In Space, No One Can Hear You Bitch

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Once it was discovered that I wouldn't stop throwing my wrenches on China, I was permanently removed from the Space Program.

Internet Swag

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Dog the Bounty Hunter Begins Sensitivity Training

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"You must let the healing begin. Close your eyes and
repeat after me: 'At least she wasn't Jewish'."

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Stay the Hell Away From the Light

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I staggered into the Emergency Room.

"I'm dying," I gasp, collapsing to the floor.

"I thought Security just kicked you out of here," says Nurse Garrison.

"Twithe," I says, weakly fogging the glossy linoleum.

"You have a cold."

"I'm a crawling host for billions of parasitic viruses," I paraphrase. "C'mon, woman. Heal me for God's sake. It's not like I have an HMO."

"Where did you get the hospital gown?"

"I keep a few in the car," I reply. "It might save me a few mortal seconds of begging for medical attention on the hospital floor."

"Go home and rest. Drink some chicken soup."

"Chicken soup? What the hell kind of Voodoo crap is that?" I stand. "Shall I circle the chicken over my head while chanting? Hm? Are you even licensed to practice medicine in the United States? I want to see some credentials, you Hypocratic quack."

"Get a vaporizer," she offers. "You would be amazed how much that soothes."

I was slightly encouraged. "You know," I confess, "I've never actually vaporized anyone before."

With new purpose, I shuffle out in my paper booties. "You'll still be here in an hour, right?"

A Predator Press Halloween

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"Thanks for the flowers. You may now
remove yourself from my presence."

My carved pumpkin was less-than-well
received at the 2007 Jedi Convention

In a perfect world, Peter Parker makes J. Johnah Jacobsen
watch the same episode of 'Spongebob Squarepants' 86 times.

Today.

No one believed that giant plastic dinosaurs
once roamed freely in my backyard.

-Until they saw the colossus 350-ton statue of
a pack of cigarettes Andy Warhol made me.

Oh, sure. Like you've never French kissed a snake.

Blasphemy

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Originally posted on October 27, 2006

I know this sounds crazy, but every year around this time my house gets visits from these teeny little ghosts, ghouls, devils, and Power Rangers, all demanding candy. No sooner do I give em candy and shut the door, and more of the little mooching pagan bastards show up.

Last year, even after I ran out of Tic-Tacs, this diminutive Godless hoard continued to swarm over my home relentlessly. I started giving them whatever I could find; cans of beets, maple syrup, beer, Tupperware lids, ketchup ... I even gave one a whole 5 lbs bag of sugar, in hopes diabetes might scale the vile dwarven hellspawn onslaught back a few notches.

And they kept coming.

On and on through the night, I am for whom the doorbell tolls: a cheery warning of yet another invasion by the insatiably greedy brood. My radio. My microwave. My television (that staggered the little bastard).

But this year, it'll be different.

I'm dressing as R Kelly.