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I was always told NOT to talk to strangers. However, when they promise "free candy" if I'll just hop in their van to help them find their missing puppy, I cannot resist. I'm only helping, right?
entry # 2,692
The other day I was out driving my conversion van with the dark tinted windows and got lost looking for Poppei Street. After spending twenty minutes driving around aimlessly I swallowed my male pride and asked some kid if he could be handy and help me find Poppei Street. Suddenly this rascal hops into my van and tries to sit on my lap so he can show me the way. The next thing I know a cop pulls up and now I have to register with the state.
I recently tried to grow facial hair but as this was my first real attempt at a beard all I managed was a face full of spagnum peat.
It doesn't matter how fun and orange, there comes a time when a man must put away his Circus Peanuts and move on to the cultured cuisine that only Li'l Debbie can provide.
I'm pretty sure a guy I hung out with in high school is a manager at a local grocery store. I'd like to say "hello" and see how he's been but I can't remember if it was him or his girlfriend that I threw gravy on at the Prom and accused of helping "the red man" through the underground railroad. I'd really hate to be embarrassed.
Scott thinks that he single-handedly saved TDJ from October but we all know that he had help from his coven of pixie elves.
As I sit at my desk I'm thinking that possibly my shoes stink. It's either that or the wino to whom I sublet the space under my desk. Normally he's out of here by 7:15 to panhandle but today is a national wino holiday so he's puttering around and generally making a nuisance of himself. At least he isn't buck naked and giving himself a sponge bath in the break room like he did last year.
After an in-depth analysis I'm pretty sure that The Mars Volta are actually well-dressed turkies with highly evolved opposable thumbs.
I know this is a bit late but I thought our reader might enjoy having the cockles of his heart warmed knowing that each year after our big Thanksgiving meal, the young and old gather in front of the TV to watch that Thanksgiving Turkey classic Blood Freak. The festivities usually end with each of us acting out the parts and this year I get to be the girl who screams the same scream for three straight minutes!!!!
"Hey baby, what's yer sign?" is possibly not the best pick up line one could use on a Christian Singles cruise.
This year marks the 40th anniversary of The Charlie Brown Christmas special. A show like this, with it's brazen presentation of the real meaning of Christmas, would never get made today. To me this shows that we have less freedom today than we did forty years ago. Yes, we have allowed a vocal minority to steal our ability to publically discuss Christian faith without apology or even fear of a lawsuit. And if my granfpa is to be believed, they've also stolen his best underpants and his Jim Neighbors 8-track collection.
My grandma used to give us craft items for Christmas, things like construction paper, markers, crayons, Elmer's glue, and shiny gold glitter! One year she gave me a package of colored pipe cleaners and grandpa got me my first pipe. It was tough giving up the chew at eight but I've grown to love my cherished pipe, even after the cut off my canceorus lower lip.
My work just added a third T1 line. Now I can download even MORE pictures of Scott Baio during a regular work day!
Growing up in a small Midwestern town, I can still remember some of the wise old sayings of my grandpa. "Boy," he would say, "if robots could make soup, I'd be a twenty-dollar bill." That wasn't one of the wise sayings. He came up with that one when I secretly filled his coffee cup with cough syrup. I think he even ended up passing out sometime after that, but he was so wise!
If I could have just one superhero trait, I'd pick bionic hair because I'm pretty sure no one else would already have it and people wouldn't expect something like that.
I forgot to mention that "The Goat of Your Transgressions" recently received a note (ok, it was three months ago, sue us). Anyway, here it is...
I just want to thank YOU for all
you have done.The cinder block thing
didn't work too well though, m/b i am
a sissy or something.
Best wishes to you and please get some
lozenges for that bleat it sounds awful.
Last year my son asked the mall santa for a ride in a helicopter. Two days later I had a stroke and the whole family went for a spin in the medical copter. This year he asked to see a working fire truck and I'm pretty nervous.
The word on the street is that the Elves at the North Pole have formed a union. Expect 20% less toys this year but at least the Elves have dental coverage.
Everyone jokes that Rudolph's nose is red because of a drinking problem but few take a good hard look at Blitzen's fondness of those weeds that grow out back of Warehouse #3.
I know someone in the publishing business and I have it on good authority that the next Harry Potter book will be called, Harry Potter and the Cave of Transvestite Lumberjack Ninja Dogs." It will be the darkest book of the series.
I live in Indianapolis. It's a fairly large metropolitan area of over a million people. We have an NFL football team, an NBA team, three of the largest auto races in the world, a thriving downtown, a symphony orchestra, etc. I think we live in a pretty "big" town until the front page of our newspaper features a story on Al Roker visiting our town.
At TDJ Laboratories, we've been cross-breeding an animal that's 49.5% cat, 49.5% house fern and 1% Michael Jackson's DNA. The beauty of this green, leafy, independent critter is that you only have to give it water and a pot of dirt (which also serves as it's litter box) and it creates it's own food via photosynthesis. The 1% Michael Jackson DNA was part of an agreement where Mr. Jackson agreed to finance the project. (And the answer to your question is, "No, we don't know what method Mr. Jackson used to provide the DNA.")
In an effort to increase our readership, the other two writers of this web site have volunteered to undergo gastric bypass surgery, on the condition that a live video feed of the procedure is streamed on the Internet. I have been elected to operate the video camera. I will also be tossing Skittles into the incision openings from a distance of 10 feet. Place your bets online now to see how accurate my Skittle-tossing is.
With all of the uproar over the supposed "War Over Christmas," I will no longer be using the terms "Holidays," "Christmas," or "Season." Instead, the date of December 25 will henceforth be known as "Jesusmas." Please inform your family, neighbors, and Wal-Mart employees.
Tis the season to drink way too much rum-spiked-eggnog on Christmas Eve, and end up snapping Great Aunt Edna's bra strap in front of the kids.
The other two Daily Journal writers have backed out of their contractual agreement to undergo gastric bypass surgery live on the great big InterWeb. Therefore, I've decided to take one for the team. I'll be having a live ferret surgically implanted in my left kneecap on New Year's Day. I couldn't find a doctor that would agree to perform the operation, but luckily I found a "Do-It-Yourself" kit on eBay for a good "Buy-It Now" price.
Some may argue but I find nothing wrong with giving my kids 10 oz tubs of Red #5 in their stockings.
During the entire long Christmas, er, Jesusmas weekend my left calf hurt. I contacted my astrologer, my family physician, and my psychologist who each wanted to see me in their office right away! However all it took was the wisdom of a child to point out that I had a doberman clamped tight to my leg and two sticks of dynomite later I was free of pain.
I wish I was the little brother of a president. I promise that I wouldn't embarrass my older, more successful sibling like Billy Carter. I would just laugh quietly to myself outside the local Big Lots and invite myself over for State Dinners wearing my best Halloween costume.
With just two days left of 2005 it looks like my earlier prediction that 2005 would be THE YEAR OF THE ACCORDION is about to fall flat. I suppose I should have based my research of more than asking a small sampling of Italian retirees from down the street but hey, CBS polls have been built on less.
No one will read this entry because Roger will immediately start a January 2006 page as a way to distract him from the discomfort of his unsightly buttock boils.