Play That Funky Music, White Boy

Here's your sign

Something is wrong with me.

I mean, that goes without saying, obviously. But I don't mean like the usual, creepy, pathetic, whiney-assed way that you all are accustomed to. I mean I am sick.

No, not mentally. Fuckers!

I have been sicker over the past 3 or 4 years than I have in my entire life. I have no idea why. But it's getting to be really, really annoying.

All last week I was just exhausted. Like, falling over kind of exhausted. Over the weekend I slept a grand total of 24 hours.

And it didn't do any good.

Monday I called into work sick. Tuesday, too. Wednesday I was here, but not exactly in tip-top condition.

Today I had the shit from hell.

Yes, of course I'm going to tell you about it. What kind of blog do you think this is? I'm a naked man on a toilet sitting beside the fucking highway, for cryin' out loud.

It was one of those shits that leaves your entire ass covered in disgustingness, so that you almost need to wrap your entire arm in toilet paper just to reach back there without contaminating yourself. And even that wasn't enough. I was shit-covered from cheek-to-cheek. And it wasn't even an exploding poo session, either. It was just a regular poo. Or so I thought. Then it came time to wipe and I'm like dripping poo, as if someone had sprayed my entire ass with a poo hose. WTF????


Aaaaaaah ... shit!

I'm bumping into things. I'm falling down. I'm dropping things. I can't fucking type. I feel like the Rainman trying to drive Charlie Babbit's Buick Roadmaster or something.

Yeah, so I'm old enough to remember that movie. What of it? Fuck you if you don't remember it because you were born in the 1990s. You're probably still wearing diapers. Although to be fair, I probably should be, too, at this rate.

I'm sitting here sweating like a pig. It's not hot. It's actually kind of cool today. And here I am sweating up my polo shirt like some fat old balding loser who eats hot wings for breakfast and drinks beer as a 'health food' while his fat old wife screams at him to put some pants on because company is coming over.

My fucking shoe keeps coming untied. What is up with that?


One day you and I will be married

Last night I wrote an email to someone I mention so often here on my blog that everyone thinks I actually know her, stalk her, or might even be married to her. Some of you concerned citizens even write to her to warn her, "I think this guy in Memphis might be KUH-RAY-ZEE. Do you own a gun or anything because I'm worried for your safety." Yeah, I'm a real catch, don't you think? All poopie and stumbling and sweaty and wearing a stinky polo shirt and no pants and can't keep my shoes tied and living in a shithole city where our biggest star died sitting on the toilet with his tongue sticking out of his mouth and his pants around his ankles? My profile picture is ironically appropriate for Memphis when you consider that, ain't it?

Yup. Sho'nuff.


Hey look, it's Memphis Steve!

I was just sitting here contemplating my Loserness when this song suddenly popped into my head this morning. I haven't been able to shake it all day. I think it's oddly appropriate, though. It goes like this:


When you were here before,
Couldn't look you in the eye
You're just like an angel,
Your skin makes me cry

You float like a feather
In a beautiful world
I wish I was special
You're so fuckin' special

But I'm a creep,
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doin' here?
I don't belong here

I don't care if it hurts,
I wanna have control
I want a perfect body
I want a perfect soul

I want you to notice
when I'm not around
You're so fuckin' special
I wish I was special

But I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doin' here?
I don't belong here, ohhhh, ohhhh

She's running out again
She's running out
She run run run run...
run... run...

Whatever makes you happy
Whatever you want
You're so fuckin' special
I wish I was special

But I'm a creep,
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doin' here?
I don't belong here

I don't belong here...


Yeah, so apparently being sick and perpetually exhausted isn't exactly doing wonders for my self-esteem either. I get that. I just don't know what exactly to do about it. I might go see a doctor, but my doctor is rather old and drives a car exactly like my mom's. Sue me, but I don't have much faith in anyone who drives those things. I know, I know, that's rather prejudiced of me and all that. But it's how I feel.


Just as Memphis Steve reached Sydney harbor, an iceberg appeared from nowhere ...

Something tells me I'm not ever going to make it to Australia. I keep saving money and disasters keep popping up to burn that money up. My own mother sideswiped my car in her driveway. From front to back. Yeah, so she probably shouldn't be driving anymore. I get that. And she sure as hell shouldn't be driving a big-assed fucking Ford Police Interceptor Crown Victoria. That's a given. But I'd like to see you try to pry that driver's license out of her hand and see how far you get. She's Scotch-Irish. You have fun with that. Anyway, my pickup broke down. And my 4x4 needs 4 new tires. They cost $150 each. And thanks to a certain someone coming to visit me late at night after everyone has gone to bed I have to put some additional security up at my house, which costs and costs. And the list goes on.


Mom, put the radar gun away and stop harassing people.

So anyway, let's see if I can make it to the end of this week without dying or getting swine flu or something. It isn't looking good so far. If I can just avoid shitting my pants I suppose I should consider that a major victory.

You know what? Tonight I'm supposed to go out drinking with a beautiful girl I know. Maybe I'll try hitting on various women just to see if I get any responses worth blogging about, like a kick in the crotch or pepper spray down the pants or something. 'Cause you know what a ladies man I am, right? They can't resist me. Without using weapons anyway.

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Sick

I'm home sick today. My case of The Poops has gotten worse until I was finally forced to stay home from work.

Staying home does not thrill me. I always feel like I should be doing something. I always feel like I should be at work. And also, being at my parents' house during the week, I feel like I don't really belong here and this is not my home, so I'm not entirely comfortable.

