No, I didn’t run away and I haven’t died, though there were days I thought I would do both. My rabies keeps flaring up and I think I’m in Stage 4 renal and liver failure, but besides that, I am fine and back to blogging just in time to tell you about last night’s celebrity dream. These are the dreams where I dream about a celebrity I want to get biblical with but never do. I guess dreams imitate life. Or life imitates dreams. I don’t know. All I know is y’all will probably regret the emails and messages requesting I start blogging again.
This dream started with me driving down the road and seeing a flea market sign. I stopped and went in and it was packed with people. I was walking along when I looked beside me and saw:
I smiled and awkwardly said “Hi Justin Timberlake!” and he smiled and said “Hi.” Then he stopped and said “I think I hurt my leg.” and pulled up his pants leg and there was a cut on his calf that didn’t look too bad, but I said “Oh Justin Timberlake, that looks bad! Come get in my car and I’ll drive you to the hospital.” all the while knowing by “hospital” I meant “my house” where I could seduce him with my compassion and shit as I put a bandaid on his wound. He agreed, and we started cutting through the crowd, but when we got outside I couldn’t find my car. I thought ‘DAMMIT! I HAVE TO FIND MY CAR SO I CAN MAKE OUT WITH JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE!” We looked and looked and couldn’t find it so we went back inside the flea market and were walking along, talking and then made the plan to go get his car, which he said was parked on the other end of the market. So we’re walking through a crowd of people and all I could think about was that I was going to be making out with Justin Timberlake soon when all of a sudden I saw a Mexican dude wearing a pair of these:
I stopped and stared at them, wondering “why?” and when I looked up, Justin Timberlake was gone, lost in the crowd. I was all “NOOOOOOooooOOOO!” and I started to run through the crowd searching for him and I looked down and I had no pants on and I thought “OH MY GOD I DON’T HAVE ANY PANTS ON! THIS IS HUMILIATING! FUCK, DID I HAVE PANTS ON WHILE I WAS TALKING TO JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE?” and then I woke up.42 Comments
Some friends and I were sitting around eating lunch and one of them said someone they knew with the honest-to-God last name of Cheeseburger was having a baby and they were going to name it Chelsea. All of them seemed to think that was a good baby name. I didn’t. I said if I was having a kid (GOD FORBID), and my last name was Cheeseburger, I’d name it Greasy and have it a brother and name it Bacon, which of course lead to all of us making baby names.
Here’s just a few I can remember:
Al Bino Walken
Dan Druff Flake
Then I said most people have boring last names so it would be cooler to name your kid whatever you think will happen to it in life. Then I pointed to one of my friends and said “Your daughter would be named Pregnant at Fourteen Smith“ then I pointed to another and said “Yours would be Posing For Playboy Harris” and then I turned to another and said ”Yours would be Blowing For Crack McMillian.” Suddenly I realized that I was the only one laughing and I remembered that these friends have kids already, daughters to be exact, and probably didn’t appreciate my fortune-tellin’ baby namin’. Oops. So I took a big gulp of my water, swallowed, and said “Oh, chill the fuck out, mine would be Stabbed In Prison Ledford.”97 Comments
I decided that my usual diet of gin and Circus Peanuts with the occasinal bacon sandwich needed to be supplemented with a daily vitamin so I went out and purchased a bottle of One-A-Days. Then I took them to work and left them there figuring it was the best place to remember to take one at least five days a week. The following is the conversation that took place when my manager walked in my office as I was opening the bottle.
Me: “Oh. My. God. Look at the size of these things!”
Manager: ”What? They’re not that big.”
Me: “I’ve seen horse pills that were smaller! I don’t know if I can even choke one of these monstrosities down.”
Manager: “Oh that’s nothing. I take about five pills that size or larger every morning, usually at the same time.”
Me: “That’s why your milkshake brings all the boys to the yard.”
Me: “I said that I needed more water.”
I am constantly being bombarded with questions from people like “Your skin is so perfect, what products do you use?” or “Oh my God, your skin just radiates perfection and youth, what products do you use?” Okay, “constantly being bombarded” is a bit of an overstatement. Okay, no one really said anything remotely like that to me, except once a creepy old hobo dude I passed on the street said something like “Purdy ladieee, I wanna to wear yer skin.” which means I have good skin, right? Right. So anyway, I decided I would recommend products on weekends that I use and know for a fact they work. And not just skin care products either. I’m not getting paid for any of these recommendations, which is fucked-up really, but rather, am doing it so you too can have creepy old hobos envy and desire you, which I guess is kinda more fucked-up, but oh well.
Today’s product is Curél Hand & Cuticle Therapy hand cream. Best hand cream made. As y’all know, I am a yet-undiscovered hand model and I know my hand creams. It’s non-greasy, absorbs fast, and keeps your hand smooth even after several washes.
See, even my BFF Wilson recommends it, and he should know about hands, his face was made with one. Of course, it was from a bloody one and I guess he really should be recommending an antibiotic ointment and bandaging material, but he’s not too bright. (Shh, don’t tell him I said that. We have plans to go to lunch tomorrow and I want him to pay.)
Also, I am pretty certain that crazy old hobos would rate this product 4 out of 4 ”It Puts The Lotion On Its Skin Or Else It Gets The Hose Again.” It’s that good.