I Dropped It, Now You Eat It!

“It shocks me how I wish for…what is lost and cannot come back.”

-Sue Monk Kidd

I found a Cheerio on the floor and ate it.

I miss floor Cheerios, from time to time, not that I am thinking about having the kids wander around the house dropping Cheerios on the floor for me to find and eat, although there is something to be said about finding a fresh floor Cheerio because no matter what you say to me I refuse to eat Cheerios any other way, if I wanted flavorless ovals I could resume eating rice cakes, something I did once on a dare and to this day that is the one dare I regret and I have done some stupid shit on dares or just for the hell of it, one day, maybe I will realize that I am indeed older and the invulnerability of youth no longer applies to me, until then I will continue to miss my floor Cheerios.

“Do you know what breakfast cereal is made of? It’s made of all those little curly wooden shavings you find in pencil sharpeners!”

-Roald Dahl

Of course it is possible I am slightly invulnerable, you know immune to harm from small things like dust and the like-if you don’t think dust can kill you I present to you the case of my uncle who died from an over exposure to dust, on its own a single mote of dust is nothing, but when they gather together like a hippie drum circle they can be deadly, I’d ask you to ask my uncle, but he is dead and mostly likely turned to dust-irony-oh well, I may be slightly invulnerable due my constant exposure to glow in the dark stuff.

It is a wonder and a part-time, only when the lights are out, moment of sadness to me that I do not or at least parts of me do not glow in the dark. Now that would be an awesome super power for me, glow in the dark. Combine that with the Natehood of Traveling Pants and you have a heart warming tale of someone who stole my pants, had great times, chased by another person who glowed in the dark. I’m thinking the love child of a Lifetime Movie, ScyFy Channel, and Late Night Cinemax: Travel, Romance, Glow in the Dark Organs, Adventure, and Plenty of Night Fights. Starring Brad Pitt, Anthony Bourdain, and Matthew McCaughey.

Oh well I dream of better days, like the time when I have enough money to buy things I don’t need or want just to right a wrong or point out a social injustice or in the case of McDonalds to burn to the ground to create the world’s largest grease fire. But what could replace McDonalds? I wonder how people would feel about a place named Floor Cheerios. Of course I would have to buy Cheerios so I don’t have to pay for royalties or deal with any stupid lawsuits. I know, how many people will want to eat Cheerios off a floor, no matter how clean or cool the floor is? I am willing to bet a lot of parents.

And if Floor Cheerios glowed in the dark-both the place and the Cheerios themselves-I could get all of the ravers, lovers of glow in the dark, cereals on the floor, and well the possibilities are limitless especially if I could add Blue Tooth to the mix, because who doesn’t love Blue Tooth…that’s right the same people who don’t like monkeys and those people are fuckers and NOT welcome to

FLOOR CHEERIOS

We Drop It, You Eat IT…

maybe not…

“Luck is not a business model.”

-Anthony Bourdain

 

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If I Wore Pants Would You Even Notice?

“You never know what you will find in your pants!”

-Ken Poirot

I woke up this morning, stood up, and my pants fell off because I have lost that much weight. You may applaud now at the weight loss and mental image that I have now inserted into you brain like a seed that will, over time, grow and mature until you are never quite sure if you saw me naked like a single frame of pornography in a family film or found me on Snap Chat.

It is a girthy seed, just saying. 🙂

This…

 

 

 

 

 

Turned into this…

 

 

 

 

Which is better than this…

 

 

 

 

 

But far from as good as this…

Because, and bare with me, Hannibal Lecture was a badass for sure, but Mickey and Mallory they are where it is at.

What is it, why travel of course.

With the children at school and my pants on the floor (that was the first growth spurt of that planted girthy seed) I strolled through the house feeling something I have not felt since last year’s first day of school, the wind on my junk. ANd it felt GOOOOOOooooooood!

However, someone left the front window open and people were heading to work. Thus, I sat down. No, I did not put on pants. Holy shitsnacks, I wanted some me time and this moment of me time was without pants.

Then without warning the me living inside the me realized he was without children and could literally do anything and I could, if I wanted, sit without pants just about anytime. Pulling myself off the couch, I began to do stuff.

