Friday, December 30, 2005

Fade into the weekend

this is an audio post - click to play




Waiting for the phone to ring
I need to feel alive
Knowing that I'm going insane
It always happens around five
I need to get myself some gravity
I need to find my feet again
But truth always seems to escape me
And the phone is dead again

I'm pressing the keys violently
Trying to get out my thoughts
But once I see them on the screen
The feeling is completely lost
A dark cloud is hovering over me
It's been my shadow for years
It haunts my every movement
And it mocks me and my fears

Fading away into the weekend
Fading away into a deep sleep
I'll wake up when the week begins
But for now, in sleep I'll be

The sun hasn't shown on me for days
The rain won't soften it's blow
The avenues and ally ways
Are getting beat to death by the snow
I've got to get me some altitude
I've got things that I need to say
I've got people I need to hurt
In a very bad way

Fading away into the weekend
Fading away into a deep sleep
I'll wake up when the week begins
But the week begins too late

Don't wake me when I'm sleeping
I don't want to talk right now
I'm tired
Don't wake me when I'm sleeping
I'm to frightened to get out of bed
I'm tired
Don't fucking wake me, cause I'm sleeping
And I don't want to hear the words you said
I'm tired

I need to get me an escape
I need to get me some sleep

Happy new Year folks!

Damn

The baster is too busy today to have our audio debate. That bastard, I'm so mad at him right now, what with the fact that he doesn't spend anymore quality time with me, and the warts he gave me, and jazz, and lulu, and joe, and calzone, and merkley???; well, I'm basically really pissed off at him right now.

On another note, I'm apparently an attention whore. So, please, leave me a comment, no seriously, LEAVE ME A FUCKING COMMENT, and tell me what a great person you think I am. There is no need for debating this fact, as I am, in fact great. Don't you all think that I'm wonderful?

Wow, I'm in a bad mood right now. I might need to sing a Kelly Clarkson song right now. Kelly always calms me down. I'll get all hot and bothered, and then BAM! "Because of you" starts belting on the airwaves, and I'm as calm as the baster in the back seat of a sex offender's van. There is something about her sweet sweet voice that soothes the spirit and induces morbid amounts of self gratification. Man I love my dick. You should all love it too, it's great. Tell me that you love it. Tell me that you love everything about me. Just tell me something.

Fuck. I might need a drink soon. I think I've got like twenty-two years of alcohol withdrawals built up, and it's coming to a head. Speaking of heads, you guys should hear the story about my dick head. I mean, it's not that funny, but you should still hear it, you should hang on every word that I tell you.

Maybe another time.

I fucking hate three day weekends. I'm the opposite of most adults, I love being at work, hate being at home.

Not much right now

I don't have much of a post together right now. The reason for this, is that I am preparing with the baster, to do an audio post. It will be a debate. So, it should be done sometime this afternoon (remember, we are PST).

So, purely for your poetic enjoyment, I give you a poem about my sex life, or lack thereof.

I don't have it often
Well, I don't have it ever
Can you believe it
And I'm not just being clever
There was a time
When I was much younger than now
Wait I'm only twenty two
And now I just ask myself "how?"
How did it come
To this for me
How come I can't cum
Whenever I please
Sweet Mother of Mary
I need to get laid
Sweet Fancy Moses
Someone might need to get paid
If that's what it takes
Then so it shall be
I wonder how much
It will cost me

Thursday, December 29, 2005

Update Part Two

I had to do it. I couldn't wait. It happened around 3:00 or so.



I feel so dirty.

So, so, dirty.

Update

I really have to take a shit. I mean, really bad.

Will I make it until 5:15?

Good thing I have clean shaven balls, nobody likes those
gardetto looking poop chips hanging off their daddy long leg
testicular hair.

Candle

I had a dream
Just the other night
I could see myself, out of body
I was dressed in white

I held a candle
High above my head
At first I was switching arms
To give each one a break, when it felt dead

Wind blew over my stance
And the candle flickered slightly
I knew at once that I
Wouldn't take it blowing out, lightly

I needed the flame to live
And to never die
But I knew the truth
And I knew it's lie

But the flame kept on
softly bowing to the wind
But never going out
Never giving in

I startled at once
To the pain hit my hand
I put the candle in my left
What I saw, I couldn't understand

The candle was melting
The wax dripped as it grew warm
Why did I ever think
That the candle would be reborn

There I stood, candle in hand
Realizing that the flame would soon be dead
How long did I have
Was the one question that ran through my head

Ignoring the pain
I kept my stance
Keeping in mind
This was my only chance

The candle grew shorter
The wax kept steady it's drip
And in time, the wax
Began to harden over my grip

I could not move
My wrist was now as a stone
I could feel the wax forming
All over my bones

I must do something fast
Or I'll never be able to go
I'll never be able to leave
I'll never be able to grow

The candle is slowly shrinking
The wax is slowly forming it's mold
And if I don't change
I'll stay this way, until I'm too old

I woke up from the dream
And rolled over in bed
But I couldn't get the image
Of the candle out of my head

Which brings me to the question
That has been weighing on my mind
Do I change my situation
Because if I don't, I fear I'll find

That waiting won't stop
The wax from ever flowing
And if it grows any harder
I'll never be going

home.

