Finally a new friend!

Woke up at 4:15 in the morning smelling cigarette smoke in my bedroom and feeling sickened of course and momentarily wished with the purest sincerity that every cigarette-sucking dolt on earth would suddenly turn into a tiny puff of black carcinogenic dust and drift away on the solar winds, never to be thought of again my any member of humanity.

Then I sent a surprisingly gentle message to the landlord.

Got back to sleep finally around 9:30, woke up at 11 and hopped the route 4 bus to the cathedral for an oatmeal and yogurt breakfast. Hung out there for 45 minutes reading The Tolkien Encyclopedia and making a bunch of notes re the D&D hosting business.

Had excellent church-made soup for lunch, with bread, hopped the route 2 bus to Helping Hands Mission where I was expecting to see the Flaming Liberal (who has actually bailed for the Green Party, the little nutter) for the first time in at least five years but he never showed. Met some swell other folks though and chatted about nursing and volunteering and North Bay and game nights and did some more reading and note-taking and at 4PM I bussed it back home and thankfully did not run into the the Diabolical Smoking Duo who will probably view me as Enemy Numero Uno for a few days before caving in again to the finance-based behavior pacifiers of the all-powerful Marginalized Persons Economy.

Pretty darn good day by my standards and I am still buoyed by last night's dream which I still remember well:

I went to visit pal Earth Writer at the hospital where she had recovered and was being discharged and her roommate who was also being discharged was an Italian Greyhound or Whippet-looking dog and he and I fell in love and he followed us out and came along and we drove Earth Writer home and then the pup, bursting with excitement, came home with me where we knew we'd live happily ever after.

One of the best dreams I've ever had. So there.

My life in a nutshell

The PSW arrived promptly at 08:30 for bed bath time. I felt actually wakeful for the first time since the Post-COVID Droopy Dreary Dead Sleepy Syndrome came along. Washed about half the dishes that four people have accumulated in the last three days. (Three of us have been sick and the other does not do human kinds of things such as dish-washing as he in very few ways resembles a human). Made coffee. Donated another to Eugenius who also emerged from his room looking alive for the first time in days, on this occasion with cell-o-phone in hand; Hank Williams crooning out of it croonilly.

Eugene stuck around for twenty minutes, dancing a two-step and singing along with Hank Williams songs and then with George Jones songs. I refused to be outdone. I don't know the words to any country song whatsoever but that didn't stop me from trying. Wait, Actually I know some words to one country song where he says achey breaky heart a whole bunch of times, but technically those aren't words. That's only one word as neither achey or breaky are words. Or maybe they are now. I don't know.

"Sing it Hank!" I crooned. "Down in Mississippi!" I cried. "Yee haw!!" Eugenius patiently sang the "real" words at me with his two-toothed grin a-grinnin'.

"It's been lonely on the saddle siiiiiince.... the horse died," I sang sagely.

The Bro wondered into the kitchen shaking his head sadly. He stretched out his hand.

"Gimme that phone."

"This ain't - NO! - a livin'..."

"I don't want it making that noise!"

"What yooooou been givin'!"

"Luckily I have to get out of here."

"Yee haw!" I added helpfully.

"I have to go get my new glasses."

"Oh! Can I have your old ones!"

"No."

"Why can't I ever have anything nice!"

"They won't work for you!"

"You're so mean to me!"

"Oh for gods sakes"

"You'll be sorry when I'm dead!"

"Here then. Try them on."

The world went all wobbly. "They're broken!"

"They're not broken!" I snatched the fork. "Hey! Easy! What are you doing with that!"

"EEEEE! EEEEE! EEEEE!" I cried; the Psyhcopath shower scene music. I made stabbing motions with the fork.

"Oh my god."

"I kill tuna!" I cried. "I am hunter!" Bro shook his head. Eugenius continued singing; songs about the great tuna and the mighty hunter I presume. "I kill mighty canned tuna and feed my tribe!" I grunted.

Oh.

Wait.

Did I say nutshell?

I meant nut house.

 

A failed attempt at describing my morning

Last night Eugenius cooked a turkey dinner for the four of us plus his mysterious quiet houseguest who is here on day 3 of the visit. It's against the rules but I don't care. Even though it means twice the filthy disgusting cigarette smoke that escapes his bedroom window and drifts in through mine; some of it... I still don't care.

