Sunday, December 31, 2006

The Sixth Element

Moses proclaims that the Sixth Weird Thing shall also be the 11th Commandment. So sayeth the Pug.

Hello everybody,

I realize how excruciating it's been to not only deal with my weirdness on a per post and comment basis, but also to endure THREE friggin' installments of the six weird things that I'm willing to publicly admit.

I don't think it took Moses this damned long to haul the Ten Commandments down from the UFO (Personally I have yet to encounter a burning bush. Although in my more promiscuous days I may have caused a few. But perhaps I will tonight at the New Year's Eve party. A burning bush sounds intriguing. It could negate the need for Warming K-Y Lotion. But I'd better bring condoms just in case it's the contagious kind.).

The burning bush. Once revered as the "Angel's Intercom", it is now banned in most municipalities.

I wonder if Nostradamus had to deal with pressure to churn out more of his quatrains (predictions). Come to think of it, he probably had it much easier than yours truly. He could make up all sorts of vague and crazy nonsense, and be cold in the ground before anybody accused him of being a bullshitter, or of phoning it in.

Nostradamus posing for a rare portrait, for which he accurately predicted he would receive a 25% off coupon. Though closely resembling Henry VIII, he only had ONE wife, by virtue of his ability to "see" arguments in advance and avoid them.

I don't have that luxury. My only hope is redemption after my passing, in the form of apologies from those of you who helped to expedite it.

So without further ado, I now present for (dis)pleasure and (dis)approval, the sixth and final weird thing.

6) I have issues with food.

That's it. Oh, is this one too boring? What DID you want to see? Duct-taped hamster stuffing? Masturbating to "The View"? Trenchcoated debauchery in public? Well too f*cking bad. The deal was that I only had to provide six. Those would have been numbers 7, 8 and 9.

K9's admission of his fear of buffets (thank God it wasn't "emissions into buffets", BTW) reminded me that I also have irrational behaviors when it comes to food. As I've "matured" (no snickering ... oh, and like all of YOU are SO mature! ... yeah, right ... whatEV ...), I've mellowed out somewhat in this area. And after I've "had a few", I can even be relaxed enough to eat spilled crab dip off the floor of a taxi cab.

But in general I am very cautious about my food consumption. I prefer to eat food that's either been prepared and cooked by yours truly, or by someone that I trust (hygenically). I avoid restaurants unless they are high-quality, and only eat fast-food when I'm desperate. I have no stomach for buffets (including Jimmy and Warren), due to the swells of unwashed masses that tend to hover over them.

I worked with a guy who was even worse. If anyone even touched his plate, he wouldn't finish it. Of course, the second he stepped away for a moment, we would take advantage of a "loophole" and use his utensils to scratch ourselves inappropriately under our clothing. Yet, amazingly, the dude never got sick. I guess we collectively provided him with a wide range of immunities that made him immortal. This is why I encourage you all to do the same for your friends.

And don't even get me started on "potlucks". I find that I have to constantly pick my nose until it bleeds profusely around my coworkers just to ensure that they always plan one of these office afflictions for a day that I'm out of town. On those rare occasions where I am blindsided by a potluck, my worst fears are always confirmed. These Betty Crockheads whip up the most disgusting crap. Entrees that would make the Scots retch. A homemade pizza with SALAMI as a topping? WTF were you smoking, Chef Pierre? Banana and mayo sandwiches? Do I f*cking LOOK like Elvis?

Haggis: the Scottish version of the Chimichanga.

I know that you mean well by purchasing expensive and exotic cheeses and incorporating them into a homemade dip or appetizer. But you see, the problem is that I haven't slept with you yet, so the "familiarity threshold" has not been reached. I therefore can not blindly trust that you are seeking to fondly reward my sexual prowess with FRESH ingredients and CAREFUL preparation.

For all I know, the "exotic" cheese started its life as a slice of American that unfortunately slid and hid under the refridgerator for quite some time until its miraculous discovery on "Potluck Eve".

Is it any wonder why I commiserate with Howard Hughes? The man wasn't nuts. He just had one too many potlucks imposed on him. Employees were always trying to suck up with these blasted get-togethers, and unfortunately for Howard, he had no choice but to isolate himself from germs and society. It's sad, really.

Howard Hughes goes airborne in order to avoid potlucks. Tragically, one awaited him back at the airport.

Well, that does it for me on the weirdness front. I now feel like I have exorcised six demons from my soul. No longer am I a human pinata of anguish and torment. Thanks to all of you. Happy New Year, brothers and sisters!

*** Optional homework assignment: write a quatrain and either post it or place it in my comments. ***


Tuesday, December 19, 2006

Six Weird Things About Me - The Last Three

Okay everyone. I suppose it's been long enough. No longer can I bear to torment those of you who prefer frequenting my blog to having a life. While I can secretly curse and pity you, I know that it is your dependence on my bullshit that in turn nurtures me. And for that, I pity myself.

Thanks for the flurry of great comments. Well, for the most part. For some of you, the flurries indicate that shoveling is imminent.

So sorry for the delay. The truth is that I've been working so hard (almost as hard as it is for you to believe that I've been working at all), that I've had little energy for anything else. Mr. Happy is not even showing his usual signs of self-inflicted wear and tear. He's actually getting back that "new car back seat smell". THAT is just how LITTLE of an actual life I've been able to lead.

So let's get the weirdness train rollin', shall we?

4) I suffer from OCD and ADHD

(But thankfully, not VD or any other STDs, although I do use both TP and STP.)

That's right. There is a perpetual internal struggle (actually there's an awful lot of internal struggles) between these two opposing forces. Fortunately I'm only mildly afflicted. Unfortunately they don't cancel out. But fortunately they aren't dehabilitating.

Have you seen "Monk" yet? It's a show about a Private Investigator type (masterfully played by Tony Shalhoub), who suffers from an extreme case of OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder). He can't function or move on if something appears amiss. This makes him a pain-in-the-ass, but his attention to the smallest details makes him an expert case cracker.

*** Additional weirdness bonus! For some bizarre reason, I want to "boink" Natalie (Monk's Assistant). Can I write "boink"? Why sure! One, because it's my damned blog and I can do what I want. Two, because Blogger cannot afford to lose a single blogger (what, with their ineptness and all). Three, because I really enjoy using the word "boink", and for some weird reason, haven't done so in all of my posts until now. Anyhoo, I find myself strangely enthralled with her blonde hair and tushie* (* another favorite word of late). ***

While I am not as gifted as Monk, nor do I have his extreme attention to detail, I also frequently have to stop what I'm doing to correct something that's out of place. Luckily, the OCD cannot keep my cajones in its sinister grip for long, because - not unlike "The Lone Ranger" - on cue ADHD comes riding in to my rescue.

5) As it turns out, I am quite the butt pug.

Not so quick on the trigger with those comments, mon amigos! I did NOT write "butt PLUG". I meant that only recently have I realized that women's tushies* (* See how I smoothly used "tushie" as a convenient segue device from "Weird Thing #4"? Take note, avid blogger wannabees) are what I truly notice when I'm evaluating women for the purpose for imagined sexual encounters. No longer do I simply settle for brief eye contact, or a sultry "excuse me", as the female is brushing past me toward a certain oblivion of souless sexual entanglement with someone who only appears more attractive than yours truly. I want more. I want to leave bite marks in patterns that crop circle hoaxers would envy on her heiny. I want to add to the tattoo on her lower back such that it traces my "Journey to the Center of HER Earth" in grandious fashion.

Sure, boobs are nice. For you can take solace in the knowledge that no matter how soft of a man you truly are, they are even softer. Provided that they are real. More real than you, perhaps.

There is great comfort in that. Also, boobs are the safe haven of mashed potatoes amidst the uncertain piece of rump roast that it intended to be your main entree. Will the flesh be tough? Or will it be as supple as a baby's bottom? Is Mad Cow disease no longer a threat? Or did this one slip past them (and you)?

And don't get me wrong. A nice set of legs (see EOTR's blog for a fine example) is a sweet sight indeed. But the strident nature of seeing them rapidly walking toward you can serve as an omen of bad tidings. Similar to the "Red skies at morrning, sailor take warning" adage, little buddies. Did you leave the toilet seat up? Did she spot you with a mermaid / barmaid last night? Of course, seeing them walking away is equally forboding (unless she's getting you a beer).

But in the end (get it?), I'll cling onto the female ass as my favorite body part. Even though it's not the most convenient one to store in the freezer.


Okay, I lied to you once again. I'm one short* (boy, if only I had a nickel for every time I've heard that one). Call this a cliffhanger. Call me a bastard. Just call me.


Thursday, December 07, 2006

Six Weird Things About Me

Okay, first off, let's get the rules straight. I only have to mention six things. And they don't even have to be the six weirdest ones. For instance, I don't have to mention the necrophilia or even the quadrophenia.

