Kidnappers Delight

Since Im a 33 year old white male with a staunch brow and a machete fetish, it's pretty safe to say that although it saddens me to acknowledge this, it's quite possible that I'll never get kidnapped. I stress possible. It's just that I've spent so much time considering all the things I'd say to my potential "napper". Brain scrambling, release inducing banter that might somehow open an escape hatch to freedom. Like asking, "You're so good at this, do you kidnap people like me often? Can I get your number? Cause my  aunt Harriet would love you. Are you free next Tuesday? Will I be free by then?" I think on those really long days it would be fun to taunt..."if you don't torture me harder, I'm leaving!" and you know you're going to get sick of your victims asking, "Can I get my skin and teeth back soon?"

Other fun things to ask/tell your kidnapper:

• My landlord tied me up tighter than this when I forgot to pay my rent once...and she's 80.
• This isn't your first kidnapping? Cause it kinda feels like it is...
• Do you think you could pull my hair later? I mean, if there's time.
• (Yelled from the bottom of a deep hole dug in a remote location) Hey do you have any boardgames? Do you have any skittles? Do you wanna learn the dance I just made up?
• Can you kidnap someone else soon please? All these girls are dying and I'm getting bored...

Things I know About Bears:

1. Don't fuck up their porridge
2. Sensitive sleepers...per a blonde white lady
3. Cub nuzzlers
4. Dawdlers
5. Fornicate out of doors
6. Easily bamboozled
7. Will break for honey
8. Like to exercise in front of mirrors

Dear City of PHX H2O Co.,

To whom should I address the announcement of recognition for henceforth receiving the coveted, HOPKINS FLEMPKINS Salute to Excellence Because You Deserve It, award? Perhaps I should contact Elanore Mantooth directly? In any case, we are happily trembling in our Hanes Her Way brand feminine undergarments as we slowly announce that the city of PHX H2O Co. has been awarded third annual first place prize in the diversionary finals for the Southwest bracket of Dionne Warwick's department of aquatic management and filtration advisory board leadership conference. You'll be happy to hear you beat out other such contenders as,

-Chubby Badger Frozen Dinner Corp.
-Schitwiff Brand Biscuit conglomerate

That's enough to sneeze at!

Former winners of the 'Hopky Flempky' include:

Okra Winfrey
Ted's Rib Tickling Barn Wear
Edward G. Hamburger
Harriet Tubman
Hazel Mermelstein
Norms Gnome Hut
Flamin' Hot Cheeto Bark Flavored Stuffing Cubes
Paste
Two vegetable enthusiasts with impacted molars on a faulty tractor
A stray dog with a heart of gold
S'mores
Lucky Charms flavored fungus removal straps

As per typical congratulatory recognizership regulates, a well groomed spokesperson of your choosing shall be required to accept the aforementioned award amongst a roaring crowd of 4000 other nominees. Your spokesperson (we suggest a man) will of course know ahead of time that they've won the BLOGSKINS FORESKINS AWARD but should be instructed to act surprised and alarmed. We suggest practicing awe and excitement in a full body length mirror several hundred times before the actual engagement. Did we mention that its also going to be a gala honoring the majestic chinstrap penguin? We might serve cheese. In fact bacon has oft been discussed. Please inform your spokesperson (a woman is fine too...sort of) that the trophy we will be handing them alongside the splinter encrusted acceptance podium is purely symbolic and so clearly, they shan't be taking it home with them. (It's a quick pose for a photo and that's it). (Corporate policy).

JUST IMAGINE...

Winning the Flopkins Blumpkins award!

In addition to the global notoriety and lawless affection of your bunion ridden peers and fudge gargling fans (as per your entry form) you'll happily accept the following:

-A one week paid stay to Larry Bravo's Double Dutch Sleep Away Camp
-Free galoshes for a year
-Germy women, 24 hours a day
-German women, every fifteen minutes, every other hour
-Shrimp scampi, sometimes
-DotIndian.com trial membership
-FeatherIndian.com tote bag
-Painful manicures by Wei Wong ~bonded and insured~
-Pony rides on Tuesdays
-All the peanut brittle mouth your fragile, mismanaged dental work can handle
-Bumble Bee Orchestra season tickets
-A life sized meatloaf in the shape of Abraham Lincoln
-Complimentary dry cleaning at The Bleached Whale Laundry Shack

In closing, we want to thank you for considering us for considering you. You really are top notch, even if your stilts are bottom rung. Just remember, everyone's circus has a different plumber.

Cordially,
Squidge McTavish ESQ.