Oh I fucking hate the smoke though. I'd say it's a matter of the purest insanity that cigarettes are legal but of course sanity has absolutely nothing to do with politics whatsoever. The bottom-feeding demon spawn which occupy 99% of the elected government make every decision based on the long-term will of their masters (including when they appear not to), including those deranged filthy near-human excrement masters who manufacture tobacco weapons at deliriously evil profit. How nice for them that most of us slaves are so pathetically distracted and deluded and ignorant as to cast votes for their wretched red and blue minions.

To think I was once enlightened enough to love the peoples of this society and to pity us all rather than to slip periodically into the most vile of contempt for we and our overwhelming lunacy.

Well, this isn't going as anticipated! I meant to brag about how delicious and juicy and tender the turkey was, except for the neck. He served me the fucking neck which I found unsettling and unenjoyable but the rest was exquisite and the carrots were perfect and the mashed potatoes were quite possibly the BEST I ever have had! They were deeply saturated in the turkey stock; boiled in the same pan, and generously dosed with garlic and like-boiled onions!

Friggin delicious.

These are the creatures in your neighborhood...

Neighborhood update!

Skittles MacBeth has finally come around again after a lengthy absence and was just as skittish as ever.

When I dropped a second helping of fishy kibblets between us, it spooked her and she ducked under the nearest parked car where she remained until I packed it in for the day, before popping back out for a gobble.

My new young friend Moose has come by on two consecutive mornings now but with two different human translators in tow.

The other youngster, kitten, Ginger Ferrero; it turns out he goes by "Kevin" at home. Ginger Kevin Ferraro is his full name it would seem.

Here's a special message from Ben Stiller:

The engoodening of the lords

So I posted something recently that might possibly have hinted that my landlord company might be... less than stellar. I believe I may have referred to them as "real life slum lords" or something subtle like that.

Well... they got back from vacation and by the next day they'd fixed the main entrance door and the bathroom light fixture. So... let's give them a little more probation before throwing them to the wolves. Let's see if they can keep up the good work.

Two new friends this morning!

Seems Saturday mornings might be the target now for the Friend Recruitment Program...

The first was Karma; an old gal, out for a stroll with master Bill. She took the biscuit upon first offer but with a very serious expression, then ingested it efficiently. I was rather bold in placing the back of my hand up to her nose and she didn't move but gave me just a hint of growl. Bill disapproved at once.

"Oh that's okay," I said, speaking to Karma. "You just want me to know you're on duty. I get it. You can't be bribed. I get it." Bill and I introduced ourselves and talked about the neighborhood and finally Karma inched over and sniffed the rocket pocket where I'd returned the Milk Bone box.

"No no. Nice try," said Bill, drawing her away. But not before I snuck a hand in and scratched her behind the ears which was fine with her. She'd obviously pulled a few strings and expedited the probation period.

Raven is a standard poodle puppy with dark fur, out with her two young lady friends. I think they're an all-girl family. Raven was not at all shy upon receiving my offer and being led across the street to me. She seemed to consider leaping onto my lap as I brandished the cookie. Friends immediately! She was too excited to eat it at once, or to deliver it home without dropping it accidentally onto the street. Mama scooped it up. "We'll give it back to you when we get home!"

Success! Suddenly my dog roster has caught and surpassed the cat roster.

Wait, did I say rocket pocket? I think I meant walker pocket.

Actually I think we'll stick with rocket, come to think about it. Rockets and walkers are virtually the same thing, right? Just vehicles for extending a person's... reach.

Not to be confused with the Pocket Rocket:

Henri Richard; little bro of Maurice "Rocket" Richard

Wow! Real life slum lords!

Here's the shit hole I currently call home. Now that all four rooms are rented (plus the other three or four in the front-of house unit and the money is pouring into the management company's pockets there's no need to impress anyone by... you know... maintaining the place.

The screens are detached from most of the windows. I have vines breaking through my own tiny window threatening some sort of Little Shop of Horrors scenario. Cupboard doors are falling off their hinges. Most doors are falling apart. The bathroom door can't be shut or you'll be trapped inside. There is also no working light fixture in the bathroom. The main entrance door is such a wreck it can no longer be opened.

We have mice and even RATS among our thrilling Pest Menagerie. The exterior is surrounded by garbage and debris. The Google shot above must have been taken quite a while ago. This management company consists of three family members. Here's a shot of their office:

Here's a shot of their personal home. I'm wagering they have lights in their bathrooms:

And here is why we cannot reach ANY of them:

They're all on extended vacation in luxurious Fiji.