Just six weird things where you may come to the realization that - in the cold, frigid hands of the "right woman" - I am salvageable for parts.

That's right. Perhaps the sum IS lesser than the raw components. Maybe you need my rectum because it still plays your Black Sabbath and Blood*, Sweat & Tears 8-tracks (* the blood is authethic). And - icing on the proverbial urinal cake - it doesn't require you jamming a matchbook up there, because the matchbook is already in place. Come on baby, light my fire.

So let's break me down, and distill my essence* (* My apologies to my Afro-American friends, since - due to my inability to dance - the fact that I'm totally Caucasian and therefore unqualified to use this word is readily apparent) into a tantalizing first installment (and hopefully, the last installment) of six weird things.

1) I love to Karaoke!

That's right. I'm that creepy f*cker in the corner booth, carefully weighing his auditory battleplan over a bottle of Heineken. More interested in my next assault on public (and ... if I play my cards right ... PUBIC!) sensibilities, than in the people socially interacting around me. Dare I opt for Billy Idol? Or has "White Wedding" already been sufficiently butchered? Oh, the possibilities are endless. Except for the inevitable end, with my fate being my own hand around a "microphone" of a pathetically different sort.

2) I am disappointed when I comment on other people's(?) blogs, and they don't acknowledge my comment.

That's right. I require closure. Was my comment pretty and witty? Or just gay? I need to know. Hey, I acknowledge YOU when you squirt a trail on MY blog. Is it too much to expect the same? What, is your life too chock full of important "to-do's" where I pale in comparison? Is some weenie-assed advisor whispering in your ear, "This time North Korea is dead serious. They claim that they just visited LensCrafters for better optics. They may now actually be able to hit land with their WMDs! You need to get on the Red Phone and take action. Forgive me, but SCREW responding to the Pug!"?

3) I am HIGHLY attracted to women.

That's right. I've been known to follow curvy gal through an entire Walmart. Mr. Happy is my GPS: "Turn left into lingerie. Parallel park into attractive mannequin. ". To hell with dropping prices, when there's trou to drop! At least it's winter now. I'm a basket* case (* more nimble than carts) in summer, when the clothes get skimpier. So some of you neophytes are likely wondering, "What's weird about that?". Longtime sufferers of my blog know the answer to that question: "We didn't know he had a sexual attraction to humans. The constant surprises keep us coming back for more.".


Okay, I'm a lying sack of shit. As a "teaser", I'm withholding the last three until 2 or 3 days from now, depending upon how aggressively and creatively you comment. I'm now in your hands. Make a diamond!


Monday, November 27, 2006

Holiday Letter Writing

May God bless us, every one. Except for Lamby.

I'm kidding, of course. If anyone is deserving of God's blessing, it's Lamby. What, being Republican, and all.

Still kidding (except about Lamby being deserving).

But I digress.

Yes, unfortunately it is that time of year again. A time to empty your wallets so that they match your hearts. A time to stock up on booze as you anticipate the next invasion of humanoids whose DNA, alas, too closely resembles your own. A time to cruelly be reminded that brains don't always "run in the family". A time to curse Little Orphan Annie, Bruce Wayne, Oliver Twist and yes, even Tom Hanks' "Castaway" character, for their good fortune.

"Why so cynical, pug?" .... you may be wondering ... "What if you need a kidney (or liver) someday? After all, it's the circle of life. They drain you of it. Then help to extend it (and add to your guilt) via timely transplant.". Sorry gang, but for once I'm one step ahead of you. No family for the holidays means no need to drink heavily (okay, you caught me: no need to drink QUITE as heavily). Hence, no need for organ spares as a result.

But this post isn't about get-togethers with family (or even friends ... assuming any of you have REAL* [* bloggers don't count, since the reason most of us are here in the first place is because we're incapable of bonding with "real" people] ones). It's about AVOIDING (or better yet: REPELLING) them through the use of a time-tested pre-emptive measure: the "Holiday Letter".

My inspiration this time was an insert in last Saturday's paper, entitled "The List: A Manual For Holiday Shopping". Contained therein are several recipes* (* What? No "Reefer Brownies"? Bah! Humbug!), along with multiple articles chock full of great advice for Christmas-related tasks. And, to my surprise, there were a "few" advertisements as well. I have to give the Devil her due: it was extremely well-done. So much so, that I've read much of it already!

Anyhoo, one article in particular captured my interest. It addressed the sorely neglected topic of holiday form letters, and specifically: what NOT to include. But the problem I have is that their example featured a letter written by a ficticious* (* At least I HOPE they were ficticious, because these rich bastards went on 5-f*cking vacations and garnered 3-promotions between them during the past 12-months. Assh*les. At least I probably m*sturbated more. So stroke THIS, you jet setting, most-likely Hummer-owning, never use your brand new turn signal {so you KNOW that they work!], m*therf*ckers!) family.

But let's face it: most of us are middle-class (lower than that, for some of you) schmucks. Where is OUR "Holiday Letter" advice? Well, allow me. The following is my FICTICIOUS example form letter, with helpful criticism and advice in parathentheses.


Happy Holidays!

(Way too enthusiastic. They will know you've upped your Prozac dosage.)

What a year 2006 was for the Smith family! We had our share of tragedies and triumphs.

(No one cares about your triumphs.)

Our son Paul turned 24 in February, and despite being the target of frequent gang rapes, he is hopeful that, as a model prisoner, he will qualify for early release.

(Way too specific. Instead, consider this alternative: "Our son Paul turned 24 in February. He is very popular with his peers, and seems to be the center of attention wherever he goes. He is very focused on an early graduation.")

Our daughter Priscilla turned 18 in July and we are optimistic that DUI's and drug abuse are finally out of her system. After several months of house arrest, including the wearing of a tracking monitor on her ankle, and frequent visits from her parole officer, she is slowly returning to reality.

(Again, there's no need to get explicit. People have short attention spans, so you need to keep it equally short and sweet. Try reworking it as follows: "Our daughter Priscilla turned 18 in July and we are looking forward to new horizons for her. We love having her around the house. Our baby is growing up. She enjoys fashionable and functional jewelry, and her best friend (who we always set out an extra plate for) is a perfect role model and is like a daughter to us.")

Peter still is an Account Manager with Toilet Cozies, Inc., despite his subpar performance and sexual harassment of clients. His chronic alcoholism appears to be under control, and we're relieved that the latest paternity test was negative. We knew the bitch was lying.

(Keep it light. Perhaps it would read better as follows: "Peter's tenacity in Sales is as strong as ever. We admire his ability to thrive under the most adverse conditions. Things are looking up for him these days.")

Pam's addictions to painkillers and compulsion for engaging in extra-marital affairs finally seem to be in the past. She goes to treatment twice a week, and we drive her everywhere she needs to go. Though she continues to be withdrawn and unrepentent, we remain hopeful that divorce can be avoided.

(Consider a wee bit of wordsmithing, such as: "Pam is currently pushing herself in a new direction. She's really getting into her adult coursework, and we are happy just to be along for the ride. Her present routine leaves little free time for family interaction, but of course love means never having to say you're sorry. We have each other, and that's what matters.")

In October, Peter made some ill-advised bets and ran afoul of the mob. His arm was broken as a warning, and Pam was forced (back) into prostitution in order to pay off some of the debt. Since there is no way we can possibly repay those animals, we have no choice but to take it on the lam and find safe haven somewhere. So we may be out of touch for quite some time.

(How about: As fall approached we realized it was time to tighten our belts. But at the same time it dawned on us that we were overdue for some time away. As such, we are making plans for an extended sabbatical so that we can travel and spend quality time with our friends. For those of you that we don't get to see, rest assured that you are in our thoughts, and we will be in touch real soon!")

Have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!


Peter, Pam, Paul and Priscilla


Happy Holidays, everybody!

I sincerely hope this exercise has been of value to you as you ruminate over your own holiday correspondence. And my apology if this form letter is precariously close to your own realities. All the best to you and yours this holiday season!


Tuesday, November 21, 2006

Blonde Jokes

Hi all,

Last Friday morning on the way to work, I looked like much more of a moron than usual. How is that possible, some (okay, all) of you find yourselves wondering? Well, in order to explain, I first have to let you in on a dirty little secret: I listen to the local ESPN radio station during morning commutes. There. I said it. I'm not proud of this fact. But there you have it.

Anyway, on Friday morning they were doing blonde jokes (while I, on the other hand, was busy doing blonde women!). Callers could win a case of beer for the best jokes. Here are some of the better ones.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Why did the blonde keep failing her driving test?

Every time the tester told her to park, she hopped into the backseat.


Why did the blonde's house burn down?

When she called 911, and they asked her how to get there, she said, "Duh, in a fire truck!".


A blonde gets on an airplane and - even though she only has a coach ticket - takes a seat in first-class.

