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08 December 2006 @ 09:08 am
Slidin' on back a-to the BROTHA-LAND ... now children ...

Man, it was SO COLD in New York City this morning (HOW COLD WAS IT???). I'll tell ya, you walk out the door, and the cold immediately just lifts you up in the air by the collar and starts bitchslapping you. In the face! "Don't! You! Ever! Walk! Out! That! Door! Without! A! Scarf! Ever! Again!" You want cold? How's a 19 degrees Fahrenheit cock in your mouth? That do anything for ya?

So, this one time, like eight months ago, I saw two guys kissing in a park. And that was the gayest thing I'd ever seen, until I saw the vision of myself - in my MIND - ice skating in Bryant Park. I did, however, go out there and take a look. I went there after work - around 6ish - and just sorta walked around. Apparently, Quebec donated some big ass tree for decorating; and there were booths with wares everywhere; and in the middle there was, indeed, an ice rink. Then, I saw certain uncoordinated types either falling on their asses or hugging the rails - knowing I'd be one of those uncoordinated asses - and I opted out. Besides, Jenny said she wouldn't be there until 7:30 or so, and I didn't feel like waiting around, so I buggered.

Not until, however, I saw pretty much my favorite thing in this world: The Zamboni! Oh man, it's just the coolest thing; have you ever been so close to a Zamboni machine that you could LITERALLY stick your wiener on it and watch it freeze? I'm not saying I DID, I'm just saying - if there weren't any lawmen around - I WOULD have! By the way, does anyone know why the Zamboni operators do it in that same exact pattern every time? Like, you know, they circle the entire rink once, and then they go down the center the long way and keep making those little half-circles until the entire rink's done. I stood there and watched that, mesmerized, and that was the greatest ending to any day ever.

I still need to go out and see the BIG Christmas tree - which I'll do either tonight or tomorrow - and I need to go out and buy some presents - which I'll do at lunch today and whenever I have free time on the weekend. Other than that, I've got three full work days next week and about 7 hours and 23 minutes to this one. No whammys people, no whammys.
 
 
08 December 2006 @ 11:49 am
Pfeiffer, pronounced FIFE-ER. What's about that for a first name for a kid? Pfeiffer Taylor, at your service! It's unfortunate that whatever that service is would be totally fruity. Pfffffffeiffer! Pfffffffeiffer, get down here and clean up this mess! Pffffffffeiffer, go on now and get me a beer, and for God's sake answer the damn door! Pffffffffeiffer, reach down 'ere and tell me if you feel anything on fire! See, that's the thing you gotta do. When you get to become a parent, give your kid a name that's easy to make fun of. That way, he gets out of line, BAM, Smelly Kelly, clean your room. Hairy Barry, stick it! Madame Adam, fuck off!

Seems to me having kids is like creating your very own readymade supply of slave labor. Forget school, I'm smart enough. I'll home school. And as soon as they're ready to start walking around and understanding orders, I'll be schooling them on how to serve me dinner and clean my house. As long as I keep them away from anyone who'd tell them different - you know, other kids, television, the Internet, law enforcement, social services - there's no way for them to know that I'm screwing them over royally.

Because it's about time these parents stop trying to live vicariously through their children! You know, the Olsen Twins, the Lohans, and to a lesser extent the Joel Osmonts. If I end up being a big loser like those parents, man, instead of trying to create Child Movie Stars, I'm gonna use them to make my remaining years a lot easier on the ol' joints. Should I be lacking a footstool, get on all fours Overeater Peter! Ashtray across the room, get to steppin' Turdlick Eric! Got a hankerin' for some corndog chili? Run on down to the store Chris-piss!

And then, worse comes to worse, I'll try to anticipate the next E.Coli outbreak, feed my kid nothing but onion-filled Taco Bell Chalupas, extra-rare, and hopefully make a cool 3 to 5 million off my kid's upset stomach. Boy howdy! Only in America!