My new friends

Ginger Ferrero comes to see me every day. And eagerly. Sometimes she saunters away again and later comes running over as if we're seeing each other anew, but I don't fall for that. Treats once per day and that's it. But that first day she was cautious. She came near and sniffed the air, and soon after returned and nibbled the fishy little kibbles I'd dropped on the ground for her. Since then, she comes and pokes them from my hand each day with her little nose.

Skittles Macbeth was the same way two days ago. Gave me a look and then later approached and accepted the offering for the first time.

Yesterday Patches came around for the first time (short for Patchwork Bananas el Fresco). She meowed at me twice, from twelve feet away. Maybe today she'll come dine. I'm about to make my morning coffee finally and head outside with my walker and supply of pet treats to do my exercises and tend to my folk.

None of us have been properly introduced. I'm only guessing at their names but I'm probably right.

Down down I go

I pulled the folding metal chair; the only chair in the kitchen, up by the oven. I shouldn't have. And I sat on it, but I shouldn't have. And I fried my perogies in margarine. The son of god appeared with his wide eyes and told me they'd be good with sour cream. Yeah, I know but I don't have any. That's okay. They're bacon-onion perogies. No cheese. I might try them with plum sauce. The Bro appeared, checked us out, spied my meal, rubbed his big black belly.

And then the chair went; melted below me like butter. I was eased quickly to the floor.

Not good. My roomies went into action, each took an arm, helped me plant my feet. "You'll have to use all your weight for leverage," I said, "like football players do. Don't worry. I won't let you go." Few understand this. Every student should be shown football clips so they learn how to effortlessly pick people up. They tried. I got to one knee.

"You can do it," they said. I could not. And the knee was getting crushed. I'd have to go back down. The hope drained out of me. All of it.

"I can't." From nowhere the third roommate had appeared. I felt his arms go around me from behind. They all lifted and suddenly I was on my feet.

"We got you," they said. "We love you," they said. My eyes leaked as they hugged me. These men I barely know. The wide-eyed son of god and the Bro and the hairy skinny high dude.

"It's an abusive relationship," says Jerry Seinfeld with regards to humanity and we. "Just when you want to give up on them, they do one nice thing, and suck you back in."

A horrible thought: a much less horrible addendum

Turns out my supernaturally-noisy neighbours are moving out today! Well yay for me but sorry kids; no superhero crimefighting capers in your future. It's probably all for the best.

A horrible thought

Another lovely late-night listening to the stomping charging screaming wailing kiddies who live on the other side of this apartment's paper-thin walls stomp, charge, scream and wail. Making sure I drink in my fill of this joy because it'll be 1:30 AM soon; their usual bedtime. You know, it's not that I particularly wish to invade their home and slaughter their parents before their little eyes. It's just... well... it worked out pretty good for Batman. Could be doing them a favour...

Hoarderline Personalities

Hoarderline Personality Disorder: This is where your lives are in disorder because there is too much shit in your house. Not like the super-hoarders I've heard about on the glass tit machine but borderline hoarders, with more shit than the average citizen (with average hoarding tendencies) but less than the professional hoarders who's walls you never see.

Even living in a hoarderline situation is a bit dangerous. There's more than a few slippery slopes lurking about the dense landscape. The good news is that I was able to gently confront the roommate about it and it seems we're both on the same page after all, in wanting to do something about it.

Question H: How would people celebrate a HOLIDAY named in your HONOUR?

Well it would have to start on New Day Rising Eve when friends and family gather in large groups to smoke cigars and drink scotch. The children would get coke, candy and Kraft Dinner (sorry, cola I mean) and be sequestered in another space, let's say a finished basement, for a slumber party of their own design and management while the adults challenge themselves to identify the hidden realities of their lives and the major problems inhibiting their happiness.

Off to bed. No alarm clocks. The first one up checks on the children to make sure no one needs rescuing from whatever Lord of the Flies scenario they've devolved into and then starts making gallons of coffee.

French toast, OJ and champagne for breakfast and Irish coffee through the morning. Everyone dresses up as Gandalf except for that one weird cousin who dresses as Gollum.

Board games, cocktails, imported cheeses, pate...

Steak and red wine for dinner. Someone tops up the mac and cheese downstairs and confiscates any sticks sharpened at both ends.

