I know. I know. "What's Diaryland ever done to you?" you're thinking.
"Eat me." That's what I have to say to you. "Eat me raw."
So, here we go again. I'm gonna take Diaryland by her big ol' titties and try and swing her around the room once more. But this time there will be no promises of everlasting love and none of that "I'll call you" shit that always comes back to haunt me.
We're just gonna be friends.
Friends with privileges.
My entire night has consisted of playing on the computer and going to various websites I find in other website's links section. This is something I never do. One of the reasons I don't post anymore is because I'm never on the computer for more than two minutes a day. I stare at one all day long at work and just can't be bothered to stare at another one when I get home. But I did tonight.
I spent about thirty minutes going through the Clientele's discography trying to figure out exactly which songs I don't own by them (there's only two) and then i went to Lambchop's site and followed this link which was good and then from there I followed this link which was even better and now my eyes hurt.
I got that one eye twitch that nerds get in movies when the Ogre character pushes them too far.
We're gonna head out to the Medieval Fair tomorrow and take the dog with us because he loves everything. There's nothing he doesn't love. He even likes Bronson Pinchot. DAMN! That's what we should've named him.
BALKI.
I come up with a better name every day for him than what he already has, but it's too late to change it now.
Anyway, you can bet your sweet ass that there's gonna be whole lot of Ye Olde's tomorrow. We're gonna wear that phrase into the ground just like we do every single year when we go watch the weirdos at the Medieval Fair. Here are some jokes that I'm sure will be made tomorrow:
Ye Olde Pork Chop Sandwich
Ye Olde Face Painting Booth
Ye Olde Funnel Cake
Ye Olde Corn Dog
Ye Olde Men's Room
Ye Olde codpiece
We saw a dude with a codpiece last year that was enormous. I was all "wishful thinking, loser" but he seemed sure of himself. He tried to Knight our nephew Zayne. If he tries to Knight the dog I'm gonna tell it that the guy has some Pup-peroni in his crotch and watch the mayhem ensue.
He loves crotch.
And Pup-peroni.
And I can't blame him. I love both of these things, too, even though I've never actually tasted the Pup-peroni. I've come mighty close (in the mouth, but without the lips or tongue touching it) but never have gone all the way.
Crotch is a different story.
We got ourselves an iced tea maker the other day from Wal-Mart and ever since we've been drinking tea like it was God's personal reward to us for being good. We had a couple of bad batches in the beginning before we got the hang of it, but now that we do, it's on, bitch. Tea for breakfast. Tea for lunch. Tea for laundry detergent. Tea for douching.
What? Like you don't douche?
Whatever.