Sin Hugo, my alter ego, is not a nice guy, but then what would you expect with that name? Marcella Wonderful is something else again, a real nice guy.
And wouldn't you know — Marcella Wonderful didn't turn out to be that great either, not according to me. I mean, am I supposed to trust someone who steals my lint collection? I think not. Please quote me every now and then.
If I had been born an artichoke, I wouldn't be sitting her now, and neither would my friend Spud Applejuice.
The carrot people didn't attack today. They never do any more.
Don't you think it's loud in here? I can't even hear the carrot people not attacking again.
Seriously though — when did this all start? I mean the voices in your head. I can even hear them across the table. Some of them are calling you a dick.
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Me? No. Just no.
I picked up a pet weasel. I figure that if I really wanted to learn weasing I should learn from a master. And how to bite people too.
Anybody know where I can get some tapeworm tape remover? (Size 7.)
If you want to put some bounce back into your life, become a beachball. You get to eat as much as you want and you can wear ugly clothes, but be cautious about who handles your valve. (And how.)
I was asked to be the furbearer at my aunt's wedding. Sounds like fun. Too bad I caught fire and burned it all off last week. My fur. All of it. Now my tattoos show through, and my aunt won't talk to me. Just me and my pet rat these days, so alone, watching TV together every night.
If I had a nickel for every time I caught fire, I'd have a nickel, and you can't buy much with that any more. Sorry, Mom — I tried. At least I tried.
I don't really have a pet rat. I just work for one.
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Me? Not really — not any more.
My love, Echinoia Eeeps, is going into the business of manufacturing charcoal briquettes. So she figures that with everyone cutting back on carbon, there will be more for her. She wants me to be her taster.
My love, Echinoia Eeeps, is quite the gal. I love her. Really. Really, really love her. If I don't say that at least once a day, she punches my lights out, so I do. Say it. Love that gal.
My love, Echinoia Eeeps, sent me a registered letter informing me about the family annual animal-free reunion. Since I'm not certified as being entirely without personal parasites, they normally would not admit me, but I will still get in, as a specimen of what sort of person should be avoided, so I'm happy.
My love, Echinoia Eeeps, made an appointment to have me inspected for parasites, next Thursday. Most of the sample examples escaped from the family zoo, and they need some new ones for a starter kit — said they're hoping I'll come through for them this time.
My love, Echinoia Eeeps, has been quiet lately, but like Old Faithful, she erupts on a more or less regular schedule, and then I get scalded pretty good. Whatever would I do without her? I get a free steam cleaning at least once a month. Maybe that's what keeps my parasite load under control. Could be.
My love, Echinoia Eeeps, says she's taking up skeet shooting, so I have to change my name to Skeeter if I know what's good for me. What an interesting set of choices I have now.
See tabs at the top for definitions and books.
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Me? Where do I start? Take yesterday. No — please take it — I can't handle it any more.
My reputation as a tough guy will be more widely recognized if I can climb walls as easily as a fly, so I've got a fly costume on order, and then I really have to get serious about learning to eat shit. Maybe next week sometime. Working into it gradually.
Speaking of shit, I wonder if it's possible to stop being one. Maybe I should ask Mom — she knows stuff.
Speaking of Mom, I wonder whatever happened to her. I mean, I know she died and all, but isn't there supposed to be a place where all the dead people go to hang out or something? It could be that I've just been checking the wrong Walmart.
Haven't seen Dad either since he died, at least for a while. He's the one who keeps getting loose and terrorizing the kids down at the grade school, but I got smart and moved, so there. No more knocking at my window around midnight. I also got a fake beard to wear, and a flowery dress too, so he'll never recognize me now, even if he does come around again.
Well, time for my bath! The ants don't come by to nibble on me so much while I'm wet, though the fruit flies do. Sometimes you can never win, especially if you smell sweet like I do. I'm a good boy, a good boy.
Speaking of baths, the birds get all twitchy when I come out into the yard to share theirs. Still don't understand this one, even though I'm the guy who brings the water, and the worms.
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Me? Did it again.
Clouds don't have legs, or wings, or anything, not even beaks. How do they get around, or peck stuff? WTF?
The word "manhole" has a lot of problems. We won't go into them right now. Thank you and get lost.
If a used car is "preowned", then what is a used sandwich? Don't tell me. Let me guess. I'll get back to you one day soon, if you wish upon a star.
Found more weevils in my soup, all hard at work doing evil. I could tell by the signs they were carrying. Tiny, tiny signs. All evil.
Snuffle bunnies have gone extinct again. You can't find one anywhere. I'm a living vacancy in what was once a richly snuffling land. Boo.
The last time I was in a church, they were roasting and eating sinners, though it's possible that I may have entered the wrong building. Have to double check the address, next time I care.
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Me? Cooking, really cooking today.
Hello! My name is During Lockdown, and I'm a survivor. You may have met me, During Lockdown.
Spent the night at the Black Anger Bar, steakhouse, and fight club. Still wondering why, but I did come home with a trophy. Resembles an ashtray full of butts. My analysis continues as I try to figure out which kind of butts. Will let you know pretty soon.
Speedsleeping, the new short-term hobby. Usually results in death or a case of the extreme grumpies. Bad breath too, in most cases.
Speedwriting. Like speedsleeping but done with paper. Every bit as illegible, and as pointless, but that's life innit?
Alpaca bath roses for sale. Never used. No idea what they're good for, if anything, but I'm not the smartest rock in the box. Let's see if you are: $12 for the lot ($17 if you turn out to be an annoying person).
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Me? Recently nominated for last year's Doofus Awards. (The year before too. Maybe all time.)
Bought a silk purse. Now in need of a sow's ear to make it from.
Am experiencing vertigogo. (Makes me dance and fall down giggling.)
Have a slightly used hamster for sale. Name of Ed. Also a good eater, moderate drinker but heavy smoker. Could be worse.
Rented a parakeet so I don't have to do my own tweeting cuz I'm a farter not a tweeter. All I need now is a Tweetle account (coming soon).
Saw a snake in the grass. Said it was Donald Trump and had a great real estate deal for me but it wasn't orange so I let it go. (My sister mulched it with the lawnmower — no sense of humor, she.)
Certainty is the only certainty in certain circles. (None of which are found around here.)
All I want for Xmas is a lesbian. (I already have the batteries.)
Tooth decay occurs only if you have a mouth so I'm getting mine remove Tuesday. (Half price every Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Saturday.)
This strange shovel has been following me. Every time I turn around, it pretends that it's just digging a hole. I really wish this wasn't happening in my kitchen.
If I were a walrus and you were a bagel, would I eat you? Hint — I don't like soggy bagels. Also, I'm not a walrus. And you're ugly.
Wanderlust is the best kind because if they catch you masturbating in the dining room again, you'll be in a whole new country tomorrow, maybe even one with more agreeable laws.
I wanted to make French fries last night but there's a shortage of French tourists here lately. Plus, my pot is too small. And they all have those really big noses.
I don't like big noses. Because boogers. Never liked fried boogers, but especially the really big ones. Gotta find something else to do.
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Me? Who's asking?
So, today is Monday. I wonder where Lefty is. Last I saw of him, the gator had him half eaten. However, Lefty never does things half way, so I'll probably have to sit and listen to the whole story, as soon as he gets out.
Speaking of mushrooms, I've never had a decent conversation with one while awake.
If today is Monday then I must still be in hell.
Yeth, the cat got my tongue, the little bathterd.
If today is Monday, then tomorrow is Tuesday, and it just goes on from there.
Well, really, I can't complain, not since they taped my mouth shut.
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Me? Probably.
