Lacie Harmon, who posted the Facebook status "Eyes burning. Exhaustion. Possibly the start of a runny nose. Gotta be a terminal blood disease." Wise-ass that I am, I suggested that it probably was a terminal blood disease and that she had two weeks to live, tops. Our interaction then strangely devolved into a conversation about how she would "suck on God" when she met Her in the afterlife. I'm not sure which one of us introduced a bizarre sexual component into a discussion about meeting one's maker in the afterlife (although everybody reading this knows it was me). Fortunately, more rational voices entered the conversation and it went into a less blasphemous direction. But it did leave me wondering what sex with the deity is like. I prefer to think of God as a nurturing mother rather than an overbearing father, so I don't think of it as hot dude-on-dude action when it does ultimately happen between us. But God is all-powerful, so while the sex with Her would probably be mind-blowing, I think I might be too intimidated and self-conscious to have anything get inflated below the belt buckle leaving me feeling inadequate and self-loathing as a result. When I think of it that way, I finally have a response for women who delay having sex with me for as long as possible because " it would change our relationship,"because my current relationship with God leaves me feeling inadequate and self-loathing now. A furtive night with me that left Her frustrated and sexually unsatisfied wouldn't make a bit of difference.
Judi May Stewart and me.
Yeah, you read that right. My former college classmate Judi May Stewart. I attended a reunion of my college theatre class last Saturday, and I was stunned to find that everyone in attendance knew me primarily for my hijinks on the world wide web, such as this scathing blog and the delightful illustrations I share on the social network. I was a little disappointed by this since I was hoping to be remembered for my direction of U.S.S. Pinafore or the selfies of my genitalia that are displayed on Web Chat Roulette, but I'll take what I can get. Everyone in attendance was charming and looked impossibly even more youthful than they did when we were in college together (although full disclosure demands that I inform you that I drank four bottles of wine over the course of the evening and lost my glasses when I jumped naked into the neighbor's swimming pool, which may have contributed to the attractiveness of the crowd), especially Ms. Stewart, the college beauty who I angrily taunted at the party for ignoring my advances in days of yore (although in all honesty, my "advances" in those days consisted of my creepily staring at her from a distance in the hallway between classes while playing pocket-pool in my corduroy jeans). Ms. Stewart is now a happily married woman with a loving family but to assuage my decades of torment at her rejection, she good-naturedly insisted on posing for this photo where she is finally giving me the kiss I so desperately longed for when I was in my early twenties. You might wonder why she is classified as an "enemy" on these pages when she was so sweet to me at the party. The truth is, I just wanted an excuse to post a photo of me being kissed by Judi May Stewart. Otherwise nobody would ever believe it.
My inner turtle and
after he had found a better shell Speaking of hot chicks who ravage my self-confidence, the always-annoying Amy Ball. Yesterday was "Throwback Thursday"on Facebook where it is a custom to post some photograph of yourself in days of yore. I followed the tradition by posting the black & white photo of myself you see on the left taken during an awkward phase in my life and then followed up with a second photo (inset) in which I had mercifully found my "cool"a few short years later. Pain in the ass that she is, Ms. Ball taunted "You look like a TURTLE. And then you SOLVE the problem with a TURTLENECK. ....I'm so confused." It wasn't a mystery to me at all, since I became a "turtle"in those years by hiding in my shell because of the mockery from sadistic beauties like Ms. Ball who would taunt me about my massive eyeglasses and adam's apple and then run off with their football captain boyfriends, leaving me to cry myself to sleep with only a tattered copy of Playboy to buoy my spirits. Cool shades replaced the coke bottles and the turtleneck she derided covered the adam's apple, so I could ultimately hide my inner shame to the world. The costume was really just a more effective hard outer shell protecting my vulnerable inner turtle from predators like Ms. Ball, but it allowed me to survive into the present to evolve into the cool and groovy guy that I am today. But I know that the turtle is still lurking just beneath the surface, still terrified of being devoured by the savage attacks of the dreaded Hot Chick who hides in the underbrush of my consciousness. It really is a jungle out there.
Basil presparing to attack Basil, the disturbing hairless cat belonging to my emerging nemesis Jessicah Neufeld. My beloved pug Winston and I attended at party at Ms. Neufeld's home last night celebrating her birthday, and Basil immediately created a social dynamic in which he was the playground bully and Winston was the new fat kid in the neighborhood whose mother dressed him in a sailor suit. Basil extended his pink, sinewy arms with their razor-sharp claws and batted Winston in the face, crawled upon his pudgy back and flailed at his little legs shuddering under the weight of his massive belly under they turned the party into a WWF free-for-all. Ms. Neufeld finally freed Winston of his torment by hooking Basil up to a leash. My little pug got his revenge though, by sneaking into the hallway when I was engaged in conversation and inhaling all of Basil's cat food. Everyone had a good chuckle about that but I didn't like to see Winston eating so much. If he gets any fatter, I'm going to have a hell of a time getting him into his sailor suit.
