Monday, May 31, 2010

The gay agenda...

Agenda: a list or outline of things to be considered or done

The gay agenda (according to right-wingers)

3:00 AM
Put down meth pipe, get twenty minutes sleep, have gay sex, take the lord's name in vain.

3:20 AM
Wake up, wipe semen off of hand cuffs, have gay sex.

4:00 AM
Contact the gay mafia, ask how the youngster corruption is doing. Desecrate a picture of Jesus or Newt Gingrich. Have gay sex.

5:00 AM
Hour long devil worship session. Remember to sacrifice 2 republican children today!

6:00 AM
Breakfast, gay sex.

7:00 AM
Prepare outer shell of respectability. Fool people into thinking I'm a good person. Have gay sex.

8:30 AM
Jump in prius, drive to work. Run over kittens and defecate on a church on way to work.

9:00 AM
Pretend to be computer programmer, actually insert pro-gay subliminal messages into unsuspecting professional software. Have gay sex in men's room with compliant homosexual.

12:00 PM
Lunch, work on gay making ray (Should I call it HomoLaser?). Convert co-worker to the dark side of life. Molest something (horse today, I think).

1:00 PM
Pretend to be computer programmer again. This time insert pictures of supple, beautiful penises into professional software. Tempt republicans into considering sweet, sweet male love.

5:00 PM
Contact PFLAG. Ask how the promotion of special rights for gays is going. Make sure the horse-marrying legislation is on the way. Kill a nun. Have gay sex.

6:00 PM
Dinner at George Soros's house. Kieth Olberman and Barack Obama strip for entertainment.

9:00 PM
CLUBBING!!! Gay sex.

2:00 AM
Start fourteen man, drug fueled orgy. Overthrow traditional marriage. Eat a baby.

The gay agenda (according to an actual gay person)

6:00 AM
Wake up.

Run (five miles today!)

Shower, breakfast.

Head to work. Drop off books at library.

Work on project

12:00 PM
Lunch, call mom.

Staff meeting.

Dinner at Tom and Denise's

Drinks with Significant other at local pub


Occam's razor: that the simplest solution is usually the correct one.

Song of teh post: Gay Bar, by Electric Six
Weirded out conservative of teh post: Basically any anti-gay politician caught soliciting sex from men.

Sunday, May 30, 2010

Oh god, what have I done?

The best thing about celebrating a birthday is having a good time with friends. The worst thing about having a good time with friends is the morning after. The best thing about the morning after is... the morning after the morning after, when you don't feel like death warmed over, cooled down, heated in a microwave, dropped between the stove and the fridge, and discovered months later, covered in cat hair.

I woke up multiple times today. The first time was just a preliminary wake up, alerting me that I did in fact have limbs and a head. The second time was to urinate... painfully. Upon standing up and realizing that I was, indeed, hungover, I immediately regretted that balmy evening in Columbus, OH in March of 1981, when I was conceived. After I got back into bed, I started thinking about all the hangovers I have had, and what I do about them. The one I had this morning necessetated slow movement and massive amounts of liquid, taken in small doses. Since I'm an educator as well as an entertainer (an entercator? an edutainer?) I've decided to share my observations... Here are the six types of hangovers and what to do about them.

The direct approach hangover is characterized by a general feeling of ill health, meaning that when you can open your eyes, you imagine that you see thousands of garden gnomes using your soul as a toilet/bird cage/fax machine while stripping your body of all will to survive the trip to the bathroom that you so desperately need. The banter between your body and the hangover goes something like this...

Hangover: Get up. (kicks you in the face)
You: Why, God? Please leave me alone.
Hangover: Get UP. (kicks you in the face)
You: What must I do, warden?
Hangover: Get to the kitchen and make coffee. (kicks you in the face)
You: May I cry, sir?
Hangover: Make me coffee. (kicks you in the face)
You: Please don't hurt me!
Hangover: Eat a bag of dicks.

The solution: Drink fluids when you can move without wanting to vomit, shower, eat something, cancel all plans for the remainder of the day, make funeral arrangements every time you sneeze or blink, write out your will in your own vomit.

