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Charlie Hatton
Brookline, MA
Look, I’m a nice guy. I don’t want to sound mean or anything. But I just can’t stand it any longer — I have to ask:
Am I the only one who thinks Rachel Ray has the physically biggest mouth on the entire planet?
Seriously, I want to like her. I’d like nothing more than to check out her FHM spread, and say to myself, ‘Damn! Now that’s a honey! She can braise my lamb shanks any day!‘ Really, nothing would give me greater pleasure.
(Well, okay, obviously that’s not true. I would probably gain far greater pleasure from being able to say all of that, and then wandering into the kitchen to find our young friend Rachel doing this.
Um, ahem… you know, from a purely academic, sociological standpoint, that would be fun. Purely from the ‘Hey, look, a celeb in my kitchen… and by the way, is that hot fudge?‘ sort of sense. I imagine we’d sit down over tea and discuss the carbohydrate content of various legumes, or something.
Eventually, I might even ask whether she wanted to put her shirt back on. No, really. With a very broad definition of ‘eventually’, it could happen. Seriously.)
Anyway, that’s the sort of thing I’d like to think. And her mouth isn’t open very far in the fudge-licking picture, so it’s just about possible. But then I see her smiling, and all I can think is:
‘Holy pixelated nipples, Batman! It’s ‘Bride of Joker’! Quick, get the BatFloss!‘
Really, she seems very nice, and she knows a lot about food, but when I see one of her shows, I’m honestly afraid she’s gonna accidentally inhale a friggin’ salad bowl or something. I’m convinced that she is the only person in the world who can lick her own ears.
(And while that’s actually sort of hot, now that I come to think of it, it’s also highly disturbing, in a very Exorcist, forked-tongued snaky sort of way.
Damn, ‘forked-tongued snaky‘… yep, it’s hot again. I just go back and forth on this one.
Still, even if she can get her tongue over that far, I’m pretty sure she doesn’t give her lobes a lickin’ very often. Everybody knows that ear wax is just empty calories. And our friend Rachel is food-smarter than that.)
Anyway, that’s what my brain has been chewing on (What, a pun? The hell you say!) this afternoon. Thoughts? Comments? More pictures of Rachel and hot fudge, perhaps?
(Hey, I said I thought her mouth was kinda big. I’m still a man, dammit. What the hell do you expect?)
Permalink | 6 CommentsWow, that was hard!
I’ve been playing along with the new guest-posting game dreamed up by Al over at Shouting Into the Void. First, I submitted a post to Al, which he was kind enough to post, and leave as the ‘top story’ for more than a day, as per the rules. That was the easy part.
(Never mind that the post rambled on for-frickin’-ever, and not one damned person commented on it. This was the first guest post penned for this new meme, you know. We groundbreaking pioneers expect to be misunderstood, and even ignored, in our own lifetimes.
But just you wait — a couple decades after I die, that post is gonna be huge. Ginormous. They’ll probably make holomovies and neurobooks out of it. Seriously. Mark my frickin’ words, people.)
But the next part was hard. I had to pick a guest poster of my own from the multitudes handful three people who offered to give it a whirl. And all three had great ideas, so picking Brad out of the horde crowd smattering of would-be posters was no small feat.
In the end, though, Brad‘s offer to write about flushable folded wipes caught my attention, and so I posted his story. And again, that part was easy. I could take the afternoon off and actually do some real work! Result!
Then the evening rolled around, and I left work. And went home, exhausted and happy to be spending some ‘quality time’ with the wife. Fine. But this morning, we got up, and she left to run some errands. A perfect opportunity to post an entry! But gah! — it was only ten-thirty. I couldn’t post for another three-plus hours. I was honor-bound to give Brad‘s excellent post the full twenty-four hours it so richly deserves. Eek.
And so… I went postless. And it was tough, people! I mean, I’ve gone a full twenty-four hours without posting before — but never when I was able to post, and ready to post, and downright itching to post, but prohibited from posting. Oh, sure, I could have cheated, just a little — but really, that’s not fair to any of us. We all need rules to live by, and most of mine lately seem to involve this site you’re reading. I wasn’t about to bend the rules out of boredom.
However, now that it’s all over, I will show you just how bored and anxious to post that I was. Hopping around on other blogs, I found a cool new toy, and created a cockeyed Valentine’s heart, just for you. It’s made out of other hearts, and features a few of my favorite slogans.
(The short slogans, anyway. There’s not much room to write on those little peckery things, that’s for friggin’ sure.)