Bills paid, more work on the Puddles and Whiskers site, writing in a notebook some Puddles and Whiskers, and then I was off to pay the rent. Where I saw what Monday looked like for someone having a bad Monday and since I was not there to cause them any more grief I left them with a laugh…nope, the pants stayed on, I just told a good joke.

The man restocking the drinks was nice to me, the man restocking some other drinks was nice to me, the people at the rental agent were nice to me, the cashier was nice to me, and so it went people nice to me all because I put on pants.

Natehood of the Traveling Pants, not to shabby if you ask me and you are listening to me right now, thus you too think that is not to bad of an idea…my pants fall off, someone else picks them up and wears them…then wonders why I am chasing them down to get my fucking pants back. I wonder if Brad Pitt and Anthony Bourdain have some free time to make an independent film?

And there you have my day, a variation on the Karate Kid instead of wax on-wax off it was pants on-pants off; never once attempted to stand on one leg and flail about, I righteously kicked that fucktard in the yarblockos.

“It had been a wonderful evening and what I needed now, to give it the perfect ending, was a little of the Ludwig Van.”

-Anthony Burgess, A Clockwork Orange

If Dick Were The Four-Letter Word, I’d Know It!

“Even the world’s greatest actor cannot fake an erection.”

-Mokokoma Mokhonoan

I have the beginnings of a chubby guaranteed to be very engorged, veiny, and girthy; if you remember girth is where it is at. Don’t believe me, read this post for proof and ask anyone who has to deal with the age old question length or girth because it is not the motion of the ocean, that shit gets you sea sick and who wants barf on them and if that is you, DO NOT raise your hand in this room, it is all about girth and if the van is a rocking then…

so back to my impending chubby, school starts tomorrow. While, I like every parent, I should say most every-there seem to be plenty of “parents” who do not like their kids-a preponderance of them seem to live in Texas or visit Chucky Cheeses, not clue why but if the news is to be believed that is where they are found. Now goats in a ditch, that is Ohio along with Meth labs, not that this part of Michigan isn’t attempting to take over that title…seriously people get a fucking hobby other than attempting to live out your Breaking Bad memories-a show that I could not get past the third episode of…but hey I like coffee, love my kids I WANT THEM OUT OF THE HOUSE.

I cannot even begin to tell you all of the things my impending chubby and I will do once the door closes, the car is out of the drive way, and the pants cum off, but trust me it will be epic and messy on a scale that only Salvador Dali or someone equally riding that line of madness and genius can imagine and put into some form of media for people to walk by shield their eyes and scream to the heavens, “Why GOD! Why?!”

And why am I telling you this? Because my video camera is broke, YouTube banned me, and snap chat is for losers. Yes losers. You want to take a pic of your genitals and throw them around the interwebs then own that shit…a few seconds indeed, if I am going to waste my precious time looking your genitals you had better be very close to me or have genitals that people routinely and without sarcasm refer to as “from the gods!”  Mostly I am mentioning my impending chubby because with chubby cums happiness, in that I get some me time.

No! Not like that. I’m not talking about five minutes of fun, but something longer. I can do the thing you are thinking about (and get out of my gutter) just about any time I want, but true me time where no one is asking, whining, whinging, bitching, or any other ing me is so rare to border on mythical like a unicorn, which is both a horse with a horn and that one person who joins a couple for sex and really want to play with both of them. Yes, me time is that kind of rare.

I need me time or I will get…

Did that image help you understand why I need my me time and I need my me time really really really (no really count this time, I swear) BAD! The children have eroded the shores of my sanity bare and I want to walk on the beach for a bit, I know I hate long walks on the beach, but this time the beach is in my head and my shores are hardly sandy.

“If you are losing your leisure, look out! — It may be you are losing your soul.”
-Virginia Woolf

 

Making the Repetitive Look Good

The longer you search for a good quote to start a post the longer you find yourself reading other people’s words to sum up your own feelings, much like cat memes never say what you would have said, just what someone else said put to a picture of a cat. I like my own words better.

