Answer: The Franklin Mint

Question: what the hell is your problem?
-therestlessape, via email.

Answer: Where should I start? Most recently my problem is trying to sell a lifetime collection of Franklin Mint objects on ebay. You remember when we emptied out my mother-in-law’s storage? Well turns out there’s almost a whole collection of 13 colony dolls in those boxes that were covered with dust, leaves, and dried rat semen.

Also there is a Cinderella doll and a Scarlet O’Hara Doll. These things are creepy. They are boxed up in their original packaging with bubble wrap around their heads and foam wrapped around their hands and feet. My Smugmug looks like some kind of porcelain doll bondage website. My highest rated photos! Those gimps have been holed up at AAAmerican Storage for 14 years. That’s a lot of rat semen! Bitches got mad stamina; more like SKANKlin Mint!

Also for sale I have this crappy Franklin Mint Porcelain Figurine of a mare and her colt seated and smiling very anthropomorphicly at each other. Bidding was up to a buck eighty last time I checked. So that’s money towards your night at the Wild Orchid I promised. Maybe we can get one of the strippers to dress up like Dolly from Delaware and unwrap herself from foam and bubblewrap… Maybe she won't have nipples either.

-M

ps all bids are binding

Go away!

I told you not to read it.



-M

PS the tirramissu turned out not to be all that bad...

Tiramissu

I just had a piece of Tiramissu. It's 12:43 and I'm going to go to the gym in 20 minutes. Could this be a recipie for colonic disaster? Stay Tuned...

-M

Poop

I have a question. How does shit get to smell like sour milk? That’s what the men’s room smells like right now. I had to pee with my shirt pulled up over my nose so I could only smell my Tom’s Woodspice deodorant. Granted I didn’t take a shower last night, but I still smell damn good anyway.

I’ve had some stinky poops in my time, but most of the time it smells like poop, not sour milk. Which of the old farts around here craps those putrescent buttery curd-turds? I thought it might have been L___, but he quit, and it’s STILL THERE! About the time L___ quit we got another old fart. So it might be an age thing. Either way it’s a problem.

Sometimes I use the bathroom on the other side of the building, but that’s problematic too. Our bulldike goes over there sometimes, and even though I suspect that she pees standing up there’s no way I want to chance swapping crotch cooties with that monstrosity. Hopefully this is the biggest problem I face today.

I am indisposed Presents: Notes from the Pussy Pallace, featuring Tongaroo

Here’s a new feature. A friend of mine has some pretty coherent musings occasionally. So I thought I’d bring them to you when they warrant it. He’s a medical professional and has lots of on-call time to devote to being clever. :

The classic names are my favorites, but no one ever names their kids the good ones anymore. Now, you hear a lot of Jenna's, and...get this...Auroras (the one we just delivered)...basically, porn-star names...all in the name of the pornification of America. When did being a pimp become so cool? Why are "beeyatch" and "nigga" such common forms of endearment? Dubs, on an SUV? Excuse me? It won't be long before hepatitis, syphilis, and herpes will be status symbols. "Dude, check out the cold sore on that beeyatch! She's hot!" "Nigga, please!"

And if I have to put an epidural through another chick's tramp stamp (------ excluded, of course!), I'm gonna laugh myself insane. Sometimes they make for good reading material while I'm working, though... When some idiot chick is complaining of the epidural hurting, I usually make some comment about it probably hurting less than that large tattoo of Winnie the Pooh or some Special Cosmic Unicorn with Stars and Rainbows just over their ass...but then again, the difference is that they're sober for their epidurals...usually.

On the other hand, I am noticing a lot of mountain-boy, pseudo frontiersman-type names, too, like "Hunter", or "Scout". Then there's the whole Mormon set of names, like "Caleb" or "Shiloh" or "Hurley". WTF? "Hi, my name is Mountain Man; meet my son, Bark Boy and daughter Births-a-Lot." I say, good ol' Christian names are the best; classics like "Matthew", or "Sara", or even "Ruth". The classics never die!

Anyway...where was I? Oh yeah, you got me on a silly name rant. Anyway, I'd probably drop my jaw in disbelief if someone named their kid "David" or "Mike". If they did, they'd probably sneak a "Jebediah" or "Hebekeneezer" in as their middle name, just to reprazent, Mormon stylie!

Q/A

In honor of my three week blog anniversary I have decided to offer a complementary help line in the form of a question/answer service.

My promise(s) to you:

I will never answer a question with a question.

I will endeavor to be accurate.

If I am not accurate I will be precise.

If I can't be either I will be convincing.

Barring the first four elements I will be amusing.

Due to the low number of expected responses I swear I will answer ALL questions submitted

Please submit your questions by clicking on the word, "comments" where it appears below. (if I am unable to promulgate any of the above promises I reserve the right to change the topic to T&A and post an appropriate picture.)

Thanks,

-M

Giant Sequoia

I met the woman who owns the tallest Giant Sequoia in Nevada. We were running dogs @ Plumas park, which isn’t a dog-park per-se, but it apparently is cool with the locals to run dogs off leash as long as it doesn’t cause a problem. You can see her Sequoia tree from the park, a huge scraggy green cone looking like it was painted by a near comatose Bob Ross. She said it’s a tourist attraction, people come to see it. I asked her if she put lights in it @ Christmas. Hell no, she said. It’s 103 feet tall!

Funny though how dog people pretty much only talk about their dogs. Ginger, the Sequoia tree woman, introduced me to her dogs and asked my dog’s name before mine. She didn’t even ask mine. Anyway it’s kind of like parents and their kids. They talk a lot about spit up and aching backs and the hardest most rewarding bla bla bla… There’s not much to say about my dog. She’s small, she’s fast, she catches a Frisbee. She’s pretty fun. But I can’t understand why anyone else cares.

I noticed this morning that you can see several other Giant Sequoia trees from the park. They aren’t nearly as high. I wonder if they’re related by seeds in the wind or whatnot. Or maybe the neighbors want to have the tallest to compete for the tourist trap market in some protracted multigenerational contest. Maybe they’ll poison Ginger’s tree and usurp her claim to fame at some point. Just like parents, and dog owners. Maybe I’ll understand when I have kids, or a really big tree; until then.

-M

Wierd Diets

Imagine yourself in 1980something. 12 years old. Watching Weird Science with one of your mother’s braziers strapped to your head and visions of Kelly Le Brock, like tight rippled sugar plumbs dancing through your head. You wanted to marry her didn’t you. That movie sticks with me. Best advice I’ve ever gotten, "Anything bigger than a handful and you’re risking a sprained thumb."

She was on TV this morning. Apparently spending the last 20 years eating sugar plumbs and smoking unfiltered camels (maybe even cigarettes). All 180 red leathery skinned pounds of her. Still kind of shapely at that inflated rate, but OMG. Who’d have ever thought?!?! After all those personal moments we shared. I feel cheated.

-M

Well, my nuts are halfway up my ass, but other than that, I'm perfect!

Bread and butter

When I was in Portland we went to Powells and bombs were dropped. I was surprised that at the time there were only a couple books by James Thurber. How odd. The one I got was Thurber on Crime a collection of stories and articles and drawings and such. Here are a couple of quotes.

”It was a week to the day that Mr. Martin decided to rub out Mrs. Ulgine Barrows. The term ‘rub out’ pleased him because it suggested no more than the correction of an error…” From The Catbird Seat

”’Oh, that is merely the bread and butter of my literary repast.’” From a sort of genius..