Check it out — you may have to stretch your browser out to see the heart shape, but really, that’s not particularly the point. I think the real issue is that I spent a couple of hours thinking up the slogans, downloading the pictures, and finding a way to arrange them into a heart shape.
So you see, dear reader — I was away for a while, but I’m always thinking of you. And now I’m back! ‘Cat poop’ hearts all ’round! Yay, us!
Oh, and one more thing — now that I’m back, I can remind you that Round Three of Blog Madness is under way!
This time around, I’m up against Today’s Shoes, and her heart-gripping post ‘Back Home‘. I’d like to encourage all of you to read ’em both, pick your fave, and then rock the vote! Remember, if you don’t vote, then you can’t complain when I’m elected President and declare Wednesdays ‘No, Really Hump Day, Seriously This Time‘.
(I mean, shit, folks — if we’re gonna keep calling it that, let’s get a federal ruling out there, slap on the damned baby oil, and get to it, fer chrissakes. Nobody likes a damned tease!)
(Oh, and in case anyone notices, don’t get your knickers in a twist if you go see the latest post at Today’s Shoes and see that she’s trying to coerce votes, and calling me ‘evil’, and all of that. I’m sure it’s all in good fun.
Course, if she wins this round, I’m gonna throw a Hefty bag full of hippo droppings on her front porch and light it on fire. ‘Fun’ is one thing, but I wouldn’t want to think she got herself an unfair advantage or anything. *sniff*)
Permalink | 1 CommentIn my last post, after nobody appreciated my little joke (including me, once I finally got to the damned point), I threatened graciously offered to let someone else take the reins for the rest of the day, to see what he could do with you. Well, that lucky someone is our good friend Brad from over at Kinder’s Garden, and he’ll be guest-posting for you right here in just a moment.
First, though, you should go check Brad out. He’s got a fantastic, funny — and visually pleasing — site, and is well worth your precious clickies.
(Unless you have some sexually deviant connotation for the word ‘clickies‘ that I don’t know about. And even then, Brad may be well worth your, um… ‘clickies‘. But I can’t really say, personally. If that’s your little bag o’ fun, you’re on your own to find out. And good luck with that. Really.)
Anyway, give Kinder’s Garden a try; you’ll be glad you did. And it’s probably good to read something else Brad wrote before diving into his guest post. I think he dipped into the ‘bathroom humor’ solely in my honor. I’m not much on the highfalutin’ ‘tea and crumpets’ talk around here, so Brad probably wanted to write something that he knew I could understand, and relate to, and spew OJ on my monitor about.
So, um… thanks, Brad. I think. I’m really not sure. Here, you guys be the judges, and see what you think:
OK, Charlie has graciously allowed me to submit an entry to post on his very popular blog. I wanted to come up with something that I probably wouldn’t post on my own blog. I think I was able to come up with an entry in true “Charlie style”.
I will reveal something that I don’t think anyone except my family knows about me. It is a particular item that is almost REQUIRED for me in the bathroom. I am sure your minds are racing now. What could it be? OK, I can see where your dirty little minds are going. No, it is not Kleenex! Although, I do think Kleenex is considered a bathroom item (but we like to keep boxes throughout the house). OK, are you ready for this? Oh yeah, first a disclaimer may be in order.
The following could be considered as “Too Much Information!” If you find ‘T.M.I.’ statements as offensive, please do not read the following. This means you, if you could be offended and are continuing to read, you should’ve stopped reading by now.
I have found I need to have “wipes” in the bathroom. You know those flushable, folded wipes. Haven’t you seen these? I don’t even know if this is what we use. In fact, I think I started using that particular brand, but I think the refills are “baby wipes”. So if you need me to “paint you a picture” and tell you how I use these “wipes” I will (reluctantly) tell you. I like to use these in the bathroom when I “make the major transaction”. I don’t think anyone could be confused now.
I totally hate to “make the major transaction” if I can’t follow-up the toilet paper with some “wipes”. This means I am “not feeling my freshest” when I am at work, in a public restroom, and in a friend/family members bathroom. I don’t like to be without those things! You are probably saying, “You mean you don’t “travel” with them?” NO, that is just wrong! OK, It just hasn’t come to that yet. I feel bad enough about “needing them” at home.
