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Archive for the 'Boskee skee ska sko skoo skee ska skoo' Category

Aug 25 2008

DO YOURSELF A FLAVOR…

Eat crappy diet food for a while. It does, in fact, “change your taste buds,” but not as purported in the I-only-like-healthy-things-now way. No, you will still gain back all the weight (and then some), but it makes you realize real food tastes ah-maze-ing. OMG, crappuccino with full-fat half-and-half and Midnight Moo, where have you been all my life? It’s like a vegan’s wet dream…ahem. Sorry vegs.

Other bad thoughts: I call Tulip, i.e. Honky Goose, i.e. my dog - and Bosco, i.e. Beaskieskeeskee, i.e…nevermind, anyway, I call them “weenies”. No they are not weenie dogs, they are just…weenies. So this morning, fueled by the above beverage, pit stank, and unemployment, I went around singing, You Are the Wind Beneath my Weenie. Which is not to say, weiner, i.e. wang, i.e. schlong…I got in big trouble in the 7th grade for saying schlong…by the way, don’t click that, not safe for work…you did? Oops…er…i.e. weenus. It is to say, you are the wind…beneath my dog. It’s very spiritual, in its way.

What?

Quote of the Day (besides: you are the wind beneath my weenie):
My scrotum is longer than my penis!
-Jack Black character in MARGOT AT THE WEDDING

Link of the Day: See how many TV/movie quotes contain the word “scrotum”. More than you would think-! Wow.

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Apr 29 2008

BOSCO’S LEAVINGS AND LEAVING


Bosco gives new meaning to “Petco: Where the Pets Go”.
Ew.

Also, he hates, hates, HATES having his picture taken. I thought at first it was just the whirring sound the camera makes, but no. I have attempted even from quite a long way away using a telephoto lens and he still somehow senses the paparazzi. He hates it worse than the celebutards on TMZ.

Here he is, trying to leave:

-The general area
-A picnic
-Hiding under the table, wearing hoodie for disguise.

He even hates it at Christmas:
He even hates SANTA.

He hates it on Valentine’s Day. In a boat. With a goat.
He hates it WITH A CUPCAKE, for crissake…
You can almost see his whiskers quivering with revulsion.

I’m going to stop taking pictures now, or else he might explode.

(The hedgehog is a live grenade.)

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