Mom In The Sky With Lightning

Haven't seen much of Mom lately. Not since she was eaten by lizards. Still waiting for them to poop her out so we can have a proper burial. Contemplating a garden ceremony so we can save on fertilizer. (And a tedious amount of carrying.)

Mom told me I'd never amount to anything, just like Dad. When she composted him there wasn't enough left to even fart at, so maybe she has a point.

Mom wants her blood back. Says now that I'm grown I should be able to fend for myself and make my own, and repay the loan. She's also going to be charging me rent.

Mom said I'd never amount to anything, and in a way she was right, but at least I'll have a cheering audience at my execution, and how about that, Mom?

Chigger bites feel better than I do today. Maybe it's time to start bathing again. Will have to ask Mom about this. She knows stuff.

I asked my therapist, Rudolph, if I'm ready yet to marry. He said it's important, before making a commitment, to be sure that I have a good reliable supply of fresh garbage, and a safe place to sleep, preferably in or near a sewer (which also provides a great escape route). Given this, I can say only that I am once again grateful that Mom recommended a rat as my confidante. (And he's reasonably-priced too.)

 

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Me? Recently knuckled under. (In my sleep.)

P&T

Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, are in town this week for the Nothing Special Convention, held somewhere, whenever the time feels right. I won't be there either.

Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, are my roll models. They model shoelaces, and while they're distracted with that, sometimes they start to roll downhill. Pretty neat.

Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, superheroes at large, whenever they have time to get around to it. Most likely some evening after bowling practice, if the weather is good.

Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, are still at it. They want me to come by and watch them watch TV together, then write about it in my diary. For posterity. Then when they've approved the final edit, they'll burn the diary and have cookies and milk with their pet pig. "What's in it for me?" I asked, which was when they said I could skip the milk and go straight to cookies and beer, if I didn't tell anyone about it. So maybe.

Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, want me to paint my toenails, to see if it's as creepy as they've heard tell. If I go along with this, I get to pet the dog, but I hate dogs, so maybe they'll let me have sex with both of them instead. (The sisters, not the dogs.) We could be watching reruns of "Lassie" while this is going on to keep it interesting I guess, at least for them.

Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, wanted to take me bowling, or at least that's what I thought. What they actually wanted to do was to shop for knicknacks for their friend Brenda, who doesn't have any yet — acquiring "The Knacks" is sort of a rite-of-passage, coming-of-age situation among their social group. Well, what could I say? Now after sixteen hours of relentless shopping I'm properly knackered, but without having to roll any balls around, which is how I prefer it in case I have a choice.

 

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Me? Recently photographed not picking my nose in public.

JRC

I lost interest in religion when Barbie went pagan and ate Ken. Never liked Ken, but still...

Well, topping that, an alligator walked by a few minutes ago, farting gently. I guess the walking part is good for digestion after you eat a dog. Not sure. Would not try that myself, but it sounds about right. Anyway, the barking has stopped.

An apple bit me yesterday — just now got out of surgery. Not great but at least they let me keep the apple for dessert. Revenge dessert. Dessert is the best revenge or something like that, right?

Attended my high school reunion in a dream. Bad dream. Bad, bad dream. Anyway, as a followup exorcism, I tore up my high school diploma, added a bit of bacon grease, and fed it to the neighbor's endlessly-barking dog, which died. And to think I've waited all these years not knowing I had the solution to both problems right here all along.

I've decided to turn my life around. Bought a crowbar this morning. Already have a winch. Should be done by noon, and you'll never recognize me.

I managed yet once again to put my foot into my mouth, though I do have to admit that it's much easier since the accident. Tastes better too, now that I'm keeping it in a jar full of vodka.

 

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Me? Recently run over by something loud. No idea. Loud and fuzzy.

Another Reason To Hate Dogs

Re: Congratulation, You've Won Money
Mr Patrick
To: Undisclosed Recipients

Hello, Dear Undisclosed Recipients I am hoping you are in the well today, Greetings!

In remembrance of the German Countess Karlotta Leibenstein who died in 1992 and on behalf of Gunther IV, the richest dog in the world who often licked her, the Gunther Corporation Bahamas is awarding £30,000,000.00 pounds to some lucky people round the world to supports families during the second wave of COVID-19 which is a new variant of SARS-CoV-2. How fine for you once, because.

To uphold the animal rights during pandemic period whilst dogs are some of the best companions in our lives, which is why Gunther IV encourages people to be committed to animal welfare in the present period of new variant COVID-19, as animals have the right to own their own existence and that of their most basic interests, and he have college degree in business so is smart too.

All collected "email addresses" have been selected through a computer voting system drawn round the world and your EMAIL ADDRESS is one of the lucky winners to receive £2,000,000.00 pounds from Gunther IV, as fresh meat.

To claim payment, you have to contact our Trustee Manager at Rf Limited, UK for further details through his contact email address below to get your meat hoping it still fresh you must do the own cooking though.

 

Trustee manager: Mr Flaming Philip
Manager's Contact Email: ( rfdipshit@nomail.com )

Regards,
The Gunther Corporation
Ratflorck International, Ltd.

 

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Me? Practicing my raw meat skillz, in case.

Dish Me A Wall Of Plates

I tried a plate of that new gluten-free gluten. It didn't squeal when I cut into it. Limited diarrhea afterward too. Promising.

So, lunch today will be served on a plate, at the table, with silverware. When the cat's gone I can get away with this.

There is a piece of meat on my plate but I don't know where it came from, and it's not answering my questions. Suspicious.

What good is a chicken burger without a plate of beaks to go with it?

What's the first thing you think of? Me neither. How about we share a plate of noodles?

Whenever the collection plate would come around I'd drop a couple of rats into it. Live rats if I was feeling generous or otherwise whatever I happened to have with me. I say "would" because I quit going to church the day the rodent ban went into effect.

 

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Me? Recently exposed to criticism. Have since pulled up my pants.