Tuesday, January 20, 2004

These Things Have To Start Somewhere

The other day I was in a conversation with some people. The conversation turned to matters of recreational pharmaceuticals, and before I knew what I was saying, I had referred to marijuana as "Mexican Catnip."

I personally had never hear this phrase before, and neither had anyone else that I was talking to, but I think that it is pretty good. So here's the deal: if you have heard it before, let me know. If you haven't, then start using it as much as you can in conversation.

Just remember that you heard it here first.

Monday, January 12, 2004


My landlord, God bless his kooky little soul, has decided to start a newsletter which he will send to all of his tenants whenever an issue comes up that he feels the need to mention. This would be fine, if it weren't for the fact that he's...well...just read this excerpt, complete with all the grammatical errors and typos:

If you don't have a dog this isn't for you. Now don't get me wrong. I'm not doing a DNA test on the "poo", but the piles of poo surrounding the building is becoming astronomical. There is more poo than grass, and for the 2nd time I stepped in poo that was on the parking lot. Now if it's not you great, if it's a neighbor please tell them to call me, or beat the person to a pulp yourself for stress relief. If it is you, I don't care, I don't live there. I don't mow the grass, but if the city, a cop, sees you then they will fine you. I'm sure you have seen those ugly signs, "pet defecation is prohibited by city ordinance #3876846378423.234289723987234.234. My personal request/suggestion is to go across the street in the park the hospital created with the mountain of dirt if you don't want to pick it up. This will keep my shoes clean.

I don't know. Maybe I'm being too critical, but if I were to write this, I would probably proof-read it. And I'd try to sound a little bit more professional. And I wouldn't publicly distribute something where I instruct people on how to break the law.

Unless you count that article I wrote on how to dispose of dead hookers.

Friday, January 02, 2004

Why Doesn't Anyone Ever Play With Me?

At my mother's annual Christmas Eve party, everyone always ends up wanting to play Christmas Charades. This usually involves my friend Steve sitting down and coming up with some Christmas Categories, then writing down a bunch of Holiday answers. These get put in a hat and pulled out by the players as they take their turns.

This year, I got to write the clues instead of Steve. Here are some of the categories and clues I came up with:

Category One: Things You Don't Want To Find Christmas Morning.
Grandma: Post-Reindeer
The Head of your Prize Racehose Next to You in Bed
A Foot In Your Stocking
A Dead Hooker
Satan and a host of ghoulish imps awaiting you in the flames at the bottom of a gaping pit, holding many fiendish devices of torture and laughing, laughing...
Matrix: Revolutions

Category Two: Christmas Movies That Will Never Be Made.
Frosty the Drag Queen
It's a Horrible Life
I Saw Daddy Kissing Santa Claus
Rudolph, The Red Nosed Venison
Perry Como's Christmas in Baghdad
It Was An Accident, Charlie Brown!
A Lovecraft Christmas
Santa's Dirty Little Secret

Now no one wants to play charades with me anymore...