bears don't know nothing about nothing.

....................................................................................................

2007-05-05T13:12:00.000-05:00

Please bare with me. My sense of blog comedy has been a bit off lately. Updates coming soon, I swear. Please don't break my legs.

I promise you May will be better

2007-04-30T08:15:00.000-05:00

I apologize for the lack of April updates, my mind has been elsewhere lately.

I'm tired of writing titles for you. Do you think titles grow on trees?

2007-04-23T23:40:00.000-05:00

The Chinese restaurant down the street from us started giving out these Emotional Damage fortune cookies with every meal you get. I'm not sure I like them very much.

The other day I had one that said "You walk funny" and I looked on the back for the lucky numbers and it said "fuck you, that's what" in code.

I'm just not sure that's encouraging healthy behavior patterns.

Fitness Made Slightly Easier

2007-04-19T15:34:00.000-05:00

I realized yesterday that if you have enough buff, tan, oily people in swim trunks, you can sell anything as exercise equipment, especially if you put "ab" in front of it. I'm pretty sure I saw an ad yesterday for an exercise thingy called the "ab hammock" and they had a bunch of buff oily people laying in an ordinary hammock, contorting and supposedly burning fat.

I'm going to sell my own exercise equipment called "ab donuts". It's a box of glazed donuts, also available in chocolate frosted, that will help you lose pounds from your waist in minutes a day. What you do is you eat the donuts, and because buff oily people are doing it in my commercial, you will pay money for these donuts.

Results may vary.

2007-04-17T09:50:00.000-05:00

"This is a tragedy in American history. So for today, forget any and all of your college affiliations. For today, we are all Hokies."
-CNN

Tech Tech VPI

2007-04-16T17:22:00.000-05:00

Please pray for those affected.

"Scuse me, while I kiss this guy..." wait, that's not right.

2007-04-12T22:33:00.000-05:00

"I don't practice Santeria, I ain't got no crystal ball, if I had a million dollars well I'd...I'd invest it wisely in mutual funds and annuities"
-Sublime, Santeria, First Draft

I can't believe another Easter's come and gone

2007-04-12T22:22:00.001-05:00

I already ate the ears off my chocolate Jesus.

The Real Breakfast of Champions

2007-04-12T22:19:00.000-05:00

Rest in peace Kurt Vonnegut. You truly were a perfect writing machine.

Double park like it's a car show...

2007-04-10T14:07:00.000-05:00

Is using the handicap bathroom stall morally akin to parking in a handicap spot? Will God judge me harshly if I happen to like a slightly roomier-than-average stall? I sure hope not.

There's so much space in those.

Bean bag chairs are the manatees of the sofa kingdom.

2007-04-08T16:03:00.000-05:00

What do you think is in a bean bag chair? I don't think it's beans because I cooked one the other day and it definitely didn't taste like chili. Maybe it wasn't a bean bag chair.

Don't you hate that though? When you cook one thing and it turns out to be something else?

I don't have any examples of that, those questions are just rhetorical.

Sorry to get your hopes up.

No I'm not.

You seem more confident Bob...

2007-04-08T10:24:00.000-05:00

Blog and I got haircuts today. Blog only wanted a little off the top, but the lady took a whole bunch off and now it's different, but maybe in a good way. Anyway, now the colors are all crazy. Hopefully we'll all get used to them.
Love,
Chris

I know there's an update in here somewhere...uh...yep there it is.

2007-04-07T19:09:00.000-05:00

You know how when they sell beef and beef cows, they always detail what the cow ate earlier on that day?
Like, "This burger is made from 100% corn-fed Iowa cows and is made of extra tender beef."
I love that, knowing exactly what the cow's been eating. I wish they did that for dogs, when you went in to the pet store to buy one.
"This is Buddy. He's 100% golden retriever with a handsome coat. He eats mostly kibble but today he also had some Snausages, a stick of butter, an entire Easter ham, and some cat poop."

"Can I have a dog that's maybe eaten a little less poop?"

"Certainly sir."

And they could have different grades of quality.

"You don't want that dog sir, he's grade D meat. Just yesterday he ate two mittens and a golf ball."

"Ew."

That would definitely make it easier to pick out pets.

Happy Easter

2007-04-06T11:29:00.000-05:00

How come Christianity is the only religion that features retarded secular versions of all of its holidays? Why aren't there people who believe in the Hannukah Bear? Or the Kwanzaa Lynx? I would totally celebrate those holidays.

Also, now I want salmon.

You can't fool me, English.

2007-04-02T20:07:00.000-05:00

The ampersand is definitely just a guy trying to lick his own feet. Look:

&

He's so close too.

I would look quite the fool. An April fool as it were.

2007-03-31T09:52:00.000-05:00

April fools is right around the corner, which means that your friends are going to pull stuff on you. I suggest buying a gun. Or, if that's not your kind of thing, you can just pull a prank on them. I pulled a prank on my grandma this one year. I went to her house and set all of her clocks back 3 hours. You should have seen her waking up at 11 o'clock thinking it was 8. I popped out of this closet like, "Oh man Grandma! April Fool's! I got you so bad hahahaha!"
And she was all "My heart pills, my heart pills, need...pills....you...evil boy".
I think she appreciated the humor of it.
So I wish you a happy and safe April Fool's day. May your pranks bring shame and embarrassment to those closest to your heart.