My Holiday Wishes

I wish that I never hear another Tiger Woods “hole in one” joke. Why couldn’t Tiger have been a bowler? Oh, 7-10 split. Never mind.

I wish that laughter really was the best medicine because this cough syrup tastes like distilled ass.

I wish that the secretary on the public address system here at work would stop saying “decks” instead of “desk”.

I wish that the Webster’s dictionary people would get together and have the word “redonkulous” removed from our vocabulary. You have no idea how annoying that word is until you work with people in the computer programming arena. “This egg McMuffin is redonkulous!” Is it? Is it really?

I wish that the man in the cubicle next to me had a sense of humor, or even one social skill. He just had the most awkward conversation with a coworker, transcribed here for your discomfort:

Awkward Man: “Do you know what the Beatles original name was supposed to be?”
Disinterested Co-worker: “Um, no. The Bugs maybe?”
Awkward Man: “Do you want to phone a friend!” (very loud, laced with guffawing laughter)
Even More Disinterested Co-worker: *laughing politely* No, I guess I don’t know what the Beatles were almost called... *trailing off*
Loud Awkward Man: “Do you want to ask the audience!”
Even More Disinterested Co-worker: *small cough then silence*
(Wait for it…you know what’s coming)
Loud Awkward Man: “50-50?!?!!” *now laughing hysterically*
(then I hear a thump as the co-worker passes out from the weight of the awkward interaction crushes her spirit and her body)

I wish I could open my mouth and eject a forceful jet stream of Jelly Beans. I know I would scare the shit out of everyone, especially kids, but I think once everyone realized it was Jelly Beans, they would hail me as their new freakish hero.

I wish my kids had British accents.

I wish I could travel in time. My first act, of course, would be to save Michael Jackson. My second act would be to rethink that act and kill him myself. My third act would be to go a little farther back and save him again so he could teach me how to moonwalk. My fourth act would be to kill Macaulay Culkin.

I wish that 99 percent of people who come to this blog weren’t looking for help with Clubbed Thumbs. I had no idea how serious this problem was until Google started redirecting everyone to my dopey post. I get 5-10 searches a day with keywords like this:

“Why do I have clubbed thumbs”
“Where do clubbed thumbs come from”
“clubbed thumb sex”
“club thumb bad for my hand”
“my club thumb talks and makes me kill people”
“clubbed thumbs and fat feet”
“if club thumb is bleeding do I hit it with hammer again”
“how do clubbed thumbs control the weather”
“clubbed thumbs and ballet dancing”

I wish for peace on earth and good will towards hot women but only if you are single and trying to get them to sleep with you. Otherwise, I wish for peace on earth and cool indifference towards hot women.

I wish that snow was cocaine, and that cocaine was sugar, and that sugar was salt. That would take care of the drug problem and automatically salt the roads every time it snowed. It would make cookies taste like absolute balls, but that is the price you pay in the war on drugs.

I wish someone had told me that Brussels’ Sprouts don’t actually come from Brussels. I flew all the way there and was all like “Please give me your finest sprouts” and they were all like “What the fuck are you talking about?” and I was all like “America Rulez!” and they were all like “What?”

I wish I had Million Dollars. Hot Dog!

Lastly, I wish for you and all of my friends out in the blog world, and your families and their families families and pets and babies and mistresses and “paid escorts” to have a wonderful holiday season and make sure you remember the true “reason for the season”.

Which would be buying things and giving things to other people.

And wandering around aimlessly and saying things like “I need a list” to people you know.

And going to malls and buying five dollar cups of coffee while waiting in lines of people holding giant television boxes and looking sick about it.

And taking your kids to see Santa when Santa doesn’t want to see your kids and they don’t want to see him.

And opening a present from your mother in law which turns out to be an ugly sweater, which you then have to hold up and tuck under your chin with your arms holding the sleeves straight out to the sides so everyone can see an approximation of what it will look like when you actually wear it one day and then everyone can say “Oh, I like that sweater a lot, very nice!” while you sit in your chair looking like a palsied scarecrow with lock jaw and a sweater stuck under your chin.

Be safe, drink lots of egg nog (why aren’t there any other kinds of nogs), and I’ll see you in ’10.

MTV Finally Goes All In

They finally did it, those magnificent bastards. MTV finally produced the show of all shows. After years of failed attempts, you did it MTV! I’m ecstatic for you! I collapsed weeping in my cocoa pebbles this morning with sheer joy for you.

The Jersey Shore

The cast couldn’t be more perfect, the setting more idyllic, or the hijinx more risqué (hey now, look out!). I happened to get a list of potential castmates that just missed the cut (don’t worry, I’m sure Jersey Shore 2: The Wrath of Vincenzo is just around the corner).

