i want to go to a hairdresser and ask for “the frederick douglass”

If “duckling” means baby duck, then I don’t want to eat dumplings anymore.

Places I am not intimidated about asking for a power strip: Radio Shack.  Places I am intimidated about asking for a power strip: Baby Dolls.

It was pretty pessimistic of everybody to call it “World War I.” 

There’s nothing quite like something unique.

the o’file family of ireland would be wise to never name a son “Pedd”

The social and legal racism leading up to the 1960’s could have been solved with one simple invention: The Horizontobus.

Why are the two slang terms for indecision – flip-flop and waffle – both such comfortable things?…that it is never difficult to make a decision about?

What kind of bizarre foot size did Cinderella have?  Following that, is Cinderella the reason that, now, when I see a woman in glass heels, I see someone of low socioeconomic stature who puts on a false sense of glamour for a night in order to make some money?

I can’t name all 50 states, because most of them already have names.

Words to be used in the de-vulgarization of America: clustercuddle, shorts, mothersnuggler, go hug yourself.  More to come.

rejected beatles tune

I Want to Hold Your Hand.  After That, Though, I’m Probably Getting Fresh.  I’m Going to Take You to a Teen Comedy and Try the Ol’ “PeePee in the Popcorn Bucket” Routine.  Unless You Don’t Eat Popcorn.  In Which Case, I’ll try Something Along the Lines of a “PeePee in a Series of Interconnected Boxes of Candy.”  In Fact, I’ll Go Ahead and Aim for That One Instead, Regardless.  I Was Really Worried About Getting Kernels Stuck Down There in the First Place.  Cause I Just Know I Would Be the One Person Who Would End Up in Serious Pain Because of This.  Also, I Really Don’t Know the Appropriate Time to Cut a Hole in the Bottom of a Popcorn Bucket.  And ButterJunk Is No Laughing Matter in Today’s Dangerous World.

there’s no easy way to say this, but xhalkjefjnmuplknm

If I ever get mugged, I want it to be by a flamboyantly gay man, just so I can say that there are no more groups that don’t make me feel threatened late at night.

Fire escapes make no sense to me, if only because, in every movie I’ve ever seen where there’s a fire, flames come exploding out of windows at some point.  I just know I’d be passing that window on the fire escape at just that moment.  And it would be a horrifically ironic way to die.  Kind of like working for Greenpeace, but being smothered by a hemp bag.

An elephant never forgets, but realistically “walk-eat-poop-sleep” isn’t that awful tough to remember.

I want to get a job selling the little black plastic things that cover boob magazines at the airport.  And then I want to meet that one person who actually buys pornography at the airport.  Don’t get me wrong, nothing says a comfortable flight quite like a Chex Mix and a Hustler, but it still seems like a bold choice. 

In my experience, people who buy Hustler typically have the absolute least amount of hustle.  The opposite is true of Big Butts magazine.

It’s amazing how real plastic surgeons look.

Conch shell, you are the best natural ice cream cone.

dream journal

I have a recurring nightmare where I’m all alone, just walking in an empty shopping mall.  All the stores are closed, but the grates aren’t down or anything.  It’s just one of those near-omniscient feelings you have during a dream, where you know something without having any evidence.  Really, it’s almost a doubtless faith that’s impossible while awake, but is so prevalent during sleep.  So I’m walking through the mall, and there’s only the specialized versions of stores.  I’m talking Baby Gap, Lady Foot Locker, Korean Radio Shack, the whole shebang.  And, like I said, they’re all closed, so I have nowhere to go.  I’m just meandering, and I come upon this fountain, just right in the middle of the mall.  It’s almost exactly a perfect replica of the Trevi Fountain, and the coins from old wishers make the light do its trippy tie-dye dance on the ceiling.  It all feels really peaceful and tranquil, and I don’t even mind that I can’t go anywhere other than exactly where I am right now.  And then Jughead shows up and throws a bucket of snakes on me.

best innocuous movie titles that would work well for a sensual thriller about a woman suffering from multiple personality disorder

Lady and the Tramp.

proverbs and sayings and sexxxxytalk

A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, which is a really helpful guide for when I go to those avian flea markets in gardens.

Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.  A lot closer.  Touch middles if you have to.  Really make them regret being your enemy.

Early to bed and early to rise means you’re probably going to have penises sharpied on your face by everyone else at the party.

“An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth” is really difficult to apply when punishing a statutory rapist.

When God closes a door, he opens a window.  Then, when you go to the window, he shuts that and opens a door.  God can be such a prankster.  It gets annoying fast, though, old man.

It’s better to be safe than sorry, until you’re crushed to death after an explosion at the elbow pad factory.

ghetto superstar, that is what you are, being historically disenfranchised by being placed in a planned urban living center of typically subpar standards

If “ifs” and “buts” were candies and nuts, then excuses and hypotheticals would be delicious!

For the dancing queen to be only 17, some horrible accident or illness must have befallen the dancing mother.  And now the 17-year-old is in the precarious position of being a dancing queen as young as a dancing princess.  On top of that, she has to produce a dancing heir.  Oh, I love royalty!

Ice Cube is, all at once, a solid, a liquid, a gas, and a bad actor.

Red sky at night, sailor’s delight.  Red sky at morn, sailor take warn.  Red Skyy at party, hey this fruit punch is making me feel funny.

ode to the mustache

Oh, mustache.  You leader of men, lover, friend.  You keep areas-between-noses-and-lips warm in the hard times, you glisten with pride in the good times.  You don’t get jealous when chocolate milk tries to imitate you.  You proclaim, “My wearer probably had intercourse for money at some point in the 1970’s!”  You always find that happy medium because, if you go too far, you make your owner look like he owns a dojo, but if you go don’t go far enough, you make him look like he committed genocide.  You make sure that anyone who wears you receives extra attention from careful mothers at local parks.  When you shrug, you belong with a monocle and top hat, or at least look like your man is some kind of mouse detective.  You offer free rides, the nature of which are both explicit and confusing.  Oh mustache, why does society shun you so?  Is it jealousy?  Is it fear?  Is it some sort of hatred of the lower-middle class?  Mustache, I pray for the day when you are no longer embroiled in a sociopolitical clash.  I love you, mustache.  I love you.  But I will not kiss you.

ordering ranch dressing is my way of telling the waiter, “i see your fried chicken, and i raise you heart disease.”

A wife-beater is the only article of clothing named for what you expect the wearer to do.  Sweater vests aren’t called “virginity keepers,” for instance.  Different rules apply for wind breakers.

If I was an inner-city cop investigating a series of stolen car wheels, the first place I would look would be the cinder block store.

I don’t know why the KGB got such a bad rap.  All they wanted to do was answer questions through text message.

A good way to scare people is to never blink when you talk to them.  But a better way is to halfway blink when you talk to them.

Man, those angry folks at all those town hall meetings sure do like President Obama.  They even gave him a Charlie Chaplin mustache!  I mean, I like him too, but he’s still in his first year.  Let’s not jump and compare him to our most treasured silent film star just yet.