Poetry Cornered

Hi everybody,

This post is dedicated to Gautami Tripathy and her wonderful poetry blog. Did I just hear a groan from the black sheep? Yes, I said "poetry". Some of you could use a bit of exposure to the finer things. And I don't mean going to the museum on field trip days in your special trenchcoat, either.

Okay, are you all ready, with tea and strumpets in hand? Good. I would first like to start off with a favorite classic from Shel Silverstein, entitled "It's All The Same To The Clam".

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It's All The Same To The Clam by Shel Silverstein

You may leave the Clam on the ocean floor
It's all the same to the Clam.
For a hundred thousand years or more,
It's all the same to the Clam.
You may bury him deep in mud or muck,
Or carry him round to bring you luck.
Or use him for a hockey puck.
It's all the same to the Clam.

You may call him Frank or Jim or Nell
It's all the same to the Clam.
Or make an ashtray from his shell.
It's all the same to the clam.
You may take him riding on a train
or leave him sitting in the rain.
You'll never hear the Clam complain.
It's all the same to the Clam.

Yes the world may stop or the world may spin
It's all the same to the Clam.
And the sky may come a fallin' in
It's all the same to the Clam.
And man may sing his endless songs,
of wronging rights and righting wrongs.
The Clam just sets - and gets along.
It's all the same to the Clam.

***

My take? We can learn a lot from the clam. The first thing we can learn is that in this great big world, the problems of one (or two) people don't amount to a hill of beans. So clam the f*ck up and deal with it. And remember, it's all the same to the clam.

Okay, now that I've hog-tied you with witty-prose and greased you up for more; here is a poem that I just wrote in the comments on Gautami's blog, where yesterday's theme was "the body knows".

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My Body by Pug Puerileuwaite

My body perhaps could be a temple
But when I find myself alone
In the dark
Too often I find the need
To treat my body
As if it were an amusement park

***

My first entry, submitted a while back, was on the topic of "chalk" (no, not caulk, so get your filthy minds out of the gutter).

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Chalk by Pug Puerileuwaite

Tracing and placing
Giving one-dimensional boundary
to a multi-dimensional shape
From a form of existence
in this existence no more
Starkly the chalkline reveals
one fact from the case
Where the vessel wound up
in time and in space
Spirit released into limitless sky
Point no finger at me
I have an alibi

***

Well that does it for this inaugural installment of "Poetry Cornered". You may all go back to eating Sterno from the can, and watching "Three's Company" reruns.

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Let It Bee ... Caulk Worthy

Hi everybody,

I thought I would take a moment to share an observation from my repeated travels to hell and back this week.

A few days ago I was driving home and happened upon a commericial vehicle for some sort of "Bee Relocation" service, with the motto: "We evacuate, not exterminate". The first thought that popped into my head was, evacuate, exterminate, mastubate ... just get those damned bees outta here. Especially if they're KILLER bees.


But then how can you identify a killer bee before it strikes? It's not like you can readily pull up their "rap sheet". Can you see it in their eyes? Do they have a souless stare reminiscent of sharks?


Are there early-detectible, ominous signs that they don't play by rules of conventional society? Are there different types of killer bees? Are some bees "serial killers" cast from the Ted Bundy mold, masquerading as harmless, injured bees with damaged wings needing help of some sort until the victim is too close and it's too late? Are some akin to Jeffrey Dahmer, picking up other bees in gay bee nightclubs and luring them back to their honeycombs?


My theory? Killer bees can be ANY bee. So don't trust any of them unless you know the bee.

The second thought that came to mind was the scene from "Tommy Boy", where Chris Farley (Tommy Boy) and David Spade (Richard) were drinking and driving, and about to be pulled over by a squad car. Tommy remembered a ruse to ward off the cops. The boys veered off the road into a field, and ran from the car frantically waving their arms and shouting "Bees! Stay away! Save Yourself!". It worked. The cops wouldn't go near them or the car, fleeing the scene instead, with one of them yelling back, "We'll go get help!".


Think about it. What cop in his or her right mind* (* assuming those types do exist) would want to ever pull THAT particular vehicle over? Of course, if I were the driver, I'd wear a nasty looking bandage on my left hand; with the right hand periodically waving through the air inside the truck.

