Oh My Ever Loving Bacon God

There are some days where you wake up thinking, “Why the hell did I let my friend’s baby feed me hand fulls of crushed pasta last night?”

And when you try to sit up, the pounding in your head would then remind you of the half bottle of wine you drank.  Leading, one would assume, to the lack of judgment that allowed a giggling baby to shove gluten laden pastina into your mouth hand over fist.

You of course would spend the whole morning:

1. wondering why you even came into work
2. glaring at your LSAT prep book
3. dreaming of incinerating your LSAT prep book
4. wanting to know when the hell you signed up for homework BEFORE you even took the test to MAYBE get into a schooling program (that the mere thought of makes your soul whimper)
5. what hiccup in your hog tied biological clock made you go all gooey over baby smiles enough to eat saidbaby drool coated blegh (ok, going to throw up now)
6. Why the world thinks that monsoon season is a good look for the east coast

And then your day will look up.

Because there is bacon in the kitchen.

5 pounds of cooked bacon.

Well… Maybe 3.  (Now.)

Really Bad…

Q: When in the Sea of Japan, what do Gunnery Sergeants on Japanese Battle Cruisers say?

And the name is….

Berkshire Candles.

Or

Lexington Candles.

Thanks everyone who played!  Now onto bigger and better things.

Tomorrow.

Today, I’m too lazy.

-Gnugs

hahahahahaha

I can’t help it, this is AWESOME.

Thanks!

Thank you all, for all the wonderful ideas for the name of my candle company.  I’ll let you know the final results at the last possible minute (approximately 2 seconds before I have my labels printed.)

oh, and apparently I work for a company that doesn’t like veterans.

Just sayin’.

Wow. I wish I was that cool.

And I really do.

Once again, Bank has surpassed me in our “craziest places to___” contest.

While the rest of us were either a) drinking to make their significant other look better b) freebasing c) looking at argyle fetish websites or d) asleep because we’re the kind of losers who can’t even get the energy to do either A, B, or C,  my friend Bank was in NY getting wasted and acting the ass, at the My Little Pony Convention in New York.

Yes.  Seriously.

repeat(er)

Fat lot of help you all are!

Yay for Slumber Parties!

So, one and all, I embark on my journey to Wilmington Dela-WHERE? tonight. I am going to visit Dell, and her fabulous, Dela-WHERE?-ians, as we celebrate the “Abstinence Now” advocate Sarah Palin’s glorious nomination, with a sex toy party. Fitting, I know.

Don’t be too jealous of me, as I will be in the ONLY happening place on the eastern seaboard, from Canada to Argentina. Your day will come. Just wait.

Poetic?

I had a professor in college who would start the class by going around and asking us to share something “poetic” that had happened to us since our last class meeting.

Well I’ve finally got one. It’s a doosey, too. Want to know what happened to me since you last heard from me? WELL?

I was locked in an elevator on my way down to the garage yesterday after work. Not only did I miss my doctor’s appointment, and not only did my cell phone die 45 minutes into captivity, but I was stuck in said elevator with a very angry WASP. (I’d say the kind that doesn’t sting, but it’s too close a call to tell.)

Not only did he repeatedly yell at the poor lady on the other end of the phone, but he blamed me for listening to him shouting at me from across the lobby to “hold the elevator’ for him. And just as I was going to tell him where he could shove his stupidity, thereby effectively shutting the eff up at the same time, he let lose the biggest, stinkiest, wettest farts in creation. He wasn’t thrilled with my heartfelt cry of “You’ve got to be effing kidding me!” And no, my peoples. He wasn’t. As he starchy informed me after the echoes of my scream died away.

So, my poetic moment? Besides being in an elevator with an incontinent and angry WASP? Using one of my key chains to pry the outside doors open wide for my nose and mouth to breath semi-clean air. For the next excruciating 45 minutes of my life.

Why does this shit, excuse the pun, always happen to me?!

You take the pill? Oh. And how was, uh, IS your Brother?

Driving to work this morning, I heard something horrifying…

Birth control makes you act like a 3rd generation West Virginian.

That’s right, all you pill popping ladies. You’re biological chemistry has changed thanks to the convenience of not having to worry about anything more than an aching burn or bursting pustules for all those naughty, half focused encounters of yous. By taking the birth control pill, you are making yourself attracted to those people who are genetically similar to yourself. So while those of us who have abstained from the pill – thereby keeping planed parenthoods open and giving devout Christians of all flavors a reason for feeling superior and acting upon their inner rage – are not likely to have any three eyed, two livered children, you have a much better chance of boinking one of your parent’s other children, than – ahem - we do.

Think about that, the next time you skip on the Nouva ring. What’s a few life threatening blood clots, when you could be branded as a cousin loving Sawyer.

In other happy reproductive news:

Since May 2005, the United States has effectively barred sperm banks from importing from Europe for fear it might spread the brain-ravaging pathogen that causes the affliction. -If you don’t get it, then click here…

That’s right, ladies! Those lovely progeny inducing Popsicles are no longer safe! WHO WOULD HAVE GUESSED?

But wait, one and all, there’s more to this lovely story. I could not have said this better myself, so again in teh words of the WashPost reporter:

Now, as the remaining vials of Nordic semen frozen in U.S. sperm banks are running out, a small but desperate number of would-be parents are frantic.

That’s right folks! People are scrambling to get their hands on these little magic beans. Not only are they desperate, their frantic too!* One woman has gone so far as to fly to Denmark to try to impregnate with sperm from the same donor as her first child. And also, apparently, people are starting to contact each other to try to haggle with each other over leftover vials of sperm. Some starting at $2,000 a–excuse the pun–pop.

Now do not worry your little heads, at all about this. i went to school with one of the biggest slags on the planet, and he would be happy to give you his Nordic Sperm. All you have to do is Swallow (at least once) and pay for his ticket to the states and back to Norway. just let me know, and I’ll send a bio and pictures for you to peruse.

Thant is all. Thanks for tuning in to this week’s episode of “Reason 12″

* hmmm…. shocking resemblance to the sperm itself, don’t you think?