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.

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.

Steve-o: The Star Wars edition

More recent random mutterings of the roommate:


Oh Yoda, you're the ugliest thing ever.

Luke…! Luke…! Comb…! My hair…!

Man, if I had a bionic arm like that, I'd shoot laser beams out of it. I'd be like pshew! pshew! I'd have it do all kinds of neat stuff. You guys suck. George Lucas, you blow.

I'm gonna eat those bush babies. I'm gonna suck their blood.

Play like a Ninja! Play like a Ninja!

And what about Darth Vader? He was totally rebuilt. Why doesn't he have a laser penis? He should've had a laser penis.

Why does the emporer have a German accent? They make all the bad guys German in these movies.

Learn to ekthpect the unekthpected? How do you ekthpect the unekthpected?

Welcome to the Ice Chamber of Shangri-la!

That reminds me, I need to go to the liberry. I need to find my liberry card.

I hope the Ewoks win. I hate it when the Ewoks lose.

The preceding sentiments are not endorsed by FWG, Blogger.com or anyone long ago in a place far, far away.

Steve-o buys a new toothbrush

The World According to Steve-o

As usual -- random snippets from the roommate; his songs in italics:

I visited my mom today. Sometimes I try to be a good son. But it's not easy when SATAN COMMANDS YOUR SOUL!! MWUHAHAHAHA!! ARRRRGGGHHH!!

Mr. Furley, that's my name.
That name again is Mr. Furley.
Mr. Furley, that's my name
And you can call me MISTER FURLEY!

Every time a bell rings Jesus gets his wings.

Jazz! Who doesn't like jazz? Acid Jazz.

Yesterday
All my potato farmers seemed so far away.
All my potatos were made out of clay.
Oh yesterday was heroin day...

What, are you fucking with me? You can't smell the cigarette smoke on him? It's like the smell of baby oil on a child molester.

Everyone loves the danish.
Who doesn't love the danish?
Danishes come in a can
From a factory down south.
I eat my danish every day.
I'm moving to the danish.
Gonna eat my corn of plenty.
Potato makes the dairy.
Everyone loves the dairy.
Potato makes the dairy.
Who doesn't love the dairy...?


This Polish beer's delicious. It tastes like Poland. I had a Polish friend once. I regret not licking her more.


How much is that window in the doggie?


Everyone loves Magical Trevor
Who doesn't love Magical Trevor?
Everyone loves Magical Trevor
Except for the cows.
Cows cows cows cows cows.
And maybe Bill Gates. Cause he's a cow.
Cow cow cow cow cow cow…

Close Encounters of the Steve-o Kind

Recent random murmurrings of Steve-o, the roommate. His song in italics:


AH-AHHHHH-AH! Atreyu! Puff Dragon!
AH-AHHHHH-AH! Bumbafarian!

I am Lionel, King of the Thundercats!
THUNDER THUNDER THUNDER THUNDER CATS!


Keep slapping Dracula. A slappy Dracula is a happy Dracula.


I'm Stockwell Day. I don't like homos or black people. Do you want to punch me in the nutsack? I'm not going to answer your question. I'm Stockwell Day. I won't tell you whether our security is adequate. I'll tell you how it's better than it was before. We have a tenth of the population they do, so we only have to do what's in the interest of our sovereignty. Are you going to punch me in the nutsack now?


Itth a shmall world after all
Itth a shmall world after all
Itth a shmall shmall world.


Steve's been waiting all day for a barbecue
Barbecue
Experience
Steve's barbecue experience
Steve
Experience
Barbecue...


Is Granny spry?


Rosemary Burps forever
She only burps after rosemary
Rosemary bur-urps forever


What's that leaking on the floor? Could it be? Oyster juice!
Oh Oyster juice
Leaking on the floor
Don't worry, it's just oyster juice. It's good for you. It's good for your health. It makes you fertile. Like Murtle.
Oh, fertile Murtle...


When you wish upon a star,
Catching moonbeams in a jar,
Doesn't matter where you are,
Out in space or here on Mars.
.

.

The preceding sentiments are endorsed by Steve-o, fertile martian oysters, your strange uncle that nobody talks about and by nobody else.

The Unbearable Lightness of Steve-o

More random snippets from Steve-o, the roommate; as always, without context. His songs in italics.




