NAME...THAT...SNOUT!!

(Click to enlarge)

You can tell a lot about a person from the curve of their schnoz and the scheen of their whiskers...take a crack at this snout quiz. A score of 100% gets you a place in my Farm Quiz Hall of Fame. Go with your gut and...

NAME

THAT

SNOUT!

Two degrees of Louie Anderson

Picture me if you will, sitting next to an adorable little black lady on the bus today doing my best to ignore her nonsensical ramblings and simply bump corny white jams digitally into my own private ears. The truth is, this task proved too hard to master for ol' Squidge for two obvious---ish reasons. The first of which was that ol' girl was literally under 5 ft tall. Adding to her brain twisting appeal was what must have been two and a half full tubes of Krunch brand DEP designer styling gel that she had applied generously to her grapefruit sized head. Oh, and also she was fucking insane. Eventually I removed my headphones, conceding to her draw upon my attention at which point she began to tell me how last night she was at a party with "uh, you know, that white guy...uh, he's real funny...Louie Anderson, yup." Quite out of no where a tall, bony, long haired, gothtard boy boards our bus. In an instant she forgets all about Louie Anderson's Country Fried Buffet Party (safe assumption) and she screams out, "OH HELL NO! THAT BOY LOOKS LIKE A DRAG QUEEN, DON'T HE"?!

I started laughing pretty hard.

She offered me a bite of her half eaten tamale.

I declined.

Something tells me that she really was at a party with Louie Anderson last night though...also...didn't Louie Anderson die?

...a conversation overheard recently at an Anger-Pissing workshop:

-“I pissed on him because his friends were in town”.

-“I pissed on him because the air freshener he bought smelled like wood chips”.

-“I thought the woodchippy scent would mask the urine! Like in a rat cage or a ferret room…”

-“Oh my God! WE have a ferret room! Sometimes we pee on each other in there too :)”

-“Hey you guys? We agreed to only talk about anger-pissing. That sounds like a pleasure piss to me”.

-SILENCE-

-SILENCE-

-silence-

-Time for lunch! They’re serving kielbasa and jam!

-That’s my favorite…

-Hey, don’t I know you from one of those Circle-K rolling wiener retreats?

-No, but I’m real comfortable around wieners.

-GULP.

Handsome Smirk

This is a (lifelike?) drawing I did of the boy I fancy. Ain't he cute? I like the way his teef and hairs set the tone....and those aren't boar tusks so just stop asking, okay?

Pick Me!

You bet your last nickle I was startled when the nutty grey haired loon sitting across from me on the bus leaned over and wiped her scabby red booger on my shirt. She called me Leroy and told me I deserved it and then twisted her ankle as she hurried off the bus. I proudly wore that booger like a brooch for the rest of the afternoon. It dangled from my breast pocket like a war medal, signifying my ability to cultivate crazy in the most common of conditions. My bus pass doesnt expire till 2012. I should probably invest in some really good laundry detergent or at least carry a wet nap.

Classiness is:

-wearing your pajamas to dinner
-pooping with your bathroom door open
-turning a dust pan into a fancy hat
-going down on Herb Salzman at the Vancouver juggling expo.
-break dancing in a pool of your own blood
-winning a meatloaf shaped like Abe Lincoln in a "cake walk"
-sandy bubblegum
-using poodles instead of tampons
-any excuse to skip a shower
-hand washing your urine stains
-a Lard Puppy Moon Bounce Yachting Club membership
-a pocket full of cake
-a front page cameo in Slammer Magazine
http://www.slammernews.com/back_issues/Phoenix.SlammerVol1Issue21/index.html
-listening to an Alvin and the Chipmunks Christmas album in July in a blow up pool, drinking bud lite, topless, with your fence blown down
-a vagina that doesn't need tending too

HOW CLASSY ARE YOU?

ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ?

Dear Earth’s Best® Sesame Street Organic Alphabet Pasta Co.,

A Query:

Have you ever eaten heaven one spoonful at a time? Did you like those slippery wet noodles I just fed you? Of course you did, they’re Earth’s Best®.

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Squidge McTavish, I sell vacuums. I am likely your largest fan in stature (7’2”) and in heart power (3). It just so happens that I was born with three fully functioning human hearts. If you ever turn up with a bum ticker you can contact one of my business associates and we will negotiate a swap. Barry Goldfarb handles everything. I’ve known him since he was 43 and just look at him now! If you call the office and Helen answers, hang up twice, and then meet me at the picnic table with some Vaseline and a nail.

I am writing to you because my son fell down the stairs while wondering why your ORGANIC ALPHABET PASTA has no question marks? Is this a valid question? Your organic pasta machines make the most delicious A-Z pasta this mouth hath dared to know, and I’d wager that many other noodle enthusiasts would bark in agreeance. But why? Should there not be punctuation? In my soup? Dazzling sentence ending inflection does not please you, Earth’s Best® organic pasta merchant?

Will you or will you not add question marks to your pasta agenda? I need a firm and true answer. Bush beating will not be tolerated.

I admit that the dizzying rate at which I consume your packaged noodles has caused me a great deal of shame and agony. Unable to tear myself from the flurry of swirling words and phrases dancing through my soup, I eventually lost my job and gained a little under 6 pounds. I think a few commas and question marks might serve as an indication to take a break from eating and reading the soup for me. Perhaps then I could get my life back!

Have you ever had one of those mornings where you wake up and your first bowl of breakfast soup is like a brilliant poem about chasing a dog made of blueberries? Your noodles take me there. I eat because I’m reading, and I’m reading because I’m hungry. (I thought we agreed not to do this?)

BOTTOM LINE: Are question marks an option?

The sooner you respond, the sooner you pull the truth trigger.

Sincerely,
Squidge McTavish