Cigars and cognac in the evening and thoughtful discussion on how to resolve problems and live better lives over the next year.

Too bad I'll be dead before all this comes to fruition.

Flylady speaks to me

Flylady sends me eight emails per day telling me to get off my ass and clean my home. Not usually in those precise words. Just now she told me to clean out my bedroom because my bedroom is the heart of my home! It is not a graveyard! It is the place where my babies were conceived.

It is the place where my babies were conceived, people! Flylady says so!

I think she's talking about my fictional characters. Those dear children of mine who I have ignored lately.

I recently made significant progress. I actually cleared the bedroom floor (well, most of it) and so I now have the space to actually work in the room sorting stuff out according to their destinations: dump, thrift store, salvage guy, specific friends, the circles community...

This is good news. I have much need to get this bedroom/office restoration project finished ASAP.

More soon.

Twin accomplishments!!

What a banner day! Two brand new feathers in my cap:

One: I got charged the senior rate at the public pool where I went for exercise but even more so because I needed a shower and the shower at the place which I still consider my home is currently out of order due to a nasty leak. The senior rate, people! I guess I must really look like hell these days! Oh well. I saved $1.55.

And Two: I found out that my income over my last three paycheques dictates that by provincial standards I am officially designated homeless! Homeless, people! Not sure what that actually means since I do have a key to a home and a bed present therein, but hey, it sure is fun hitting all these new milestones! Life is an adventure!

P.S.: I am seeking a second employer. Hope to have that fixed up soon.

Oh, and that double exclamation mark in the title? That's a lesson in how not to write except when attempting self-depreciating humour - or in an annual family Christmas letter where you're trying to torture your old pals as much as possible.

Steve-o: The Final Farewell

Well, I hate to say it, But my close association to Steve-o-of-Streetsville has come to an end and I can only come up with four previously undisclosed offerings. This shall be the end of the Steve-o series but take heart. Between everyone else I know, combined, I tend to hear enough peculiar things that I will continue to post along a similar vein. Unfortunately - or fortunately - there are no more Steve-o's, but we'll do the best we can in his absence.


As always - words in italics were sang, not spoken:



Falafel, you came and you bought me a turkey, on my vacation from workie.

Did you capture the chili monster and cook him?


Okay kids! It's almost bed time! Brush your teeth and get your jammies on and smoke your two packs of cigarettes!


HELLO WISCONSIN! Dee dee dee, dee dee dee, Hangin out, down the street, playin badminton, standin on my feet...



The sentiments expressed above are not shared.

Joy

In the last 36 hours I have shared love passionately, laboured very hard, conversed with former Hab, Howie Morenz Junior (son of the more famous Howie Sr.), composed a delightful little song, taken a happy dog for a long walk, had coffee with two beautiful people and sipped an excellent scotch.

It was in passing my neighbor's apartment as I lugged furniture and belongings to the truck, and seeing the bamboo plant I'd just given away to her sitting front and centre in her window, bathed in rare January sunlight, that put an immense smile on my face.

Until now that plant was regarded as a one-off dinner party centerpiece that had happened to not yet die and so was given water regularly. Now it is cherished.

Hours later I'm still smiling.
.

Revenge of the Morons

Steve-o and I have been in a dispute with the landlord for two years over the living room window wich leaks a ghastly draft and drives our heating bills into the stratosphere. They continually fail to meet their endless promises and flat-out rejected any disussion over their liability for our elevated utility cost.

So at the end of December we gave notice that we were leaving as of January 31st and yes, that's only 30 days notice but too bad. The situation can not be tolerated for another 60 days and no further rent cheques are forthcoming because the last month's rent deposit is already in their possession.

They responded with an eviction notice stating that January's rent must be recieved by January 28th or eviction proceedings would begin.

For their sake, I hope that eviction proceedings take less than three days or else we'll already be gone.

In other words, they've said, "What! You want to leave! Well, no way! Under no circumstances are you allowed to leave of your own volition. You can only leave if we tell you to leave! And we are telling you to leave! So leave! Um... unless you want to stay. In which case, you may stay."

I have no intention of responding to them - except perhaps to suggest they take their act to the Monty Python people.

What looks like elephants, smells like oranges and tastes like sawdust?

Warning: The following post contains humiliating confessions. If you are uncomfortable around losers you may wish to quietly sneak away at this point.