It's a full flight, and the rightful owner of the first-class seat asks her to move.

The blonde says, "I'm a hot blonde, I always get everything I want, and I can sit wherever I please.".

So the stewardess is called. The blonde gives the same answer, and refuses to budge.

Finally, the Captain is summoned to the scene. He carefully assesses the situation, and then whispers something in the blonde's ear.

She promptly responds by quietly and calmly getting up and taking her assigned seat in coach.

Everyone is blown away. What did the Captain say to obtain her immediate compliance? Later on in private, the stewardess asks him.

The Captain says he simply told her that first-class wasn't going to Cincinnati.


On opposite sides of a river stand a blonde and a brunettte.

The brunette shouts to the blonde, "How do you get to the other side?".

The blonde replies, "Duh, you're ALREADY there!".


How does a blonde turn the light on after making love?

She opens the car door.

A group of blondes walks into a bar. They are high-fiving each other, chanting "Three years! Three years!".

During the next couple of hours, the boisterous group drinks champagne and periodically repeats the chant.

Intrigued, the barkeep comes over and asks them what they are celebrating.

One of the blondes joyfully explains how the group collaborated on and just completed a jigsaw puzzle.

The barkeep asks her why that's such a big deal, and cause for celebration.

To which, the blonde responds, "Duh, the box said "5 to 7 Years", and we did it in THREE.".


A blonde comes home from school and exclaims to her mom, "Today we were learning numbers, and I could count all the way to 20, while the rest of the class could barely make it to 10! Is that 'cuz I'm blonde? The mother says, "Sure, sweetie.".

The following day, the blonde comes home from school and exclaims to her mom, "Today we were learning our ABC's, and I could recite them all the way to "M", while the rest of the class could barely make it to "G"! Is that 'cuz I'm blonde? The mother says, "Sure, sweetie.".

The day after that, the blonde comes home from school and exclaims to her mom, "Today we were on the playground comparing our bodies, and mine was the curviest"! Is that 'cuz I'm blonde? The mother says, "No, sweetie, that's because you're 28".

How do you get a blonde to marry you?

Tell her she's preganant.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Bonus Feature: Memorable Dan Quayle Quotes

I am not part of the problem. I am a Republican.


I have made good judgements in the Past. I have made good judgements in the Future.


People that are really very weird can get into sensitive positions and have a tremendous impact on history.


Republicans understand the importance of bondage between a mother and child.


The American people would not want to know of any misquotes that Dan Quayle may or may not make.


The future will be better tomorrow.


We don't want to go back to tomorrow, we want to go forward.


We have a firm commitment to NATO, we are a *part* of NATO. We have a firm commitment to Europe. We are a *part* of Europe.


We're all capable of mistakes, but I do not care to enlighten you on the mistakes we may or may not have made.


Welcome to President Bush, Mrs. Bush, and my fellow astronauts.


What a waste it is to lose one's mind. Or not to have a mind is being very wasteful. How true that is.


When I have been asked during these last weeks who caused the riots and the killing in L.A., my answer has been direct and simple: Who is to blame for the riots? The rioters are to blame. Who is to blame for the killings? The killers are to blame.


[It's] time for the human race to enter the solar system.


Verbosity leads to unclear, inarticulate things.


One word sums up probably the responsibility of any vice president, and that one word is 'to be prepared'.


Illegitimacy is something we should talk about in terms of not having it.


I believe we are on an irreversible trend toward more freedom and democracy - but that could change.


Mars is essentially in the same orbit... Mars is somewhat the same distance from the Sun, which is very important. We have seen pictures where there are canals, we believe, and water. If there is water, that means there is oxygen. If oxygen, that means we can breathe.


Murphy Brown is doing better than I am. At least she knows she still has a job next year.


The Holocaust was an obscene period in our nation's history. I mean in this century's history. But we all lived in this century. I didn't live in this century.


Quite frankly, teachers are the only profession that teach our children.


We're going to have the best-educated American people in the world.


We are ready for any unforeseen event that may or may not occur.


For NASA, space is still a high priority.


Public speaking is very easy.


I stand by all the misstatements that I've made.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Geez, Quayle is an idiot. Does he ever think about what he says BEFORE he says it? - Yogi Berra

Geez, Pug is a doofus. Does he ever think about a post BEFORE he posts it? - Yogi Berra

I hoped you enjoyed these. I'm sure that some of you have more to share. I am sorry if I offended any natural blondes out there. Wait, who am I kidding? Natural blondes ... reading my blog? I should be so lucky. Just a warning, though. Anyone* (* females only this time, please) claiming to be a "natural" blonde will be required to submit to a physical exam in order to prove their status.

If THIS doesn't draw CrashTestComic out of hibernation, nothing will.


Thursday, November 16, 2006

Perspectives: Pop Culture

How do!

I chose "Perspectives" for the title of this installment for several reasons:

1) I'm already running out of post titles quicker than Planet Earth is running out of souls (okay, I exaggerated a tad ... how about, "it SEEMS like I am running out of post titles quicker than Planet Earth is running out of souls" ... better?);

2) I'm visualizing my post as being akin to one of those dreadful early Sunday morning talk shows about "community affairs";

3) I'm too lazy to think up a witty play on words.

But mostly, I suppose that I chose "Perspectives" because it probably does fit. At least as well as an off-the-rack suit from Target would. So here goes, with Perspectives on "Pop Culture".


The first "perspective" (see how I nicely tied into my post title by "reinforcing" the "perspective" concept?) I have to share, was triggered by a visit to Dykesdog's blog after a couple of beers. Her latest post triggered an exorcism* comment (* as most of her submissions do) from yours truly. As I basked in the afterglow of my comment and went to grab a beer, I had a thought (when I DO have a thought, it's important that I let people know).

WHAT IF: they remade the original "The Exorcist" with - get this - Courtney Love as the mother? Picture the scene where the priests first visit the little girl, and then consult with "mom".

Priest to mom: "Lady, that's simple genetics. Don't waste our time!".


The next perspective is of the Alanis Morissette "Ironic" video. During yet another moment of quiet and blissful introspection, a bizarre idea popped into my consciousness: what if annoying beotches COULD clone themselves for long car trips? How would this impact society? Sure, they'd have total supremacy over carpool/HOV lanes. And they'd no longer require any of US to accompany them. And of course, I suppose one COULD even stage orgies without the stigma or the implication of cheating. But is it worth the Quadraphonic PMS or having an entire set of women that one is eventually unable to understand or please? It's like the rain (of urine) on your wedding day.


My final perspective is on the topic of pets; dogs and cats, specifically. Why is it that people are way ruder and more inconsiderate in conversations about pets, than they are about their own damned children (Disclaimer: by "damned children", I don't mean "possessed". Even though they well could be. "Damned" was only used for dramatic effect.)? When most folks are done droning on about their spawn, the vast majority of them will naturally inquire if you have any kids. If you are a woman, you may want to consider responding with a wink and "None that I know of". This tends to reduce the tedium to some extent.

But God have mercy in the event that you foolishly ask if they have any pets. By the time you're finally able to get them to shut the hell up, you shall know more about their lame-ass animal than you know about yourself. Using long-range binoculars you'll be able to efficiently identify one of their pet's stool samples from the same field that thousands of other animals have defacated upon. But will they ask if YOU have any pets? Hell no. Pricks. Screw them.


Thursday, November 09, 2006

State Naive (Not a Native)

Hi everybody!

FINALLY. A rare opportunity to sling a new post at you from behind the bars here at the zoo. At least I've been collecting random droppings hither and yon* (* I like that phrase so much, I had to use it for the second post in a row), for incorporation into this humble offering.

So without further ado, submitted for your mild entertainment are more "Random Musings".


Observation #1: What is up with those friggin' "(YOUR STATE) NATIVE" bumper stickers? Were they all out of "FROM THE LOCAL STAGNANT GENE POOL" ones? Listen up, morons: if you cannot conclusively PROVE that your ancestors meandered their way across the Bering Strait Land Bridge, then you can take that sticker off of your damned bumper, and shove it up your ass. Perhaps I should send that weepy roadside Indian dude from the classic "Don't Litter" commercial over to do it for you. Then I'll shove some "native" Trilobite fossils with "SWAMP LOCAL" etched on them up there to keep you company, as you (and the other fossils) drunkenly reminisce about the good old days before unappreciative nomadic assholes like yours truly came to town to shit things up even further.


Observation #2: I don't know about your neck(s) of the woods, but here in the "Great Southwest" we had new voting machines to contend with on Tuesday. It took me 2+ hours of waiting in line to cast my vote. Surprisingly I didn't mind, though. For reasons I won't go into (any further than I've done in various comments), it felt great to see so many people as determined and passionate as I was. Plus I was able to check out my neighbors in close proximity without actually having to talk to (most of) them. I could see which ladies were potentially "doable", and which guys were assholish enough for me to walk my dogs on their lawns. Anyway, the new machines were electronic (imagine that! hoooo doggies!) and way cool. They could've only impressed me more if Pac Man characters came onscreen (complete with sound effects) to "eat" any votes for Republican candidates. I was pleasantly surprised that far fewer of my neighbors behaved like "Natives"* (* see previous paragraph) than I expected.