Wednesday, December 28, 2005

Editorial Part One

When did it become some weird office taboo to take a shit at work? I can understand public restrooms in general, I really can. I don't want to be eating at Denny's, but you can bet I won't be taking a shit in there ( I'll take a piss, but that's cause I'm a guy, ladies: I don't know what to say). Why is it that every time I have to really take a shit, I end up at the one place in town that just had a diarrhea incident? I mean fuck, it looks like someone just had an open ass surgery in the bathroom! So, to clarify, we are not talking about public restrooms, but office restrooms rather.

So what's the deal? Why can't I take a shit at work? Why do I hold it in, flex my ass cheeks until they are blue, instead of just letting it go? Someday, I'm going to just get rid of all my inhibitions and experience the sweet release of the shit flowing from my anus, while at work. I will revel in the wrinkled noses of my co-workers. And I will find joy in the gagging that will surely ensue.

But until then, I shall comply with the unspoken rule that we just don't take a shit at work.


Note: I know that this takes away any attraction that any of you might have had to me, but what the hell? It needed to be said.

Twenty-two Part 7

The City of Spokane owes me a tire and a tie. Baster and HST, if they are reading this will understand my frustration. But for the rest of you, let me put it this way: Spokane has more pot-holes per capita then anywhere else in the world. At one point, instead of spending some of the tax payers money on actually fixing the pot-holes, they spent over a million dollars performing a study about how to fix the pot-holes. I can just see some fat ass gay mayor sitting in his office, preying on young high school boys offering them internships, and some idiot walks up, offers him a blow job, and in return, he gets paid to perform some dumb ass study about fixing pot-holes. I mean, seriously, are you people fucking retarded? That's like performing a study on shaving your balls. What are the pros and cons of shaving your balls? JUST FUCKING SHAVE THEM! Wow, sorry. A few years later, still pot-holes, bastards. So, last night, I reluctantly left work. Yes, reluctantly, you heard me straight. So, I'm stuck behind this old fuck in a tanish goldish ( I'm color blind so it could have been blue for all I know, but it seemed said color) Subaru legacy circa 1992. Not the wagon, the fucking sedan. Who drives the fucking sedan ( author's disclaimer: if you drive a sedan subaru, I don't necessarily hate you, just your car buying abilities)? And we are getting on the freeway. Another extremely annoying thing about Spokane, is that some of our on-ramps are really fucking short. I'm beginning to think that God himself has decided that Spokane needs some smiting of some sort. But not the cosmic Soddom and Gommorah smiting mind you, more of a "How can I really piss these people off" type smiting. Because this one is probably all of 75 feet. Maybe. And apparently there is a phantom pot-hole on this on-ramp. I've never had a run in with said pot-hole before, but since this prick was going around 25 mph, I needed to get by him, so I'm merging while still on this make shift on ramp, when BOOM! POP! KA-POW! There goes my tire. On the fucking freeway, at night, during rush hour. Somebody please, kill me now. No seriously, I'm packing some heat, you just need to reach into my pocket, no a little more to the left, yeah, and pull it out. So, after driving my car to the shoulder (by driving I mean waddling. Have you ever seen a car waddle? I have, I waddled, and I'm proud of it), I have about 3 feet to work with from my tire to the cars going 70 mph. I'm pissed cause I'm trying to catch the last minute and a half of Gonzaga's game against Memphis (which they lost), and get home to pick up my daughter to take her to the Chronicles of Narnia (which was good), and instead I'm on the side of the road, in my suit, changing a tire. It's cold, it's wet, and so is the weather.

Now, Washington State has these lovely Department of Transportation vehicles that drive around and rescue people on the side of the road. They'll help you out, set up flares, whatever you might need to get you back on the road. So, as I'm tightening the last bolt on my spare tire, he pulls up, gets out, and says ( in a rather jolly tone) "How are you doing tonight?". My response? "Your employer owes me a tire and a tie." In my mind I was thinking more along the lines of, "You fat fuck! I know you saw me, and you just sat there in your truck, eating your fucking ding dongs, waiting for me to be just about finished, and then you came up, as if you were really trying to help me." But I didn't.