Yesterday I came across another commercial vehicle for a company called "Caulk Experts". I nearly drove off the road. I was tempted to follow in the footsteps of a prank from "Crank Yankers" (a Comedy Central show featuring actual crank phone calls acted out by Muppet characters),


calling the company and praising them for knowing so much about "caulk". Not just ANY man could drive that truck (or do that job ... though his business cards would definitely be collectibles) for a living. It would take a real man.


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Blogging Can Be L

Hi everybody,

Whew! What a week. Makes me wish today was Monday all over again so I could have a "do over". Just kidding. Had you fooled though, didn't I?

Well, apparently because I persevered like the tenacious Pug that I am, I have the afternoon off. And what better way to spend it, than to skillfully craft a full-bodied post.

When we last left off, Reverend had given me the letter "L " for my list of things that I like or people that I love. But first in return I would like to give something to Reverend. However, since I am not there in London to give it to her, I will have to go with my "Plan B": the gift of song (which doesn't require treatment like "Plan A" does).



Reverend Jack and his Roamin' Cadillac Church by Timbuk 3

Come hell or high water
A soul's got to find some release
Some find it in power
And some in heavenly peace
Some look to the preacher
As he speaks from his holy perch
Me, I back Rev. Jack & his Roamin Cadillac Church

So if you're stuck at the station
On the road to the Glory on High
If you need some inspiration
He's got more than your money can buy
If you're lookin for salvation
Well my friend it's the end of your search
Here comes Rev. Jack & his Roamin Cadillac Church

Ain't no use watchin the road, son
When you ride in his automobile
Cause we're all back seat drivers,
& there's nobody at the wheel

Now for the well-to-do doctor
There's a home & a summer retreat
And for the jet-settin banker
There's a place in the social elite
But for the poor & the hungry
All the lost souls left in the lurch
There's just Rev. Jack & his Roamin Cadillac Church



I love that song. And it's way better than TImbuk 3's overhyped "The Future's So Bright (I Gotta Wear Shades)". So check it out if you can find it. Or else email me at studpug@gmail.com and I'll "see what I can do" mp3-wise.

Okay here goes. Ten things (in no particular order) I like or people I love that start with the letter "L"

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Lust (Because it is similar to "zest". And a have a "zest" for women and their many uses* (* some more than others)).

Led Zeppelin (This one needs no explanation.)

Lapdance / Lapland (My alternate reality features a wonderous country named Lapland where Lapdances are free.)

Life (Because Mikey Likes it.)

Liberty (Not so much for the concept itself, but rather because I enjoy taking Liberties whenever possible.)

Libido (I couldn't Leave out Libido, as my blog is based on my Libido. A Linchpin, so to speak.)

Lick (Which reminds me of French Lick, Indiana, which I've always been amused by - as town names go.)

Limerick (Who doesn't enjoy a good Limerick?)

Lobster (Not only because Girlgoyle Loves them. But also because The B-52's sang about one.)

Log Cabin (Not a big fan of the syrup. Mrs. Butterworth is way funner to squeeze. But Log cabins are cool because you can get the **** away from people, except for the one that you're inside having wild monkey sex with. Then when you're done, you can go outside and get away from her. [I'm kidding, of course.])

London (Somewhere between the beautiful smiles and extroverted, warm nature of Brits, there Lies the Legacy of great music. The Beatles, Stones, Kinks, The Who, Led Zeppelin, The Clash, and many many others, make England (and London in particular) a Mecca for rock fans. Including this Pug. Plus, Reverend is there, and we still need to recreate the Abbey Road album cover.)

Loose Women (For the obvious reason. They may have some Loose change.)

Lotion (Comes in handy during my visits to YOUR blogs. Especially Lamby's.)

Lottery (What I hope to win so that someday I can purchase a small tropical island that we all can Live on. When we run out of food and entertainment, we can reenact "Lord of the Flies" with our own special "Black Sheep vs. White Sheep" rendition. Or, we can hold our own Lottery, where we annually select one of our bretheren for public stoning so that our marijuana crop will be plentiful.)

Love Affair (Because the "affair" part indicates an end before the "Love" part becomes too tedious and demanding.)