Observation #3: My voting place was at a local church. For those of you who have "known" me for awhile, you're likely wondering if I burst into flames upon entry. Amazingly I did not. Although the pea* (* that's the one spelled with an "a") soup did start to come up a bit; probably acid reflux due to suspected Republicans being present. A back wall in the room containing the voting machines had an interesting mural. On a flat black background, there was a lone fireman viewed from the back, with a wall of flames in front of him. This was an earnest and sincerely touching tribute, apparently in response to 9/11. I thought it was neat. But then, I started to wonder: what if there was an ACTUAL fire in the church? What if there was a real firefighter in there, trying to work toward an exit, perhaps attempting to follow the figure on the wall? People, you need to think things through.


I hope you enjoyed this installment. I will TRY to post more often.


Thursday, November 02, 2006

Random Musings

Howdy folks,

I have a few yeasty ideas fermenting, but need a bit more time in order to distill them into the high quality feature-length posts that you've come to expect from yours truly. So in the interim I would like introduce a concept that is brand new to the world of blogging. I call it (drum roll please) ... "Random Musings". Think of this revolutionary format as a couple* (* this time, just to give you a "taste") of "mini-posts" in one convenient offering.

So here goes.

You've probably been wondering what exciting and mystical new adventures and experiences I've encountered during the past two weeks (and if I've been alive to enjoy them). During which time, I've managed to extrude only two new posts. Well wonder no more! Today I will share some truly amazing observations from the "Great Southwest" version of The Odyssey.


Observation #1: Tightly focused business concepts may be viable in today's "boom" economy.

This morning I was snugly ensconced* (* love that word, BTW) in stop-and-go traffic, when I noticed a white commercial van for a company called, "Dryer Vent Specialists". Needless to say, I was enthralled (I am "cat-like", that way). Who knew that the seemingly trivial and oft-overlooked world of dryer venting could produce a vertical market worthy of at least one commercial van roaming hither and yon, tending to its needs? Certainly not this pug.

Makes me wonder if there are other mechanical orifices that could justify other start-ups. Other than ductwork cleaning, of course, which is already taken. Ditto for chimneys.

How about tail pipes? I already know a whole bunch of folks I'd like to see sucking on one. Why not hire them to perform this task as part of their job description, and therefore benefit in no less than TWO ways?


Observation #2: It pays to pay close attention to radio commercials.

I've been getting more into radio commercials lately as a form of mental exercise in order to combat the effects of automotive solitary confinement. I evaluate them against a proprietary multi-layered assessment model and once the various metrics are carefully weighed and tallied, assign a grade which I almost immediately forget.

But there was a commercial today that I vowed to remember for this post. It was for Wrangler Jeans, with the tag line, "Wrangler Jeans: the official jeans of Dale Earnhardt, Jr.". This got me to thinking, what if I HADN'T paid such close attention? Quite possibly I would've missed the "Jr." at the end of Dale Earnhardt, and assumed that Dale Earnhardt Sr. (who I'm guessing didn't go by "Sr." until "Jr." was born) was the official endorser of Wrangler Jeans.

Then I wondered what THIS incorrect assumption would imply. That he was buried in a pair of Wranglers? Frankly, this scenario would creep me out. A decomposing body in a pair of Wranglers would leave me hesitant - at best - to run to WalMart in order to snap up a pair, despite my love of "Forensic Files" and "Psychic Detectives".

Or rather, like the deity that many NASCAR fans project him to be, did he rise from the dead in order to shill for one last staple from redneck culture (Obligatory Disclaimer: I own approximately 5-pairs of Wrangler Jeans, enough to outfit the entire starting unit of the Memphis Grizzlies if they ever go line dancing)?

It's a moot point for this particular radio LISTENER, as I conclusively know that his SON is the Wrangler Jeans official endorser.


Stay tuned for future "Random Musings", and thanks for watching!


Wednesday, October 25, 2006

This Just In - Working Sucks!


Hello everyone,

A thousand pardons for taking so damned long to pinch out a new post. The least I can do is subject you all to an excruciatingly long and dull explanation. So here goes.

I am now over a week into my new job. And for the first time in quite a while, I am being forced to consistently earn my pay. Now I understand what one or two of you go through on rare occasions. Holy crap! Work totally bites. There's virtually no time for me to masturbate at my desk, let alone blog* (* the "other" form of gratification with the "other" white meat ... the whites of your eyes!).

I've been run ragged. Is it normal to experience "burn out" after only 8-days in a new job?

I travel quite a bit, but it's all driving, which I don't mind nearly as much as flying. And the new slavemasters really seem to like me. Which is nice, but totally unnecessary, since I'm still under the influence of "New Employee Stockholm Syndrome". I praise memos, send out "great idea" emails, and remain attentive in meetings. The exceptionally kind treatment (I get TWO helpings of gruel, plus one "courtesy reacharound" per day) appears to be making the other prisoners both jealous and surly.

I'm beginning to suspect that they are plotting to throw this particular pug and his amazing technicolor dreamcoat down the nearest well until I can be sold to Egyptian slave traders. Hating me because of my beauty and innocence is an ugly thing. Bastards.

I work with many different accounts, and as a result I meet a wide spectrum of interesting people. But unfortunately so far there have been no offers of sex. However the new compensation plan is due by December, so there is hope on the horizon.

I appreciate everyone who stayed in touch by continuing to comment on my previous post. Moving forward I'll try to be more regular in my posting, commenting and even my bowel movements. I know that some of you are wondering if there's much difference between the three.


Sunday, October 15, 2006

Decoding the Signals

Hello everyone,

Though I do strive for variety in my posts, a trend has become blatantly apparent. One that threatens to morph me into a dreaded "advice columnist". The cruelly elusive hope of interacting with other humans (?) in a romantic context is of great appeal to some (okay, all) of you. So why not borrow from a "Kinks" album title and "give the people what they want"? At least for one more post.

So here goes. For now. I hope you find this helpful. And if not, keep your chins up and remember that self-pleasure has a lot of the same guilt without the expense, emotional investment or need for restraining order.

It’s no secret that the language of love isn't always the most, well, direct. Or socially acceptable, for that matter. That’s why so many single people spend hours analyzing emails from dates trying to figure out if “Please leave me alone” is a brush-off, or wondering whether that invitation of “I’ll make dinner for you” indicates a desire to share a whole lot more than a favorite keilbasa recipe. So how can you figure out the real message? Since I care so very damned much for every one of you, I shall decode eight common lines so you’ll spend less time scratching your head, armpits or nether regions and more time spreading the love.


Line: “I’d love to stay out, but I have to get up really early tomorrow.”

What it means: “The prospect of waking up early is infinitely more appealing than pissing away any more of my evening with you."

Of course, if it’s 2 a.m. or your date follows up with, “But let’s get together soon — how does February 29th sound?”, the fact that he or she wants to end the date is no big deal. Unless last year was leap year. Or if it's March. But if the night is young or your date mentions an aversion to staying out late in the middle of, say, greeting you at the start of the date, that’s not a good sign. Your date may sense there’s no connection and may be contemplating a fake seizure in order "pop the escape hatch". At least look at the upside: This person’s also freeing you from a situation that’s not going anywhere, so just enjoy your dinner, then pretend you're going to the restroom and skedaddle out back so it doesn't set you back monetarily.


Line: “I had such a good time with you.”

What it means: The use of past tense indicates that the good time was fleeting at best, and has since elapsed. Your date senses that your ability to entertain is not sustainable, and if he or she cuts it short now, there's the possibility of sex with the usual backup.

You may have to carefully consider if it's your lot in life to be the "warm up act". Every great baseball team has to have a good set-up man. A batter who sacrifices the runner over to 3rd base, or a pitcher who guides the game through the doldrums of the middle innings. Take solace in the fact that at least you're on the team.


Line: “I’m just not ready for a relationship.”

What it means: “I’m just not ready for a relationship. With you."

It’s hard when someone you like tells you he or she’s not in a place to seriously date anyone. But it also makes you hope that the problem is timing, not your lack of a "desirable" personality. If you can just be patient, you think, things could percolate, right? Wrong. Don’t be fooled — when this person does meet someone who has that spark, he or she will indeed be ready for a relationship. It doesn't matter if the "spark" is Ted Bundy or Courtney Love. As long as it's not you.


Line: “I’d love to meet up, but I’m just really busy with work right now.”

