I’m getting stood up by the fucking BBC as we speak. I’m, in theory, supposed to be conducting a live, on air interview with BBC 1 regarding (I’m guessing) how generally awesome I am, but they’re not calling. I tried getting in touch with my publicist, but she seems to be kind of ignoring me too. What’s going on here? I took the day off work for this shit, man. This is like that one twilight zone where I’m the same and everyone else is different. Right? Huh? Heh? Anything? Anyone? Fuckit.
Okay, Seinfeld references aside, the world’s most terrifying thing happened to me yesterday. My kid, who is usually very, very good about scooting down the stairs backwards decided to just fully go for it and step down the top stair outside our door while I was in the midst of pulling on my shoe. Guess what happened? Go on.
Nope. That’s really your guess? Come on. Correct answer: He fell down the stairs. It was his first stair falling and while he recovered just fine, except for some minor rugburn on the side of his nose, I was pretty shaken up about the whole thing for the entire day. I mean, I just keep seeing him tumbling down the (carpeted and not that many) stairs and just….man, yipes. I can’t even really talk about it here. It makes my hands shake. I know most of you don’t have kids and can’t relate to watching something so scary happen to someone you made that you’re in charge of not letting die, but let’s put it this way: You know when you’re in the midst of a good whack and suddenly your internet goes out and there you are, helpless watching your wiener just deflate with disappointment? It’s way, WAY worse than that. No shit.
Okay. So, on to bigger and better things. What did I promise to talk about today? Buttfucking, Lady Gaga, Felching and uh…Oh right: Buck Angel. No. Not Buck Angel (thank god). It was Juggalos. We’ve touched on Juggalos a lot lately, so let’s get it out of the way first: Stupid Juggalos. Eat some more pies, why don’tcha? Okay. That’s that. Up next: Felching.
Felching is revolting, but it’s a great word and it’s a great thing to talk about if you want to wig out the squares.
Next up: Lady Gaga. Her song should be called Butterface! Ha!!!!!! Man, I bet NO ONE has said that before. Funny little aside, in my band, the Lawrence Arms, we somehow all started calling each other Buthisfaces, which is funny, especially if you say it out loud. It’s particularly funny when you consider that all of us are much more buthisbodies than buthisfaces, or maybe we’re all more buthisbodyandfaces, or perhaps buthiseverythingbutthosegreatschlongs. Yeah. I think that’s pretty accurate. Also, I think that’s probably the category that Lady Gaga falls into, don’tcha think? Probly.
Okay. This is easy. Man. Next up: Buttfucking:
Best form of birth control there is. Period. Also, you’re still a virgin if you buttfuck. Did you know that? It’s true. SO, wanna stay pure in the eyes of your stupid Jesus? Well, just buttfuck your way to eternal bliss and happiness. In heaven, buttfucking is like shaking hands, but with your ass. Everyone just does it on the streets just to be polite. Not that you need to be polite in heaven. I mean, I’d like to think that if I ran into some dildo that I couldn’t stand up there, I’d be able to tell him exactly what I thought of him. It’s fucking heaven. I shouldn’t be limited by decorum, should I? Well, that’s probably a big part of the reason why I’ll end up in hell. That’s fine. I mean, there’s buttfucking in hell too. Know the difference? Gayness. Heard it here first kids. (side note: I once saw a gay dude wearing a shirt that said “fags hate god” and I thought that was pretty bad ass. Not gonna win a lot of popular opinion polls with that kind of rhetoric, but hey…God gets it, right? And after all, he DOES supposedly hate the, ahem, fags, so what’s the big deal? Tit for tat, right? Sure. Fine. Good.)
What’s next? Did buttfucking run its course? It did? Good. Up next is Buck Angel. Buck Angel is totally fucking mind meltingly disturbing but god bless him (him? Eh…I guess) for being out there freaking out the dorks…and everyone else, I guess. Good on ya, Buck Angel.
Ah, shit! I wasn’t even supposed to talk about Buck Angel today. That was a freebie kids. Enjoy it while you can. I’m gonna make breakfast and stare at the phone, hoping in vain for it to ring, in an imitation of what all of our mothers are doing right now.
Toodles. And thanks for all the good words. You kids are sweeties.