The covert assassin is the most nefarious of all. You wake up. Everything seems lovely. The birds are swaying, the trees sing. You may go for a walk after breakfast. You start to prepare a lovely mushroom and Gruyere omelet. Things seem fine. Then, suddenly, all the bad things you've ever done take physical form. They turn into a superpower. You get super senses, so perfectly honed that you would scream if you could find your face. The smell of mushrooms, usually so alluring, make you want to vomit up your lungs. You would run to the toilet, but you stub your toe on the door jam of the kitchen, which causes you to temperarily black out. You find your voice and let out a scream, which causes the demon behind you to finally cut the Damaclidean sword loose so it splits your skull. The taste in your mouth turns into an ashtrays toilet, and the sight of food finally does bring up that vomit that makes you think you're going to die. You skulk off to the bathroom and pray for a quick death.

Solution: Stop it before it starts. When you wake up and feel fine, realize that this feeling is a lie perpetrated by a god that doesn't love you. Take precautions, and move, slowly, to the bathroom with a blanket and glass of water, and wait.

The mining head beasts enter your head after you're sedated by so much alcohol. They wait until you've woken up to go to work. These beasts are mining for whatever rubies live in your skull, and since they don't find any, they keep digging, searching for any precious stones. You have none. They then decide that it's your fault, and start to get mean. These beasts are all mad, on a high protein diet, and especially gassy. Every time you decide to change your elevation by a fraction of an inch, they light their emissions and laugh.

Solution: Don't move quickly, the beasts don't know you're moving if you stay at about an inch an hour. When you reach the bathroom, drink water and take asprin... half a bottle should do it. Then return to bed and cry.

You realize that anything you do or say to your stomach will cause it to object in the most strongest terms. You will vomit things you hadn't eaten since kindergarten. It will also feel like a roiling hell broth of uninvited guests is in your stomach, and your colon doesn't like it. The dialouge...

Colon: Seriously? Who invited these guys?
Stomach: Chill, man. They're my friends.
Colon: Every time they come here you regret it.
Pizza: I just smeared ketchup on the sofa. I am unapologetic about my odor. You do not need this lining.
Stomach: See? He's hilarious!
Colon: He just felt up my dog! I want him out!
Stomach: Let him stay for a while. What could it hurt?
Cottage cheese: I pooped in your fridge. I have given all your friends Mein Kampf and all of Ann Coulter's books in your name. You should be expecting a call from the FBI soon regarding some calls I made from your phone.
Stomach: That's hilarious!
An entire bag of cold, ultra spicy hot wings: I'MMA FUCK YER WORLD SO HARD IT'LL HAVE MUPPET BABIES!!!
Colon: You're gonna pay for this in the morning.

After you've vomited up most of your life, you will get the dry heaves. Anything, including performing oral sex on Ayn Rand's corpse, would be preferable.

Solution: There is none. Wait for it to pass. And call a lawyer. You're going to want to sue Gordon's Gin.

You're going to poop. A lot. Otherwise you feel fine, but it's like someone snuck in to your bedroom the night before and replaced all your inner workings with stuff that your body has no choice but to reject, like liquefied dung beetle genitalia, hand sanitizer, and dandruff shampoo. There is not enough toilet paper in the world, so you end up using your cat. Your cat is not happy with this. You don't care.

Solution: Pepto and crackers. And water, for most of the water in your body has turned into... never mind.

You're still drunk. It's not the fun drunk, either. It's the drunk that happens when you don't mean for it to. Like when you accidentally inject yourself with vodka. What happened? You slept a full eight hours. Sure, you drank enough to make Dylan Thomas impressed, but after a full nights sleep, you should be hungover, not drunk. Why? Because as you were sleeping, unicorns surrounded your bed, creating a time vortex that slowed time around you, but let normal time continue. So technically you only slept an hour. God damn unicorns.

Solution: You're still drunk, why tempt fate? Go ahead and keep drinking. What have you got to lose?

Song of teh post: Sick of Being Sick, by The Damned
Drinks of teh night before teh post: 1 gin and tonic, 2 gin on the rocks, 2 vodka cranberries, 3 beers, 1 bottle of wine, and a bucket full of regret.

Saturday, May 29, 2010

An open letter to Sarah Palin...

