• The Super Bowl kind of sounds like an emergency appendectomy that’s being performed on Andre the Giant.
• “I wouldn’t make a good gay guy because I can never get it all in the first wipe.” – Anonymous…ok, I just made that shit up.
• “Nin ten dough, Wii go” – An ultimatum given by Chinese terrorists.
• Herpes – Genital Braille
• Plastic or Paper? – Old school dope dealer vs. new school, environmentally conscious dope dealer.
• Politically correct - A show by a guy with a duck-billed platypus-like nose, or a term for not having the guts to say what you really think in a given situation.
• A blow job – What a married guy gets when he is told to clean up the car.
• Bourbon balls – A pair of testicles in a red, wax-covered sack.
• Pill head – The one member of your family who actually enjoys family get togethers.
• MSG – The Chinese equivalent to PMS, but it’s much saltier.
• Mopeds – What a fat kid with a lisp says when his dispenser runs out of candy.
• Sectional sofas – Furniture for those of us who are too lazy to make it all the way around the room without needing to sit down.
• Sean Connery – Has he ever played someone who was actually from Scotland?
• Submarine movies – Can’t we all just get along?  Ain’t nothin angrier than a bunch of motherfuckers under water, in a tube, with a camera following them around.
• Homicide – A pesticide made by a gay guy.
• Sumo wrestlers – Who wouldn’t want to be fat and adored by women, all while wearing a diaper?
• Steven Seagal – The reason I went on a diet and quit slicking my hair back.
• 100 Proof – Evidence that life is only good 50% of the time, which necessitates drinking something at least twice as strong.
• Drug addicts in movies – Always more fashionable, prettier, and less scary than they are in real life.
• Jennifer Tilly – Has got some Tillybitties.  She’s almost as bad as Gene Simmons’ wife Shannon Tweed.  Both of their movies are always on Skinemax late at night, and they both show their tits within the first five minutes of appearing on screen.
• Zoo – “A controversial documentary about bestiality which focuses on a Seattle man who died after having sex with a horse.  Includes interviews and re-enactments of the incident.”  This was apparently the funniest shit I missed on DirecTV’s Sundance East Channel.  I don’t think actual horse fuckin is as bad as re-enacting it.  Plus, a man lost his life.  Have some decency and quit trying to beat off a dead horse for Christ’s sake.

I had written about thirty minutes worth of lingo on how cool my friend Octavio is, and how he got me hooked on drinking good, non-piss colored tequila (Jose Cuervo).  Then outta nowhere, it “disk” appeared into the internet ether like the fruit of a cottonwood tree making its break for freedom in a summer wind.  I kinda felt gay just writing that – not that there’s anything wrong with that.  Not gay enough to watch the Home and Garden Network without my wife within at least 15 feet of me, but somewhat close I’m sure.  I had written a lot of great philosophical ramblings about Octavio, and spoke about how we make fun of each other’s heritage.  I do so by being lazy and paying him to mow my yard, and he makes fun of my swilled back Irish heritage by buying me cool attire.  For instance, he bought me a green shirt with guys in various stages of being passed out - some on the floor, some on chairs – and above these guys the shirt says “Irish Yoga”.  Classic.  I don’t think I’ve ever came up with a better metaphor than when I said he works harder than a carpenter with a woody.  I’m not going to rehash all that shit like a Jamaican with a stutter, I’m simply saying it was pretty good stuff.  But now, due to the failures of technology, I must digress into a different level of my gourd to pour forthwith that which is, at this moment, untold.  I don’t really know where else to go.  Let’s see, I’ll look around my general vacinity and try to spy some inspiration.

The Quizno’s taste tube sandwich thing-a-ma-bob ain’t too bad, huh?  I recently had a turkey, pesto, cheese, and bacon episode on their tubular style carbohydrate offering.  It was like eating a sandwich and having a flashback to that class in high school where you realized that there might be animals living in Castro’s beard, and that the Russians caused the Cuban Missile Crisis by stationing missiles right off the coast of Geezerville, USA.  I think the given name for this Tasty Tube is the “Torpedo” – I hear they’re coming out with another sandwich that will be marketed as a flavor explosion, it’s called the “M-80″.  I bet if you pay them to cater an event, they would probably substitute the word platter with something like “The Flavor Craft Carrier”.  It’s weird how they now apparently want you to “eat militant”.  I’ll say this, you could definitely use that tasty tube to beat down a fool from a foot or less away – depending on how hungry you were.  Or, you could also use it like a crusty, spicy javelin, and try to strategically take someone out with it.  Like my mom always said, it’s all fun and games until someone gets their eye tasty tubed out.