Why do I feel like I'm (quoting Motherdear here) 22 going on 52?

Tuesday, December 27, 2005

I have no life. Nope, none.

After a lengthy discussion with a Catholic. I have come to an important decision. There should be no more honoring any human being with the status of "Saint". It is unhealthy for anyone to look up to another human in such a way. So, instead of having "Saints", we will now begin having "Taints (male) and Taintressess (female)". This way, we can still give out cool titles, but the old Saints will be kept in a place of honor that is no longer given to anyone.

Who should be the first Taint or Taintress?

Twenty-two Part 6

My wife is a good cook. That's about it. And she makes on hell of a Turkey dinner. I'll admit it, I'm in love with said meal. So, she asks me around October if I want her to make it for me. Given her current health situation, I told her only if she felt like it. She said she would, and that was that. About twice each month it was discussed, and she said that she was ok, that she really wanted to do it. So, I go buy all the stuff for said meal ( at midnight mind you), and then she says she's too sick to cook. So, since we had no 'plan B', I put on the apron (ok, no apron, but it sounded hot didn't it?) and went to work. Now, I'm familiar with the kitchen. I used to be a saute chef at an Italian restaurant, but Turkey dinner is a little different. I found out about two hours later, that turkey takes a while to cook. Generally, about four hours for our size of turkey. It was 2:30, and we needed to eat by 5:00. Great, fucking great. So, I asked the wife her thoughts. After some arguing about how much of an idiot I am, we came to the conclusion, that turkey takes so long, because it just sits there, at like 350 degrees. So, I elevated said poultry above the pan, and turned up the heat to 475. And it worked. I'm a fucking genius. One hour and forty five minutes later, the turkey was at the desired tempters, and not burnt at all. Everything else turned out well, my stuffing kicked ass. And basically, I am getting calls from the White House wanting to know if I want to cook them some shit. Ok, maybe not, but still, I'm pretty fucking proud of myself.

So, dinner went well, although it would have been better if I'd had a turkey baster. That bastard.

So, basically I'm Martha Fucking Stuart.

Friday, December 23, 2005

Things I love

Turkey basters

pringles (cheesums)

bleached sphincters

lulu's

hampsters

udders

mac & cheese ( shells, not elbow)

poems

The zags

onions

pubic mullets

snelching

Zach Morris

midgets

hip replacements

phone numbers with the area codes of either 510 or 415

dr pepper

dr laura

E.T.

airplanes

raindrops on roses

Mario and Luigi

A Christmas party

This weekend I am going to Party!

Ok, no I'm not. I don't do that. Never have. The closest thing to a party I have ever been to was our company Christmas party last year. Some of you may remember that I don't drink. Never have. I have never ever in my life been drunk, and I don't intend on it.* But it is funny to watch other people get drunk.** This was what happened last year at my Christmas party:


  • My regional manager told me that his neck tie was so tight, that he could feel his balls in his throat. Prognosis= drunk.
  • Me, and two other co-workers freaked danced to "I'm too sexy" for my manager and my assistant manager, and yes I even did a rocking air guitar slide across the floor. Prognosis= co-workers were drunk, I'm just an idiot.
  • Another assistant manager hit on me, and when I didn't bite, she hit on my wife. Prognosis= drunk.
  • My wife tackled the assistant manager, much semi-lesbonic actions ensued. Prognosis= way to drunk.
  • Pineapple was cut open, and everyone's drinks were mixed together, and then a game of pass the pineapple began. Prognosis= drunk drunk drunk.
  • A PFR from another branch hit on me. When I didn't bite, he hit on my wife. Prognosis= drunk.
  • I won one of these. Prognosis= whoever bought this present was drunk.
  • Got molested by my assistant manager. Then she told me that it was "fucked up that you didn't win PFR of the year". Prognosis= drunk.

Needless to say, I didn't go this year. From what I hear, I didn't miss much.

* If my life keeps going in this direction, I may take Jazz up on her offer of getting drunk.

** Funny when it's not your wife. Having your co-workers tell you that they had to help her put her nylons back on after going to the bathroom, is not something I like to hear.

Lulu's quote of the day: "No, your penis can go to pimply penis hell with Sydney."

Thursday, December 22, 2005

I'm so happy

Since the end of Completley Unrelated to Work, with the exception of my poem below, I have not been my grossly funny self. This is good for me, but also bad, since sometimes I just need to talk about snelching. I have been invited to be Lou Reed for a while. So, if you enjoy my old humor, then you can go there, I'll be there for a while, I don't know how long. But it will be fun. And yes, I'll still be posting here too.