OK, I guess if you are still reading I have not lost you yet. So, I will reveal my preference in toilet paper. Yes, the T.M.I. continues! At one time, I wasn’t picky about toilet paper. I didn’t really care about which brand I wiped my ass with (just as long it wasn’t a Sears catalog or tree leaves). Just as long it wasn’t like sand paper, it was fine with me. I have found I like Northern. Why do you ask? I have found it doesn’t leave any lint. Yes, I said IT DOESN’T LEAVE LINT ON MY ASS! The opposite of Northern, I have found is Charmin. If you like lint, Charmin is the brand to use. At my work, they use Charmin in all the bathrooms. Yes, in addition to not having my flushable, folded wipes, I have to use toilet paper that causes lint.
Wow, do I feel better that I “testified”! I tried to create a post in the same “theme” as Charlie would have (no offense intended, Charlie. I know you are trying to do better.)
Well, there you have it, folks. I never knew the bathroom could be so complicated. (Okay, that’s not true — I’ve actually had quite a few head-scratchers in there myself. I’m rather easily confused, you see.)
But I have to say that I’ve never thought as hard as Brad has about the state of my posterior. Kudos to you, sir! We, and all of our asses, can learn a valuable lesson from your experience. Why, I think I’ll go do a bit of ‘research’ myself, right now. If I’m not back in an hour, you’ll know they had Charmin in the stall. Cheerio!
(And thanks to Brad! Go see Kinder’s Garden, now playing in a browser near you!)
Permalink | 4 CommentsSo, I was leaving a comment this morning on Julia‘s site, Tequila Mockingbird.
(All of you must know Julia by now. She’s fantabulous, and she’s up there on my ‘Giggly Blogs’ list. And she’s far more famous than I could ever hope to be. She has plagiarists, fer Chrissakes. I can’t even get a decent stalker around here.
Where are all the ‘Peeping Tammy’ types when you need ’em, eh?)
Anyway, lest you think I’m name-dropping simply for the sake of it, there is a point to all of this. I was leaving my comment on Julia‘s post from today, and I had to look up the word ‘menstruation‘.
(Yes, folks, it was that kind of comment. See this horrified look on my face? No? Well, it’s there, trust me. One day, I’ll get that webcam, and you’ll see. And then you can have the same horrified look — it’s all circles within circles, people. Circles within circles.
Anyway, I didn’t want to look like a total cluetard in my comment by grossly misspelling a word that I chose to use, so I looked it up. I do the same thing here when I want to use a big long word, too. Assuming that I haven’t made it up on the spot, of course, which frankly is usually the case. But I wasn’t giving Julia special treatment — I whip out the ol’ dictionary.com for you, too. You know I love you best.
But it really pisses me off when I look like a grammatical assbag on other people’s sites… as opposed to a logical assbag, which apparently, I can deal with quite handily. But just the other day, I noticed that I used ‘you’re’ when I meant ‘your’ in a comment on one of Natalie’s recent posts at PickleJuice, and there wasn’t a damned thing I could do about it.
I briefly considered writing a second comment to say that I noticed it, and that it was just a typo, and that in fact, I know how to speak and write proper English, but had a momentary slip. But then it occurred to me that I couldn’t determine which was asshatteder — the original faux pas, or a gratuitous comment drawing attention to it. So I left it alone… but I haven’t been the same since. These are the sorts of things that keep me awake at night, people! Pity me. Pity me now!)
(Oh, and did you notice? To comment elsewhere, I look up ‘menstruation’. Here, I toss out ‘asshatteder’. See? I told you I love you best.)
Okay — moving back to the point of this whole exercise, which is rapidly diminishing in both importance and entertainment value. So, I looked up ‘menstruation’, and I realized that I’ve been spelling it incorrectly my entire life.
(Okay, so the, like, three times I’ve had to write the word down in the past thirty-three years. Whatever.)
Anyway, it dawned on me that it’s really not my fault. Seriously. I’ve always spelled it ‘menstration’ (knowing full well that it’s not the ‘menstral cycle’, but generally just waving my mental hands around to make myself believe that it’s one of those weird things that happen to some words when they get suffixes glommed onto them). But then I realized why — I’m a man. So, of course when I think of menstruation, the first thing I tell myself is:
‘Now there’s something u don’t want to be in the middle of.’
And so, I left it out. The ‘u’. See, ’cause it’s ‘menstruation’? Get it? It’s a ‘u’, and I’m a guy, and… oh, for the love of super-absorbent wings. I give up.
Screw this. I can’t please you people. I’m gonna get somebody else in here, and we’ll see whether he can do anything with you for the rest of the day. I’m taking a break, dammit.
