ooohhh.. licky here!

i'm not suppose to be here right now. i really should be working on that newsletter of ours. but i saw something disturbing yesterday. and i can't get it out of my head.

i really can't.

so i was at the mall. and i saw this mother holding her kid, who was eating ice cream. the kid was about four. and we all know how four year olds eat ice cream, right? no? well, then close your eyes for a minute and go back to the time you were four and you were eating ice cream off a cone.

yeah, you were licking it with your lips and not with your tongue, weren't you?

admit it.

liar.

so the kid was licking it with his lips... and nose... and was creating this big rocky road mess on his face. and i was fine with that because he's a kid.

what got to me was the mother. she turned around and saw her kid and i thought i got good courtside tickets for some good old fashioned ass whoopin'! i found myself actually rooting for the mother to beat the living crap out of her kid. but it didn't happen.

instead, she took out a hanky, licked it then proceeded to wipe her kid's face with it.

holyfuckingmotherofchristeatingcheesecakes!!! what the fuck was that?!

then she did it again. but seeing the hanky all soiled up and realizing she didn't want to get her tounge in there, she spit on it instead. she continued wiping her kid, with more vigorous rubbing this time you can actually see the child's face turn from red to violet.

holyfuckingmotherofchristpumpinggasinsomeremotegasstation!!!! fuck!!! eeewwww!!!!

that poor kid. if his mother started beating him up instead, then he could at least have kicked the bitch's shin and shoved her down the stairs. but no. he was wiped clean with a hanky drenched in mother's spit. he didn't have a choice. a chance. and he didn't even finish his ice cream. poor kid!

now, i have read about books upon books about parenting (i'm that paranoid of screwing somebody else's life) and i tell you i have never, ever encountered a chapter, a paragraph, or even a sentence that says when a woman becomes a mommy, her spit suddenly becomes AJAX.

yes. AJAX. or any cleaning agent for that matter. i wish it were true, though.

imagine all the possibilities if all mothers have AJAX spit.

you're running late for a meeting and you spill some mocha latte on your shirt? no problem. ask the nearest mother to spit on your shirt. go ahead. don't be shy. she'll give it a full "hwuuwakptu!" (coincidentally, "hwuuwakptu" is not only the international sound effect of spit but also the name of a malaysian senator.) give it a few scrubs, and there you have it good as new.

and don't worry, i've been told that spit dries quickly and rarely leaves a mark, unless of course the mother's been chewing on a bar of hershey's dark chocolate, because 7 out of 10 mothers always do.

then you're fucked.

//i'm out.

hey, can you dig it?

i can just feel this carrot slide in and out of my funhole! (y'knowwattymsayin'?)

it was this rare thing that happened yesterday (you know what i'm saying?) that i got home early (you know what i'm saying?) around 6 PM (you know what i'm saying?).

it was great (y'knowwattymsayin'?) and i had the chance to have dinner with my family (y'knowwattymsayin'?) and spend some quality time with them (y'knowwattymsayin'?). and after dinner, we all went to the living room to watch tv (y'knowwattymsayin'?) and i had the opportunity (y'knowwattymsayin'?) to watch shows that i haven't seen for about a year now (y'knowwattymsayin'?).

after watching tv (y'knowwattymsayin'?), i kissed the kids good night (y'knowwattymsayin'?) and i went back to watch some more tv (y'knowwattymsayin'?). so i was surfing channels (y'knowwattymsayin'?) and apparently i got hooked on mtv (that didn't surprise me - (y'knowwattymsayin'?)) and on this show called cribs... mtv cribs (y'knowwattymsayin'?). it amazed me to no end that houses and condo units (y'knowwattymsayin'?) owned by celebrity millionaires ( not just celebreties, but celebrity millionaires (y'knowwattymsayin'?)) that have the market value of at least five million bucks (including furnishings, appliances, cars and shit (y'knowwattymsayin'?)) can be called a crib (y'knowwattymsayin'?).

what annoyed me, however (y'knowwattymsayin'?), is not how these celebrity millionaires paraded their riches in front of everyone (y'knowwattymsayin'?), but how these celebrity millionaires think everyone (y'knowwattymsayin'?) is as dumb as they are (y'knowwattymsayin'?).

i tell you, it's the only show on tv(y'knowwattymsayin'?) and probably the only period in my entire life (y'knowwattymsayin'?) when i'll ever hear the phrase... yep, you guessed it... "Y'KNOWWATTYMSAYIN'?" a record 84,000 times in a span of 30 minutes (y'knowwattymsayin'?). what the fuck is up with that?!!!! (y'knowwattymsayin'?)

now it's got me hooked. i can't take it out of my head (y'knowwattymsayin'?). it's like a virus. it's stuck right there (y'knowwattymsayin'?). like a piece of annoying, decomposing food wedged between the molars at the back of my mouth and no matter what you do with a toothpick, toothbrush, floss, or a jack hammer, you can't seem to get it out of there (y'knowwattymsayin'?).

what ticked me more is how they say "Y'KNOWWATTYMSAYIN'?" not as an expression but like you're really dumb enough not to understand what it was they were saying (y'knowwattymsayin'?).

like...

