I’m sure by now you’ve heard of LiLu over at LivitLuvit getting the job offer of a lifetime.
Then being told she had to kill, burn, maim, fuck up, beat 19 other contestants to get that job.
I won’t go into boring detail here, but you can check out her site by clicking on her name, and she will tell you how to vote for her. Near as I can tell, it’s going to go down on July 7th, and it’s all on Facebook.
The job? She’s going to be a Twitter Jockey. And since our darlin LiLu spends more time on Twitter than she does on her boyfriend, I think she’d be perfect for the job.
Here are my top ten reasons why.
1. She’s going to tweet anyway. And I’m sick to death of hearing about her fucking cats. I’d much rather hear about Megan Fox.
2. She’s promised to use “Suck it, bitches.” as her very first official tweet.
3. See picture below.
4. She has a friend named Maxie that I am almost entirely sure will kick your ass if you don’t vote for her.
5. Because if LiLu gets hired by MTV, it will give me a reason to give a flying fuck about anything MTV has done since the mid 90’s. (submitted by Jeff at Badly Drawn Monsters
6. I have it on good authority that even though she graduated from UNC, she actually loves Duke more.
7. Seriously y’all. Her cats have been on the internet more than that Pamela Anderson’s boobs. Help those cats out.
8. She created TMI Thursdays, in which I’ve admitted to some pretty gross stuff, but nothing like pulling shit out of a toilet with my bare hands. That one was all hers.
9. She may have mentioned to me in passing that she was going to get MTV to change its programming schedule. 12 hours of music, 12 hours of Jersey Shore.
10. I’m pretty sure she’s offered to show us a picture of her boobs covered with money if she wins. At least I HOPE I read that tweet right.
There you have it, folks. Stay tuned for details on voting! (Hey y’all. This little thing is called Memoir Monday, and I’d be thrilled if you gave it a shot. Just jot down a story about yourself, grab my code down there, and I’ll link you up to be read by all my wonderful blog buddies. The only rule? It has to be true. I am personally doing what I can to help cure your case of the Mondays. Thanks for playing along!)
7 years ago on this date I was driving 100 miles an hour down a little highway to a little church in a little town to participate in a little ceremony wherein The Missus would become my bride. I was 5 hours early, but I was afraid that unless I got there early, she would figure out that she really didn’t want to marry me. There was a situation with cuff links, but I lifted some off of one of my groomsmen.
As the doors to the back of the church opened, I finally realized that this was going to happen. Unbeknown to me, my father in law was telling my future bride that she really didn’t have to do this, and if she wanted to change her mind, he’d go get the car and get her out of here. So started my wonderful relationship with my in-laws.
As my glowing bride walked down the aisle, it became apparent that she was dealing with a few things. This was indicated by her spontaneously bursting into tears at about the midway point. This gravely concerned me, and when she paused briefly I was certain that I was finally waking up from a dream. Thankfully, she continued, and we were married.
It’s been a crazy 7 years, I’ve been just about the biggest idiot I can be, and she still loves me. I love her more than ever for so many reasons.
Like the time she whipped that guy’s ass for me.
Or the fact that this morning she sent me the following picture with the following caption on her way to work.
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“Idiots already.”
Or for the simple fact that she’s sacrificed so much so that I could even be alive. Which brings us to our Memoir for the day.
When we were engaged, I was invited to spend the week in Kentucky with some of her family. I’ve blogged about that, but it was one of those blogs where I found out that racism in Kentucky is not near as funny to y’all as it is to me.
Anyholesinlinens, we were driving home from the great state and we were in Missouri. We had just come out of the Lou, and we were cruising along about 70 mile an hour. We were rolling by an on ramp when we both looked over and noticed a dump truck coming down the ramp way too fast to even consider merging. He didn’t even look, y’all. Just barreled on down that ramp like he had a hot St. Louis annie and a speedball waitin on him down at the local Waffle House.
My fiancée was driving, and I was busy reading the “Diesel Fuel Only” warning on this truck’s gas tank. It was that close. We were boxed in. She was going to be in a wreck, she just had to decide who was going to get hit. She didn’t even think, y’all. She jerked the wheel her direction and slammed her side of the car into the Ryder truck in the next lane over. The great thing about all of this? It took place on a bridge.