-Me

These ear buds won’t fit right, now my ears feel funny. Ugh! I tell you the technical issues I have to overcome each time I sit down to craft a post is…fuck that, my ears are weird.

Now what was I talking about?

Ear buds?

Really?

I really need to up my game. Hey I used really in…one, two, now three sentences yes really? is a sentence that makes four uses, I wonder how many more I can fit in? Definitely better than a swear o meter which would be six inches long (I unlike many people am realistic and happy with the length of my swearing) and girthy. Don’t let anyone tell you different, girth is where swearing is at. Much like opinions and most people are assholes anyone can swear for six inches, it’s the girth or breath of their swearing where its at.

Don’t believe me, trying fitting a swear word in every sentence for a day. If you find yourself repeating yourself over and over again, such as “fuck this or fuck that” then you only have six very skinny inches of swearing. However, if you can only repeat a few times, even better not at all (repeat that is, swear away), find creative and inventive-yet correct (can’t have you making up new swear moves, there are rules and if your friends can’t dance…well you know the saying, how you dance is how you fuck and if your friends can’t dance they probably shouldn’t fuck or is it fuck you…regardless, I will not put the other parenthesis in place and carry on, if you can do that then you have girth and maybe dance skills, which ties into how well you engage in intercourse.

Now that I think about it swearing, dancing, writing food reviews, writing erotica, and fucking are all similar skills in that you need to be able to do something repetitive in such a way that people mistake your actions for genius and not having a seizure. And yes, the seizure thing happens in writing. They are also similar in that if you can do them reasonably well people think better of you for a lot of things, because if you can Dance with a capital D you surely can Fuck with a capital F and you sure as hell really know how to Swear with a capital S…writing food reviews and erotica are suspect, because how often have you broken out writing of any kind while Dancing, Fucking, or Swearing.

Twice?

And how did that go over?

Messy. Makes sense. I once had a short story crumpled and stickified doing that. She was very apologetic too, spilling her drink on my short story while dancing. Why I was attempting to show her my writing while dancing I will never know I should have waited until coitus where I would have had her attention because she would have been reading, duh.

Oh well, so where was I and I tell you the truth this is not where I thought I would end up, not that if you are paying attention I can remember where I am…fuck all this suddenly got really confusing, for me.

Girthy is where its at. Yes, that is what this was about or was it?

“Because of social strictures against even the mildest swearing, America developed a particularly rich crop of euphemistic expletives – darn, durn, goldurn, goshdad, goshdang, goshawful, blast, consarn, confound, by Jove, by jingo, great guns, by the great horn spoon (a nonce term first cited in the Biglow Papers), jo-fired, jumping Jehoshaphat, and others almost without number – but even this cautious epithets could land people in trouble as late as the 1940s.”

-Bill Bryson, Made in America: An Informal History of the English Language in the United States

Did you really think I would use really over and over again? Did you really keep count? Were you really waiting for more orange reallys? Right now you are trying out being girthy, aren’t  you? And therein lay the lesson. When you figure out what the lesson was tell me, please.

Really count: 11…maybe

Bears Plus Babies Plus Toilet Paper

“Always respect Mother Nature. Especially when she weighs 400 pounds and is guarding her baby.”

-James Rollins, Ice Hunt

In my dreams, they tell me how I have disappointed them, how I have not lived up to my potential, how I am wasting my life…

In my reality, a cashier turns pink, laugh out loud, holds his hand up in surrender, takes a deep breath, thanks me…

And bears with toilet paper on their bum are a better choice than a baby with toilet paper on his? head; after all the bears are using the toilet paper correctly and the message of a baby with toilet paper on her? head is what exactly?

Babies are shits? I know this…

Babies are messy? I know this too…

Babies need headware of any kind? If so, put a nice Preakness hat on the kid and the roll of toilet paper nearby…

Stop pandering to me with babies it doesn’t work, in fact I mock your product because of the baby and toilet paper mixed message…then again, I guess an asshole with toilet paper stuck to it might be a hard sell, but (ha) at least the message would be clear this is to wipe your bum…see the bears know what it is all about…

and in my dreams, they gather around me shouting loud enough to wake the dead, which may just be me sound asleep…fuckers…

In my reality, I am this close to reclaiming my righteous and well earned peace and quiet, once the kids return to school that is, so maybe I am not reclaiming so much as waiting for the days to pass one at a time so that I can occupy the empty space; nature, much like my stomach, detests voids.

