Remember when I used to do a weekly wrap-up every Sunday except that one time when I did it late because I got lost in the Bermuda Triangle? Because that just happened. Sort of. Long story which I will probably start off and never finish. Like that time when I almost told you about how Victor and I were practically murdered in our sleep in Japan? Still in the draft folder. BUT I’M TOTALLY WORKING ON IT, I SWEAR. Also, I’ve had practically no sleep for days and I lost a dead squirrel in a canoe. More on this later. For now…the weekly wrap-up:
This week on my sex column (which is satirical and relatively safe for work if your boss isn’t a douche-canoe):
This week on the internets:
- Cat-head-balancing became weird, then awesome, then trendy and then completely ridiculous. I blame Morgan Freeman.
- Not much.
This week on shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome:
- Please do not touch the puppy. Thank you.
- “The best you can hope for in this life is that your delusions are benign and your compulsions have utility.”
- Fuck Yeah, Motherhood!
Two weeks ago I said if you donated to my friend Anissa I’d pick a commenter at random and pimp them out so I asked Hailey to pick a number between 1 and 145 and she picked “eleventy” which isn’t a number. Then I pointed out that “eleventy” isn’t a number and she was all “Duh. I said eleventeen” and then rolled her eyes at me and walked off. Awesome. In her defense she hasn’t slept much either and really DID get lost in the Bermuda Triangle and she’s also just shitty at math. She’s really good at art though. Plus she’s five so back the fuck off and stop judging her. At least she’s trying. But I’m sticking with eleven which means that Suzy is the winner. Suzy is made of starlight and sunshine and she once saved a small dog from drowning. And that dog later invented donuts. So yeah, she’s pretty bad-ass and needs a fucking statue. (Ad value: Eleventy dollars. Please report this on your taxes, Suzy.)
Does any of this make sense? I’m a little woozy and I haven’t quite recovered from my terrible decision to not buy an overpriced squirrel in a canoe that is now halfway around the world. I would have named him “Pocahontas Wikipedia” and I’d have put him under the head of James Garfield and loved him with all my heart until the cat chewed his hands off:
Then I would have loved him even more because he couldn’t even paddle and he’d be up a creek without hands which seems like a metaphor for my life. Then I would have sprinkled tabasco sauce on him so the cat wouldn’t chew on him anymore. Unless the cat is into Tex-Mex. Then that might make it worse. I don’t actually know what kind of seasoning my cat likes. I’m going to go to bed now.
More later. Probably.
Comment of the day: Good news! I found Pocahontas’ cousins. ~ Charlotte