>Went to log on to my email account the other day and noticed this:
On a related note, I no longer want to see Madonna naked.
>Back when I had chest congestion and the only thing Google could help me with was whether or not I knew complex equations involving quantum mechanics, I decided to try my hand at the old standby:
Everyone knows that you don’t use the Internet to look up shit like “sniffles” because what will come back in the results is shit like “OH FUCK you have Ebola” or “it’s obviously syphilis, you hideous crack whore” but I figured I’d give it a shot because this technology has to have gotten better, right?
Here’s what came up when I picked ‘nasal congestion’ as my symptom:
Personally, I’d take the “crack whore” insult over being the incurable victim of what is, apparently, a deliberate terrorist attack using castor beans.
Way to encourage me to up my Xanax prescription, assholes.
This is when I realize that WebMD changed their format so you could just plug in any combination of symptoms and they tailor the results so I just started randomly picking some stuff to see how ridiculous things got.
“I’ve been lifting heavy weights for, like, 3 years now and for some reason I have muscle growth.”
“Dude. Don’t fuck around with that shit. You need to see a doctor or at least look that up on the Internet. The longer you wait, the more muscular you’ll probably get.”
Maybe I’m underestimating the effects of narcotics, but I’m pretty sure that if you take Ecstasy and the Ecstasy makes you giddy, the fact that you’re giddy is – in all likelihood – THE FACT THAT YOU TOOK ECSTASY.
Either that, or you’re bipolar. Now you know.
Stop yelling and laughing at me.
I know you’re all thinking the same thing I am which is, “My GOD. How do you look so good, Rodney?” but I think the bigger question here is, “What the Christ is a ‘Jumping Frenchman?'”
Of course if you Google this crap you come up with this:
I’m pretty sure if you were dancing and a French guy landed on your face you’d not only be fully aware of this but would also have a tough time seeing the computer to go on WebMd in the first place so I checked their glossary instead.
Turns out this is some weird mental disorder and has nothing to do with ballet dancers sitting on your face.
Talk about hitting home.
I’m looking at these conditions, though, and none of them seem right. Maybe with some editing…
Still doesn’t explain my friggin’ sniffles, though.
Anyone want some castor beans?
Regardless..I got this email the other day:
From: MR.SIMON PATRICK
Subject: Subject: ALLUVIAL GOLD DUST OFFER FOR SALES
WE ARE OUAGA TRADE COMPANY LTD, WE EXPORTE RAW COTTON MATERIAL & WE OFFER ALLUVIAL GOLD DUST FOR SALES.
We are pleased to make this offer of our product under the penalty of perjury and with full cooperate and legal responsibility to the following terms and conditions.
1. Product: AU Metal (Gold)
2. Origin: Burkina-Faso West Africa
3. Type: Alluvial
4. Purity: 22.5 Carat or 92%
5.Quantity: 100-550 kilos
6.Price: $25,000 per kg
One representative of the buyer is suppose to come down to Ouagadougou,BURKINA-FASO) for the inspection and random sampling of our Gold Bars. or make plans for the golds to be ship to his/her destination. We look forward to establishing a long lasting business relationship with you.
I am expecting your reply soonest with your personal information as follow:
(1) Your Full Name:……………..
(2) Your Full Address:…………..
(3) Your Phone Number:…………..
(4) Your Company Name:…………….
(5) Your Age:…………………..
(6) Your Nationality:……………
Mr. Simon Patrick,
Marketing Manager Of Ouaga Gold Trade Company.
Here’s my actual reply:
Dear Mr. Simon Patrick,
This may come as a complete shock to you, but I was just emailing YOU, fine sir, to see if YOU wanted to buy any of MY Alluvial Gold Dust.
The fuck, right?
Crazy coincidence, or Jessica Tandy-like twisted hand of fate?! Either way, I think it so!
Whacky world we live in, am I right, Simon? Of course I am. But you know this anyway, being in the mixed-up, topsy turvy world of Alluvial Gold Dust sales!