Sobbing over salted mangos with Tonya Harding

Ogling bare-chested Nigerians. Collecting humorous beer koozies. Discovering a cask of worthless doubloons hidden inside the cave at Flopkins wharf. Gallons of hard alcohol, a new suitcase pilfered from a Korean Air turnstile each time our wardrobes or our spirits grew tired. It was easy spending that summer with you. Unfolding large bills in tiny unwashed bathrooms, using our eyes and our teeth to replenish silly tactile bits of life we knew we could never afford. I bought you a silver watch and set the alarm to 11:11pm, a time that we agreed was consistently superior to most other times of day. Bugs swarmed our tent, we relented, and found great comfort as alien ship bodies like whales swam above us. By September we realized the rumbling in our bellies would need to be addressed. I started pickling the earth elements around us and we put up a beautiful stock. You put dust and feathers into your loom. I tore pages out of books, finding details useless. We placed small deposits on custom dentures we wouldn't need for ages, but felt better about the prospect of cliff diving and crusty bread. Gypsies tempted us out of our clothes and out of the country. When I'd settled some, I sent a car around to collect our things...only to find I didn't have a car, or things. Some mix up I'm sure. I trust you'll have it sorted out in the new year.

Best,
Brad.

-Published, Eyeshot.net

BLOG ON BLOG ACTION!! Public masterbation makes a comeback.

While I find it distasteful to speak gratuitously of myself in an effort to promote a personal agenda, I do believe it is okay to shamelessly guide those dear to me headlong into genius bits of energy and thought I've dedicated myself to. Which is why I have no qualms mentioning that my own blog made me laugh today. In most cases, blogging about your own blog is about as classy as masterbating in front of your grandma, but sometimes it must be done. In an effort to update my joke-ish ramblings I google searched my blog signifier, SQUIDEGEMAKESFUDGE and was pretty happy to see that my own blog/name/phrase was the top recommended site for that search. I was proud. I felt glad. It was like having a famous baby. Until I realized that I wasn't REALLY the top recommended site. My blog was in fact, 1st runner up. The top recommended site was, did you really mean: Fudge Recipes-get ready for the holidays. I detest American fudge worthy holidays and the idiots at google who refuse to acknowledge that people are ravenously searching for my site, possibly after gnawing through a few bricks of hand packed makinaw island gold. As if somehow I mistakenly typed the word 'squidge' in front of my query? Perhaps a kitten had wandered across my keyboard and I simply didn't have the energy to tap the backspace button a few times? Perhaps I'm some obese agoraphobic hermit in the mood for a fudge binge who hates leavin' my cabin? Nope. I was just squidgin' out with myself. Thankfully grandma didn't walk in on me.

Chat Room Chatter

I'm no sexual deviant. I'm not some type of hopeless molester. I've never engaged in illegal tickling of any sort. But here we are in modern times, with modern loins and modern gadgets and so, inevitably I built myself an online sex account. Don't judge. You'd be surprised how remarkably drab online sex has become. Sometimes I blame myself. I don't even show my tender manbush. But that sure as heck doesn't stop me from having a good old fashioned sexy time or two. I like to keep it fresh. I like to keep everyone on their horny little toes. For example, this actual dialogue took place...

ZACKATTACK: Hey, you lookin'?

SQUIDGE: Lookin' for what?

ZACKATTACK: Lookin' for sex.

SQUIDGE: I'm on an online sex hook up site that you just got ahold of me on...so...

ZACKATTACK: So...?

SQUIDGE: So...probably yes, maybe no...

ZACKATTACK: I like your prayer beads!

SQUIDGE: Thanks! I sure do need them!

ZACKATTACK: U need what?

SQUIDGE: Your adult molars. All of them.

ZACKATTACK: Ok.

SQUIDGE: Great. I will be there to pick them up in nine minutes, riding nine magical donkeys.

ZACKATTACK: There's only parking for six.

SQUIDGE: My donkeys hover.

ZACKATTACK:...restricted air space.

SQUIDGE: I constrict my donkeys air space constantly (I love choking!) and I've never gotten one ticket in my entire life!

ZACKATTACK: See it's only restricted on Thursday's in Guam.

SQUIDGE: Guam. That's my favorite kind of jelly.

ZACKATTACK: Long johns.

SQUIDGE: Bumblebee sauce.

ZACKATTACK: Grasshopper tincture.

SQUIDGE: Cadburry egg boots.

ZACKATTACK: Fucking christ...

Just saying...

I hate when unimpressive new stars scam iconic looks from old, worn out Hollywood bags in hopes of striking box office gold. I also hate when fashionable people look like tired trash. It just so happens I've found an example of this confounding fuckery in it's finest. Those familiar with bossy Prada wearing cunts and roller-skate wearing, orange pedaling male prostitutes can surely relate.


Need I say more?