Sup!

Folks, it has happened. I have hit rock bottom. I am here in the office, on my own, lettin it ALL hang out:



Blarrrrr! Just kidding- that is so not me. Anyone who knows me well knows I would NEVER wear such an unflattering top... that said, my hair is in danger of very closely resembling that of PSH. Scary thought, eh? Somewhere red lights are flashing and a giant alarm horn is sounding- you know: 'ah-OOOO-gah!'- and men in white coats and spectacles are evacuating a building... my hair is great and powerful.

But seriously folks, I am at a real loose end here... when I have too much time on my hands, bad things start to happen. Why, if left to my own devices for too long I may start to question the Very Meaning of Life!

Or just contemplating my inevitable end...



Fuck it, it's all one mad dance toward the grave anyway, so when I go, I want it to be effing memorable at least; something that people have nightmares about and then turn into an urban myth- except shit is TRUE! *Whoa, that's so deep Keanu REEVES might have said it!* I need a moment.

Tis the season

Does anybody else feel like the beginning of this clip could be the start to a porno?

'Oh, hello. You must be my new neighbor. I just stopped in to borrow your.... piano'.

It's just a shame this is my LEAST fucking favourite Christmas carol. I hate that shit more than an itchy sweater... and I *hate* itchy sweaters, y'all.

So, here's what else is troublesome. It seems Bing Crosby has some sort of Little Drummer Boy fetish (ahem)... and not just that, he'll DUET with anyone. I mean, JESUS, man! Have some fucking standards!!! Der Bingle came back from THE DEAD to sing with CLAY AIKEN? I think fucking NOT, peeps. This has clearly been created by his enemies... and enemies of us all: terrorists.

Best part: when Bing twinkles out in the end like a little star. Sigh.

Sorry. Not thinking straight. They have torn up the floor of our kitchen and it smells like old and evil cat piss. Speaking of which...

Dude, Max is HOTTTTTTTTTTTT! He can hang his stocking by my chimney with care any day...bwahahahahahahahaha omg, I am so kidding, folks. He's totally spoken for, I can tell. I love how desperately worried he looks when Shelley is singing. You KNIW he's thinking, 'Bitch, don't mess this up. This is MAX'S TIME.'

Innnyhoo, happy holidayz, friends. Think of me when you are knee-deep in egg nog.

There are times...

... when kicking the fuck back is just what I GOTS to do.



Finally got those veneers I've been saving up for! Bwaaaaaaahahahahaahzhzzzzz! JK, peeps... totes JK.

Here I am beaching it with my disproportionately large ballz, my claw hand and a big ass smile:




Like Weekend at Bernie's y'all, but that shit was LIVE!

But innyhooz, I have found new and original ways to kick it.

Par exemple: while keeping it clean:



Ahoy! That's me aboard a RIDING VACUUM, friends. What will they think of next? God willing, next thing you know I will be perched atop a pancake making machine!



halleluiah, folks. Halle-fucking -luiah.

Anyway, friends... because I know you must love kicking back as much as I do, here is a smooth number to help work it OUT:

Later, playaz.