What it means: Since being "busy" at work is a voluntary condition, and is rare for most of us, this line is the equivalent of telling someone that you're "married to the sea". Even if you both live in Nebraska. Take the hint and move on. Or join the Navy and search for his or her ship at the rail every night.

Of course, this person could very well have a full schedule that week. But if he or she doesn’t offer any alternative dates to hang out, what you’re really being told is that this person would rather work than hang out with you.


Line: “So, gotten any other emails on lately?”

What it means: “Hopefully you have other potential victims that you can pursue.”

It's a subtle and convenient way of breaking things off while convincing your date that he or she may have "virtual" appeal to other strangers.


Line: “So, want to meet for coffee?”

What it means: “Want to meet for a coffee and then have dinner if we like each other?" Though it most likely means, "I want to be as alert and vigilant as possible, so if you try any shit, I'll be ready for it. Plus we'll be in a public place with scalding coffee within ready reach."

It’s always smart to schedule a short, easy-to-end date when you’re first meeting a new person. This is why I recommend meeting at a bus stop. If you don't make a connection by the time the bus arrives, get on. If he or she follows you, get off. Continue this process until it becomes obvious to your date that the date has concluded. And hopefully, it will. Eventually.


Line: “I’m meeting my friends for a drink — want to come?”

What it means: “I really like you and want to know if you get along with my pals. Plan on footing the entire bill if you REALLY want us to like you.”

It may sound like a casual invite, but what your date is saying is that he or she is totally comfortable being seen - after dark - with you as a couple, and is interested in how you’ll relate to his or her "orgy circle". Meeting the friends is an approval thing. Women want to see how he treats their friends, and men want to know if his friends like the girl. It may seem intimidating, but it should actually boost your ego: You’ve passed the first tests and are now on your way to becoming a full-time boyfriend or girlfriend—provided the buddies sign off. If you’re feeling just as positive about the relationship, say “Yes,” and start signing your way through the mountain of paperwork.


Line: “Why don’t you come over and I’ll cook for you?”

What it means: “You may get lucky ... and NOT get indigestion.”

Cooking for a person is a show of intimacy in a couple of ways. The person is really inviting you into his or her life. Don't get too excited though. It doesn't mean you get to STAY. Someone’s apartment is their whole world, so they’re obviously comfortable enough to make an effort to trap you into it. Then, of course, there’s the fact that you’ll conveniently be just a few steps from the couch — and the bedroom — and the dumpster - later that night. If it’s a first or early date, this might actually be a bit too personal, especially if you’re not sure how you feel about your future together. Unless you're the average guy. In which case "the future" is not a consideration at all. But if you’re pretty sure you’re ready to explore things further, congratulations, tonight could be the night. So be prepared. Have your flashlight, rappelling gear, and protective devices at the ready.


Southwestern advice columnist Puerileuwaite has written for his blog and "other" publications that so far refuse to acknowledge his contributions.


Wednesday, October 11, 2006

Pick-up Lines

Hi all,

As "The Pug's Farewell Tour" winds down its final week, it's starting to feel long and tedious, just like The Judd's Farewell Tour(s) did.

You have been way too kind with your insightful(?) and numerous comments. The attention has been wonderful and fulfilling. So much so, that I no longer feel the need to ambush people with 45-minute monologues whenever they're foolhardy enough to ask me, "How's it goin'?".

Conversely I no longer have the desire to feign interest in the lives of any actual people that I know or meet during my occasional forays into the daylight. I've morphed into one of the "Sims", which couldn't have been possible without your participation. So thanks, I guess.

Since this is a rare week where I feel the compulsion to be CONSISTENTLY productive (don't worry, it'll pass), I don't have the time or energy to create another ingeniously clever original post. So, I did what comes natural. I stole from Crimson, another blogger. Don't worry, she's cool. So much, in fact, that she doesn't even know I exist. A beautiful woman cannot call you a creep until she crosses paths with you. This is why I prefer to take the path less traveled. The illusion of potential attraction remains intact.

Mention of this takes you back, doesn't it? Back to the days before you learned of my existence, when there was no need to REALLY question God's Plan.

Certainly who am I to offer justification for what the Supreme Being does? But perhaps, just perhaps, I can momentarily boost what little value I have, in the form of helpful knowledge for my female readers in dealing with us pigs, er, pugs.

Crimson's latest post offered the Top 10 Best and Worst Pick-up Lines. All I have to "contribute" are some optional responses to consider.

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Top 10 Best(?) Pick-up Lines:

10-- "I was wondering if you have a moment to spare for me to hit on you?"

Response: "I was wondering how you slipped past the velvet rope."


9-- "What's a sexy woman like you doing in a dirty mind like mine?"

Response: "Research on effects of botched lobotomies. Thank you for participating. They have a cookie and some orange juice for you at the bar."


8-- "Do you work for UPS? I could have sworn I saw you checking out my package."

Response: "Yes, I was checking out the whole package. I didn't know they accepted fruit shipments."


7-- "Who's your friend?"

Response: "At this moment? Dr. Kevorkian, if he'll take my call."


6-- "I'm new in town and can't find my way around; could I have directions to your place?"

Response: "Real men never ask for directions. You should emulate one."


5-- "I may not be the best-looking guy in here, but I'm the only one talking to you."

Response: "I may not be the most virus-free chick here, but I'm the only one willing to sleep with you."


4-- "You must be Jamaican, because Jamaican me crazy."

Response: "Well you must be Jamocha, because the repulsion is making me shake."


3-- "What's your name?"

Response: "No, What is on first. I am heading home."


2-- "See my friend over there? He wants to know if you think I'm cute."

Response: "That's not important. Why does he need the validation? What IS important is that HE thinks you're cute. It shouldn't matter what other people think if you two are in love."


1-- "So what haven't you been told tonight?"

Response: "Beware of freaks asking stupid questions. That advice would have proven timely. I SO need to find a new fortune teller."

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Top 10 Worst Pick-up Lines:

10--"Hey, I was just thinking of you! Okay, I'm all cleaned up now though."

Response: "Well that's good. I was telling my friend when we arrived, 'Doesn't that loser look like he just shit himself?' "


9-- "How would you like your eggs for breakfast: scrambled, boiled or fertilized?"

Response: "I am unable to have children, you thoughtless, insensitive prick."


8-- "What do you say we go back to my place and do some math? Add the bed, subtract the clothes, divide the legs, and multiply!"

Response: "What do you say we add one bouncer boyfriend who pummels you out back, subtracts your wallet from your person, divides the money with yours truly, and multiplies with me in the back of your car?"


7-- "You might as well sleep with me because I'm going to tell everybody we did it anyway."

Response: "You may as well write your suicide note now, because I'm going to tell everybody that's what happened."


6-- "Hey babe, do you know that my bedroom is soundproof?"

Response: "Not airproof? What a pity."


5-- "Oh, I'm sorry, I thought that was a Braille name tag."

Response: *Kicks oaf in the groin* "Mistakes happen. I thought those were soccer balls."


4-- "I just want to tell you that you have a price to pay for being this cute, and I'm here to collect... your phone number, that is."

Response: "Sure! Got a pen? It's 1-800-4-A-TRANN(Y)"


3-- "Did you know women are like parking spots? All the good ones are taken and the rest are handicapped. Which are you?"

Response: "I'm over the sewer grate, next to the fire hydrant, with all of the ashtray dumpings. And yet, despite my humble location, allowing a moped on me seems like such a waste."


2-- "Can I buy you a drink or do you prefer the cash instead?"

Response: "Silly, you can't buy tampons with drinks."


1-- "If you've lost your virginity, can I have the box it came in?"

Response: "Only if I can meet the man who took yours."

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Ladies, everything I do, I do it for you.


Saturday, October 07, 2006

Seed of Power

Some bloggers felt uneasy about Puerileuwaite's feeble come-on's. RevRee was warned about the Southwestern Blogger in September of 2006

By Reardon Pounding

In the summer of 2006, bloggers were warned to steer clear of a freshman blogger from the Southwestern U.S., who was already learning the sexual habits of commenters, dashing off notes, letters and e-mails to them, and asking them to join him for ice cream, according to Lamby, a current reader. When the naive commenters asked why, they were sternly reminded that he was a PUG! "Nuff said.

Leelee said that Puerileuwaite was known to be extraordinarily friendly in a way that made some of them uncomfortable. He would comment inappropriately on their blogs. He would lead them on, then back off, and then repeat the process. This both confused and titillated the bloggers.

Dykesdog provided a handwritten letter that Puerileuwaite had sent her, suggesting that they get together during the Republican National Convention in New York City in 2004. RNC's have long been rumored to be hotbeds of "anything goes" sexual liaisons involving cattle mutilations and tupperware parties.

"Puerileuwaite knew that he could get away with this type of behavior with his readers because they were "needy"," Fair Mayden (another loyal commenter) said. "and would meekly agree to anything in order to retain his attention".

