Masochistic Meals

Sometimes I get so much pleasure from eating food that, I know, immediately after eating it, will make me feel like total shit. This is one of those very meals. French fries, cheese frenchies (deep-fried grilled cheese), and seventeen packets of ketchup (I actually used another five packets after the pictured seventeen was not enough). A few hours of heartburn, indigestion, and stomach cramps were well worth the rare self-indulgence of greasy, ketchupy, pleasure.

An Important Lesson in Sharing: A Guide for Men

Gentlemen:

Pictured is an important lesson you must all understand, if you ever intend to make it very far with the female race. Learn this lesson well. It's only fair.

Former President Receives Face Transplant

Cozy Sunday

It's a real thing! It's one of the greatest holidays, and the best part is, it happens every week! I'm aware today is not Sunday, but I just wanted to prepare everyone for the next time it comes around. You can celebrate this special day however you like, as well. My preferred method is sleeping late, having a delicious breakfast (either home cooked, or going out is always great too), watch television or a movie, read a book, likely have pizza for dinner, and simply just have a general cozy day. It's also best if you can manage to go the whole day without changing out of your pajamas. These are just some basic guidelines that I go by, but again, you can celebrate however you like! Some of you may have been aware of Cozy Sunday and have your own traditions already, which is great, but for those of you who are learning for the first time, I hope you grow to love, appreciate, and respect this holiday as much as I do.

Yummyummyummy

I have cats. Two cats. Already, a lot of you are probably saying, "Fuck this guy. He likes cats? Fuck cats. I hate cats. Fuck this blog. I don't need to read a blog about fucking cats," to which I could respond, "Fuck me? Fuck you. Just because you don't like cats doesn't mean I can't like cats. Go read somebody else's fucking blog if someone having cats draws the line of whether a fucking blog is worth reading or not." But I won't say that, because that is way to much of my energy to be wasted on negativity, and I wouldn't want to give any more reason, beyond having cats (and talking about them), to deter anyone from reading further. Because I really do appreciate you reading. But I understand if I have crossed a line and you don't want to talk to me anymore. Hopefully we won't have one of those awkward run-ins at the store, or while out to eat, where we both pretend like we didn't see each other, but it's obvious that we did because we were only one table apart in a back section of the restaurant, where there weren't any other parties seated, and if we are ever, somehow, forced into conversation again at a mutual friend's house for their birthday or something, we both just play stupid and act like we're oblivious to the fact that it ever happened. But anyways, for those of you still with me, I was discussing my cats. I really only wanted to say one thing about having cats. Note, I said cats, plural. Yes, it's great that they greet me when I get home, keep my head warm when I sleep, and obligate me to spend a portion of my paychecks on their food, litter, toys, vet bills, licensing, lint rollers, etc. but that's not what this is about. I simply wanted to say how much I appreciate when they clean up after one another. For those of you who also have two cats, or really, I suppose it could potentially be any combination of two pets and/or kids (there, all you people who hate cats but love dogs or something, I'm including you too), I hope you have found yourselves as lucky and grateful as I am. It's not even that they clean the litter box or vacuum their own hair or anything. That would be expecting way to much from such little animals who don't even have thumbs to hold the vacuum handle, or tie a garbage bag closed, or open and pour the new bag of litter into the pan, yet they still do what they can. Sometimes; when one of my cats gets too excited about their dinner, of the same dry cat food, night after night, and eats too fast; or decides immediately after eating that one of those toy mice has just been pissing her off all day, and it's time for it to die, so she viciously attacks on a full belly; or even when one simply might not be feeling well and thinks maybe some food in her stomach could help; they can't help but retch up their partially digested dinner (most always on the floor, another reason to be appreciative). But this is where I am most appreciative. As soon as my other cat, the one that is not in the middle of tossing her cookies, hears the delightful sounds of the other getting sick, she comes running as fast as she can to wait patiently for the one with the upset tummy to finish. Once regurgitation ceases, and the pile or roll of lumpy chyme and cat food is left, it's time for cleanup. My cats love me so much, and know how much I truly hate cleaning up vomit, that they have made it a point to always clean it up before I have to, often before I even have to look at it or even know it happened. It truly is a thoughtful thing they do.

Buy Your Girl Some Goddamn Flowers

Why should you buy your girl flowers? Yeah, they look nice and smell nice at first, but they're goddamn expensive and just going to look all weepy and shitty and then die after a week or so anyway, right? So why buy them in the first place? I'll tell you why. The reason is, your girl loves to be given goddamn flowers. She digs that shit! And she'll dig the shit out of you too! Even if you've been together for five goddamn years or something, all of the sudden, you buy her flowers, and she sees you as this brilliant, beautiful, classic romantic, hunk of a man. Now all the guys are thinking to themselves, "I already am a goddamn brilliant, beautiful, classic romantic, hunk of a man." The girls would be half laughing, half puking over the edge of your nasty toilet seats when they realize you think that of yourself already. Speaking of, clean your nasty-ass bathrooms guys. She hates that shit (pun intended). But in all seriousness, you are most likely not that romantic. Even if you just don't buy her flowers because she tells you you don't need to, or she doesn't want them, she would love some fucking flowers from her fucking boyfriend (or whatever you call yourself for those of you who are too insecure and "don't want to put a label on it," but that's another topic). And don't give her flowers just because you're sorry and you need to kick your apology up a notch, which isn't always a bad idea. Do it just to do it. Just because you want to give her something nice and spoil her. That's when her mind is fooled into transforming you into some unreal man out of a goddamn romance novel or something. Just buy buy girl some goddamn flowers.

But really, clean your nasty-ass bathroom. Otherwise, after she becomes the glowing recipient of her beautiful flowers, and she is overtaken by a sudden friskiness, she might make a quick trip to freshen up a bit before returning to jump your bones. However, when she sees the black soap caked in your shower, and the carpet of hairs lining your counters and sink from shaving, and the plaque and pus dotting your mirror from flossing and popping zits at your reflection, and the accumulation piss speckles coating the area in, on, and around your toilet, she just might get sick and run out your front door, not even glancing at you for fear of vomiting, and forgetting all about her flowers.

A Blog?

Why would I start a blog?  What's the point?  What's the purpose?  Nobody knows me. Nobody wants to know me.  Even if they wanted to know me, who's to say I would want to know them?  Nobody cares about my opinion.  Nobody asked.  Why write a blog?  Who cares anyway?