Wednesday, December 21, 2005

A Seasonal poem

author's note: this was done at the library, and their computers are all screwy, so I can't use spell check, and as all of you know, I can't spell worth a shit, so don't say it, I will for you. "Danny, you spelled like every other word wrong." there


It's nearly time
It's nearly here
Holy fucking shitballs
I'm full of fear

The fruitcakes are coming
And I'm not just talking about the food
There's gayness all around
And I don't mean to be rude

But sweet peanut of seduction
Sweet mother of Mary
Stop trying to touch me
And no, I'm not hairy

It's not that I'm phobic
Of homo's and whatnot
But I'd really rather not see
What you keeping telling me you've got

Put that shit back in your pants
And put your dick back too
I'm not one for judging
But I'm not really digging your poo

But it's not just the gay ones
The weird ones are out
And they're wearing red sweaters
And they're wandering about

They're passing out candy canes
And warm Christmas wishes
They're curly hair is almost as sickening
As that weird smell of fishes

Oh, that's right I know what that was
Your nasty discharge coming from your knit pants
Get a fucking duche
For this, I think the government should give grants

But it's not just them either
There's always someone more
There's always that old man
Who thinks your his whore

It's not that he's gay
He doesn't pack fudge
But he thinks I'm a girl
And he gives me that nudge

Get your fucking hands off me
You sick twisted freak
And no, I won't call you Santa
And I won't kiss your feet

Get me out of your basement
I need to see the light
But instead he gives me some chaps
And they fit way to tight

You can totally see my buldge
It's fucking larger than life
I'm showing it off
To a geezer that thinks I'm his wife

This isn't going to work out
I try to tell the old man
But he just replies
"Why do you keep wanting me to call you Dan?"

Then he slaps me on the ass
And kisses my cheek
I don't mean to be repetitive
But this is making my stomach feel weak

Every year this shit seems to happen
And only to me
I just know that the holidays
Won't ever be happy

Instead I'll be molested
Touched and abused
And I'll just write a poem about it
And hope you'll all be amused

But one day I'll stand up
One day I'll say no
One day I'll say "Gramps"
"I'm not your fucking ho"

But not this year
No, it will not take place
I just hope that after the advent of viagra
I can attempt to keep pace

So, I'll bend over nightly
And take it up the rear
And I'll hope that one day
I'll kill Santa, and his reindeer

Happy Holidays from Danny

A review: part two

Ok, it needs to be done. Someone must say something. This is getting very old. So, I will say what has needed to be said for some time:


Nickleback fucking sucks chocolate cheese!

You cannot tell me that there is anyone on the planet that actually enjoyed that "Hero" song, or that fucking "photograph" song. Christ, shut them up. And stop playing them.

Ok, who next?

Angel

I'm changing my clothes/I'm changing my tune/ I'm changing me love/ I'm changing for you/Don't say that you don't want me to change/Just don't leave me here when you realize it's strange/ A good woman will change you/Of this I'm sure/ And I want to be everything/ I want to be pure/ You know I adore you/I won't hide it from you/And when I'm lonely/I'll think of you/Because your presence is like that of an angel/And I'm a saint, fallen to his knees/A good woman will change you/Of this I'm sure/And I want to be everything/ I want to be pure/ Your words are like a Bible/Breathe life into me/Touch my heart/I'll be with you endlessly/I'll be whatever you want/I'll make myself just right/If you say that you'll come home/and stay here tonight.

A review

I'm not going to review a specific album, or even song for that matter. Why? Because I fucking hate her. And I can't handle the fact that people (some who might be reading this) actually like listening to her crap.

Sheryl Crow might possibly be the worst female artist to ever record a record. Every time I hear her sing on the radio, I cringe. I feel as if the apocalypse will come down soon, if she has another hit.

A message to those who listen to her, and buy her records: You're actions are irrehensible, irresponsible, and some other cool word that I probably spell wrong that starts with "irre". Please, change your filthy ways, and turn towards the light. If you like folkish sounding music, go out and buy Bright Eyes, or My Morning Jacket. Give up the Crow, or you will die.

Whew.

Something different

I'm so wasted away today
I'm so wasted away
The light that once shown
Has all gone away

I need a taste of something
I need a drink to quench my thirst
Hold on to something different
That wouldn't be the first

I wish I were inside of you
I wish I felt your touch
Don't put me out again
Well, I don't mind it that much

Talk to me and tell me
Tell me that you'll stay
Talk to me and tell me
Tell me that you won't be far away

My inhibitions are having
A coming out party
My courage it seems
Isn't absent but tardy

The rain won't stop falling
I wish it were warm on my skin
But freezing rain just hurts me
Though I still find myself outside
again