The dump truck driver sped off, blissfully unaware of this encounter, his mind focused on Toothless Tami Jade and the meth that she always snorted off of his semi erect penis. We never did find out who was driving. Her car was totaled, but we were both fine, not a scratch on us.
And when I re-enacted the accident a short while later with a water bottle, she laughed about it.
The secret to a happy and fulfilling marriage? It’s not finding a woman who will take it. It’s finding a woman who will take it on her side and laugh about it later.
I love you, Alicia.
2 AM , I lie down deep in slumber,Feelings are falling downward, I want to forget.Waking up I hear the way your voice sounds,My heart starts to pound now, to the rhythm of yours.You’re so angelic, words so symphonic,Touch your lips to my soul, eat this sorrow away.How am I so lucky I found you?Sometimes I feel like I’m still dreaming,Each day you’re always on my mind.This is how we stay, so connected,Over space and time. -Silverstein
Here are some other Memoir Mondays! (GO READ THEM!)
Erin’s Memoir Monday: Mr. JC, Mrs. Lucy, a Lizard Egg and a Seahorse; or, Life is Fragile.
Madmother’s Memoir Monday: Toot, Toot!
Hillybilly’s Memoir Monday: Moon Dancing.
LB’s Memoir Monday: Talladega Nights…and Days. Part 2!
Barb’s Memoir Monday: I LOVE QUEBEC!
When I was growing up, Highway 51 was this little two lane road that ran from Wagoner to Coweta that took me to my grandmother’s house on Sunday’s.
I hated that road sometimes, because you’d get stuck behind a slow driver, sometimes for miles, and you couldn’t pass, and my grandma had good food cooking, and I was hungry, and I wanted good food, and these slow drivers wouldn’t let me get good food.
It was pretty lame.
Then they four laned it. Champagne fell from the heavens, the Lord stepped out of Heaven and proclaimed it good, the speed limit was changed to 65, and the drive to grandma’s house got a lot cooler.
It wasn’t until a couple of months ago I discovered the other side of Highway 51. The side that runs from Wagoner to Tahlequah, which is where I work now. The side that is ugly. The side that makes you cuss at people in the morning. The side that you want to throw whale semen and Crystal Pepsi on and deem unfit to drive on so they build a better road.
I’ve got a picture.
Seriously. You’ll never find Lost City. They have a monastery there. They have the whole town covered in some sort of monastic force field cloak type thing. Monks have mad cloaking skills, yo.
So you see Highway 51 there in all of its shittiness. Now I’d like to give you some things that you’ll run into on the drive.
I’ve got another picture that depicts 6 different things that are usually problems for me on my drive.
1. This bridge is seriously 500 years old. I am almost entirely sure that this bridge was first erected (heh) in the year 1510 to help with the Battle of Marv. It has more patches than the new iPhone 4 OS. It is one vehicle holding a fat guy away from falling into the water, and it is one of the true sources of motivation for my weight loss. It is also about 3 feet wide. I would have trouble WALKING across it and not getting stuck.
2. This is the Tri-B Nursery, employer of the most illegal immigrants in the state of Oklahoma. It’s an accomplishment, y’all. Here we usually have a person of the Latino race with a vague concept of what the words on road signs mean drive out into the middle of the highway on some sort of farm implement with a top speed of 2 MPH, taking me from 70 to 2 in a gut wrenching 3.2 seconds. And I wonder why I’m always out of brake fluid. And the greatest part? They go about 10 feet in said farm implement, stop completely, make the slowest right turn in the history of right turns, and leave the highway. I’m going to stop busting their balls though, because I seriously love Mexican food. Stay up, hombres.
3. Clear Creek Road. If you live on Clear Creek Road, you are a FUCKING RETARD. I know that the grass is so tall you can’t really see that you are pulling out into the middle of oncoming traffic, and I know that you assume we’re all still going 2 MPH following a Mexican on a tractor, but the fact of the matter is, we’ve gotten a good pace going again, and you’ve just gone and fucked it up. Also, brake checking me while going 35 is not a wise idea, because I’m looking to get a new truck anyway, and I’m pretty sure that I will fuck your Prius up. Die in a fire, Clear Creek Road.