Bro Joe, who won the sixth annual Suggest a Celebrity to Appear in the Jonny Christmas Extravaganza Contest for his entry of Siskel & Ebert. It was the second time Joe had won the honor, taking home the gold in 2011 for submitting dog-murderer Michael Vick in what turned out to be Jonny's Animal Shelter Christmas. The theme of this year's story is, as always, top secret until it debuts in December, but some of the nudniks who lost could have used some guidance. My nemesis Misty LaRue's sister Lee LaRue McNutt suggested Otis of something called Milo and Otis, insisting that he is the most famous pug in the world; ignoring the fact that my beloved pug Winston and the pug from Men in Black easily take that distinction. The evil genius Lars Fargo submitted 1970s "Coochi Girl"Charo as he always does, adding "Let's just consider her my entry in perpetuity"(unless some year I crap out Jonny's Racial Stereotype Christmas, it will be Mr. Fargo's losing entry in perpetuity). The always-topical Bill Shackford threw Flip Wilson and Tony Orlando (with or without Dawn) at me. And my brother David opted for a woman named Jasmine Tridevil, who I'm expected to find interesting because she had a third breast surgically placed between the two God gave her, supposedly because she doesn't want to date anymore and having a third titty will make her less attractive to men. She obviously doesn't know the freaks I run with, who think the concept of "too many breasts" is a physical impossibility. For this and all the other lame entries I received, I'm glad I have Siskel & Ebert on my side to give them two thumbs down. In fact, in the case of Mr. Tridevil, we'll give her three thumbs down.
Lacie Harmon, who posted the Facebook status "Eyes burning. Exhaustion. Possibly the start of a runny nose. Gotta be a terminal blood disease." Wise-ass that I am, I suggested that it probably was a terminal blood disease and that she had two weeks to live, tops. Our interaction then strangely devolved into a conversation about how she would "suck on God" when she met Her in the afterlife. I'm not sure which one of us introduced a bizarre sexual component into a discussion about meeting one's maker in the afterlife (although everybody reading this knows it was me). Fortunately, more rational voices entered the conversation and it went into a less blasphemous direction. But it did leave me wondering what sex with the deity is like. I prefer to think of God as a nurturing mother rather than an overbearing father, so I don't think of it as hot dude-on-dude action when it does ultimately happen between us. But God is all-powerful, so while the sex with Her would probably be mind-blowing, I think I might be too intimidated and self-conscious to have anything get inflated below the belt buckle leaving me feeling inadequate and self-loathing as a result. When I think of it that way, I finally have a response for women who delay having sex with me for as long as possible because " it would change our relationship,"because my current relationship with God leaves me feeling inadequate and self-loathing now. A furtive night with me that left Her frustrated and sexually unsatisfied wouldn't make a bit of difference.
Bro Joe, who won the sixth annual Suggest a Celebrity to Appear in the Jonny Christmas Extravaganza Contest for his entry of Siskel & Ebert. It was the second time Joe had won the honor, taking home the gold in 2011 for submitting dog-murderer Michael Vick in what turned out to be Jonny's Animal Shelter Christmas. The theme of this year's story is, as always, top secret until it debuts in December, but some of the nudniks who lost could have used some guidance. My nemesis Misty LaRue's sister Lee LaRue McNutt suggested Otis of something called Milo and Otis, insisting that he is the most famous pug in the world; ignoring the fact that my beloved pug Winston and the pug from Men in Black easily take that distinction. The evil genius Lars Fargo submitted 1970s "Coochi Girl"Charo as he always does, adding "Let's just consider her my entry in perpetuity"(unless some year I crap out Jonny's Racial Stereotype Christmas, it will be Mr. Fargo's losing entry in perpetuity). The always-topical Bill Shackford threw Flip Wilson and Tony Orlando (with or without Dawn) at me. And my brother David opted for a woman named Jasmine Tridevil, who I'm expected to find interesting because she had a third breast surgically placed between the two God gave her, supposedly because she doesn't want to date anymore and having a third titty will make her less attractive to men. She obviously doesn't know the freaks I run with, who think the concept of "too many breasts" is a physical impossibility. For this and all the other lame entries I received, I'm glad I have Siskel & Ebert on my side to give them two thumbs down. In fact, in the case of Mr. Tridevil, we'll give her three thumbs down.