The spices…
Are coming out
The spices are coming out
It’s chili time
The spices
Are coming out
Kidney beans kidney beans
Kidney beans kidney beans
Hoagies and grinders
Hoagies and grinders
Kidney beans kidney beans
Kidney beans kidney beans
Hoagies and grinders
Hoagies and grinders
Sloppy Joe
Sloppy sloppy Joe…

My name is Klaus and I wash away ze soap bubbles wiss my Klaus Soap Cream

Brush your teeth
Round and round
Circle small
Up and down

I’m gonna make double-crust pie. Nobody likes that pussy single crust stuff. Pussy single crust pie – that’s what killed Napoleon. That or gonorrhea. Fucking Napoleon.

Chicken, sausage, ham!
Chicken, sausage, ham!
Chicken, sausage, ham!
Chicken, sausage, ham!

Is thith the real thing?
Is thith jutht fantathy?
Caught in a Tolkienish landthcape
No ethcape from reality
Open your eyeth
Look up to the skieth and thee
I'm jutht a hobbit,
I need no thympathy…

Do you think if Doctor Kevorkian dies of natural causes he’ll be considered a hypocrite? What...? I’m just asking.

Look at us. We’re two Patties. What? I’m a Patty and you’re a Patty. We’re two Patties. Just like a McBurger. I don’t get it. Look, your name’s Pat. You’re nickname is Patty. My name’s Patty. Together, we’re two Patties. Just like a fucking big mac. I still don’t get it. Okay, look. You’re name’s Pat…

It’s Beets Night in Canada
Beets beets beets
Who loves beets
Beets beets beets
Stephen loves beets

Boom ptuh ptuh ptuh boom boom ptuh ptuh
It’s Poooooooontacular
This is the loudest poon show ever.




Image unceremoniously swiped from pasquinader.blogspot.com

Day 98

Behold! The Corner of Doom is finally vacated!

But does that mean the end of the reign of the Evil Trinity of Malevolent Interlopers? Alas, not so. Our scouts reveal that they have taken up residence in the Hallway of Ultimate Evil. And like that legendary ruler of Mordor, they are gathering dark forces around them.

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Two cases of beer, a jug of laundry detergent and a big blue bag of video game remote controls.

And what's this? The brown bag. In it lies an empty box. The box my new winter boots came in. Crap! I'm revealed a hypocrite. Well, that's the end of you, interloping empty boot box bag! To the recycle bins with you!

The cold war drags on...

Day 86

The evil trinity of malevolent interlopers remains and has given no clues to its purpose. I summoned the courage to lift it off the floor to vacuum beneath it. It remained docile, allowing me to do this. Then it hit me - the danger I'd put myself in. I curled up in the corner and trembled like a leaf.

On the subject of clutter at the Grotto of Cool and my own passive-aggressive endeavors to battle it (I assume Steve-o checks this blog as he knows I occasionally quote him here), I've started attaching "CHRISTMAS IS OVER" tags to various Christmassy layabouts.

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The trophy, by the way, is Steve-o's beer-drinking trophy. He consumed 24 beers in six hours and lived. It's the major part of his contribution to the living room decor. He contributed that, a kleenex box, four houseplants, the hi-fi gear and a small mountain of video game controllers.

Meet the Steve-o

Random quotes from the roommate. Songs in italics:


Nobody likes you, Winter.
Except for penguins and polar bears. And things that flourish in the cold.

Midgets! The world is being taken over by crazy midgets, biting the heads off chickens.

Who’s got the funk?
Steve’s got the funk!
Who’s got the funk?
Radulov’s got the funk!
The Mexicans…
The Mexicans are coming…

That doucher. I should have dropped a biscuit in his purse.

I like this parking lot. It’s not like our parking lot. DUM DUM DUMMMM! The parking lot of doom!

No. Don’t worry. I won’t drop you any purse biscuits.

Scotch scotch scotch
I love scotch
Scotch scotch scotch
I love scotch…

What’s with that cashier? Did you hear her freak out on that guy? “SIR! SIR! You don’t have to put both cases on the belt! Just one, please! My arms are getting bigger than my husband’s! I squeezed his dick right off! Popped it open like a Pez dispenser!”