4. The town of Hulbert. It’s a speed trap. The speed limit through this town drops down to 30 MPH. If you are going 30 and 1/2 MPH, you will get pulled over. If you are going 29.99 MPH, you will be pulled over. I have had to seriously calibrate my cruise control to get through this town unscathed. Stay classy, Hulbert cops.
5. Usually there is a dead animal of some kind laying in the road at this point. The animals I’ve seen have ranged from cow to turkey to deer to wild hogs to bald eagles to elephants to zebras and to cats and dogs. I am starting to think there is a zoo nearby, or someone is killing endangered species and planting them on the road to make it look like an accident, or a circus truck is traveling a hell of a lot lighter right now and wondering why they are getting better gas mileage. I’m open to suggestions.
6. This is the last stretch of “No Passing” zone until you get into Tahlequah. This is where you will undoubtedly have a vehicle with more than 13 axles or be longer than 10837 feet pull out onto the highway and do a steady 45 MPH on into town. This morning it was a school bus. IT IS FUCKING SUMMER. SCHOOL BUSES ARE NOT RECREATIONAL VEHICLES. To make matters worse, I think there was one kid on that bus, and I’m pretty sure they were in the backseat crying and holding a sign that said ‘HELP ME!’ Those crazy kids.
So that is the story of my drive to work daily. You might think you have it bad in rush hour, but I encourage you to come out for a ride on Highway 51. You’ll fall in love with rush hour all over again.
And you may get to see kids being abducted in school buses.
P.S. If you’ve made it this far, you are probably a fan, and that means you’ll be excited to learn that I’m going to do a Memoir Monday on Monday morning. So if you’ve been waiting to hop on that train, here is your chance.
He’s blowin up, y’all.
That’s right, Justin Kinman, aka Kid Funk, who is my very best friend and multi-talented singer/songwriter, HAS HIS VERY OWN GIG!
Obviously I don’t expect those of you in other states to go.
HOWEVER.
If you came over from Facebook or Twitter and you live in Oklahoma, and you DON’T go? I will totally disown you for the rest of my life.
He’s got a six song set, and I KNOW THE SET LIST! But I’m totally not leaking it because he asked me nicely not to.
Seriously, I’m wicked proud of him, and you should be too. He’s got a song on iTunes, you can find it
Now on to round two of my plugs on this horrid Monday morning.
LiLu over at LivitLuvit (the queen of TMI and of annoying as shit cat tweets DC) has recently been asked to be in a contest with some other loser, non-deserving bastards to be the next Twitter TJ. I really don’t know what all it entails, but she’s pretty amped because, well, it’s fuckin MTV. And they want her. And totally not sexually.
Anyway, you need to go see her site for details, and y’all can vote for her eventually. Like I said, the other folks in the contest are lame, and she is cool.
So ends my plugging of people on this fine Monday. Hope yours is better than mine.
Stay classy.
Moog got me started on this, and it’s hard to quit.
We make them over at Big Huge Labs
If you want to pay us for them, head over to his page and give him some money.
Don’t have any money? Well, hows abouts you go vote for him in his little “trying to be a talk show host” thing?
Anyway, here’s today’s offering, courtesy of the building where I work.
I love you guys, and have a great weekend.
“The man who smiles when things go wrong has thought of someone to blame it on.” -Robert Bloch
The Death of Innocence
I killed my first bad guy today.
It was an odd sensation, feeling his bones break in my hands, feeling the helplessness of him change into fear, then settle into acceptance of his fate. As I broke him, I felt something change. I’d crossed a line, and it wasn’t one I was sure about. Superman never killed anyone. Superman would rough the bad guys up a little, and then toss them away for the cops to spirit off to jail.
I’m not Superman.
For those of you asking why I killed a man, that question will be answered in short. As for an update on powers, I am pleased to report that I have not gained any more, but the ones that I have are vastly improving. I am stronger than I have ever been. I am faster, more indestructible, and am continuing to lose weight and become leaner. My entire body is changing, and it has passed the point where I can explain it with heavy weight lifting, and people are starting to talk. For this reason I stay in the house.
There have not been many opportunities for me to help others. I have been looking as diligently as I can without seeming suspicious to those around me. There are times when it seems as if the world is at peace where I live, but so many things are going wrong every where else. Should I join the military? Would I be of more help if I were a policeman or some other kind of public servant? These are the questions that keep me up at night. Well, those and the fact that I don’t seem to need much sleep anymore.