Like Fozzy Bear says: waka-waka-waka!
I love the Muppets. Do you think that Kermit and Miss Piggy ever really banged? What do you think the baby looked like? I’m thinking frog head on pig body.
HAHAHA. I said ‘head.’
And then frog-pig baby laughed like, “ribbit oink!” and the swamp became eerily quiet.
I’m going to make that the first line in my romance novel. I will send you a copy!
Where was I?
OH. Alluvial Gold!
So, instead, why don’t YOU send me YOUR information so I can complete the transaction to Ouagadougou which is OH MY GOD the most fun name to say on the planet because I can’t stop going, “A-ooooooga…dougou!” which is like a train coming and then it sneezes.
God bless you, train!
Try it at home kids!
Do you have kids? Aren’t they delicious? Mine taste like almonds! Probably because of the cyanide.
To prove I’m deadly serious, here is a picture of the Pope juggling cats:
Send me the following information to complete our transaction!
1) Your Full Name…….
2) Your Half Name…..
3) Name that Tune…..
4) Pygmies, Fact or Fiction?…..
5) Include three photos of your nearest female relative not living with you with breasts exposed….
6) Where were you when Michael Jackson died?….
I look forward to our illustrious Alluvial Gold Dust (there’s a tongue-twister Simon!) partnership and the photos of the breasts.
And then I sent it.
I have not heard back from Mr. Simon Patrick so I don’t know where our Alluvial Gold deal stands nor do I know where he was when Michael Jackson died.
It’s a cruel world in Ouagadougou, my friends.
My God, that’s so fun to say.
>Right before the kids and I walk into my one-bedroom shithole apartment and smell the wondrous odors filling the hallway of whatever rodent/stray animal my neighbors are obviously broiling in a steaming pot of piss, and listen to the beautiful cacaphony of sounds known as ‘people screaming in Spanish,’ we take a moment to soak in the fresh night air and look up at the heavens above.
After I finish crying and saying “WHY?!” over and over again, I take the time to point out some of the constellations to my kids.
When you have no money, this counts as ‘entertainment.’
Right above us is Orion.
It’s now painfully obvious to me that the Greeks were probably spiking their baklava while shoving olives in their eyes because if I was to name this constellation based on what I saw it would be less ‘fearsome valiant hunter’ and more ‘hot broad in a sleeveless summer sundress.’
ROLL THE TAPE!
LEO THE LION
Ah. Leo the Lion.
Not so majestic.
Somehow, though, still kind of fearsome.
Because if ‘two somewhat adjacent dots in the night sky’ screams anything to me it’s ‘dog.’
Fine. I can play that way, too.
Now I will never go to sleep again.
IT’S TIME FOR INTERMISSION!!
Found this picture in my house that my son drew:
I have no idea but I thought it was appropriate being a picture of a star (I think) and this post about constellations and – believe it or not – there are TONS OF ANGRY STAR PHOTOS AROUND MY APARTMENT.
I fear him.
Just to be fair, here’s something my daughter drew of the stuff on my kitchen table:
On the bright side, at least the shit on my table isn’t angry like my son’s star.
So when I was Googling ‘Gemini’ I kept coming up with pictures that I couldn’t tell if they were boys and girls so I’m going to assume they’re both sexes.
Kind of like Ru Paul.
Either way..I don’t know how you get two people out of that.
King Kong would look up at that and want to climb that shit.
Here’s what I got:
Pam Anderson has climbed that shit.
Also gives new meaning to ‘wishing upon a star’ although, I’m sure for Tommy Lee, it really doesn’t matter who you are.
This brings up the obvious question:
What’s oral sex called for stars? Constellatio?
Y a crab?
I like this better:
And JUST LIKE THAT the Gemini Twins are resurrected and we finally get an answer – once and for all – whether they’re male or female.
I think these apartment odors are fucking with me. I should go outside and get me some fresh night air.