Seriously, what more could you want? And it’s all below, in the hodgepodge of random crap running through my noggin this Hump Day. Enjoy.
We have a weekly meeting at my office, every Wednesday at nine o’clock. That’s in the a.m., ridiculous as it sounds. That’s what happens when you have MDs setting the meeting schedules. Those docs are used to getting up at the ass-crack of dawn every damned day. Got to make those tee times, I suppose.
Anyway, today we had a speaker at the meeting. I was a few minutes late, but I was there for most of her talk. And what did she say? No idea. I was too preoccupied with her name. She had one of those names that’s impossible to say without ‘wee’ in front of it. You know the kind — like ‘Wanda Wheeler’, or ‘Wendy Whistler’. Or ‘Wilma Winkler’, maybe.
(Not that it was any of those names exactly, of course. The last thing I frigging need is to have our guest speaker Google her own name, and get me in a world of unemployed hurt because I wasn’t focusing on her talk this morning.
But hell, what do you expect from me at nine thirty in the morning? It was all I could do not to giggle like a frisky stripper at the thought of this woman hooking up with Willy Wonka in Walla Walla, Washington. Or wobbly Weebles at Wally World. Or Wee Willie Winkie for some… well, ‘willy winkling’ was the first thing that came to mind. I nearly upsnorted orange juice on my boss. Yeesh.)
At any rate, that’s three-quarters of an hour that I’ll never have back. I hope she didn’t say anything important. Meh.
Speaking of women I don’t listen to often enough, I’d like to take a moment to poke gentle fun at my wife. Of course, normally I wouldn’t ridicule her in any fashion, public or otherwise. For one thing, I love her dearly. Plus. I have the utmost respect for my ‘better half’. Mostly, though, she knows where my testicles live while I’m sleeping. So, I have to be careful.
Still, when you run a comedy site — and you’re often out of shit to write about — there are some things you simply have to mention. And one of them is this: our dog requires a daily pill.
(For what? It’s not important — and frankly, you don’t want to know. But it’s not for ‘keeping her fat furry ass off our couches’, I can tell you that.)
So, my wife gives the dog the pill most days. When I end up doing it, it’s a painless process. Throw the dog a couple of untainted jerky bits, then smoosh the pill into one and toss it at her slobberer. By the time she thinks about what might be in her mouth, it’s all over.
<– insert obligatory nasty joke about blowjobs here –>
But the wife does things just a bit differently. First, she tried encasing the pill in a fresh Snausage. That worked for a while, but she makes the mistake of handing the pill package to the pooch. I figure, if you throw it at her, then she’s either got to swallow it or get smacked in the nose with it.
<– insert much nastier obligitory joke about blowjobs here; I’m not goin’ there –>
Anyway, after a few weeks, the dog started turning her nose up at pill-packing Snausages. So the wife broke down, and started stuffing the pills in American cheese. After a while, the dog got tired of that, so she switched to white American cheese. Then it was cheddar, then mozzarella. And now — get this — now the dog gets her pill every day in a little ball of Muenster cheese slathered with peanut butter. What kind of nonsense is that?
And why does the dog have it so damned good? When I need a vitamin or aspirin pill, do I get it buried in a candy bar, or dissolved in a beer, or stuffed in a kielbasa, dipped in Cheez Whiz, and wrapped in bacon? No. No, I don’t. I’m starting to see where I am on the household food chain, dammit. And I’m not fricking happy about it.
Finally, speaking of women that I do listen to, I have to ask: has anyone else seen that TV commercial that’s been out recently for… well, I don’t know what it’s for, exactly, come to think of it. Some sort of satellite or cable network, I think. DirecTV, maybe? Dish Network? Who knows.
What I do know is this: the commercial features two women discussing at length just how much one lady’s television sucks. As in, literally sucks things to it. It’s all quite clever, I’m sure — at least for a bunch of assbag ad monkeys. It goes something like this:
Woman #1: What’s that?
Woman #2: Oh, just my TV. It sucks.
Woman #1: Your TV sucks?
Woman #2: Yeah. It sucks.
Woman #1: Wow. It sucks hard.
Woman #2: Yeah. There’s lots of sucking going on.
Woman #1: Look at all that suckage.
Woman #2: Yup. Sure is suckerific.
Anyway, now I have this love-hate thing going on with this ad. I can’t stop watching, but I’m always disappointed by the end, when they actually get around to pushing whatever service it’s advertising. It’s not that it’s a bad commercial, per se — except that they apparently haven’t drilled home to me what it’s fricking for, of course.
Mainly, though, I just think that if they’re going to show us closeups of two women saying ‘suck‘ so often, then I want to see some damned action. Honestly, I’ve watched womens’ prison porn with less suggestive dialogue. If you’re not gonna get naked for your product, at least pony up some open-mouthed kissing, or something. This is cable, people. You want me to remember more than ‘sucktacular‘, then you’d better get biz-zay. That’s what I’m talkin’ about.Permalink | 2 Comments