Getting back to the person I killed. My first murder. Is it murder if you are defending yourself? Some would say no, but others would argue that with my strength, I have no need of self defense. I will recount the events and let you be the judge.
I was driving my brother to the doctor in Tulsa today. The fact that I injured my brother’s eye while playing tennis is another story entirely, but suffice it to say, I’ve had to watch how hard I swing a racquet. I am fortunate I did not kill him. As I was driving, I tried to switch lanes. There was a large black SUV in the lane I was attempting to get into, and I did not see them. This prompted the other driver to flash their lights and honk their horn, and then they tried to scare me by acting as if they were going to run over my smaller car with their larger SUV.
Before thinking about it, I gave them the finger. This caused them to start following me, of which my brother was blissfully unaware because of the pain medication he was on. When I turned into the parking lot of the restaurant we were to eat at, the SUV followed me. Not wishing a confrontation, I decided to head down a side street in order to lose them. What followed was a chain of events that was as unfortunate as it was upsetting.
The street ended suddenly in an alleyway. The SUV parked behind me, its occupant getting out and starting my way. I wasn’t scared, merely annoyed that the driver was causing me to be late. As I exited the vehicle, the man coming towards me pulled a gun. I flew towards him, stunning him with the speed at which I moved. In no time at all I had him disarmed. I tossed him across the alleyway, where he proved to be most tenacious by getting up and pulling another weapon, which he leveled at my still asleep younger brother. This could not be tolerated.
I knew I was moving faster than I should. He fired the gun, and I was there before the sound followed the bullet. I caught the bullet, spun around, and threw it right back towards the gunman, but my aim was off. It struck him high in the right shoulder, and it was more of a graze than a wound. He rose to fire again, and I had him in my steel grip in milliseconds. He relinquished his grip on the firearm, but I failed to loosen mine. He began to plead with me, begging me for his life.
When he realized he was going to die, he went quiet. There was still a fear in his eyes, but there was also a realization that there was no escaping this. I don’t know why I didn’t let up. I don’t know why it was so hard for me to stop. His spine snapped and I kept bending. When I looked up and saw my younger brother staring at me, I realized that I had almost broken the man entirely in half.
It wasn’t a bad feeling, and that’s what scared me. Thanks to pain medication, my brother thinks his mind was playing tricks on him, and when I tapped him lightly on the head to put him back under, I told him it was all a dream. He believed me.
But I can’t kill again. I won’t kill again. From now on, I need to be like Superman. What would Superman do? He would rough up the bad guys a little, and then toss them away for the cops to spirit off to jail.
But I’m not Superman…On this day last year, I sat down at a computer, and I typed my very first blog. Prior to that, I had been reading Johnny Virgil over at 15 Minute Lunch, Diesel over at Mattress Police, and Shine over at Shine Out Loud, and I decided that since they were making people laugh, I would too.
So I created this little slice of heaven. Few of you probably remember my original layout. It was really gay. I won this new thing in a contest, one of many things I’ve won.
Let’s review a couple of things that have happened in that year.
1. My very first blog follower was Statgirl, although Jeff over at Bad Monsters joined real quickly.
2. My blog started attracting Google searchers when I wrote a post about Birthday Sex
3. Tamara from Cheapskate Mom found me when she Googled that song for a post, then I won her caption contest, further increasing my follower count.
4. I got pissed when I couldn’t get over 50 followers and vowed to you that I wouldn’t be concerned with it anymore. I lied. I now have 258. I want more, dammit. Tell your friends. Now. Seriously. Do it.
