Wednesday, December 29, 2004

Happy New Year. Let's Watch Some Porn.

A new year is drawing nigh and you know what that means --- it’s time to create a list of lies to tell ourselves about how much cleaner and more excitingly we’ll live our lives in 2005.

It is generally not my practice to make New Year’s resolutions because, well, I’m practically perfect in every way. But for the sake of fun (and make no mistake, brothers and sisters, this is going to be a fucking HOOT AND A HALF), here is a list of things I am going to try strenuously to do, see, consume, avoid, learn, enjoy, quit, improve and understand in The Year Of Our Lord, Two Thousand Five:

Ahem.

1. I will try to carefully and neatly fold my toilet paper rather than crumpling it into a big wad before applying it to my bum. It has occurred to me this year that crumpling is just such a hurried and unattractive technique, more appropriate perhaps for a down-and-dirty construction site port-a-potty dump than my normal, leisurely Sunday afternoon bowel evacuation, whereupon I gather my sports page and my coffee and my industrial-sized can of lemon-zest-scented Lysol and I don’t stand up until my legs have fallen asleep or my sphincter has been rendered weak and exhausted and powerless --- whichever comes first.

2. I will seek out and obliterate those who post comments on this site anonymously. People, if I can share the most intimate details of my personal hygiene and my children’s television habits and sordid personal history with you, the least you can do is tell me your name so I know who to talk about in my therapy sessions.

3. I will endeavor to drink the recommended eight glasses of water each day. As it stands now, I drink approximately .6 glasses of water each day, which is derived from the melted ice in my 64-ounce Diet Coke. It is my sincere hope that increased consumption of water will change the color of my pee-pee from dark amber (think cream soda) to a hue more closely resembling very weak lemonade.

4. I will find the IT hack who prevented me from viewing a number of really good blogs at work --- INCLUDING MY OWN! --- and fart in his cubicle.

5. I will gain 10 pounds. Of muscle. In stark and sometimes shocking contrast to the national obesity epidemic, my own body weight closely resembles that of a health five-year-old girl. In fact, were it not for my prominent Jew nose and my impressive nether bits, I would practically be invisible when I turn sideways. And in much the same way that heavy folks try every ridiculous diet to shed pounds, my own efforts to bulk up have inspired everything from rapid-fire McGriddle eating to two-gallon protein shakes made with chalky, indigestible powders made from the dried and ground gizzards of South African tzi-tzi flies. By this time next year I intend to have doubled my maximum bench press (which would get me to about 45 pounds, including the bar) and to be able to look in the mirror and see a chest that sticks out farther than my Adam’s apple.

6. I will write at least one television script. In what has become a regular infringement on my own pattern of self-deprecation and my strongly-held belief that I was put on this earth to write brochure copy, I have been told by more than one person on more than one occasion that if I don’t pursue a career path that leads through a television studio sometime in the near future, my life will have been an utter waste. To satisfy those busy-bodies and put an end to their threats, I will at least investigate the possibility of transferring my immense and considerable gift of humor, the likes of which have never been seen before, to the small screen. “Tonight on a very special Desperate Housewives, that one blonde chick with the huge fake tits learns how to blow a snot rocket and accidentally kills the gardener she’s been schtuping on the side. Meanwhile, the emaciated red-head who used to be on Beverly Hills 90210 eats her first McGriddle and has an orgasmic experience that sends the whole neighborhood into anaphylactic shock. That’s tonight on Desperate Housewives, at 9, 8 Central, right here on ABC.”

7. I will supplement my income by making bets with the other T-ball dads that my son can hit the ball farther than their sons. See, Left-Handed Power-Hitting Son has a gift when it comes to T-ball. He doesn’t look like much when he steps up to the plate, but you should hear the parents ooh and aah when my boy hits the ball over the heads of the kids picking their noses in centerfield and all the way out to the drinking fountain, which is next the parking lot, which is a good 500 feet from home plate. I’ve heard grumblings that some parents think the kid is on steroids because he hits it so far, which is a ludicrous claim because my son won’t even drink cough medicine when he’s hacking like a sick duck in estrus, so taking a needle full of some anabolic cocktail in the right buttcheek would be totally out of the question. A new batch of rookie dads will trot their little droolers out to the T-ball field this summer, so I’ll just mosey over to the father of the biggest one and go, “Hey, Phil, $200 says my kid hits it farther than little Butch there.” He’ll laugh, make the bet and then cry when my kid hits it twice as far as his pride and joy. Happens all the time. The way I see it, I should be driving a new Benz by the all-star break and living in a 30,000-square-foot bungalow at the beach by season’s end.

8. I will kill Barney. I will kill him and eat his stupid-ass purple liver with some fava beans and a nice key-ann-tee. And then I will kill him again.

9. I will take control of my own destiny. Like when my boss comes over to my desk and tells me he wants me to rewrite that brochure copy, I will pretend that my appendix is bursting. And when Hot Wife asks me to do the dishes, I will pretend that I wear the pants in the family and say no, honey, you’re the woman and it’s the woman’s job to wash dishes and it’s my job to sit here and watch this football game until you bring me a chicken pot pie, so hurry up and get on those dishes, chop chop.