The four-month blogger threatened to resign Friday after ABC News questioned him about sexually explicit electronic messages he had sent to multiple bloggers. Examples of such messages included, ""Let me show you the post I M working on", "I know U want it", Let me Spam all over you", "C U in Clown School", and others.

Puerileuwaite was popular with many bloggers. They come from all over the nation (and Canada, as you would expect, since blogging is now that "country's" third most popular pastime after hockey and curling) to share their semi-coherent ramblings with the Pug, despite his tepid interest.

A Canadian blogger by name of /t. is but one of the Pug's many Canuck followers. In a statement, /t. mentioned that he was not "burly" enough to be a LOGGER, unlike most Canadians. So he simply added a "b" to his job title and learned basic computer skills on his Commodore 64. The rest is history.

/t. with his good friend Little Lamb (in human form)

Bloggers' lives are tightly controlled. They seldom leave their homes and their computers are monitored. They never attend social functions and spend virtually all of their time alone. So when they do receive rare one-on-one attention, it is a big deal.

The commenters did, however, receive a lot of attention from Puerileuwaite. He attended one of their parties in a pants-less tuxedo. He wrote suggestively about them in bathroom stalls. He learned their interests and asked them about themselves. For many, it was welcome attention.

Jmeped had won a lunch with the pug with a rare, intelligently constructed comment. When she asked to go to Morton's steakhouse, Puerileuwaite replied that the two of them "will cruise in my BMW to Morton's". Instead, he took her to the nearest Captain D's in his severely damaged Ford Escort".

In the comments section of a recent post, Puerileuwaite praised his readers for their maturity. "Now, I know you have one more year of high school to conclude and that probably is some degree of relief or maybe, to those you feel like you are probably well equipped to enter your first year of college," he said. "Some of you, I think, in conversing with you, some are actually mature enough to enter college right away."

Willo Keays said that Puerileuwaite's attempts to socialize with other bloggers went beyond the ordinary. In the manner of "Eddie Haskell" from the classic "Leave It To Beaver" sitcom, he left a comment on her blog that unsuccessfully attempted to shamelessly suck up to her mother and sisters in order to win their affection.

K9, a moonshining blogger from the back woods, said that, "If Puerileuwaite took the time to eChat with you, that was a big deal. That was a huge deal."

Pud, who said she never heard about Puerileuwaite's advances, remarked that some of her blogmates may have been tempted to correspond with the Pug because they were eager to land future jobs as guest posters on his enormously popular blog. "I can see how a 16-year-old would be vulnerable to that. But us grown adults should have been more capable of seeing through his bullshit."

Dykesdog, a blogger whose younger brother also is a blogger, said: "I certainly warned my little brother, who stopped blogging last year and then returned. A few bloggers are a little too friendly to the newbies."

Crash Test Comic, who occasionally performs in clubs but refuses to let folks know the locations, dates and show times, swapped links (talk about a double-entendre) with Puerileuwaite a couple months ago. He said that numerous bloggers told him to be "very careful" of the Pug. Within weeks, Puerileuwaite learned his name and asked at least twice to adopt his suggestions for the name of Crash's next "comedy" tour. He stroked the Pug along, leading him to believe that he was a shoe-in "Name The Tour" contest winner. This angered the freshman blogger, who proceeded to exchange "Yo Mama" jokes with the "comic".

"It was an odd series of comments and replies," Crash said.

After he completed a recent "By Special Invite Only" blogger orgy, Puerileuwaite wrote thank you emails to all who participated. He received a reply from Party Girl almost immediately, suggesting that the two meet up during the Republican convention in San Diego.

Staff researcher Girl Goyle and research editor Malnurtured Snay contributed to this report.

© 2006 The Pug News Agency


Monday, October 02, 2006

Career Opportunities - Part I

Hello everyone,

I can manage just a few paragraphs today to let you know I'm still alive and thinking of (most of) you.

I realize that some of you have been wondering, WTF? Do I EVER plan to post again? Well excuuuuuuse me for trying to get a life! I had no idea that blogging is creepily similar to that movie, "The Firm". Or maybe it's just like the "Hotel California", the way they* (* Lamby and /t., usually) stab at my blog with their "steely knives", but they just can't (totally) kill my zest for blogging.

(Though try, they do.)

Perhaps it's more akin to "The Devil's Advocate", where I'm granted modest blog popularity, just to have Heckle and Jeckle* (Lamby and /t., usually) descend, devour and devastate like crows on a field of prize winning corn.

(But I kid.)

Okay, since I'm currently "between ideas", I'll go with the truth for this post. I've been in the midst of career planning - a new concept I've wanted to try out for awhile now. And it has paid off. I'll be moving on to a better opportunity (Hurray for me! Hurray for everything!). So today I gave 2-weeks notice. I feel like 120 lbs.* (* about what Lamby weighs ... /t. weighs much less) has been removed from my shoulders!

(I am SO glad those two have a great sense of humor. Maybe not in their comments. But perhaps in their reactions to this post.)

Two weeks from today, I'll be starting my new job. I will meet a whole new bunch of coworkers who have no natural immunities to my bullshit. I'll be able to exclaim that "I'm on it!", with no one being the wiser. I'll also be able to confirm that "I'm all over it!", without them realizing until much too late that I was past it; not concerned with it.

Presently, my boss and the Business Office Beotch (just one of the "BOB"s) are the only one who know. The rest of the torture weasels will, as soon as they open their emails (to which I should have attached viruses ... oh well, live and learn).

Serves 'em right for leading me to believe I'd be handsomely rewarded for my efforts, just to find out they had no intention of doing so. Just like how CrashTestComic shined me on about being the front-runner in his "Name The Tour" contest, just to find out that he went with some totally obscure reference that none of us have ever heard of (Kubla Khan? WTF?!).

So how will they respond? Dull surprise? Outrage? Counter-offer? Sexual favors? To be continued ...


Sunday, September 24, 2006

Strengthen That Relationship

Hello everyone,

I believe in omens. And I am not alone. One of my dear blog friends does too, and mentioned her omen (a rainbow that lasted for many miles) in her latest post. The only reason I don't mention her by name, is because some of you delinquents will go out of your way to piss on her rainbow in a sadistic attempt to make the colors run.

But enough about people who aren't me. Just a short while ago, I sat down at a coworker's desk to browse for porn on her computer (it's where I'm writing this post), and it was there that I spotted my omen.

It's a reminder, in the form of a bookmark, that I need to work on my relationship. It's entitled: "Don't Let Stress Bust Your Relationship", and it has 9-bulleted tips for taking the wind from your shorts and putting it back in your sails.

You're asking me, will my love grow? I don't know.

How did the fine folks at know that stress was making my relationship its bitch? Well, no matter. It's a bookmark, not a woman, so I'll dutifully listen to it and heed its advice.


1) Take a deep breath and count to ten before speaking

One ... two ... three ... four ... five ... six ... seven ... eight ... nine ... ten. There. Ten good reasons why I need to kill you right this instant. Wait. Did I just say that out loud?

2) Focus on your partner's positive traits

I like the way you leave each morning to go to work. Sure, I hate you at first. But after awhile the anger dissipates somewhat. I like how your absence makes the heart grow fonder. Oh, not my heart. But somebody's heart, I'm sure. I like how you have the same number of limbs that I do, making those countless hours as a youth in front of a full-length mirror practice time well spent. I like how you just know when to stop speaking and move on to snoring.

3) Recall a happy memory the two of you have shared

Remember when your mom passed away and left us all of that money? Remember when that chubby kid with the Prince Valiant haircut tripped and fell on the midway, smooshing his chocolate ice cream perfectly into his face? Remember those crisp fall mornings when we woke up to find that George W. Bush had been elected and then re-elected?

4) Reserve time for each other by trimming your to-do list

Trimming your hoo-ha has been on both of our "to-do" lists. So be there. Friday, 7PM. Informal attire. Blackhead removal gun: optional.

5) Find something that makes you both laugh

Honey, let's go see CrashTestComic's act. Oh wait, it has to make us LAUGH. Nevermind. I'm sure we'll think of something.

6) Do something nice for your partner to show you care

Jim Morrison once took a ring from a groupie that he just had his way with, and gave it to his girlfriend. Though admittedly it's not a Hallmark moment, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.

7) Ask thoughtful questions about your partner's day

"So, how was the parking?" "Do they still have that vending machine on the 3rd floor?" "Are there any women at work that you consider to be more attractive than you?" "How many calories did you burn?"

8) Spend some time alone caring for your needs

Let's see. I'm low on hand lotion, so I'll need to swing by Walgreen's. Hmmmm, The Golden Girls comes on at 4. And then Katie Couric starts to weave her magic at 5. Then a quick sauna at the YMCA. That should do it.

