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 I can really do without days like today. Honestly. Nothing bad happened; I’m in a good mood now, and optimism & cheer fills my heart like a robin, right before he’s slain by a piece of hail. Which I fully expect to fall tomorrow: it was 36 degrees when I got up. Cruel. All day: cold. Afternoon: light snow, just to taunt us. We’ve been going backwards ever since the warm snap. But that was the least of it. All day I have had a sensation from sternum to hipbone that I am filled with hot sludgy Drano, a direct result of last night’s fun. I had three delicious onion rings last night. Once upon a time I could eat a basket and call for more, but since I stopped eating fried foods, they provoke distress. Also I had a scotch, and by “a scotch” I mean a drink the size of Conan’s fist, which joined forces with the trio of greasy rings to make the Day After one long groaning bout of misery. I felt like Don Knotts attempting to digest Orson Welles. So the entire day was a blur, really. When my wife came home I took a nap, and woke 20 minutes later feeling just peachy, which means that half the discomfort was simply a result of recalling previous discomfort. Needed to upend the Etch-A-Sketch, and it worked.
Earlier today a commercial for “Star Wars” came on, and Gnat was unimpressed. I did my Darth Vader impersonation: no impact. “But he’s evil! He used his michondian concentration for personal gain!”
“It’s just a commercial, daddy. Oh! Look!”
I froze. The Bratz are now Baby Mommaz. Yes, the hooker-in-training dolls have children. Bratz are the main reason I do not keep a supply of bricks around the house, because everytime the commercials come on I wish to pitch something kiln-fired through the screen so hard it beans the toy exec who greenlighted these hootchie toys. The Baby Bratz are as bad as you can imagine: “Bottles with Bling.” Judas on a stick, why not just refit the Bratz so they have Real Oozing Gonorreal Flow Action?
“They know how to flaunt it, and they’re keeping it real in the crib.”
What exactly is the penalty for failing to keep it real in the crib? Someone busts a cap in yo Pamper? I know I am old and so out of step it’s a wonder I don’t just appear as an indistinct smear, but was it really necessary to push the Age of Sultry Hussyism down to the infant stage? And who, exactly, are the Babyz flaunting it for? Are we going to see a commercial with Elmo in sunglasses, sitting with his legs sprawled, spanking some pliant Babyz with one hand while gumming down some mashed crack?
Reminds me of something I saw in the Fun Store I wrote about last week: Homies Dogs. Anti-social gangster dogs.
These Hardcore Dogs Been Picked up by animal control officers and deemed hostile, unsociable and aggressive in behavior. No one has ever attempted to claim or adopt them. Therefore they are doing HARD TIME.
Interesting idea here: why are the dogs antisocial, hostile, and aggressive? Because no one took the time to train them. In real life they’re put down because their yahoo owner thought it was cool to have a dog that bit everyone but him. In real life, the dogs are put down, but in Comic Land they’re heroes of the pound 4ever.
There’s Dobee Red:
Dobee Red is a red Doberman Pinscher. Known to all the dogs for his style and extreme love for the bling bling and ladies in life. He is a true playa. He used to provide escort services out on the streets. He was picked up when he was found attacking a mongrol mutt that was refusing to pay one of his girls the doggy biscuits he owed her for a night on the town. Dobe red now arranges conjugal visits for the other dogs...for a price.
They’re toys. Pimp dog toys. Come to think of that, Pimp Dog Toy would make a great rap name. From now on you may call me Pimp Dog Toy, at least as long as I keep it real, which I don’t think should be a problem because I have several cans of Real Fixative in aerosol form.
Pimp culture. Brought to you by people who want their daughters to go to college and get law degrees!
Oh crap: didn’t write a Joe today. Well, off to that, then.
Okay, it’s done. If you care. New Fence; more tomorrow.
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