"and this is my bed y'knowwattymsayin'? this is where it all goes down y'knowwattymsayin'?."
-- yeah fucktard, it's where you sleep and have sex with shallow women.

"and this is my pool y'knowwattymsayin'? it has a jacuzzi and has a lot of water in it y'knowwattymsayin'?"
-- yeah, well, like it's supposed to be filled with jello or beans or something? of course it's filled with water, dumbass!

"and this here is my pimpin' ride baby y'knowwattymsayin'?. it's got its motor under the hood y'knowwattymsayin'? check it out."
-- well, i'll be darned if your car had the motor attached at the side of its 24-inch rims, mr. henry ford.

"and this here is my fridge y'knowwattymsayin'? aw, nevermind man, there's nothing to pimp here y'knowwattymsayin'?"
-- oh i would love it if you pimp me that carrot right there. how much for an hour of fun with that carrot? ten bucks? wow! i'd be inserting it in my funhole now if you don't mind.

"and this here is my bathtub y'knowwattymsayin'? it's where my ladies and me take a bath y'knowwattymsayin'? we just lay here at opposite ends, facing each other, just kickin' it y'knowwattymsayin'?"
-- i'm sorry. you're kicking what? so you're facing each other with legs stretched out and just "kickin' it? whoa! so lemme get this straight. that's you kicking her clam and her kicking your nuts and you're all just hanging around eh? weird celebrities. fucking weird celebrities! yeah, i know what you're saying you saddistic piece of shit!

and so that concludes this post (y'knowwattymsayin'?).

//i'm out.

the devil can wear knitted bikini briefs by tommy hilfiger for all i care!

merryl streep never looked so delicious! uh-huh!

this is not about the movie.

i haven't seen it. i'm too stupid to see dark comedies peppered with wit and sarcasm. i don't get them. and i love fashion as much as i'd love to have eight dentists suck raw nerves out of my jaw. yeah, that's fashion for me in a nutshell. eight jewish dentists sucking raw nerves through my lower-left second molar. now i'm not anti-semitic. i'm actually anit-mel gibson.

but i loved braveheart. and the lethal weapon franchise. i actually liked joe pesci there. oh, and don't forget mad max. wicked, rad hair. ah, mad max. the passion of the christ would've been better if mel played... well, christ. but he just had to direct it, didn't he? he just had to.

mel-gib (his street name) speaks good hebrew, though. believe me, he does. especially when he's drunk and babbles hebraic verses to pick up hot blondes half his age. yes, the hebraic charm works all the time with all the "ankh..anschkl..skhkach" phlegm-atic-phonetic sounds there. hebrews actually have 164 vowels. true. i bet you didn't know that, huh?

and with that, ladies and gentlemen, i would like to say:

hey, turds! i'm back. and i love you all!

back from a month-long battle with testicular cancer.

well, not really. i just think that having testicular cancer would be a cute excuse for not being here. ain't it a cute excuse? me thinks so.

so i haven't been here. boo-fucking-hoo! so what? it's no reason to hate on me. because i've been to your fucking blogs and i've been commenting and spewing venomous comments here and there and you never come here and you still ask me why i don't fucking post. you don't come here and you still know i'm not posting? how the fuck does that work? no, seriously. it's like i'm telepathically channeling my lack of blog updates or something.

you know why i know you haven't been here. because i actually posted about a month ago and i generated like 8 comments, which is pretty acceptable at this day and age. but my inbox records at least 10 more emails asking me to post.

i'm like, you haven't even visited the damn place, how do you know i haven't posted you demanding slug? you have? well, where the fuck is your comment then?

none. nada. zero.

look, if you want to be friends, then at least leave a mark when you come in here. because i get off on comments pretty fast. uh-huh. i don't care what you do... pee on the door or something, just leave a mark. that way, when i wake up in the morning and check this pathetic blog i can smell your piss and say, "hmm... emilio's been here and he's asking me to update this blog to make his empty life more meaningful. i'll do it!" (ta-daan!)

and who the fuck names their children "emilio" anyway. that's just wrong.

//i'm out.