GRUYERE! AND CRACKERS!
GRUYERE! AND CRACKERS!
THEY’RE ONLY A DAY AWAY!

Welcome to Doctor Youseff’s Biopsy Buffet. Get two meals for the price of one.

What do you mean, ‘Could I please be marginally less disgusting during the dinner hour’? You ask too much of me.






The preceding sentiments are not endorsed by FWG or anyone with taste. No artificial cadavers were harmed in the making of this article.

Evil trinity of… malevolent interlopers… of evil… portent… or something…

Day 65

They lurk over there.

There. In the Corner of Doom.

I don’t know how or why they arrived here last autumn. I know not their vile purpose.

I have tried moving them to the rarely-used hallway; that other magnet for evil in the otherwise pleasant Grotto. But soon after they appeared again in the Corner of Doom. I moved them to the kitchen counter. They appeared instead on my nice chair in the dining room – by the back entrance.

There they sat and glared their unholy glare at all who entered the Grotto. I moved them back to the kitchen counter. Again they vanished and appeared instead in the Corner of Doom once again.

They are some unholy trinity. Not the ghosts of Christmas past, present and future. No. Not the evil trio from Krypton who followed Superman to the planet Earth.

No.

They are Orvil Reddenbacher Popcorn, Lipton Powdered Chicken Noodle Soup and Tim Horton’s English Toffee Cappucino in a can.

Every day I glare at them as if to say, “This is my house!”

And every day they glare back at me as if to say, “Come play with us Fwig! Come play with us… Forever!”

I presume they are responsible for Sylvie Ruel’s tragic disappearance.

Whatever they are – beneath their insidious disguises of common household food products – they are evil and powerful. Steve-o is completely under their malevolent spell. He dares not confront them.

I’ve tried to locate that little witch from the Poltergeist movie to see if she can help me but no luck.

I presume it is only a short time before they drive me to utter madness.

God have mercy on my soul.

Tempted by the fruit of Steve-o

Is it that time already? 'Fraid so. More random utterances of Steve-o, the roommate. Songs in italics:



Tequila! You’re breaking my heart,
Your shaking my confidence daily,
OH TEQUILA…!

Those Douchie Von Douchenheimers.

Midgets have glowing sex. When they orgasm it shines like the birth of a star. That’s why some little people have great tans. They’re the best lovers.

Nausea, heartburn, indigestion!
Upset stomach, diarrhea!

It was an itsy bitsy teeny weenie
Flying purple pita eater

Your mom called. I pretended to be you but then she started talking all sexy and I got nervous and hung up. [Steve-o’s last words before he was throttled and thrown down the stairs.]

My laws, did you see the balls on that one?

Sky rockets in flight,
Mmm, tuna delight…

There’s nothing finer than zombie sex. At least, that’s what my zombie friends say.

I have no gift to bring, pa rum pum pum pum,
That's fit to give the King, pa rum pum pum pum,
Rum pum pum pum,
Up in my bum…



The preceding comments are not necessarily approved by FWG, Blogger.com or the Imperial Association of Little People.

Steve-o Mail Pirate strikes again

(sigh)

The unsinkable Steve-o

More recent mutterings of the roommate... song in italics...



Big and juicy
As big as a fist
It’s the meatball escapade…

I like-a this-a booze! It make my head all crazy like a five-a dolla’ bill.

Where’s your Halloween costume? You don’t have one? Why don’t you go as Mister Belvedere then? You don’t even need to dress up. Just go around saying, ‘Hello Wesley!’ Try it. ‘Hello, Wesley!’

Refried beans,
Refried beans,
I’m makin’ fresh coffee
And refried beans

Look, I don’t want to address the problem at the source. I just want a quick solution. I don’t want to be like – “Ooooh! Look at me! I don’t have fruit flies because I’m clean!”

Look, I’m a tarnish fly! Mmmmm… tarnish!

Arrrrrr! I’m Blindeye the pirate!

Hail to the bus driver,
Bus driver, bus driver,
Hail to the bus driver,
Bus driver man.
He swears and he cusses,
And stinks up the buses.
Hail to the bus driver,
Bus driver man.

No. There’s no such thing as bus driver ladies. They’re a myth. Like Unicorns or poppy seeds.

I love corned beef. Any food you need a key to open - you know it’s gotta be good.

