i was country when country wasn't cool

I think my good pal Andre said it best when he said "I know you'd like to thank yo' shit don't stank, but lean a lil' bit closer - see roses really smell like poo-oo-ooo. Roses really smell like poo-oo-ooo." He was right. I was acting like a crazy bitch and he set me straight.

Still, it is nice to think that my shit doesn't stink. It gets me through the day.

I was reading news of the weird in the free weekly paper thing that comes out here, and there was this guy somewhere who went into the emergency room with abdominal pain and the doctors did an xray and found several Barbie doll heads. The guy was all "I like the anal pleasure I get when I shit them out."

That's my kind of guy. But why Barbie doll heads? I'm sure a nice size rock would be cheaper, easier to get a hold of, and less traumatic to any girl who happens to walk in on him having a crap. What would he say to her? "Oh, hi little girl. I guess you know the secret now. This is how Barbies are made. My friend Paul craps out the arms."

Depending on the political pull of that little girl's father, it could bankrupt Mattel.

Sometimes when I'm with my dog, he looks at me and I down at him and I say "Who's a good boy?" and he wags his tail and pisses on the carpet. And then I say "fucker," and he bites me.

Go listen to some George Jones.

April 07, 2004 | 8:09 p.m.

last entry :: next entry