Lucifer (Just seeing if you're actually paying attention. Besides, with eBay around, who needs to sell their soul to that jerk?)

Luscious (I view women as fruit, ripe for picking. And "Luscious" is the perfect adjective.)

Luxury (It would be nice to be able to hire a topless supermodel just to prefold and hand me the toilet paper as I require it.)

Linguini (Not only is it tasty, but the name is nicely ethnic.)

Lawyers (Still paying attention? Good, because I can't stand Lawyers. I've got a "Pro-Boner" for them right here.)

Lesbians (I could be the Lettuce in their sandwich. But just for the sweet and cute ones. You know who you are.)

Labial (A fun "flappin' in the breeze" word that reminds me of Lab work that results in new discoveries.)

Labyrinth (Because Life is a Labyrinth complete with dead-ends and goals to not lose sight of. Plus it's a fun game where you try not to Lose your marble.)

Lachrymose (Actually it has a sad definition, but it SOUNDS funny. And that - my friends - is why it makes the List.)

Lady killer (Not in the Literal sense. What man wouldn't want to be one? Being one opens up new opportunites.)

Lactate (This one reminds me of Larry Tate from Bewitched. And he was a strange lookin' dude.)

Lagoon (Between Gilligan's Island and a Brooke Shields with breasts strategically covered by her flowing hair, who couldn't resist the Lure of the Lagoon?)

Laid (There would be no eggs for breakfast if this hadn't occurred first.)

Larch (Now if only I could be able to identify one from far away ...)

Largess (I was excited when I thought it read "Large ass". But then I Learned the definition, and I REALLY became animated. With a Largess, I could afford to purchase (or at least rent) an awful Lot of the other thing.)

Laughter (Except when it's directed at my body parts.)

Legal Age (Always ask for at least 3-forms of ID.)

Lemmings (Because they're funny, and behave NOTHING Like humans.)

Leopard Print (Both in bedspread and Lingerie form.)

Leelee and Lamby (Two blog buds who I would enjoy seeing in the items Listed immediately above.)

Libation (TGIF !)

Lying Sack of Shit (What I am, for stating that there would only be 10 items on the List to inflict on all of you.)


***


I hope that you enjoyed these. Feel free to do one. You know you want to, Losers. (just kidding about the "Losers" remark ... being an L-word, I had to work it in somewhere ... )

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More Random Musings

Hi everybody,

I'm still thinking about my "L" post for Reverend. And since my blog is similar to that "classic" Orson Welles wine commerical (tagline: "We shall serve no wine before its time"), I want to ensure that my posts are "twist-off cap worthy" before delivering them to the 7-11 of the publishing world.

So to temporarily satiate your whiney thirst for new crap, I thought I'd jot off a quick post to share several recent observations from my travels hither and yon.

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1) Trailers

I was mired in stop and go traffic the other day (as is often the case anymore during my travels hither and yon), struggling to distract myself from the insanity of being mired in stop and go traffic. I happened to glance over to my right, and spotted a truck hauling one of those 2-wheel auto trailers. I started thinking, wouldn't it be a refreshing change of pace here in stop and go traffic if I were to drive up onto that trailer and free myself from the worry of having to keep pace with the other motorists? Why, I could work on a crossword puzzle or even on my next post. Plus, think of the gas I would save, in addition to reducing emissions from outside of my vehicle. And if I'm subtle enough, perhaps my "host" will not notice right away.

***

2) Elevators

In my endless pursuit of radical new ideas that could alter day-to-day society for the better* (* ideally), my focus recently honed in on elevators. And just what do I have in mind for improving elevator usage? One word: mirrors. Oh, and not just mirrored ceilings and floors, either. I'm talkin' mirrors on both the back elevator wall and the foyer wall that the elevator faces when the friggin' doors open. I don't know about you (and I'm not sure that I want to know, either), but I grow weary of constantly bumping into people* (* because let's face it: not everyone is attractive and equipped with large breasts) when trying to enter or exit an elevator. Have we not learned from "Dressed to Kill", people? Geez, it's been years (26, to be precise) since Angie Dickinson was slashed to death in an elevator. And since it was the only one in known existence with a mirror in it, Nancy Allen was able to spot both the body and the murderer (who was about to slash HER!) inside, and escape. And WHY? Mirrors.