The Steve-o Monologues

Random utterances from Steve-o, the roommate. His songs in italics:


I like my fabric softener. I'm a fabric soft knob snob.

Sporkie sporkie spork spork. Why do you call me Spork? Sporkie spork spork. You came from outer space. Spork spork spork. I am Swedish chef.

Clang clang clang goes the trolley!
Ding ding ding goes the bell!

I don't care if you are king or streetwasher. My monster pancakes will get you in the end.

Five Onion riiiings!
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves,
And ten Russel Terriers!
Four calling birds...

It says he killed the guy right in front of his own father. Can you believe that? I couldn't even swear in front of my dad. I can't believe how kids are raised in some families.

I will gladly pay you Tuesday for some syphilis todaaaaay!

Uh oh. Here comes the Kumquat Vag Squad.

Cougar lovin'
Gonna take her to town
Maybe...
She'll make me frown.

Ding ding ding ding ding ding... Columbo!

The preceding opinions are strictly those of Steve-o McBeano Windchime and are not shared by FWG, Blogger.com or by beatniks or disestablishmentarians anywhere.
.
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Steve-o and the Chocolate Factory

In case you're new here, the following are recent random murmurings of the roommate. His songs are in italics:

I am Captain Baconaire of the Baconville Express - coming at you - with... the bacon juice...

Seizures! SIEZUUUUUURES!

Do you shave your pillow in the morning?
Do you shave your pillow in the night?
Do you shave your pillow in the afternoon?
A shaved pillow is a ghastly sight!
OHH! Shave my pillow shave my pillow,
Shave my pillow shave my pillow…

Crayfish boil time, Crayfish boil time

Crayfishboiltime! Crayfishboiltime!

Crayfishboiltime! Crayfishboiltime!

Cray-cray-cray-cray-cray-cray-cray-cray-crayfish BOIL TIME!

I hope she's cleaning up one day and her vagina snaps shut and breaks her finger off.

GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!

They call me Cuban Pete,
I'm the king of the Rhumba beat
And when I shake my maracas
They go chica chica boom!
Chicca chicca boom boom!

He has to learn to keep his trouser snake in his - ah - trouser village. You know - with the trouser village people.

I couldn't care less about O.J. Simpson. I wouldn't even care if he was shooting gold bricks out his ass.

Have you seen my Contagious Penis medicine?

The preceding sentiments are not endorsed by anyone respectable. We deeply regret such gratuitous references to vagina, ass, penis and trouser village people but we are committed to truthful reporting. Wait a minute. What the hell are trouser village people? Don't tell me it's three musicians dressed up like a dong and two - oh never mind. This blog is going to hell in a handbasket. [Image maliciously stolen from www.filefront.com.]

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The Magical Kingdom of Steve-o

You probably know the routine. Recent random mutterings of the roommate. Songs in italics.

Chocolate rain,
Something smells like cheddar cheese again,
Chocolate rain,
Someone punched me in the groin again,
Chocolate rain…

I am the evil that flaps in the night.

Butter boy, butter boy,
What are they feeding you?
Butter boy, Butter boy,
There's only one light in the dining room…

It is joke! It is joke! I am the Larry Shandling of comedy world!

Cheese and chevapi,
Cheese and chevapi,
I knew a girl who was,
Kinda sloppy…

Everybody know-ows,
Barry Bonds takes steroids.
Takes 'em underwater,
Sells 'em for a dollar…

Wassa matta, eh? You droppa your chevapi?

I can feel it,
Coming in your hair tonight,
Hold on…

Man, my couscous is hotter then shit. It's made out of Satan's anal sphincterola. "What's this?" says the devil. "Someone's scraped a layer off my anal sphincterola."

Gangrene went the little green frog one day,

Gangrene went the little green frog,

Gangrene went the little green frog one day,

And his eyes went bing gangrene boom!
Now we know all know frogs go ba bing bam bing,

Ba bing bam bing bam bing bam boom,

Now we know all know frogs go ba bing bam bing,

And they don’t go bing gangrene boom!

No known entities endorse the preceding sentiments.

Steve-o's Flying Circus

Chaka Khan, Chaka Khan,
Chaka Chaka Khan,
Chaka Khan had sex with an oyster,
Chaka Chaka Khan...