10. I will learn to be a more patient and courteous driver. I will keep my hands at the 10:00 and 2:00 positions on the steering wheel at all times, unless I’m flipping off the bastard in the lowered El Camino for cutting me off or using the index, ring or pinky finger on my right hand to extricate a stubborn and very crispy booger. I will keep my eyes on the road at all times, unless I’m trying to find a good song on the radio or trying to read the chicken scratch on the cardboard signs the homeless guys by my office are holding or looking at the girl in the Jetta next to me who is driving and talking on the phone and putting on mascara at the same time. And I will allow one car length in front of me for each 10 miles an hour I am driving, unless I’m in a hurry to get somewhere, like the supermarket or Taco Bell or that place over there, in which case I will revert to my old familiar tactic of allowing barely enough space for an ATM card between me and the car in front of me.

11. I will change my underwear every day, unless I’m going commando.

12. I will watch more porn. God, I love porn. I just wish there was a better name for it because “porn” sounds a lot to me like “corn” and there’s nothing sexy about corn, is there? No, there isn’t. Corn is for eating at summer picnics with watermelon and barbecued chicken and porn is for watching and contorting your face and hiding before your sister walks in and has the image of you contorting your face like that burned in her memory forever.

12a. I will come up with a better word for “porn.”

12b. I will make a sign to hang on the door that says, “I’m busy watching porn. Please come back later.”

20 Comments:

At 4:44 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

I fart on the heads of IT guys!

 
At 4:45 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Yeah! You tell them! Anonymous commenters suck!

 
At 6:36 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

PORN...hmmmmm. Well, I have one thought about porn... It's OK, if it's both sexes and you and Hot Wife are watching together. No? Well, then...

My New Years Resolution... the mother of all New Years Resolutions (unless you already don't smoke)...Quit Smoking.

Good luck to you. I know I'll need it.

- Carol (see? Not Anonymous)

p.s. we still have 2 1/2 days left.... smoke porn smoke porn....

 
At 6:57 PM, Blogger sevans said...

Even though I am your wife, #1 was way more information that needed. I am going to print this blog and see what comes to pass (no pun intended). Love you, honey.

 
At 8:09 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

but doesn't it feel so cool to think of all these secret people the world over who don't know you who are anonymously reading your blah, blah, blog and laughing all the way (hah, hah, hah)? I will never tell...

 
At 8:10 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

another stalker heard from....

 
At 8:11 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

I'm anonymous.

 
At 8:11 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Do you know who I am?

 
At 8:12 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

nya nya nya nya nya nya!

 
At 8:21 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Ewww! Potty coffee!? Daniel, Daniel, Daniel. Were you raised in a barn?

-your nonanon sis

 
At 10:54 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

you know that you can change your blogger settings to only take comments from people who are signed in, right?
anon in canada

 
At 7:20 AM, Blogger Sissychong said...

I suggest, instead of pretending you wear the pants in the family, you buy the woman a dish washer? You may even get a little home made corn....errr I mean porn...out of the deal!

 
At 7:49 AM, Blogger LadyBug said...

Hey Dr. Fever. A long comment:

On #1: My hubby is a folder; I am a crumpler. My theory is, there is more distance between my hand and the poop when the paper is crumpled; and, believe me, I want AS MUCH distance as possible there.

On #2: I'd wager the reason you get so many anonymous posts is that Blogger doesn't allow a post-with-name unless you register a user name. I did, just because it takes so damn much longer to post anonymously.

On #6: The dark-haired Spanish chick with the huge fake tits is the one schtuping the gardener on the side. Try to keep up.

On #9: Good luck. And remember, you may wear the pants, but Hot Wife controls whether or not you get in HER pants. (This is an oft-quoted rule at our house.)

And finally, #12: Not so much a comment on your, um, resolution, but I'm wondering why Carol (3rd Comment...and Carol, you know I love ya) is smoking porn?? ("smoke porn smoke porn")

Okay, that is all. Hope you, Hot Wife, Left-Handed Power-Hitting Son, and Barney's Biggest Fan have a wonderful new year.

God bless,
LadyBug
http://ladybug4791.tripod.com/ladybug/

 
At 8:04 AM, Blogger Mrs.Strizzay said...

My son is Spiderman. :0P He can shoot his webs farther than your son.
I think porn is the perfect gift, it keeps on giving.

 
At 8:10 AM, Blogger sevans said...

And another thing... re: #6, you know I truly believe you are an excellent writer (and I'm not the only one). Go get 'em, tiger!

 
At 6:20 PM, Blogger Closet Metro said...

I'm glad LadyBug straightened you out on the Desperate Housewives thing, because I wouldn't want to admit knowing that it was Gabrielle the brunette that was schtupping the gardener, not Edie or Lynette, the blondes. Because I wouldn't know that.

As far as a better name for porn, I'm fond of "copulant cinema."

 
At 6:20 PM, Blogger Kaycee said...

Know what's related to corn & porn? Cornholing.

See... not so verying unconnected as you thought.

 
At 7:49 PM, Blogger honestyrain said...

that may very well be the funniest thing i've ever read of yours. bloody hell that was a riot. well done, sir.

 
At 6:11 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

yay for porn!!! (:3

jules
smockblog.com

anonymous.. but not....

 
At 9:36 AM, Blogger krissy pants said...

I work for a VERY large retailer in the Merchandising area of Household Products and Consumables. In a division meeting a few months back the paper products Buyer mentioned how one of our vendors...Kimberly Clark, I think...actually did a study on consumers and whether they neatly fold or hurriedly crumple their toilet paper. I'm not sure what they were aiming to find out from this study, but I believe it was discovered that crumplers are more apt to buy their paper products in bulk.

 

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