Five Year Bloggyversary

It’s been five years now since my first post wherein I ruined the Internet by posting useless drivel, as opposed to all the salient data available before. During those years I have grown – nay, blossomed – from a healthy and intelligent IT professional beginning to be published in the realm of fiction but with no girlfriend into a perpetually sick old guy with memory problems, a lack of imagination, and still no girlfriend. For my wood anniversary, I decided to do something special and to share with you all the wisdom I have accumulated over the ages. So, for your edification, I list everything blogging has taught me.

1) Not much.
2) The Internet allows you to meet a diverse multitude of people, many of whom are amazingly stupid and use the anonymity of the bloggysphere to behave in ways they would never dare to in real life.
3) Despite making fun of their generally boring blog posts, the ones I call xtian mommy kitty bloggers tend to be the nicest and (surprisingly) most open-minded and accepting of all people. All of the considerable Internet drama I have been embroiled in has generally been with people best described as left-leaning socially liberal intellectuals. I would count myself as one of them, but that group has too many twats* for me to seek membership.
* for added fun, pronounce that word with a short “a” as in “hat”
4) Asian women are hot.

Thank you for enduring my words. As a reward, bunny follows. Since this is an anniversary post, only the hottest (2nd only to my dentist, that is) J-bunny Ebi-chan will do:

Hail Satan!

Busy

For the forseeable future I'll be either at work, at the hospital, or at home in bed trying to recover from the first two. When I return to regular blogging, hopefully some of you will have something to talk about other than Michael Jackson, which includes those of you with nothing better to blog than how sick you are of hearing about Michael Jackson. I myself am already sick of hearing about people saying they are sick of hearing about him, which puts me ahead of the curve.

My 5 year blogiversary will be coming in about a week, and I'll try to do something special for it, such as posting a picture of a hot Asian woman. To tide you over in the meantime, here is yet another picture of my new #2 favorite Japanese model, Sora Aoi, aka Boobie Bunny.

Wordless Bunny Wdnesday

Father’s Day

This is too late to help you for this year’s Father’s Day, but hopefully it will keep you from wrecking another celebration for that special dude in your life.

I’ve noticed a tendency in our society to view the differences between men and women as a matter of right vs. wrong, and it’s always the men who are deemed wrong. The movies Old School and Juno both featured men who were not ready / capable of being in the type of relationship their wives wanted, and people criticized the men for being overgrown adolescents instead of calling the women manipulative bitches who were trying to force change on the person they supposedly loved unconditionally. Note to planet Earth - those were fictional characters you were complaining about.

The same attitude seems to surface when it comes time for celebrations and gift-giving. For Mother’s Day, I heard a lot of moaning from women about how their men mishandled the event – no card, card didn’t come with a fancy envelope, card in a fancy envelope wasn’t accompanied by flowers, gift wasn’t useless enough (note to men – never buy a woman anything that actually does something), gift not properly wrapped or boxed, card in a fancy envelope with accompanying flowers and boxed gift didn’t include dinner reservations, etc. All this whining is completely understandable – it’s the woman’s special day, she’d like to be treated in a certain way, and men who are unable or unwilling to get it right make it seem like they are dismissing the woman who bore their children.

Then comes Father’s Day, and I heard a lot of women talk about how they would show him how it’s done – card in a fancy envelope, flowers, useless gift, etc. The problem is they’re doing exactly what they said the men did wrong – not celebrating his special day in his way. Since so many women seem to be unable to understand the needs of their men, complicated creatures that they are, I have included a simple step-by-step plan to help get you through the day.

1. Get naked and stay that way.
2. Skip the fancy envelope since it’s only going to get trashed. Skip the card too unless it’s really funny or includes nude pictures. Definitely skip the flowers.
3. The gift should actually do something useful. Skip the decorative packaging. For bonus points, completely remove it from the box / bubble packaging and throw away those instructions he’ll never use.
4. Breakfast in bed, best scheduled at the crack of noon. I recommend a bowl of pulled bbq pork strapped to your head while you deliver the first of the day’s many bj’s.
5. Anal sex. Since it’s his special day, you’ll be playing defense.
6. Go to the store and rent a video with a high titty to talking ratio, preferably with lots of ‘splodey things. Japanese movies are good for mixing action with porn. Yes, I know you’re still naked.
7. Dinner should not include dressing up or even leaving the house. I recommend a slice of pizza and a six-pack strapped to your head during the evening bj.

And that’s how it’s done. If you read all that, you owe me a dollar.

Daddy wants bunny.

More Hospital Fun

The protestants had their go at me, so it was time to let the Catholics prod me and drain my bodily fluids. I thought I was returning to the hospital I liked, but the directions to the office lead me into the enormous campus across the street. After a quick look at the Catholic mega hospital, I nicknamed it St. Avarice.

The interior looks more like an upscale shopping mall than a hospital – hardwood floors, decorative benches, potted plants, gilded lighting fixtures, and frosted glass doors with brass handles. Directly across from the lab was what appeared to be an upscale dress shop. The waiting room was dominated by a giant plasma screen TV. Although I don’t want to go to another hospital that looks like the dingy old paint is deliberately there to hide the dirt and cockroaches, I really don’t want to have to pay for all the opulence in St. Avarice. Hospital #2 is still my favorite.

Fortunately, the endocrinologist seemed nice and actually interested in getting a full personal history. He might actually try to treat me as an individual instead of a disease with one and only one set of symptoms and treatment. This was just an initial greeting, so we’ll see. He sent me to the lab and they took six vials of blood and a cup of urine. Nobody ever asks me for a bucket of shart, which I’m sure I could fill on command.

Now we’re just waiting for the results to come back, which I’m sure will say that I’m low on blood. Also, they decided to check my cholesterol this time, after telling me to eat more eggs. If the doctors prescribe bourbon the next time, I’ll know they’re setting me up for a liver test.

So, the Catholics have had their fun. I hope my next appointment is with a Voodou witch doctor. Or a hot bunny.

Wordless Wednesday

RIT – Random Illness Tuesday

When I was in the good hospital, the nurses asked what goals I wanted to achieve. Although I appreciate being allowed to participate in my treatment, I couldn’t help but think “I’m in a hospital – what do you think my goal is? To get the hell out of here and hopefully never see you again. No offense.” And even though I said “no offense”, they always got offended. So I changed my answer to the generic one I give out in any situation whenever people ask my goals – “To increase my killing power.”

My right foot stinks. Every Tuesday they numb it, flay the flesh from my heel, then cover it with various gunks. It has a loud medicinal smell for the next twenty-four hours. After that, the stench of old blood and stale sweat overpowers the goo. By the end of the week, I’ve really got my reek on (I’m not allowed to change the bandage or clean the area). I’m sure this impresses the bunny pharmacists (yes, there are more than one) when I go to see them. “Look – it’s Ol’ Stinkfoot.” Sounds like a pirate name. At least it’s better than my previous nickname / condition – Ol’ Shartbucket.

I’ve noticed my blood pressure tests are worse when the nurses repeatedly check it. They put the pressure cuff on my arm and activate the machine, which says my blood pressure is very healthy (it’s always been naturally low), then the nurse acts like she can’t believe I could possibly have normal blood pressure, resets the machine, keeps reactivating it and driving the pressure in the cuff up until it feels like my arm is about to break, then finally announces that I have high blood pressure. Is it possible that the added pressure and repeated tests cause a backup which increases my BP? Naturally, it’s at the bad hospital that this happens, not at my regular doctor’s office.