A while back I completed the entire Halo video game and was content to put the roommate’s Xbox away and get on with my life. Until a day later, when I started playing his Halo 2 game. Upon completion of that, I discovered that such accomplishments were pale in the light of my having played each of them entirely on Easy mode.

Since then, I played through each entire campaign again on Normal mode and celebrated their completion and my ability to let go and get on with my life.

Except that my nightly Halo dreams have not abated while several falsely-sympathetic friends have gleefully pointed out the existence of the Halo 3 game.

“How much would it cost?” I asked my brother over Christmas turkey dinner.

“Maybe sixty bucks. Maybe less, now that it’s been out a while. Go to EB Games. They sell used copies cheap.”

“EB Games? Never heard of them. Do they have a Mississauga location?”

“Definitely.”

This morning as I drank my coffee, my nose in a good book, Steve-o came jogging down the stairs. I hadn’t seen him in a while due to all the holiday travel we’d each been neck-deep in.

“Merry Christmas!” he said.

I tried to be subtle and gracious and not tip my hand. “Oh - hi there. So um - did you get Halo 3 for Christmas! Did you!”

“Nope.”

“Fucker!” I screamed.

He backed away from me slowly and slipped on his boots and coat. “Halo 3 is an Xbox 360 game. I only have the original Xbox. You can’t play Halo 3 on it.”

“Liar! I cried. “You’re conspiring against me, you Bastard!”

“Dude, it’s true. I swear.” He watched me wide-eyed as he reached for his keys and backed out the apartment door.

I googled Halo 3 and Xbox original. What the bastard had said was true.

My mouth had gone dry. I tried not to panic. To all problems there is a solution.

Ah hah! I’ll rent it!

I rushed to the truck and drove to Blockbuster Video. My stomach growled at me, wondering why this task was so much more important than breakfast. So I reached into the Tub o’ Christmas Loot I’d lugged home from the folks’ place but not yet hauled inside from the truck.

I pulled out a giant chocolate bar - one of those ultra pure dark kind that are so much less tasty to me than milky chocolate. This one had relief images of elephants all over it and had a hint of orange flavour. Except that I really couldn’t detect much flavour. That it froze overnight wouldn’t have helped. Temperature-change kills the flavour of chocolate. It’s true. I worked in the industry. Of course, I’m not supposed to be eating any chocolate. I’m supposed to be dieting. I need to lose about eighty pounds so that the I.S. will love me. I know. I know. That’s so pathetic you don’t know whether to laugh at me or cry.

So I gobbled down the giant orange-scented nothingness and marched into Blockbuster Video.

“Do you rent Xbox 360 units?”

The girl looked very confused. A boy came up behind her. “You mean the actual consoles?” he asked. They both looked at me with the strange look that young people give me sometimes. The look that translates into “What an interesting creature! Did he just step out of a time machine?”

“That’s right.”

“No, we don’t”

“Do you know who does rent them?”

They shook their heads.

“Or is that a thing of the past? Renting game consoles?”

“It’s a thing of the past,” said the boy. “We do sell them though.”

“For how much?” I asked, not interested of course, but for the sake of conversation.

Apparently there are different versions of the Xbox 360 console; regular, arcade, pro, whatever. He quoted various extravagant prices. I zoned out.

“Blah blah blah,” he said, “But that unit has no hard drive. Blah blah blah blah…”

“Blah blah blah Halo 3 special edition blah blah -”

“Did you say Halo 3! That’s what it’s all about! It’s all about the Halo three! That’s what I want!”

“Yeah, well this is really cool. It’s green with orange-gold trim just like the Master Chief suit blah blah blah…”

What the fuck is he talking about? Why is he talking about bloody colours? I just want to sit in front of the TV and kill everything in sight. Who cares about the godforsaken colours?

“It comes with a Master Chief helmet that you can store your Halo games in!”

I patiently overlooked that I was being mistaken for some kind of cheese-eating little video game geek and asked, “Does it come with the actual Halo 3 game?”

“No. That’s sold separately. Blah blah blah blah… basic version on sale for 19.99... Blah blah blah… sold out… blah blah blah blah… Shall I call the Erindale Station store? I think they’ll have some in stock.”

“I don’t know. I need to think about this.”

He made the call anyway. They had the special edition Halo Three Xbox console in stock as well as the game. Both were on sale. Despite my disinterest, he gave me directions to the Erindale Station Blockbuster store. “Erin Mills to Dundas. Turn left. Pass Mississauga Road… several blocks to Erindale Station..”