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Joey “Butts” Digregario: Joey is from Queens, NY. Joey is Italian. He likes butts. His friends call him “The Butts.”

Maria Venantiorio: Maria is from Bayonne, NJ. She is a sweetheart, but don’t get on her bad side or you will see her totally bitchy side! She likes her men all ripped up and tanned with a lot of cologne and bad attitude!

Vincent Pasticarliorio: Vinny is a biker from Queens. He has done enough steroids to severely distend his cranial cavity and shrink his testicles. His friends call him “The Pebbles”.

Gianna Delvecchiatoriata: Gianna is from the Bronx, NY. She has a really bitchy side if you cross her, but her friends all say she is a sweetheart. She likes her men muscular and retarded.

Vitella Chiampiatelligaritoriata: Vitella is from Brooklyn, NY. She likes to do her hair and put on makeup everywhere she goes! She is a sweetheart to her friends, but don’t get on her bad side! Then the claws come out and she will turn into “the bitch from hell”.

Mark DellatorimpatantonioSabatos: Mark is a “bruiser from the Bronx”. He likes lifting weights and lifting beers with his buddies. His friends call him “The Information” because he has a lot of information about sexy ladies, and also sex.

Donatella Ciampatoriagatelanbucciagarateliantata: “Donni” is from Staten Island, NY. She has had a boyfriend for 5 years but at the same time is “looking to have a good time this summer.” She is a sweetheart but is also a total bitch if she needs to be.

Rick Bacciatiliantano: Rick is from Long Island, NY. He is a waste management expert who spends his free time “getting ripped” and working on his hair. His nickname is “The Golden Shaft” because he once fell two floors down an elevator shaft and survived. I know, I wasn’t expecting that either…

Mary Vicharenzapintellinivecchiatoriatatellifermicellispaghetarotelli: Mary is a straight-A student from Queens, NY. She enjoys reading and really wants to spend a summer at the jersey shore. She is a total bitch. All the time.

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Let’s keep our fingers crossed that the ratings for this one are through the roof!

Book of T-Bone: Verse 30, Chapter 3

On the 12th day of the 12th month in the 12th year after the equinox rises over the hills of the sun king, you will text “LOL” to your brother and then despair at your laziness. You could have easily called him, laughed out loud, and hung up the phone. Whatever happened to personal contact? Amen and Godspeed, lightning-fingers.

Holiday PSA

And now, a public service announcement:

In this holiday time of giving and charity, you should know a little something about the country you live in.

There are people suffering. Right now. Right down the street from where I live. Maybe right down the street from where you live, in your neighborhood. In your community.

There are over ten million babies with no parents to watch over them in the greater DC Metro area.

Ten million.

Someone, not me because I’m very busy, but someone needs to get down there right away and get them the hell out of there, chop chop. They are just pissing and shitting all over the commuters. Pissing and shitting and shitting and pissing all over the commuters and the shoppers. It is like the worst possible hell you could imagine. The smell! Lord almighty! And the crying? You can’t even imagine. All the people at Starbucks are puking all over the place. I mean pissing and shitting and snot and crying like you wouldn’t believe. The people shopping can’t even move without stepping on fat little babies toes or slipping and falling in just rivers of piss and baby shit.

Please, do what you can this holiday season. Thank you.

Book of Zuckercorn: Verse 9, Chapter 20

The angels searched low and high for a suitable replacement for Oprah. They reached the highest mountaintops and the lowest valleys of heaven and still no one could be found. Finally, a tiny angel stood and said “Let it be me.” The angels thought long and hard about this and asked many questions:


“Will you give away free things?”
“Will you cause housewives to faint at the mere mention of said free things?”
“Will you pompously declare things?”
“Will you allow your weight to fluctuate by 200 pounds regularly?”
“Will you say the names of books which will then inexplicably cause 10 billion people to try to purchase those books?”
“Will you demand that clothing stores be closed when you are nearby so that you can shop for said clothes in peace?”
“Will you interview book authors who fabricate their words and then treat them as though they caused the earth to spin off of its axis even though all they did was cause you to look foolish?”

“Yes, I will,” said the tiny angel.

“It is settled. The new Oprah has been crowned,” said the angels and there was much rejoicing. Then, God came down from his heavenly throne and said, “You know, I was never really keen on the whole Oprah thing in the first place. No-prah.” He then rose back to his throne to leave the angels confused but resolved. The tiny angel shrugged and went back to do whatever tiny angels do. The rest of the angles were secretly relieved because they didn’t really “get” the whole Oprah thing either. Praise God and his infinite Oprah wisdom.