5. I’ve had 5 jobs in the last year…you’ve heard about them all.
6. I started Memoir Monday in August of last year, and I’ve slacked on it here lately. It will come back, I promise.
7. I learned that racism in Kentucky doesn’t get you near as many comments as a good poop story.
8. I joined the ranks of TMI hosted by LiLu, and further increased my traffic.
9. Kid Funk got a blog…then neglected it like my last 4 fish.
10. I FINALLY got Shine and Johnny Virgil to comment on a post. Still waiting for Diesel.
11. I’ve shown you all more than once that I still have daddy issues.
12. I introduced you to The Missus
13. I’ve won about $200 worth of stuff over the past year.
14. I tried to write a novel in a month
15. I encountered the great diet epic fail of ’10
16. My popularity peaked at 56 comments…on a poop story
17. I told the entire blog community I have a small penis, prompting Shine to have a weird conversation with a co-worker
18. I WOUND UP ON THE TYRA BANKS SHOW. Thanks once again to Tamara at Cheapskate Mom.
19. I tried out for The Biggest Loser…and failed…
20. …but I really won, because when I started blogging one year ago today, I weighed in at 370 pounds. This Sunday when I weigh in, the scale is going to say under 300, and I’m throwing a party. You’re invited.
21. I participated in a real life blog get together called TAR in St. Louis.
Over the last year I have made friends and lost friends, both real and virtual, and it has been one hell of a ride. I’d like to say this would go on forever, but unfortunately that’s not possible. I have chosen the one year anniversary of my blog to tell you that I’m shutting this place down.
Naw. I’m just yankin ya. I gots shit going on right now, folks. That’s why I’m so slow on posting. But right now, we’re trying to get The Missus pregnant, we both have new jobs, we’re both losing weight, we’re trying to exercise, and really, the blogging world has me pretty jaded right now. I’ll be back though, and in the meantime I’m trying to pump just enough posts into this thing to keep it afloat. I did the same thing to your mother that one time we were stranded at sea.
ZING!
Seriously though, I love you all, and this has been one hell of a ride. I look forward to what the next year brings, and it damn well better bring me smaller titties.
Stay up.
That’s what she said.
ZING!
Dear Apple Juice,
As you dripped down my finger and onto my shirt this morning, I couldn’t help but notice some things. You didn’t stain my shirt, you didn’t make me smell bad the rest of the day, and you didn’t make me cuss really loud and swerve all over the road trying to hurriedly blot you with a napkin. Instead, I just kept eating the apple you came from, and I laughed a little at how much things have changed in my life. Thanks for the help in losing 66 pounds, and I have no doubt that you’ll get me to under 300 this week. I love you, and I’ll make sweet, sweet love to your core if that’s what you want, I just need to clear it with The Missus.
Insulinlly Yours,
Travis
Dear Greasy and Turribly Fattening Breakfast Foods That Almost Ruined My Life and Ruined Several Shirts That Don’t Fit Now Anyway Cause I’m Gettin Skinny,
Fuck you, and you can kiss my ass. You’ve been replaced by apple juice. Go ruin someone else’s shirt, bitch. I totally did it with your sister, and she LOVED it. And I banged your mom.
Peace,
Travis
I went in to our lovely neighborhood Wal-Mart this morning to get breakfast, which was an orange and a banana.
The lady before me had chicken laid on the counter, and when the cashier scanned it, I could see the juice still on the counter, and then on the scanner.
I HAD FRUIT TO EAT.
YOU HAVE TO WEIGH FRUIT.
I thought, “Surely she’ll give it a quick spray before she tries to check me out. Folks, SHE WIPED IT OFF WITH HER HAND.
The hand, I might add, that she was going to grab my fruit with. She just smeared the chicken juice all over the place, and I almost threw up.
So I’m standing there, facing a quandary. Do I hand over my fruit, watch her grab it in her nasty Salmonella hand, scan it on the Salmonella scanner, and then put it in a plastic bag to wallow in it’s Salmonella-ness? Or do I say something, which I think is pretty douchey of me?
We were at an impasse. We stared at each other. A tumbleweed rolled by. A train whistled in the background. I was contemplating just how long food poisoning would take to get over, and how much weight I’d lose in the process, and she was wondering what the hell was taking so long.
Finally…
“Ma’am, can you disinfect that scanner before you put my breakfast on it?”
“OH! Sure I can! Sorry about that.”
The counter was wiped, she entered my fruit, I paid up, and walked out of the store feeling pretty good about how I’d avoided a terrible illness. It wasn’t until I had eaten most of my banana that I realized…
…she’d never washed her hand.
Bananas and oranges have peels though, so it’s okay…right?
Also, Erin? You’ll be glad to know I didn’t get the plastic bag. I opted to carry my fruit out with my hands and no bag at all. I’m going green, even if it’s with food poisoning.
Lord, beer me immunity.