***

3) Hotel Rooms

Do you know what they should have above the beds? Mirrors. 'Nuff said.

***

I can only hope that the decision-makers out there read this post, and embrace these ideas. The world will be a marginally better place for it.

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Musical WTF?!

Hello fellow "Musicphiles",

(Hopefully this is the only noun ending in "phile" that geniunely applies when describing your interests. Because I have no tolerance for stamp collectors.)

Anyhoo, the time has come for yet another tedious and juvenile installment of "Musical What The F*ck?!"


WTF?! 001 > "Badge" by Cream

Thinkin' bout the times you drove in my car
(Well, RODE, technically)

Thinkin' that I might have drove you too far
(Guilt? Obviously he is NOT a playa)

And I'm thinkin' bout the love that you laid on my table
(So far, so good. It has a pleasant, laid back tempo, and it alludes to car sex and possibly on a table as well, which hopefully means the kinky fun kind and not getting screwed in a Poker game. On the other hand, what if this happened at Thanksgiving, where the bimbo was from the local strip joint, and there she was, drunkenly spread-eagled naked on the table amidst the turkey [insert stuffing joke here] and "fixins'" just as the family converged on the dining room? Oops. That was MY Thanksgiving. Nevermind. Moving on ...)

I told you not to wander round in the dark
(She has to be TOLD this little nugget of wisDUMB? Wait. Un momento por favor! Perhaps this makes her the IDEAL one-nighter)

I told you bout the swans, that they live in the park
(No shit, Sherlock. Where the hell did you think they lived? In that goofy* (* no pun intended) "Swan Hotel" at Walt Disney World? Why the hell do you think they call that tune "Swan Lake"? Because the swans just happened to go on a picnic that day? Dumbass)

Then I told you 'bout our kid, now he's married to Mabel.
(Mabel?! C'mon everybody, join in with me and shout at the top of your lungs: WHAT THE F*CK?! How did he ever tear "Mabel" away from her job at the Hooterville Telephone Company switchboard? And what's with this "now" crap? How many times has he been married, and why does his mother* (*presumably) have to be "brought up to speed"? Damn, and I thought my family was disfunctional ...)

Okay, there ARE more lyrics to this song, but quite frankly, after that stupid-ass "Mabel" line, I generally lose interest. Sorry.



WTF?! 002 > "Don't Sleep in the Subway" by Petula Clark

Actually this observation isn't mine. It belongs to a very funny female comic (whose name unfortunately escapes me) from a few years ago, who came up with it. Her perfectly timed remark was: "What kind of guy is this woman going out with?

You wander around on your own little cloud
(Sounds like an addict. If not, he doesn't sound like the aggressive provider that women seek to ensnare and emasculate)

When you don't see the why or the wherefore
You walk out on me when we both disagree
(Okay, so maybe he is an okay dude ...)

'Cause to reason is not what you care for
(So far, so good ...)

I've heard it all a million times before
Take off your coat, my love, and close the door
(Can I close the door and THEN take off my coat? The other way just seems so awkward. After all, here I am at the damned door, so WHY THE F*CK do I have to do all of that other shit first? [We guys think like that when all we really want is to have a quick drink, bite to eat, get laid, and rest up for tomorrow's "hunting and gathering"])

Don't sleep in the subway, darlin'
Don't stand in the pouring rain
Don't sleep in the subway, darlin'
Once again everyone, join in with me and shout at the top of your lungs: WHAT THE F*CK?! Don't sleep in the friggin' subway?! Don't stand in the pouring rain? WTF? Is this guy Canadian for Chrissakes? Dayum!)

The night is long
Forget your foolish pride
Nothing's wrong
Now you're beside me again
(Ho hum. This section could be from any Toni Braxton or Sade song, in which case, if you're actually listening to the lyrics instead of copulating, then you DESERVE to sleep all wet in the subway. Dumbass)

You try to be smart, then you take it to heart
'Cause it hurts when your ego is deflated
You don't realize that it's all compromise
And the problems are so overrated
(Sounds here like the "lucky gal" is attempting to cheer the loser up for "underperformance" issues, when instead she should be immersed in a world that rocks. But on the other hand we must remember that this "tune" was written in the days before Viagra or attractive women)



WTF?! 003 > "Lovely Rita" by The Beatles

Screw the lyrics. When have you ever seen an attractive Meter Maid? 'Nuff said.