Tofu is the life-giver of all living things.

Keep in mind, I'm not a snoozologist. I'm not a qualified medical expert in the field of snoozology.

I just did some crop dusting, going up the stairs just now. You know what crop dusting means, don't you?

She's a cheesy lover.
Something something something something.
She's like no other...

What do we need school busses for? We should just use a pneumatic tube system to suck the kids to school. The trick of course is to strap down their lunches securely. No one wants to have to clean stray lunches out of the tube network. That's the only reason it hasn't been done before.

Tempted by the fruit of your mother...

You need to water the plants in the white planters daily. They're the water suck-whole of the universe. This one - you only water it when it starts to wilt like Moses. I don’t know what that means. I guess Moses was a wilter.

Thrmp-thrmp! Thrmp! That's the sound of kids getting sucked to school.

Wilting Moses! Wilting Moses! Moses a-wilting...

Any dissertations from Chakka Kahn, Phil Collins, Phil Bailey, Moses or that guy who sang Tempted by the Fruit of Another are not endorsed by Steve-o. Or, more importantly, vice-versa.

Streetsville Part 2: The Perils

While Streetsville is quite nice in many ways, bearing infinitely more character than the average template suburban tile on the Mississauga gridworks, there are in fact three ghastly monsters lurking at its underbelly, of which I've previously hinted at to various degrees. But let me expand:


1. Youth and Their Automobiles

They pause at the intersection under our living room window, stereos blasting vulgar stereo noise that they sadly mistake for music.

They cruise back and forth down the street sadly mistaking large groups of pederastrians for envious admirers of their spleen-shivering injurious ultra bass weapons of mass-vibration, not realizing how loathsome they are and how sincerely wished they are to die and painfully so.

They park in our private lot and return from the bars at two or three in the morning, laughing idiotically, hollering moronic things to one another, making asinine threats, arguing, fighting, slamming doors, gunning engines and keeping other, potentially useful, human beings - we residents - awake, sleep-deprived, and thus somewhat less useful the following day.

And though, yes, I frequently wish them dead, during fits of selfish despair, I do fully realize that none of this is particularly their own fault.

That this is only to be expected.

That this is merely one of the more pathetic symptoms of this wildly illogical, illusory society; this thorough alienation of youth stemming from our flat denial of their nature and our bizarre insistence that we infantilize them, treacherously disconnecting them from their own reality.

And that we were entrenched in this fantasy existence long before they were born.

Oops, sorry. 'Nuff preaching.


WARNING: THE FOLLOWING DISERTATION IS BOUND TO CONTAIN THE F-WORD IN EXCESS OF FIFTY TIMES. IT IS HEREBY RECOMMENDED YOU SKIP RIGHT OVER TO PART THREE.

2. I Got the Power! (Now and Then)

Here is the scene from 12:45 PM today at the grotto:

FWG stares at the black computer screen, utterly stunned, his eyes wide as frying pans.

"FUCKING FUCKING FUCKING FUCKING FUCKING FUCKING FUCKING FUCKING FUCKING FUCKING FUCKING FUCKING FUCKING FUCKING FUCKING FUCKING FUCKING FUCK!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" He stumbles out of his chair and stomps down the stairs. "FUCKING FUCKING FUCKING FUCKING FUCKING FUCKING FUCKING FUCKING FUCKING FUCKING FUCKING FUUUUUUUCK!!"

"Hey Rich, the power went out," says Steve-o. He's standing at the living room window, looking down at the main intersection of Streetsville.

"NO SHIT EINSTEIN! I was writing all morning and I've lost it all! ALL OF IT!! AAAAAAARRRRRRGH!!!"

"Come look at this. There's gonna be an accident."

"I'm going out to find the nearest hydro worker and kill him. You in?"

"The stop lights are out and they don't understand."

"I think I'll strangle him with barbed wire."

"They don't get it. They're supposed to treat it like a four-way stop."

"It's a three-way intersection."

"Yeah but they're supposed to treat it like a four-way stop."

"Why not a three-way stop?"

"Yeah, whatever. At least the barbecue 'll work. I'm making double-baked potatoes tonight."

"No you're not. We're having hydro workers for dinner."

"Giddy-up."

"And we're eating them raw. I want to taste the blood."