Dear Sarah,

How's it going? How's the family? Is Trig or Twix or Spatula or Rhododendron or whatever doing ok? Did you get the fruit basket I sent? I specifically picked out fruits that are indigenous to Alaska to put in it. (That means that they come from there.) Stuff like peaches and apples and pineapples and pomegranates. Jesus planted those there ya know. I figured that I should make an effort to reach out and be nice. So few liberals appreciate you, or at the very least blast you without trying to cushion the blow. It's hard to be Palin. I know, you get some sympathy from the people who put their scrotums on each other, bizarrely, but some good old liberal panacea can make even the most closed-minded, asinine, bigoted, habitually incorrect, hard hearted, angry about the gubment, creationist wacko smile a bit, even when he/she is reloading.

Having prefaced appropriately, I must engage in a witty repartee (that means talk to you humorously) about your recent interview with Bill Orally. In it you said, roughly, that the law of the United States is and should be based on the bible, a line that has been spouted by the fundamentalist Christians for years. Respectfully, Sarah...

What. The. Fuck.

First off, the constitution, the thing we both love (but only I seem to know, because between the two of us, I'm apparently the only one that's read the thing) is the general law of the land. You won't find any of the ten commandments in it. Any of them. And some of the constitution's greatest hits go directly against the bible. And that's a GOOD THING. Here's what I mean...

Exodus 21, 2-6 says...
If thou buy an Hebrew servant, six years he shall serve: and in the seventh he shall go out free for nothing. if he came in by himself, he shall go out by himself: if he were married, then his wife shall go out with him. If his master have given him a wife, and she have born him sons or daughters; the wife and her children shall be her master's, and he shall go out by himself. And if the servant shall plainly say, I love my master, my wife, and my children; I will not go out free: Then his master shall bring him unto the judges; he shall also bring him to the door, or unto the door post; and his master shall bore his ear through with an awl; and he shall serve him forever.

Pretty gruesome way to treat your slaves. I'd wager that very few people in the US would even condone slavery in the first place! In fact, there ought to be a law against slavery!

Amendment 13 of the constitution:
1. Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted, shall exist within the United States, or any place subject to their jurisdiction.
2. Congress shall have power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation.

Hmm. I guess there is.

My point is that times change. In 1855 there were slaves. In 1865 there weren't. What did that? Not Abrahamic law, but our own, fallible, human made law. Which is better? Which is more moral? The thing, my sweet fascist, is that we put our own codes of morality on our own actions. Biblical law is unchanging and unyielding to human powers, according to most of the fundamentalists that I have been subjected to. Human laws change with the times. Sometimes in small ways, sometimes in huge and important ways, but they do change.

By the way, ever had catfish in any of your southern romps through the country?
Leviticus 11:10 But anything in the seas or rivers that has not fins and scales, of the swarming creatures in the waters and of the living creatures that are in the waters, is an abomination to you.

Wear a poly/cotton blend?
Deuteronomy 22:11 Do not wear clothes of wool and linen woven together.

Hate paying taxes?
Romans 13:6-7 Give everyone what you owe him: If you owe taxes, pay taxes, if revenue, then revenue; if respect, then respect, if honor, then honor.

I know these are common retorts and responses and everyone knows them and why am I bringing it up and whatever. It just seems that you, Sarah, can't claim that bible laws are better than secular (RED ALERT! RED ALERT! HEATHEN! HEATHEN!) laws when I'm sure that you've done all those things listed above. We as a country do not live by biblical law.

And that's good. Secular government doesn't mean that people can't or won't let you worship, it means that everyone can worship, whatever we want, or not worship at all, whatever we choose to do. The special thing about the United States is that it was the first society in the modern era to succeed in having a set of rules that didn't bring up a holy doctrine or unquestionable mandates from "divine" guidance. We did that on our own. And it worked.

Why do you want to ruin that?

Anyway, I hope you understand that, underneath all the clutter and admittedly shoddy keeping of our laws by the government, this really is a very good system we got going. Sure there's always room for improvement. But improvement is almost always a forward thinking process. There really is no reason to accept bronze age law in the technological age. I for one adore shrimp (when I eat meat). I'm wearing at least three different types of cloth as I write this. I own no slaves and don't want anyone to be bound by any ties that they don't choose to put on themselves. I'm a modern person. I don't want to go back to the bronze age. Unless it's in a time machine. That would be awesome.

E. "F.G." H.

Song of teh post: New Rose, by the Damned.
Creepy creationist potential president of the post: Sarah "If it moves I shoot it from a helicopter" Palin.

