I’m still in California and for some reason, being out here has cooled my snarkiness and made me more chill n’ shit. I realized this earlier after I spent about 20 minutes contemplating the importance of vanity license plates. For a moment, they didn’t seem all that self-absorbed to me. In fact, they seemed kinda cool.
Oops. That’s when I realized I needed to be rebooted and since I’m not quite sure how one reboots oneself, I dove into the McCrabass version of a panic room by reading the news.
Here are a few nuggets I dug up.
First, these things will haunt my dreams. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love the whole Star Wars series. I think I saw the original Star Wars (or Episode IV or whatever it’s called these days), 7 or 8 times when it was in the theater. And, for the record, I saw the other two just as many times. So yes, I became attached to the characters, and I waffled between wanting to be either Princess Leia or Luke Skywalker (paging Dr. Freud).
Funny side note: I was big into horses as a kid and I used to pretend that my horse was some sort of Star Wars-ian animal.
Our mission was to rescue the last of the Jedis with my magical powers and wise wit. All of those fantasies came crashing down when I took a tumble off my horse into a patch of poison ivy. Misery ensued when I was covered in poison ivy from my head to my toes. I had to sit in a cool room with fans blowing on me, and a mixture of Caladryl Lotion and Ivy Dry kept me from scratching my skin to the bone. I wasn’t able to save the Republic, and by the time I was rash/ooze free, my obsession with all things Star Wars had passed and I was into being a pissant kid with my partner-in-crime, Chrissie Lander.
Back to the creepy dolls. However, I’m afraid if I spend anymore mental energy on them, I’m gonna need a lobotomy to get them out of my mental Rolodex. I just closed my eyes for a second, and all I could see was baby Chewie. Someone …. please… call for backup. ….
“You use your mouth purtier than a 20 dollar shape-shifting donkey whore.”
I love it when I can incorporate Blazing Saddles lines into a post–even when it’s half-assed.
However, this is what I’m referring to. From NewZimbabwe.com
“A MAN caught having sex with a donkey stunned a court on Monday by claiming that the animal was in fact a hooker he pulled from a nightclub.”
I really hate it when the hooker I grab at a nightclub turns out to be some farm animal. Chickens are the worst, fyi.
Zvishavane magistrate Mildred Matuvi heard how Moyo was found by police officers on routine patrol performing a sex act on the animal inside his yard just after 4AM last Sunday.
“I had hired a prostitute and paid US$20 for the service at Down Town night club and I don’t know how she then became a donkey.”
Strippers Earning $2,000 Per Night in Oil
Boomtown of Williston, North Dakota
I’m moving to Williston to get my bend n’ snap stripper style on. The lucite heels I just purchased are guaranteed to minus 20 below zero, and have special traction. Sounds like these roughnecks get drunk enough so they won’t care I’m stumbling toward middle age with one of my asses leading the way.