.

You Say You Want a Resolution

Well, I know
You all want to change the Pug

You tell me that it's evolution

Well, I know
You all want to change the Pug

But when you talk about castration
Don't you know that you can count me out

Don't you know it's gonna be - all right
all right, all right

You say you want a real solution
Well, you know
I think I came up with a plan

You ask me for a new post to elaborate
Well, you know
The Pug is doing what he can

But when you want new material
for people with minds that vegetate
All I can say is people you have to wait

Don't you know it's gonna be - all right
all right, all right

***

Happy New Year!

Who among us isn't sick of saying and writing that crap? But will it truly be a happy year? Or are we doomed to repeating the past?

Will 2007 be THE year? Will I have to say goodbye to all of you?

"Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results". So goes the classic quote; variants of which have been attributed to a multitude of different sources (Einstein, Kipling, an ancient Chinese proverb, Al Gore and others).

So in the spirit of the new year, I want to make a bold move, and only behave in a manner that will set me on the right path. I've already purchased a Mercury Milan and paid for a random stranger's dry cleaning. I also joined a health club and vow to workout at least 5-times per week, every week, in 2007. N'yuk, n'yuk, nyuk. Those suckas at Gold's Gym are going to lose money on me. Big time. Just like those idiots running the "all you can eat" buffets used to.

But one problem is that I'm not all that creative when it comes to identifying areas for my own self-improvement. So as a starting template, I 've selected the 7-Deadly Sins.

But first, a definition:

The seven deadly sins, also known as the capital vices or cardinal sins, are a classification of vices used in early Christian teachings to educate and protect followers from (immoral) fallen man's tendency to sin. The Roman Catholic Church divides sin into two types: venial (forgiven through any sacrament) and capital or mortal (meaning they kill the life of grace and risk eternal damnation unless absolved in the sacrament of confession, or taken away by a perfect contrition, or discretely swept under the rug by church officials).

So here goes.

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1) Lust

Resolution: I will no longer objectify women, nor will I treat them as "outlets" for my temporary amusement.

Also, I will not ogle packages of nylons, women's underwear ads in the Sunday paper pullouts (nor will I "pull out" anything of my own), or double-fold the Land O' Lakes Butter package so that the Indian maiden's knees become her boobs.

***

2) Gluttony

Resolution: I will learn when to say when, in the area of food consumption. I will skip the after-dinner mint. If I do binge, then I will purge. In fact, I resolve to purge more than I binge, especially as a guest in one of your homes.

***

3) Greed

Resolution: I will no longer be preoccupied with money. Instead, I will shift my focus into more "real", long-lasting and tangible pursuits, such as women, cars and bling.

***

4) Sloth

Resolution: I will take a renewed sense of pride in my appearance, and attempt to be high-brow in all that I do. Except for my blogging, of course.

***

5) Wrath

Resolution: I will no longer "lose my cool" with the people that I encounter during my daily travels through life. Instead, I shall do my best to treasure each and every one of them as the fascinating and valued contributors to societal fabric that they theoretically may someday become.

***

6) Envy

Resolution: I will be satisfied with my lot in life. Sure, maybe other people are a little better off. Perhaps they have indoor plumbing, real mates instead of costly time-shares, and loyal readers who don't have to visit the library's computers to visit their blogs. But I too can count my blessings as I stumble across any.

***

7) Pride

Even though my locks are 50% more flowing than Fabio's, and my testicles are both descended and (presumably) larger than his, I will not take an inordinate amount of pride in this knowledge. Instead I will stay "real" by roaming the land, serving as a surrogate husband to hot, misguided single mothers.

***

Thank you for your patience as I've taken the time to perform a protracted self-assessement in the development of these resolutions. I know that I can count on your encouragement and support as I struggle to comply with these inhuman demands.

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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. ***

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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.

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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!

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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!

Love,

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!

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