Friday, May 28, 2010

Also, the horrible limerick of the day is...

A geologist who lived in Ft. Knox
Kept his most painful puns in a box
When aroused by a stone
He would reach in and moan
"The cleavage on that one sure rocks."

The first post! I don't know why! My leg is asleep!

Hi! I'm Eric. This is my blog. Why?


I'mma... Sorry.
I'mma be posting stuff that is of vitally important interest to you. I'm... Dammit! I'm a college student, cook, liberal, vegetarian, and fan of skim milk. If this hasn't put you off, then I'm glad we're friends. This is my first post, so I've decided to post some tidbits of wisdom from my 28 years of survival, of which I will tell you of so much you'll shit explosive ropes of boredom. (By the way, that isn't me in the picture. I just wanted to post something random. It's totally not my image, by the way. I forgot where I got it from. Just google "hideous man unicorn that gives me nightmares/wet dreams" and you'll find it.)

So here's my first ejaculation of wisdom...


I've been doing odd things for years. Most have involved the potential to be lost in the wilderness, sleeping in my car, and waking up panicked, covered in vegemite, wearing handcuffs and crying... always crying...

Anyway, since this happens so damned often, I've built up a list of ten things to keep in your trunk in case of any possible emergency...

1. A large paisley bed sheet. This is vital for several reasons. It will keep you warm in your car, it serves as a great sign in case of the zombie apocalypse (just write "survivors here" on it in blood, and sit back and wait on the roof of the mall), it serves as the perfect thing to help you stand out in those lonely toga parties. It also can be used to swaddle any feral children you find that have been raised by wolves. This happens to me far more than you can imagine.

2. The Hulk. Just in case.

3. Dried Herbs. You never know when you will be abducted by cannibals and forced to either cook for them or be eaten by them. Add some herbs to their stews of human meat
, giving them a taste sensation that will be looked upon as a gift from whatever strange gods they may worship. Also, swallow some just before being dropped in the pot. They did win the battle, obviously, so they deserve to have a tasty meal of you. (Do not use cilantro unless you are Mexican.)

4. Handcuff keys. Cause the handcuffs are still a problem.

5. The Rockwell Retro Encabulator.

6. A dutch oven. No, not that, you perv.

7. A clean pair of someone else's underwear. This is a complicated scenario, but one that will pop up occasionally. Lets say you're at a party and someone soils themselves. Maybe they drank Jager on top of Taco Bell, or their batch of homemade beef jerky wasn't dried all the way yet, and that fuzz on it wasn't salt but some kind of deathmold that makes the insides of the human body turn to jellied belly meats and squeak out the anal sphincter. In any case, you've got a mess on your hands (well, hopefully not on your hands. That would be quite difficult to explain to anyone who was passing by- "I swear I was just washing my hands in the toilet when this guy busts in and...").

Lets also say that the person wears a different size underwear than you do.

You: "Hey, quite a mess you got there, bub."

PooPants McCraptrousers: "I know, and on this, the day of my daughters wedding."

You: "I wear a size 38. What size do you wear?"

PooPants McCraptrousers: "87. I'm not a small waisted man."

You: "You won't believe this, but I happen to have some size 87 bikini briefs in my trunk."

PooPants McCraptrousers: "What on earth for?"

You: "I'm a well prepared man."

PooPants McCraptrousers: "You win an internets!"

And who doesn't want to win an internets?

8. A cat. They can live anywhere, survive on little, and help you win sympathy from anyone who happens to be strolling by. Take this...

Just your ordinary, average, sexually sadistic serial killer. Now add a kitty...

And you have a perfectly respectable man with a happy kitty in his arms, waiting for a ride! See what a kitty can do?

9. Shortening. Not only does it not go bad in warm weather and doesn't need to be refrigerated, it can be used in so many cooking applications its a miracle, AND its a lubricant extraordinaire! Just imagine how much more comfortable the butter scene from Last Tango in Paris would have been with shortening instead of icky butter!

10. Gasoline. Start fires, fuel your car, challenge idiots to a drinking game dare, and ward off pesky mosquitos and chiggers! It's truly a wondermaterial, don't let the BP oil spill fool you!

That's enough for now. I'll see you later.

Song of teh post: Eloise, by The Damned.
Serial killer of teh post: Theodore Robert Bundy