Thursday, October 25, 2012

Tree bark and Spam addiction

What's up with Christians and their trees?

Johnny, he's the bad seed. The one in the black jeans, crossing his ankles, straddling that tree like nobody's business. He was a late bloomer. He's smiling through the bitterness of having a masturbation session interrupted for this photo shoot. 

He wonders if staring at the Jesus poster on his ceiling is wrong when pleasuring himself. He'd take it down if it weren't for the hidden poster of Richard Nixon underneath. He associates the image of Nixon with Deep Throat. This equally pleases and disturbs him. 

Mom's smiling a little too enthusiastically. She's sitting on an unusually protuberant piece of bark that's rubbing her just the right way. It reminds her of her college roommate Mindy, who she still thinks of fondly, even though she was a slutty Mormon. 

It was mom's idea to have this photo taken on a tree branch. She's not sure why she was so attracted to the idea of having something between her legs and decided to recite ten Hail Marys once the shoot was done. 

This would look totally innocent... if it weren't for the whip cream.
Angus is the youngest of his brothers, a long line of strapping Scots. He can't understand why this isn't immediately obvious and finds himself constantly having to convince women of this, as well as his mother, who, to this day, thinks he's her distant cousin Mildred's child. She was a frail and sickly woman with a penchant for Mentos and always smelled of peppermint and sweat. 
Julia has a very rare physical condition which causes her to burp uncontrollably so she tries to move as little as possible. It all started when uncle Joe fed her pickled rat as an infant. He fancied himself a food pioneer of sorts and was hopeful that his line of pickled rodents would take off and ease him into retirement. He died from accidentally ingesting rat poison. The irony was not lost on Julia.

Angus was immediately attracted to Julia since she reminded him of his sister Rita, who was paralyzed from the neck down after belching on a roller coaster. Julia was shy at first but Angus put her at ease with his facile gaseous emissions. 

Don't trust anyone in dark jeans...
Brad, the eldest, claimed to have "chills" that day but was really detoxing from a Spam bender (not of the e-mail kind). Brad first got a taste of the meaty concoction when his mother served it at his 2nd birthday party. He still remembers the sheer elation he felt - it was like a little piece of Nirvana. He was hooked. 
Next thing he knew, he was pawning his Slinky at the "ghetto" playground for a slice of the stuff. Years later, his gut ravaged by processed meat, he hit rock bottom when he tried to kill himself by swallowing all the little plastic pieces of his sister Jenny's Lite Brite set. That was it. His family decided it was time to head to South Dakota and see Grandpa Billy who ran a ferret farm. If anyone could help Brad, it was Buckeye Billy, who'd been addicted to tater tots for years.
Eat the goddamn apple Adam, and be stuck with me forever!
Adam met Eve when he was struck in the head by a stray pea. To this day, he has no idea who the shooter was. Eve played coy and innocent and Adam, being the dumbass that he is, didn't put two and two together. 
He's still searching for the person who sent that pea hurtling towards his upper left temple. He suffers from mild migraines and the occasional blackout because of the incident but is grateful that Eve always seems to be there when he awakes and finds himself naked and disoriented in public places. 

Eve sniffed too much Play-Doh as a child and this left her mentally compromised. She suffers from occasional violent delusions and cannot remember what happened between February 18, 1986 and July 20, 1994. 
She is disturbed by mental images of smacking her husband over the head, undressing him and driving him to the nearest Quickie Mart. She is convinced these are imaginary and not actual events. Eve wants a baby. Adam wants a new lawn mower.

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

Oh gluten, where art thou?

So I've decided to go all gluten-free, because it's trendy. Ok, maybe not entirely for that reason, but it does seem to be gaining popularity. I'm doing it to be a skinny bitch. Ok, maybe that's not my main intention but hopefully, a pleasant side effect. I'm actually doing it because wheat was starting to make me feel really shitty. I'd have a few bites of pasta or bread and feel like a beached whale, and was constantly congested.

I made the connection a few months ago but wasn't ready to do anything about it. I mean, I'm a carb whore. No more bread? No more pasta? Yeah. Right.

I did find out that rice pasta is a great alternative and actually tastes like pasta. However, the quest for yummy gluten-free bread has proved an abject failure so far. The last one I tried, some rice/flax confection, tasted like sandpaper and if, God forbid, you accidentally dropped that shit, it might break a toe, it was so hard.

To the makers of gross gluten-free bread: Seriously? Who's gonna eat that shit? I mean, come on. Ex-carb sluts trying to wean themselves off gluten need a little help here. At least make it palatable.

I did cheat a bit recently. I was attending a yoga workshop over the past weekend, and like a good little yogini, bought a half dozen gourmet doughnuts at a recently discovered shop right behind the yoga studio while on break.

Sweet Mother of all that is good...
The next day, my workshop buddy introduced me to a relatively new bakery in town and, upon entering, I realized that trying to uphold my new gluten-free philosophy in that place was futile. It would be like slapping life in the face when presented with an opportunity for sheer pleasure and contentment. I caved and ate a most delicious ham and cheese sandwich on gluten-rich bread.

I'm back on the wagon but have decided that I'm on a low-gluten diet, instead of a no-gluten regimen. Cutting something out of my diet entirely always seems to backfire. I overcompensate with something else.

Since I went (mostly) gluten-free, I'm obsessed with cheese, like it's my new comfort food due to lack of bread. So, once in a while, I gotta even things out, and have some freakin' gluten. However, I will choose those moments judiciously, and indulge with only the most delicious, high-quality gluten-rich foods, like a Costco meat lasagna.

Tuesday, October 2, 2012

How I accidentally Instagrammed my cooch

I get an e-mail from Twitter titled "Because you have more to show". Am I to assume Twitter is encouraging me to post photos of myself scantily clad, in provocative positions?

I mean, I'm no Demi Moore in a bikini in my bathroom, desperately trying to hold on to my failing marriage by proving how hot I am via Twit Pic, but I might gain more followers. Ok Twitter, you're on. I might crash your site. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Having to pee can kinda ruin a spa appointment. I was recently traveling on business and had a few hours of downtime so I scheduled an overpriced facial at the hotel where we were staying. Once our meeting concluded for the day, I was heading back to my room when a couple colleagues sitting at the bar spotted me and called me over. Come over here! Have a drink! I had about an hour and a half to kill before my spa rendez-vous.

Two cosmos later, I'm racing to the spa to get there on time. I'm a little tipsy due to the alcohol and general fatigue but figured this will just add to my relaxation. I'd gone to pee twice since arriving at the spa, before my appointment even began. On occasion, I can drink numerous cosmos without consequence. This was not one of those times.

About 15 minutes into my appointment, I realize I have to piss like a race horse. But I don't want to interrupt. I'm in some kind of spa tunic, under covers with a wet towel on my face. I don't want to piss off the spa lady. So I suck it up and wait it out.

The facial felt quite nice but let's face it, I was distracted by my bulging bladder. F*ck. After what felt like an eternity, the treatment mercifully came to an end. I headed for the lavatory. Ahhhhh....... sweet relief. I did feel incredibly relaxed and my face had a certain glow. So it wasn't a total loss. But for that much money, I really wanted to be present, you know? Damn those cosmos, they sure were tasty.

I must have been inebriated because I forgot to leave a tip. How gauche. I only thought of it hours later, in a haze of red wine and port, and figured by then, it was too late. I can never show my face there again.

Best quote ever: "This party is so lame, it makes me want to cut myself again."

Like I would ever Instagram my cooch, even accidentally. What is wrong with you people?


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