9) Tell your partner that you love them, and why

Um, I love you. Why? Because if you love something, set it free. I saw a black-light poster like that once, from the hippy era. So you are free to go, my love. No, wait. Don't go. I just remembered that I haven't had my dinner yet.


Okay, you slackers. It's your turn. Love doesn't have to be a battlefield. It can be a beautiful field with manicured grass, fragrant flowers, and granite markers arranged in elegantly precise formations.


Friday, September 22, 2006

Hot Christian Sex

Puerileuwaite just KNEW that you perverts would be drawn in with a title like that.

Hot Christian Sex
by A. Paul DeMasses
Special to High & Holy Times Magazine

SOMEWHERE IN THE GREAT SOUTHWEST — About 100 evangelical Christian couples stand in the convention hall of the Two Points Horizontally Parallel Sheraton, bow their heads and thank God for their lives and the new day. Then they sing the old-timey hymn “There’s Not a Friend Like the Lowly Jesus.”

Just then, a protester shouts, "Assholes! Not a friend? And who are YOU to refer to Jesus as "lowly"? Pricks! But I forgive you.". He then disappears under a wave of kicks and punches.

I have come here expecting exactly this scene. The occasion is a seminar called “Love, Sex and Marriage: Mutually Exclusive No Longer,” being given by Jethro BoDean Puerileuwaite, a Southern preacher out of the old school, a self-described “book-chapter-and-verse guy,” who runs an outfit based in Atlanta, Georgia, called Family Dynamic Tension.

So I’m anticipating condemnation of American culture — especially America’s sexual culture — that has made conservative Christians feel dorky and distrusted.

But then Puerileuwaite, a sleek and sexy tower of power dressed in khaki slacks, a "Show Me Your Tithes ... and Your Tits!" t-shirt and Doc Martens that make him look like a retired punk rocker, shimmy-shakes to the front of the room and proceeds to tell the men in the audience how monogamy is not just another word for monotony.

Welcome to the world of hot Christian love. Sex for salvation. A new approach where Jesus doesn't have to be the only one coming.

The message is simple: Married Christians ought to be having more — and hotter — sex. With EACH OTHER, no less.

You could be forgiven for thinking “conservative Christian” and “hot sex” are oxymoronic. The missionary position has a real history, after all, as the logical progression from kneeled praying for sex to actually having it. But Puerileuwaite is part of a burgeoning trend among evangelicals to bring sex out of the shadows, making it available to everyone for a nominal donation.

"For years, Christian publishing would not publish on sex," says Ima Vixen, a Christian sex therapist with the Sex & Ministry (S&M) Group based in Des Moines, Iowa. "If they did, it was so heavily edited nothing of value was left. Now, more and more pastors are preaching about it on Sunday, resulting in filled pews, though you still do not see classes in semenaries. We are seeking to do that."

Vixen thinks preachers like Puerileuwaite have seen — and even "felt themselves" — the impact of the sexual revolution, and realize the church has been left behind as a source of sexual information. Apparently, for some bizarre reason, people do not view the church as the obvious definitive source. Carnival knowledge, yes. Carnal knowledge, no.

“Sex is supposed to be a sacred subject when money is not directly involved in the negotiations," Ms. Vixen says. “The church generally prefers not to talk about it, since it currently is not a source of revenue. But that has several impacts. It keeps it shrouded in ignorance (resulting in dumbshits attempting to use rubberbands as condoms) and the implication is that since you are not talking about it, it’s bad (even though sex can be good when it's bad, although bad sex is usually not good). It also results in them learning about sex on the street, at work, and on blogs.”.

Puerileuwaite sees this attitude every day. Women tell him: “I feel like I am sinning when I make love to my husband.” To which he replies, "I've seen your husband. You're safe. It's charity. But demonstrate on me what you do, so that through my divine wisdom I can determine if it's sinful.". He then goes on to whisper, "Perhaps if you do it this way ...", and has them repeat the act with church-sanctioned modifications.

“They want help,” he tells the assembled crowd at the Sheraton. At least a score of heads bob up from laps in recognition. “It’s hard,” he continues, "but we must be equally rigid in our approach to relieving the problem.". He then proclaims, “sex is the most wonderful gift God ever gave Christians.” "However, installing Larry Flint, Hugh Hefner and Bob Guccione as it's official representatives was his "suckiest" gift.".

Purileuwaite, who is studying for a Sexology Ph.D. from Rancho Mustang Institute in Nevada, is all about shining the light into parked cars and closed minds. He and a few others like him have concluded that conservative Christians can cope with America’s hypersexualized culture by being given permission to "pluck much of its fruit". Another benefit would be the "infusion" of Christian morality into mainstream Americans.

The information he dispenses at 75-cents a pop as a cruel unexpected substitute for condoms, is a mix of scriptural interpretation and mainstream sexology. He does not speak in euphemisms or metaphors and his plain spokeness makes a few listeners squirm, at first. But Pueriluwaite is also part entertainer with a patter that is almost vaudevillian in its timing: “Why are women multiorgasmic and men not? Because I don't sleep with men! ... What’s the difference between a woman with PMS and a Doberman? Dobermans don't try to bite as you f*ck 'em! Thank you! CrashTestComic and I will be here all week.”.

The humor and the brazen talk, coming from a man who is not only one of them, but a leader who rubs penises with James Dobson and Jerry Falwell, gives them permission to relax and hear his message.

It’s a simple one: Sex is good. Sex is great. Sex means you don't have to masturbate! It deepens relationships. It strengthens business associations. It makes it more enjoyable to be at work. It makes waits at the Department of Motor Vehicles less frustrating and tedious. It ensures a steady stream of quality people to populate Mother Earth. It gives Rev-Ree new posts for her blog.

There are rules many in the secular world reject. You have to be married. You have to be heterosexual. You have to wear pants in public. Other prohibitions include no sex with animals (not even if it tends to dramatically increase zoo attendance), no incest, no lust for people other than your spouse (especially you heathen bloggers reading this post), no adultery (but hell, if this is the ONLY way some of you can approximate "adult" behavior, he'll make an exception) and no porn or prostitution.

He argues that if the Bible does not forbid it, you can do it. So bring on masturbation! Try any position in the Kama Sutra. But refer to drawings, please, not pictures of real people, unless you already have some. And if you do, could you send him some?

Better yet, purchase his special bed from an earlier "Bed For Sale" post. Wife away on business? Have phone sex. Better yet, have it WITH YOUR WIFE! Birth control is good. Even anal sex is OK if it works as your "bar pickup line". Annual sex is also acceptable, though worthy of pity and self-loathing.

If you are a married Christian, not only can you do all this, but you should be doing it. So get busy, do the nasty, and turn yourselves into PROcreators.

“Our church has tried to be more open about sex, and to be more real about it,” Marsha (The Wad) Wadsworth, a member of the Brooklyn church and, along with her husband, Greg, one of the organizers of today’s sessions, tells me half-way through Puerileuwaite’s lecture. “There are lots of hang-ups ingrained on you every day: only 2-people per bed, no ceiling mounted appliances, no suffocation for pleasure, and no food items to be used in the bed chamber.". Bastards.

That’s very clear after Puerileuwaite takes a break, giving time for attendees to fill out question cards. They’re supposed to be free to ask anything that’s been on their minds. But when he returns, he flips through the cards and sees that they've all drawn Kama Sutra stills in sequence that create a mini-movie of a most reprehensible act featuring Puerileuwaite himself.

Everybody cracks up yet again. He begins reading from another set of cards: Is mutual masturbation OK? "Yes, but Mutual of Omaha is not, you sick f*cks."

Which sex toys are good, and can we use them at all? “The best ones are those you can accidently leave out in plain site, and no one is the wiser. If asked, calmly state, "Oh, that's a drink mixer. Here, hand me your cocktail and I'll show you how it works. (Inserts it into the glass, and momentarily turns it on.) See? A PERFECTLY mixed drink.".

What can you do if your wife is having trouble reaching orgasm? “Try having sex doggy-style and simultaneously masturbating. If that doesn't work, ask her lover what he (or she) does to get her motor runnin', and headin' for the highway.".

He offers another suggestion: “You’ve heard of the proverbial 69?” Someone in the audience naively asks, "Wasn't that the Tokyo mafia gang from "Kill Bill"?" At that point Puerileuwaite realizes he has his work cut out for him. For while his congregation does not yet know how to properly suck, their comprehension skills obviously are a "head" of them in this department.

Now morally unburdened, the attendees are eager to get home. The explicitness causes some jaws to drop, but not because people are offended. They're gettin' ready to do the holy hibbity jibbity.

“What is new for me is not that kind of talk,” Wadsworth says. The church has had some sexual conversations before, but only via Instant Messenger and Blog Chat Holes.".

Monday, September 18, 2006

Holy Shit

If you give the Pope enough rope, so the saying goes.
By quoting a 14th-century Christian emperor on an ‘evil and inhuman’ Islam, Puerileuwaite I ignited a global storm. What was he thinking?