"Oh come on. It's not that bad. Come and watch the accidents with me."

"Fuck off."

Steve-o starts to sing and to dance. "Gray skies are gonna clear up!"

FWG turns, sulking, and slinks back up the stairs.

"Put on a happy face!"

Our hydro fleebs on us twice a month minimum. Minimum. It's unbearable.


3. The Queen of Freaks

I think you got the idea from the previous Welcome to Streetsville post but here's an update. There's not too too much to report on account of her being absent a few days this week. Where did she go, you ask? We don't know exactly. The nut-house perhaps. But she's back. Perhaps she was just too nutty to fit into their program Perhaps she was over-qualified.

We returned from work Monday, first day of the recent heat-wave and were told by another neighbor that we would not see crazy Jolee for awhile on account of her being picked up by authorities after running through the streets half-naked and causing quite a fuss. She's very good at stirring up screaming matches with strangers, you see. To the point that some of the local merchants below us have taken to offering to escort their customers to their cars for their protection against the screaming local lunatic.

Now here's a funny coincidence. A friend of Steve-o's called to tell him about a bizarre experience while visiting our neighborhood that Monday afternoon. He and his girlfriend bought a couple iced Cappuccinos from the local Tim Hortons and climbed back into the car when suddenly a woman wearing bra and panties jumped into their back seat and said, "Stick-em up! Give me your ice-caps!" They yelled at her to get the hell out of their car. She did, whipped off the bra and went running down the street drawing jeers from a crowd of onlookers. There's an O.P.P (provincial) police station on the same block so we can piece together the rest.

She's back now and claiming to have left the local police force and been hired by the O.P.P. She says that they haven't given her her guns yet and won't until things are straightened out regarding her medications but upon that time - she will be armed. I guess she spends so much time in the company of police officers she's taken to thinking she's one of them.

We've discovered she refers to herself in the third person. And not as Jolee but as Barbie. Steve-o hadn't been informed of this and learned of it the hard way. She coaxed him into her apartment to look at her plumbing - um - her kitchen faucets that is.

"You'd have sex with Barbie, wouldn't you?" she said.

"No," replied Steve. "I wouldn't."

I trust him when he says he didn't.

She leaves her back door open when she's home and I see that the interior side of it has been painted brown. Or rather - two thirds of it has been painted brown. And not by brush or roller. No. By finger. She has clearly finger-painted her door. Also on the door are two writings in black marker. In one place it reads, PAint mE and in another, SCREWS. You can clearly see these words through the smearings of brown paint. At least I assume it's paint.

Oh god.

Oh god oh jesus oh jesus oh god. Please. Let it be paint.

FWG

The Amazing Technocolor Steve-o

More of the roommate's random mutterings. His singing, as always, is printed in italics.

Stephen's a tool... Stephen's a tool...

We three kings of orient are

Trying to smoke a rubber cigar.

It was loaded. It exploded.

Now we're among the stars.

Peameal and bacon

And boys like Troy Aikman.

The fuhrer's in Kleinburg planning extradition

He's gonna kill Tom Hanks 'cause he didn't like Road to Perdition.

Man, I can't even cut this. It's like trying to part the rivers of Mosesland!

Itsy bitsy spider ran up the water spout.

Out came the eggs and the spiders crawled out.

They went into my kitchen and into the hutch.

I don't like itsy bitsy spiders so much.

Hello. You've reached Stephen's House of Aesthetics and Hand Jobs. Please leave a message...

Love lists us up where we belong,

Where the eagles fly,

On my counter top...

It's like that bathroom candle. That thing was powerful. It could cover up anything. We could have murdered someone in the that bathroom and it would have covered it up. The CSI guys wouldn't even have figured it out - except they'd probably find some kind of insects. Ah, yes, the coabular dissenteria bugs. Those coabular dissenteriasts only infest bathrooms where someone has been killed by a knife and sodomized. Okay, now bring out the light gun. The light gun that can see through time...

Like a good neighbor...

My balls are there...

Why do people watch ultimate fighting? I'd rather watch ultimate knitting. At least they'd have weapons.

The above opinions are not endorsed by FWG, Troy Aikman, Tom Hanks, The Nazi Party, CBS Broadcasting Inc. or, presumably, Moses.