G.I. Josephine.
Gambling for Gonads.
Gears run by swine.
Genital friends.
Germ ranching.
Getting near the end now. Even the flies can't stand me any more.
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Me? Will get to more of the alphabet later.
I saw Dad again yesterday. Yes, he's still dead, and as active as ever. You've heard that you can't keep a good man down, but in his case it's "You can't keep a dead man in the ground." And I don't know why. I really don't. He's a lot more active now than when he was alive and no more likable, given the odors of decay. At least I no longer have to live anywhere near him, or even admit that I know him. Knew him. My only "interaction" these days is occasionally catching a quick glimpse of him running naked down the street, possibly chased by various carrion eaters. All I have to do is to turn the corner and head upwind, if I can. I like wind.
Saw Dad running naked down the highway around noon, pursued by about 20 police cars. They were having a bit of a problem keeping up. Pretty good for a guy who's been dead for around 23 years now, and has to dig his way up to sunlight every time he wants a bit of fresh air, but being the dead undead is the only thing he was ever good at, somehow.
Saw Dad again yesterday, running naked in the park, chasing cats. I truly don't know how he finds so many cats to chase, especially for a dead guy, or where he gets those goofy tattoos of his.
If you must have a Dad, don't pick one like mine. He was dead all the time, had a terrible personality, and smelled bad. Besides being cold and distant. Something about spending your days and nights in a grave will do that I guess. Though I do have to give him credit for climbing out of the hole every time we dumped him back into it.
Dad just walked by the coffee shop — naked and on the loose again. Damn, that guy won't stay buried for nothin.
See that guy outside? The one with no pants? He's my dad — taught me everything I know. Maybe I too can be President some day.
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Me? Constantly trying to run away from my future.
Walter stopped by for a visit. Tall gaunt guy. I have no idea who he is.
Wanna come by and see my dust collection?
Want a taste treat? Kiss me — I'm pretty yummy during weeks when I bathe.
Want a tip? Get a job as a waitress. And wear a short skirt. Live in despair. So simple.
Want to buy a used duck? Got one here, complete with outboard motor.
Want to have some fun? Set yourself on fire. But that takes discipline and serious amounts of training, so it might be a good idea to practice on friends first.
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Me? Actually more of a squeaker myself.
Wiener teasel.
Wife insurance.
Wild Ways Sewer Park.
Willow came by last night. Willow is a werewolf, but quite mellow. We usually sit on the front porch and swazzle a little beer, do some howling at the moon if it's up. Nothing fancy, just fun. Friendly fun. Sometimes we roam around and bite people. That's fun too. Especially since I got new dentures that don't fall out all the time.
Wouldn't it be nice if people tasted like brownies? Especially the ones with walnuts. I know that I would eat a lot more of them.
Year-end Clarence sale. In progress right now. Get some!
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Me? Yeah, been wondering about it all myself.
Dork energy, dork madder, dork mutter. Something like that, all over the place, but at least it's not slimy so I think we're ahead.
Ebola instant noodles — I missed that one, and now it isn't trendy any more. Back to NFTs, I guess.
Fred didn't do it. I have this on good authority and the big finger now points at you.
For my first magic trick I will sit here quietly and not thumb a cell phone. And meanwhile you can fuck off.
For the first time in years I've come up short of ears — I'm in arrears in the department of ears then. Feel OK otherwise.
Hey — Dwarf hamster v hammerhead shark, round 2. I'm betting on the shark this time.
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Me? Never constipated, except mentally sometimes.
We don't want to scare you too much, but Boo! (Damn that felt good.)
We seem happy enough, as a species, as individuals, on this train to deathland.
We're not here for a long time. We're here for a good time. (Defined as those days I'm not on fire.)
Weasels don't waltz well.
Wee Willie Winklevoss's guide to losing a fortune: "Easier Than You Think". (Comes with its own crayons.)
Wembley Dildron, inventor and patent holder of the Wench Wrench, professional mumbler, missing person, and no one cares about any of it.
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Me? Tedious at times, yes?