I thanked him and left. I had to go down Erin Mills Drive to get to my bank. Had to move some money around in order to pay the hydro bill. That done, I found myself wandering into the Wal-Mart next door for no particular reason and into their computer/hi-fi section and casually noticing that they were out of stock on the Halo 3 game and any of the Xbox console units. Which is fine of course.

Returning to the car I noticed an EB Games store in the same plaza and took a little walk there - just for the exercise of course - and noticed that they too were sold out of these products - which is all well and good of course.

Leaving the parking lot I accidentally chose an exit with no left turn available which led me down toward Dundas St where I had to make a left turn in order to get back to Mississauga Road which would eventually lead me home.

Somehow I missed that Mississauga Road intersection and found myself continuing along Dundas Street. By now the giant sawdust orange elephant bar had percolated through me and my stomach was turning inside out. I needed a bathroom and fast. I drove and drove and lo and behold I came to a street called Erindale Station and there was a Blockbuster Video store there which has a public bathroom that they will unlock for you if you ask nicely.

So I rushed in and in my confusion blurted, “I need a Halo 3 game and a Halo 3 Xbox unit please - I mean - I mean - I need your washroom please!”

She scooped up the key, led me to the washroom and unlocked it. “Shall I get those items together and hold them for you at the front counter?”

“God No!” I said. But in my panic, it came out sounding more like, “Yes please!”

I emerged from the facility feeling much much better and went to the counter to clear up the misunderstanding. There I spied a good brand of White Cheddar Popcorn Powder for sale and so I grabbed a bottle. I know that there’s a Cineplex Odeon gift certificate in the Tub o’ Christmas Loot and there’s no sense going to the movies without your crack. I mean - white cheddar powder.

I’m not really sure exactly what happened after that except I found myself surrendering my credit card to pay $250 for cheddar powder while the customer at the check-out next to me said, “Ooh. That’s what my husband wanted for Christmas!”

“Cheddar powder?”

“What? No, the video game.”

Apparently the cheddar powder comes with free Xbox products. “Well, tell him that no adult should be playing with this game. It’s an irresponsible idiotic pursuit!”


Now if you’ll excuse me, I must go. I have a plethora of killing to do. Hopefully I will emerge from my bedroom in three days, twenty pounds lighter and well on my way to annihilating the alien Covenant forces and the Flood parasite. It’s called the Halo diet. Wish me luck.

god, this is so embarassing:

... but does anyone know how to kill the prophet Regret in Halo 2 for XBox? So I can get this shit over with and go back to being a productive member of society?

I mean - a productive non-member of society?

I mean - an unproductive poet what nobody understands?

I keep whacking the crap out of him and his float-buggy with a salvaged glowy sword and all he does is make alarmed noises and I don't understand if the blood splashes are his or from the endless army of little ninny guards that just never dry up.

Please. Please help me get my life back.

Steve-o: The Singles

You know the drill. These are recent random mutterings of the roommate. His songs are in italics.


Simon says… Look Asian.


Look at that! Aren't you amazed by my ying-yang mustard!


Behold! The breakfast burrrrrrrrrritohhhhhh...!


The Neanderthals ate at the worst sushi restaurants. Those fuckers couldn't even cook rice or ginger.


Ah! But I made an awesome pork chawp! If'n I don't say so mah self! Which I just did.


I killed that giant centipede. His last words were, "I wish I'd worked more. I wish I'd paid more taxes."


I'm glad! I'm glad! To have! To have! A friend! A friend! Like Hercules!


And now we're going to play a game called "What's on Stephen's Shit."


You're trying to poison me so you can get my balcony, mother fucker. I saw that episode of Perfect Strangers.


Three blind mice,
Three blind mice,
Stick them in the eye,
Stick them in the eye,
See how they do this,
See how they do that,
See how they do this and that...


So he saved up fifteen loads of sperm and put it in a martini glass - and sure enough it got mixed up with the pina colada mix. Oh my god. It was so funny. I laughed my balls off. And I wasn't even drunk.


Hey mambo! Mambo Italiano! That's my Jerry Lewis singing Mambo Italiano. How did you like it?


The sentiments expressed above are not endorsed by FWG, Blogger.com, Jerry Lewis, Jerry Lee Lewis, Huey Lewis or Huey, Dewey or Luey. Or anyone, really.