When my dreams intersect with my reality, I am forced to wonder if they are true, no not my dreams per se, but the mental message that my brain is screaming at me, and that is why I hate cleaning up, because if I had not cleaned up the library/office/comicbookshop/writingspace I would not have found my old writings and other pieces of flotsam and jetsam that make up my life allowing my mind to inquire…

What the FUCK have you been doing?

-My Introspective Mind

nuq FUCK Data’?

-My Introspective Mind in bearly better Klingon (come on Klingons, no Fuck? What the Fuck?”

Introspection is something I save for my birthday, Thanksgiving, and when watching movies with Tom Cruise. If you have seen one Tom Cruise film you have seen them all. Don’t tell me  you never noticed. He is one of the great actors like Ice Mutherfucking T, Jackie Chan, and Bruce Willis where no matter the film you get the exact same thing you got in the last film…sure it’s entertaining and I guess on some level they are acting; much like when our girl does cat voices and they all sound the same no matter the line of dialog or who is beating the crap out of what (her cats are violent at times, see why Puddles and Whiskers appeal to me?). Regardless I got what I wanted, time to be introspective and if necessary poop, which are similar in that an amount of time is spent in one place focusing on one act…

In my dreams, I tell them all where to go and show them, in color, I care not for their thoughts, desires, and expectations…

In my reality, the cashier returns to a normal color, the people in line behind me glare away, fuck them if they can’t see the funny in life right in front of them, and more importantly the funny and message of toilet paper on a baby’s head…

which once again proves that the bears are right, toilet paper is for the bum.

“I think he just loved being with the bears because they didn’t make him feel bad. I get it too. When he was with the bears, they didn’t care that he was kind of weird, or that he’d gotten into trouble for drinking too much and using drugs (which apparently he did a lot of). They didn’t ask him a bunch of stupid questions about how he felt, or why he did what he did. They just let him be who he was.”

-Michael Thomas For, Suicide Notes

And Change Comes To All

“Perhaps you had better start from the beginning.”

-White Zombie, Electric Head Part 1

Well fuck all!

Yes, fuck all.

I am bored. I am not bored with anything more than this fucking blog. I have had this blog for going on three years and another one or two blogs for just as long…granted I killed them too. Oops, spoiler alert!

Used to be that writing for Speaking Out on Life was something that I looked forward to, hell used to get a chubby for, especially when I had a plan. By  plan, I mean five or six posts in a row that had a subject or theme or whateveryoudliketocall whatever it was that I used to do, and yes that is supposed to be one very long word. Then I graduated from college and everything went to shit, because I had NOTHiNG to write about. Nothing at all and I don’t like Seinfeld anymore than anyone else did and don’t LIE everyone hated Seinfeld, deep down in your soul or wherever that pit of humanness is you hated Seinfled. It was a show about nothing, about people who had you known them you would have unfriended and tried to find someone to take them out for as many TGIMcFuckster coupons as you could gather in your grubby hands.

Floundering about. I don’t like to flounder. I do enjoy flounder, but I don’t enjoy floundering about.

Shit fuck, I got all off on a tangent before getting..damnit, starting with the begining…who here likes history…not that five years is really history, more like a story your grandparents tell about you as a child, “Yes, yes, I was naked in the bath as a baby and it was cute how i loved the bubbles and farted causing more bubbles and a stink.” Damn that was an honest moment or was it?

It wasn’t, I was never a baby. I do fart. And tell dick jokes. And say non-appropriate things in public, I call it speaking my mind and telling stories but we all have our own view of reality and myne is way more fun.

“I’m hungry and need to kill things.”

