Thank You, Masked Man

Yes, I’ve been on vacation.

A Positive Story

Cake Or Death?

Bob Marley

Yeah, mon!

Emo, Emo, Emo!

Here’s the man from ‘83.

Birbiglia’s On Fire!

Workation

Workation: Spending your vacation working because the economy sucks so badly you couldn’t hire people throughout the year.

Guy 1: Hey! I hear your off next week! Sounds exciting!

Guy 2: Don’t spin yourself into a tizzy, freak. It’s a workation.

Guy 1: That sucks.

Guy 2: Yeah. I’ve got to stain the deck; clean up the yard; bring in the lawn stuff; tear down the gardens; check the gutters; winterize the vehicles; make sure all the fluids are drained from the summer motorized tools; make sure the winter motorized tools are primed; my neighbor was told I was going to be around so I was volunteered to help him shore up a retaining wall; then, when my mother in law finds out I’m off I know she’ll have. . .

Guy 1: BANG

Woman 1: Oh! My! Gawd! Kenny shot himself! Why would he do that? What were you two talking about?

Guy 2: I was just telling him about my workation.

Woman 1: Workation? That sucks?

Guy 2: Yeah. I’ve got to stain. . .

Paramedic 1: . . .clear the way. Coming through.

Paramedic 1 looks at Guy 1 and sadly nods his head. Paramedic 1 looks at Guy 2.

Paramedic 1: You were telling him about your workation, huh?

Guy 2 sadly averts eye contact while nodding his head.

Paramedic 1 pats Guy 2 on the shoulder.

Paramedic 1: It’s not your fault. I’m seeing more and more of this in my line of work.

So, don’t fret, I’m just going to be busting my ass next week. But I’ve left humorous tidbits from the world of stand-up for your laughing and chuckling pleasure.

So, play nice and don’t break my collection of jelly glasses.

A Growing Trend?

I need some help with this. We were at a sort of upscale restaurant last night and something I have noticed over the last year really came to the forefront.

What’s up with all these Olive Oyl armed chicks? I’m not talking wax paper thin women. I’d expect coaxial cable arms from them. I’m talking otherwise proportionate females.

Slender wrists up to the shoulders. Arms I’m shocked bend because I didn’t think they had biceps. Arms so bereft of definition it takes both hands to hoist their Candy Cane Martini.

Is it due to the fact men these days are so weak and ‘metrosexual’ the only women they can impress with their manliness are those who can’t lift their arm if they’re wearing more than one ring and two layers of fingernail polish?

“Here,” he says moving in to save the day. “Let me open that bag of peanuts for you!”

I can see the next big growth industry being door to door window openers and grocery carriers.

I’m not even going to talk about guys who could put in air conditioners or open jars.

Those guys would be super heroes.

Heard It Before

“I fucking hate you.”

No doubt you’re aware I’ve heard that phrase before. But this time was a first:

It’s the first time these were the first words ever uttered to me from another person.

Proud moment, indeed.

Although I knew something was amiss when she entered the building and stalked in front of me I didn’t know the level until her story began to unfold.

EVERYONE, and I’m talking even you, are after her. Her friends only pretended to be her friends. Authorities are watching her all the time. The police broke into her house and stole her cigarettes. THEN they had her followed to make sure she didn’t get back to catch them.

I could go on because, lord knows, she did.

I know this person shouldn’t be offered up for comedy and I’m not (really) making fun of her (trust me, it’s taking all my willpower) I’m just reporting on my life so you can go about your day feeling better about your life.

You’re welcome.

Suddenly there was a tectonic shift in our relationship. I guess my lack of interaction had given her a glimpse into my soul.

“I know I can trust you.”

“No, that’s okay, you can keep hating me.”

“No, I need someone from here to know what’s really going on.”

She didn’t mean someone from my city, she meant the planet earth. What? I forgot to mention she’s an alien? Silly me. I’m so forgetful.

Or just figured you’d assume.

“I have to show you some papers.”

She reaches for her papers via pants. Not only did she reach into her pants to retrieve her booty she opened them up to her knees.

Which made access to the papers around her thighs and directly in front of her crotch very easy.

What was less helpful was the fact I learned:

Alf wasn’t the only hairy alien.

While I’m trying to explain that, it’s okay, I’ll take her word for it, she tosses the papers on to my desk.

Great, now I’m going to have to burn another one.

While she’s fixing her space suit I’m being told which papers to look for. I know I have to extricate from this before I, inevitably, say something I’d think funny but is often considered mean.

“Let me ask you one question before I look at your documents.” She stands up straight, pants fully operational, and awaits my question.

“If you’re an alien, how come you have a belly button?”

I’m not saying aliens can’t have belly buttons but she’d explained she was hatched.

Let me give you advice, boys and girls, never question the veracity of an alien. They take bad form like that very seriously.

While jumping over her papers so I wouldn’t be able to glean their vital information she’s releasing a torrent that could have been in an alien language for as much as I could understand.

After jamming all the papers down her pants and into her shirt she got it together long enough to look me in the eyes and say,

“I fucking hate you.”

Ahh, it’s good to see that coming full circle is just as important to other life forms.

New From AzCo!

After another in a series of long, shit-filled work days, I was freeish. That’s when you’re done with one thing but still have obligations whether family, friend, or ankle monitoring due to house arrest.

So, although I still had things to do, I had a window of freedom. Once I locked up the building I go outside to wait for the bus.

I know many people find that a terrible thing but, trust me, the five or ten minutes I wait, the seven minute ride to my stop, and the five minute walk to my house are most days the only time I’m awake and out of reach.

I’m standing there and someone I know stands in front of me and says,

“You look relaxed. That music must be soothing.”

I look at them for a moment before taking the buds out of my ears. I get them to within six inches of their head before they jump back in horror.

“Slipknot. Spit It Out.” I reply putting the buds back in my ear.

She was right, I was relaxed. I’ve been listening to a steady stream of death metal for the last few weeks and, as it turns out, it relaxes me.

Who knew?

I go back into my world (soundtrack: The Toxic Waltz by Exodus) when, again, my evil, I mean perfect, plan is interrupted.

Now I’d smelled this encroachment before it triggered any other senses. There was a perfume marketed to young girls some years back called Love’s Baby Soft. When I blinked this group into focus I figured that scent wasn’t what I was smelling.

It was more like Sluts Kick It Hard.

The kid who approached me was the daughter of a friend. It took me awhile to place where because, in that six months, it seems she’d been placed in the Slatternly Protection Program.

She gangstas me up for a few with her malkin chorus chiming in their props when she rips off a good one.

I’m not really listening. I’m too busy taking in the sight. If there was a Humpzilla team uniform, this would be it.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m all about the advertising, but sometimes the ad misses the product.

She even spins around to show off her look. Beside the many ways of wrong of that, I was stuck by one thing. And it may have been what struck her ass.

It looked like someone took a meat cleaver and sliced her butt cheeks in half pushing her pants into the crack.

That’s the only way I could reconcile the pants getting so far up there.

The Butt Cleave by AzCo. For all your colon itching needs.

As we’re beginning to part she breaks character and we have a moment. She tells me she’s just having fun. And I tell her there’s nothing wrong with that, just don’t have too much fun.

“You don’t want to end up like her.”

And nod to a kid, about her age, with a stroller filled with twins.

I could see her stop for a moment before her gang pulls her back in and she fronts me before spinning and walking away.

‘Seriously,’ I think putting my buds back in. ‘How else could you get your pants that far up your ass?’

I smile as the Toxic Waltz plays.