Permalink | 5 CommentsWell, that wasn’t much of a blogging day, now, was it?
Really, I just posted two updates — sure, it ended up being a few hundred words when you add ’em all up, but it’s not really a proper ‘post’, in my normal style. Barely any of those words were ‘asshat’, or ‘spootmuffin’, or even ‘jackbaggery. (Whatever the hell that is.)
And I can see I’ve let you down. Please, don’t give me the ‘pouty face’; you know I can’t bear to see the pouty face…
Oh, there it is! The pouty face! Damn, damn, damn, damn… have a fricking heart, will ya?
Look, I know it hurts. And I could make excuses — I’ve actually had to pay attention at work lately, and I’ve been so busy this week in the evenings that I’m just exhausted, and with just one contact lens, I really can’t see the part of the world that’s on the right side of my nose — but these are just excuses. They can’t mend a broken heart. They can’t wash away a pouty face.
A little plastic surgery, now that might do it. A nip here, a tuck back there, and you might just manage to ‘get the pout out’.
Heh. ‘Get the pout out’. That’s fun!
Get the pout… out yo’ snout! Get the pout… out ya’ snout! Hey-ey, ho-oh, hey-ey, ho-oh.
Canyoudigit, Icandigit, hecandigit, shecandigit… theycandigit, wecandigit, Icandigit, youcandigit — get the pout out yo’ snout!
Woo! Yeah! Yeah! Whoooo hoo! Now that was fun! I —
Whaaaaaat? You’ve stiiiiiiill got the pouty face? Fer chrissakes, now you’re just being difficult. There’s a word for people like you, you know.
Poopenheimers, that’s what. Big fat pouty-snouted poopenheimers. Fine. Be that way. I don’t care.
Okay, look, I didn’t mean that. Of course I care if you still have a pouty face. Let’s get that widdle pouty-wouty face all taken care of, okay? We’ll make him all better now, yes we will!
(All right, look — this is just getting silly. Does this count as a post yet? Can I just cut my losses here and call it a night? Look at this shit — it’s ridiculous.
What? There’s gotta be an ‘ending’? It’s gotta wrap everything up, and make sense of it all? Are you friggin’ nuts? Have you been paying attention to this? There’s ‘pouty faces’ and plastic surgeons, and… and some sort of weird Shaft music thing going on back there… I can’t wrap all that up in one neat little package! Seriously, ‘pouty-snouted poopenheimers‘? Come on!
Oh, look, fine, I’ll get back out there and write some more… but I can’t promise anything. There’s no getting out of this mess, dude. It’s just one big clusterfuck out there.)
Oh, um… hi. Sorry about that. Just having a little chat with the, um, management. Everything’s fine… just fine. Everything’s just peachy. So, um, back to the post, then. How’s that ‘pouty face’ coming along?
Oh, still there, I see. More or less, anyway — it looks a little puckerier than before. Have you been sucking a lemon or something to keep that pout going? Are you pout doping? ‘Cause that’s just wrong. You’ll never get onto the Poutolympics squad doing that crap, that’s for sure.
(Look, I tried, all right? No, it’s not getting any better out there. I just made up the ‘Poutolympics’ — what the hell does that mean, anyway? Seriously, I’m begging you, just let me go to bed, all right? I’ll go back out there and say good night, and then I’ll just call it a day, and make it up to them tomorrow. How’s that?
I’ve still got to have an ending?! Oh, fer the love of peanut oil wrestling — really? You sure? It’s in the contract?
*sigh* Fine. I’ll go find a way to end this. Jeez, the shit I have to do to keep this site rolling…)
Hey. Me again. Sorry about that — just a little interlude there. And sorry about that whole ‘Poutolympics’ thing earlier. Clearly, that was from out in left field — I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about. Just assume I was momentarily drunk, or talking gibberish, or channeling some idiotic douchebag ghost for a minute. Really, I don’t know what the hell happened.
But now, in just a sweet simple sentence or two, I’m gonna wrap all of this up. It’ll all make sense, and be funny, and you’ll be chuckling over it for days. Really, it’ll be a hoot. Maybe a hoot and a half. (At the very least, a hoot and a quarter. Certainly.)
So, I’ll just walk over here near the door, while I… prepare to tell you… alllll about how I’m gonna… wrap this up, and I’ll… RUN! Gotta go! Sleepytime! So sorry; don’t hold it against me! Just be sure to lock up when you leave! G’night, everybody!
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