-Me to the rather baffled checkout clerk (I had bread and fly killing devices)

So history that is not really history, I studied history, I know what history is and there I was sitting in some fuck all class being “taught” by a fuckwit, not fucktard, but fuckwit who thought she knew more than me which is normally the case in the classroom, but not her and she thought she would teach me a lesson and boy did I teach her a few. And that is how Speaking Out Life was given birth. Disgusting right?

Then…

Yes, I saw the proverbial light, actually the window was open and light did shine down on the pile of crap I was attempting to clean up and there, right there, no over there was a pile of my writing. Did I mention I am a prolific writer? I should have, as I have four books, self-published of course, no one likes my writing enough to put their career at risk to publish this shitte, of previous writing and I had an AH HA moment…speaking of Ah HA moments take a moment to enjoy this video…

fun right?

Any way to make an even longer story long, I am bored of this blog as this blog’s birth had two reasons for existing…

  • A fuckwit thought I was too profane and “professional” writers cannot be profane, thus I wanted and did prove her wrong
  • College

College is over, has been over, and the fuckwit is I assume off doing fuckwit things, thus inspired by a pile of my writing which upon reflection I thought was damn good or at least a damn site (I know that is not right site) more interesting than a lot of the clap trap I put on here, thus I return to my roots and I hope those of you who used to receive the rambling enjoy your flashbacks and nightmares.

What does that mean for here…other than some cosmetic changes and a change in overall tone, next to nothing, I will continue to Scrawl away, although the amount and frequency will change to something more realistic and fitting for interest…one other change, Puddles and Whiskers are leaving, exiting stage dive, they are getting their own blog shortly. I love those cats too much not to keep writing them, but they deserve their own place. I’ll let you know.

“I am bacon to your eggs.”

“Sounds sexual, but shouldn’t that be, I am sausage to your eggs?”

“Patties or links?”

-Conversation over a shirt at Bob Evan’s

Cats in Tanks…That Would Be THE Game For Us

The point of reading rules is to one day play the game, right? I certainly hope so because over the past week I have been reading a lot of rules. Since cleaning the library/office/gameroom and sorting the games into Go, Keep, and We’ve Never Played This Piles someone has to read the rules for Never Played This Pile. That someone is me.

Plus, I have other games that we do play that have rules that need to get read. One of my roles around here is teacher of games. Teacher of games comes with the lofty sub-roles of researcher of games, purchaser of games, piler of gamers, and eventually teacher of games. I take these roles semi-seriously.

Researcher of Games is the most fun. Taking into account the likes and dislikes of each family member, such as our girl loves games with tanks, but hates games where she has to build the pieces, I know I can be relatively certain if the game has tanks that I or our boy won’t mind building she will enjoy the game. Another factor, current interests around the house, for whatever reason around here diseases that wipe out humanity or humanity is attempting to wipe out is a current trend, perhaps having a pharmacist in the house pimping flu shots has something do with that. Cats or cute animals are also always possible. Thus, the day I find a game with cats driving easy to assemble tanks our girl and everyone else will be very happy indeed.

Other factors during researching games, replayability. How many times will we play a game before the game ends up on the shelf, is an important consideration. Unfortunately, other than legacy games which have a built in number of games, determining replayability is a crap shoot, aided by free rules online (if available), reviews, and years of experience. Suffice to say even with everything inline there are games that looked great for us and were total crap.

Purchaser of Games is the most serious role. Games are expensive.  I try to avoid paying full price if possible. You should to. Maybe one day games will come down in price to make them not only affordable but desirable to purchase. As it is, shopping around is a must.

What do I do with games when they arrive home? Toss them into a pile. Not the best method, explaining how we have a large pile of games that we have Never Played. Something we are working on.

Teacher of Games, I read the rules, I break out the pieces, and I teach the games to the family. Most of the time I enjoy the role. After reading the rules I generally want to teach the game to others. Lately though I am attempting to get the children to learn the rules and teach them to us. This is important to being a good gamer. Good gamers can teach games to other people, spreading the joy of playing games to others.

All of which leads me to where I started, I have read the rules to six games, mostly disease related and mostly with similar rules, and I am hoping that we play them before I catch the flu…guess that pharmacist has more influence on games than I thought. 🙂