As a lawyer, I can tell you that forgetting to pay your court costs is the legal equivalent of an absent minded fornicator not taking/using birth control – See any of Mick Jagger’s kids born during his marriage to Jerry “Town” Hall that weren’t hers.  I mean Mick should just wake up, strap on a condom and take a confidentiality agreement with him, but he apparently never learns.  Obviously, it happens to the best of us, but it is also a simple mistake to avoid.  Me of all people should probably not be preaching about remembering to do anyth…and I told that lady, “your car was already upside down, and as for your mother, well, she’ll have to tell you about those bumps.”  Hey, I’m back.  Excuse me.  Like I was remembering to remind you to remember, when you get some kind of ticket, fine or court costs and said administrative bullshit has to be paid on or about (legal term for “not really sure but sometime around then”) a certain date, don’t wait until “on” or “about” - or even “near on”.  Hell, don’t even let it get close to about.  Just go pay the damn thing as soon as you can so you don’t forget. I’m not saying you have to be like that guy in Memento - or any college basketball player – and tattoo it all over your guns, but write it down somewhere and don’t forget it.  Me, I’d write it on all 12 of my pill bottles.  That way, I’d have to forget it 24 times a day to really forget it.  I’ll take those odds.  Make the date the I-know-where-you-are-equivalent of those people on milk cartons.  Instead of it being written on stuff because you need to be reminded to look for it, write it on stuff to remind you to do it.  Easy enough, right?

Well, I would have like to expounded further but my desire to sleep has overtaken me.  I will see you fools later like a baked tater…

I recently found out that New Zealand is the youngest country on earth, which can probably be filed under the useless information category.  They do have an interesting motto though; it is a 100% guarantee that if you come to New Zealand, they’ll promise to give you your life back at the end of the trip.  That’s all and good, but if it’s as taterific as the commercials showed, why in the hell would I want my life back after going there?  It sounds to me like those bastards need a new monarchy, or some other type of family who gets paid tons of money for no apparent reason or benefit.  I would jump all over some of that if given the opportunity.  Hell, I could tell them that my parents house is on Old Zealand Field Road, and that is was meant to be.  I’m booking the tickets now in an effort to realize this goal.  My biggest cultural influence on my new subjects will be the wearing of the Snuggie.  It will be the official dress of the New Zealander after I refuse to take my life back.  If these people bought into all that J.R. Tolkien stuff while they were filming Lord of The Rings marathons there, they could just as easily buy into my bullshit.  Instead of the ring, I’ll have the Snuggie.  If everything works out, I’ll write when it’s time for all of you to come over and assume your parliamentary/government positions.

Do ghosts exist? And if they do, is it possible to touch them inappropriately in a sexual manner?  Who knows?  Maybe that is why Casper is so damned friendly.  In the movie Ghost, the first thing Patrick Swayze did was take over Whoopi Goldberg’s body and get it on with that chick - so I’d have to say that, on average, spooks are pretty horny.  Like anything else, it comes down to consent in the end.  But with a ghost, how would you know if they consented to you touching them?  What if the mondus operandi of your sexuality, per se or not to se, just happened to go right through them?  My understanding of ghosts – all of which comes from movies, television, and pilled/swilled out people who are only a shadow of their former selves – is that they are not a “solid-bodied” and things pass through them like cash through the hands of Illinois politicians.  So, even if you wanted to sexually touch a ghost, could you?  If a ghost wanted to sexually touch you, could it?  If you want to get it on with a ghost, does Dan Akroyd or Whoopi Goldberg have to supervise?

Personally, I don’t believe in ghosts - but I do believe in The Force.  The Force just makes much so more sense to me.  I don’t know about all that making things fly through the air, choking people from across the room, seeing shit in the dark, and all that jazz however.  I’m talking about the feelings you get when you’ve got to pee, or the thing that keeps you – or me at least – from getting more than two inches off the ground whenever I try to jump.  That’s The Force.  You don’t have to be Yogurt or B.O. Won Ton Kenobi to know what will happen when my fat ass drinks too much tequila, and trips over one of my son’s superhero toys for the umpteenth million time.  The Force is most definitely going to be involved, and it will probably be quite noticeable as I fall face first on the floor and black my eye.