SomethingSoWrong

So, how was everyone’s (and by everyone, I mean all the ‘mericans out there) Thanksgiving
holiday? Enough “family together time” for you? I had about twelve hours too much. It’s not that I don’t like my family. Or even love them. It’s just that the whole “so, Rifleman (actually, my mom calls me by my given name) when are you going to settle down with a nice girl in a nice house with a nice lawn and a nice car and a nice job and nice kids?” has started to get pretty fucking old. As it has for the last eight or so years.

And everytime I see my mother, it’s the same thing. I think she wants to be Jewish. But she’s not. She’s Catholic. And she knows how to use the ol’ Catholic guilt to her advantage. Her latest thing is “you’ll be thirty years old next month, you don’t want to die alone”. Which is true. I will be thirty years old next month. More on that later.

And, yeah, I don’t really want to die alone, but the thing is, I’m not planning on dying anytime soon. And if I do, I do. I won’t know afterwards, eh?

Sometimes, I wonder if she still thinks for some reason I’m still a virgin and is just afraid that I’m going to be some pathetic thirty-year-old virgin. Well, Mom, for the record, I’m not. By a long shot. And haven’t been for over a decade. And, granted, it’s been a while since I’ve talked to the canoe driver or made the beast with two backs, but it’s still been less than a year. And that doesn’t seem all that pathetic. Or maybe it is. Of course, I’ve kind of given up for a bit.

But I’m ready to get back into the game. And so I shall.

As for Thanksgiving, I think it should be replaced by a holiday called “Wanksgiving”. Use your imagination. After all, I’ve been using my imagination with all the wanks I’ve been giving. Myself.

As for my thirtieth…

I’ve decided that this will be the last year I celebrate my birthday. Until next year. And as for a celebration, I’m really hoping that everyone who’s promised to help me ring in my third depressing decade will actually do it. December 17th. (Two days after my real birthday). Somewhere in Dallas or Fort Worth. Details to be determined.

And I promise to start writing blogs that actually make sense and are actually funny.

As soon as I get laid.

Oh, and yesterday’s Lame Ass Joke posting by ‘Shank was SSW’s 400 post. Yay!

A black guy and a Czech were at Sea World, when the
Czech guy fell into the whale tank containing one male
whale and one female. The male whale swam up and
swallowed him whole. The black guy started raising an
alarm and the employees leaped into the tank and
started prodding the female whale over to the side.
“He’s in the male,” screamed the black guy. They
continued to prod the female. “I told you, he’s in the
male,” the black guy repeated. Still, they continued
to prod the female. “What’s the matter with you?”
shouted the black guy. “I told you, the Czech is in
the male!” And one of the employees looked over and
said, “Yeah, but you people always say that.”

Is it just me, or does Rosario Dawson look like she’s about to eat Daniel Radcliffe in this ad snagged from Yahoo!?

Three guys are working on a high-rise building project in Toronto–Steve, Tom and Jack. Suddenly, the wind shifts and Steve loses his footing and falls fifty stories to his death.

As the ambulance takes his remains away, Tom says, “Someone should go and tell his wife.”

Jack replies, “Okay, I’m pretty good at that sensitive stuff, so I’ll do it.”

Two hours later, he comes back carrying a case of Molson Canadian.

Tom says, “Where did you get that, Jack?”

“Steve’s wife gave it to me,” Jack replies.
“That’s unbelievable! You told the lady her husband was dead and she gave you the two-four?”

“Well not exactly,” Jack says, “When she answered the door, I said to her,’You must be Steve’s widow’. She replied, ‘No, I’m not a widow.’ And I said, ‘I’ll bet you a case of Canadian you are’.”

A horse and a chicken are playing in a meadow. Suddenly, the Horse falls into a mud hole and starts to sink.

The horse yells at the Chicken to go and get the farmer to help pull him out to safety.

The chicken runs to the farm but the farmer can’t be found. So, the chicken gets into the farmer’s BMW and drives it as fast as possible back to the mud hole.

Wasting no time, the chicken ties a rope around the bumper, and then tosses the other end of the rope to the horse.

As the horse hangs on for dear life, the chicken drives the car forward, and saves the horse from sinking.

A few days later, the chicken and horse are playing in the meadow again.

This time, the chicken falls into the mud hole. The chicken yells to the horse to hurry and get the farmer, or the farmer’s BMW.

The horse then says, “Wait, I think I can stand over the mud hole!” So, he stretches over the width of the hole and says to the chicken, “Reach up and grab my dick and pull yourself up!”

The chicken did so, and pulled herself up to safety.

The Moral of the Story:

If you are hung like a horse, you don’t need a BMW to pick up chicks.

The Pentagon (AP) – In response to demands by the Air Force for more fighter jets to provide continued air support in both the Iraq and Afghanistan theaters, the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA) has recently unveiled a new technique to produce more jets. Researchers at DARPA have succeeded in teaching General Dynamics F-16 jets to mate and sexual reproduce with a gestation period of less than three months. This file photo shows two F-16s copulating mid-air over Missouri. Originally, the jets were taught to mate with the male mounting from behind, but the Bush Administration insisted that only the so-called “Missionary Position” be used, as it is–in the words of Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld–”the right Christian way to make sweet, sweet love.”

An old retired sailor puts on his old uniform and goes down to the docks once more for old times’ sake. He hires a prostitute and takes her up to a room. He’s going at it as best as he can for a guy his age.

The old sailor asks, “How am I doing?”

The prostitute replies, “Well, sailor, you’re doing about three knots.”

“Three knots?” he replies, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She says, “You’re knot hard, you’re knot in, and you’re knot getting your money back.”