I see our lovely stock market has decided to free-fall again. That's awesome. Just what we needed. Maybe it'll fall to zero and we'll all be wiped out? Then we can vote this November based entirely on fear and panic instead of other equally superficial emotions.

Ah, as I sit here I can feel the poop welling up inside me again. Guess I'm off to the toilet.

POOya!




Oh, before I go, here's a deep and insightful video I stole from Kate Lord Brown, an absolutely beautiful woman with a very deep blog ...

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Blah Blah Monday

Saturday morning, My Wife and I and a Real Estate Man drove around looking at houses out in Boondocks, Tennessee.


Boondocks
Boondocks is just east of Redneckville, where I currently live. Redneckville is east of Memphis. Snooty Town is between Memphis and Redneckville. So, if we buy a house out in Boondocks it'll put us about 30 minutes to an hour from Memphis, depending on traffic and which way you take.

I've noticed something while looking out in Boondocks. People are much friendlier in Boondocks than they are in Redneckville. In Boondocks, if I wave to some stranger walking down the street, even if that stranger is a woman, they wave back. In Redneckville, they glare at you and stick their noses into the air.

Interestingly, I've never tried to wave at anyone in Snooty Town, but I'm guessing it's some sort of crime to wave at anyone there. They're much too good for that sort of thing in Snooty Town.

Anyway, we've found 2 houses that we like very much, and without looking any further, we're already debating about which one we want. This is a good thing because we've desperately needed to move into a larger house for a long time. We've also needed a better environment where we experience less hostility, too. This looks like a strong possibility in Boondocks. And as a bonus, we can get more than twice as much yard in Boondocks with relative ease. Fences may make good neighbors, but a few acres between houses doesn't hurt, either.

So, if we do move, I'm thinking this will be the time to move my blog, if I don't move it sooner.

I nearly hit large carnivorous birds on two separate occasions on my way in to work this morning. It's Roadkill Season, apparently, and as a result the roads are covered in hungry birds tearing at the freshly exposed flesh now lying flat like a hamburger patty on the asphalt. One of the birds I almost hit didn't take off nearly soon enough upon seeing me hurtling towards him. I had to swerve, and even with that I nearly caught his feet and ass with my windshield.


Paris isn't a morning person
On the radio this morning, I heard them say that Paris Hilton has been sentenced to 45 days in jail for some reason or other. I know you all were concerned that I must be slipping because I hadn't mentioned this earlier. The truth is, I am slipping. I'm distracted and a little apathetic. Or maybe, more accurately, just discouraged. I'll believe that Paris is going to do 45 days when that 45th day comes and she is only just then being let out of jail, rather than being let out of her jeweled tracking bracelet which she's worn proudly while shopping in New York City or Beverly Hills. You just know that somehow she's going to get out of this. More than likely what they'll do is make a big show of putting her in, and then when some other story steals the headlines, out she comes again, ready to go shopping.

Believe it or not, I haven't even paid attention to the latest updates on the Mary Winkler quest for diversion. I just assume she'll get it. Killing your preacher-husband is no crime, you know. But calling a lesbian woman a nappy-head or some other such hurtful thing, now THAT is a major crime wave and thank God above that Congress is addressing this epidemic of name-calling against homosexuals that is overwhelming our collective consciences. If ever anyone needed proof that money is power, this is it.

Nothing especially funny happened to me this weekend, or this morning. My truck drove like a possessed Volkswagen Love Bug on the way to work this morning. I don't know if my alignment is way off or the roads are just that bad, but it felt like it was driving itself and searching for raccoons to clobber on both sides of the road as we went along. Or maybe I was just tired. I'm not sure.

Yes, I had a big old poop first thing today. I know everyone is greatly relieved to know this. All is not right with the world unless Memphis Steve has a big old poopy prior to starting the work day. Oddly enough, I don't have these big old morning poopies on the weekends. Does my body somehow know that it's Saturday and thus not manufacture any poo? I am a mystery of medical science!

OK, well, as exciting as this post has been, I guess I'll stop here. If I think of something else I should have said then I may come back and add it. That's the beauty of the blog. You can always add witty things that you think of later and make it appear as if you came up with it just off the cuff.

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Still Friday

Homer Simpson's boss, Mr. Burns
Ever had one of those poops that piles up above the surface of the water in the toilet and stinks like ... like ... turbo-charged shit? Yeah, that was my daily poop this lovely Friday the 13th.

But as I have virtually no sense of smell anyway I didn't care. It doesn't bother me. Everyone else, though, seems heavily affected by it. Especially the person who needed that toilet after me.

Sorry dude.

So anyway, that house and land is a lot of money and I have some strong reservations. Like, floors that aren't level and a vent that leads to nowhere. The workshop only has room for one car and I have 2 in need of a place to be hotrodded. Anyway, The Wife and I will have to look it over together before I cross it off.

I have a business trip next month. First we go to Little Rock. Then it's off to Dallas. I wonder if Kami would be surprised if I suddenly showed up on her front porch unannounced? I'm thinking so.

Actually, I have no idea if I'll get a chance to wander off and see anyone or if it's going to be all business and no free time.

Anyway, all the Texas ... um .. Ladies are going to be in Houston in about 2 weeks and I thought I might get to run and surprise them, but it isn't looking likely right now.

The album I was listening to just ended. I guess I'm done then.

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Sarah Silverman Video - I Pooped

"I tried to be like the others. I pooped instead."

This is a riot!

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