By "Scoop" Pyles

Sept. 25, 2006 issue - The setting was familiar, the occasion, the speaker thought, fitting. At three in the afternoon last Tuesday, after a quick ride from lunch in the PopePimpSnizMobile, Puerileuwaite I began a lecture in the Vulva Magnifico of the University of Himmler Learning in Germany.

Puerileuwaite said early in an address on faith and reason, that he was in favor of the first thing, but staunchly opposed to the second. Citing an off-color joke about a 14th-century Christian Byzantine emperor and an Islamic Persian involving a horny jackal, Puerileuwaite I quoted Manuel II in a III part joke with IV separate punchlines: “Show me just what Mohammed brought that was new, and I'll show you a mountain. No, no, wait. I told it wrong. Mohammed was brought to the mountain. Yes, I'm fairly certain that was it.”

Within days Puerileuwaite had the globe engaged in a “lively exchange of nuclear proportions,” but it was not, one suspects, the exchange the pope had in mind. The Pakistani parliament voted to condemn him; the leading Shiite cleric in Lebanon asked for a personal apology. Puerileuwaite in his response referred to his detractors as "Fudge Pakistanis", and that he couldn't "stani" those "Good for Shiites". For emphasis, he made a sign of the cross with his middle digit.

He then scurried inside the Vatican and concealed himself under a gathering of nuns.

The pope’s intentions in discussing “holy war” were presumably good — he approvingly quoted an early Qu’ranic “surah” (chapter), which says “there is no compensation in religion” — just like crime, it doesn't pay.

Sadly, though, he clumsily and obliquely exacerbated tensions between Christianity and Islam by consuming a burrito and loudly expelling gas during his visit to a nearby mosque. The episode marked the first widely noted breaking of wind in a purely religious context, and he managed to project an air of ecumenicism while holding in deeper fundamentals.

He was later quoted as saying that "irrational violence is displeasing to God". To which his companions responded, "How does God feel about rational violence? Is he only mildly irritated by that?".

“We must seek paths of reconciliation and learn to live with respect for each other’s wacky belief structures. And by the way, I have never spoke before such a pleasant smelling assembly” he told a Muslim audience in Cologne last year.

The pope must have known his words would carry, as he had just finished listening to "Voices Carry" by "Til Tuesday" on his iPod. Puerileuwaite seemed to be denouncing Islam while failing to acknowledge that any religion, including his own, can be manipulated and perverted to evil ends. Bake sales were cited as but one example.

Two years before he became pope, Puerileuwaite published a book with Madonna (no relation to Jesus' mother) entitled “Truth or Dare,” in which he wrote that all faiths can be tested by playing this game at parties.


Friday, September 15, 2006

By Special Request: Whole Lotta Led

Hi all,

Apparently I'm not posting frequently enough for some of you Internet-vultures. Why, just this morning, Jmeped sniped:


"Geez, I thought I was M.I.A. you live here and the posts are sparse. Do you need inspiration? Here I'll give you some topics; my new found love for Led Zeppelin, how your so in awe of my beauty, your fetish for live stock, and side show acts, Paris Hilton and all other celebutaunts, Global warming, the war in Iraq, and how one can survive on ice cream alone. Last but not least famous movie quotes from several movies that make up one new Pug production. By the way, I think you're incredibly sexy, and I want to pump out your babies like sugar peas from a pod".


Okay, Miss PERFECT!!! The same person, by the way, who DIDN'T HAVE ANYTHING on her blog for hours upon hours, a couple of days ago. But I can't fault Jmeped's logic; or lack thereof. For all I know, she may have "accidentally" ingested a Peyote Button or hallucinogenic mushroom at that flower shop. Perhaps she surrendered to the temptation of the 99-cent "Don't ask what it is, or else you'll have to pay $1 more" tinfoil-wrapped botulism special. So in the interest of seeking to understand the other degenerate's point of view, I'll cut her some slack. And I'll also watch "Little Shop of Horrors" this weekend in my quest for enlightenment on her situation.

Psychedelic Mushrooms

Peyote Button

So here goes, a post dedicated to addressing at least one of the topics that my deer (get it?) Jmeped suggested.

But first off, let me say that I do NOT "LIVE" here. My blog and all of yours are nothing more than slightly urine soaked cardboard refrigerator boxes, conveniently strewn along the streets, underpasses and alleys along my daily route from morning's hope to late evening's despair. Momentary respites from sunlight and reality. So let's get that straight. I do have a life! I simply choose not to remove the plastic covers and taint it with grape juice spills, mysterious odors, bodily fluids, and wear and tear from constant use.

Example of a Cardboard Box

And no, I certainly don't need inspiration. I can live without it, thank you very much. But hey, if you're offering, then fine. I'll accept your topics with the same false gratitude that parents display when their kids bring home those hideous popsicle stick and macaroni noodle "creations" from school.

How do they pull it off? Do they rationalize that these "works of art" may someday serve utilitarian roles as emergency tongue depressors and macaroni dinners* (*If only the infamous Donner Party had the option of boiling their children's school projects into nourishing meals!)? Perhaps this is a reality parents everywhere are forced to accept as karmic punishment for breeding. One can only hope.

Your first suggested topic was Led Zeppelin. One of my favorite bands of all time. And Jmeped, anytime you're ready, I would love to recreate with you the "Fish/Groupie/Hotel Room" legend that is part of their mystique.

But I got to thinking that some of their songs make me wonder: What The F*ck?! In fact, here's a suggestion for posts that any one of you can write. Pick a song that makes you wonder: WTF?!, and write about WHY it does that to you. Here, let me do a few Zep tunes.

WTF?! 001 > "Baby, I'm Gonna Leave You"

What were these numb nuts thinking? You NEVER NEVER EVER tell a woman you're gonna leave her before you do it. Fools! Then they wonder why all of their shit is out in the front yard when they get home. Neighbors picking through it, dogs pissing on it. The better strategy of course is ... and I shouldn't write this for at least TWO reasons. One, you guys out there should already know this. Two, we don't want the women to know, as it defeats the purpose. Okay, I'm in a good mood today, so I'll tell you. Two words: Fake abduction. It's clean. It evokes sympathy instead of rage. And it's fun. The note writing is the best part. Here is an example.


Dear Pug's Girl,

We regret to inform you that we have kidnapped your Pug. Do not contact the police. We demand the entire contents of your bank accounts, along with all of his personal items, including electronics and associated media. You are to carefully wrap and place everything into a U-Haul trailer which you will then drive to the parking lot of the Gentlemen's Club on Mississippi Blvd. Leave the U-Haul at the rear of the lot, with the key tucked under the driver's seat. Then return home and wait for further instructions.

Warm regards,
The Mighty Terrorist Network*
(* A Mighty Dyckerson Subsidiary)


Then you dig up a cadaver, place it in the back of the emptied U-Haul, and burn everything beyond recognition.

Example of a U-Haul Truck

WTF?! 002 > "Over The Hills And Far Away"

The first problem I have with this song is the title. If something is over the hills, it's ALREADY far away, dumbass. And WTF were they thinking when they wrote: "you've got the love I need ... maybe, more than enough"? A surplus of love is a bad thing. It's like having way too much toilet paper in the house. If you've got boxes of Cottonelle stacked in various rooms, you better make damn sure your fire insurance is paid up. It's also like having way too many carbohydrates in your system, only way more sinister. All of the extra love has to go somewhere. And sure as shit, it becomes obsession, jealousy and eventually: hate. Love is optional anyway, so a deficit is okay, as long as you're gettin' "some". So consider yourself warned, and beware of those "more than enough" psychos.

Okay, let's do one more.

WTF?! 003 > "D'Yer Mak'er"

Surprisingly, I don't have an issue with the song's title. For those of you who don't already know, it's a cute play on words. Properly pronounced, it approximates the word "Jamaica". You can always spot a Zep newbie, because he/she will inevitably say "Die-er-Make-er", which is laughably incorrect and fodder for intense ridicule.

My problem with this tune is the way that it repeatedly reassures: "Oh oh oh oh, oh oh, you don't have to go". WTF?! Any self-respecting dude knows better than to encourage the female to stay. Unless he's in the remedial class, and still is trying to get her to do the "horizontal bop". So please indulge me, as I attempt to rework these lyrics to more accurately reflect reality.

"Oh oh oh oh, oh oh, I'm done with you, you know"
"Oh oh oh oh, oh oh, so I think it's time you go"
"Oh oh oh oh, oh oh, didn't know you were so slow"
"Oh oh oh oh, oh oh, I think your car is being towed"

So there you have it; my inaugural attempt at playing music critic. And a damned fine post topic that anyone can do anytime. I was finally able to add pictures, so I hope you enjoyed the additional flair. Have a great weekend, everybody!