More toungue twisters…

Storks storm stores storing horded fjord corks.

Fortunate formulations foster foremen forgoing forgery.

Moaning morphed meniscus’ muddle many moronic manipulators.

Lars chars farcical czars.

Argyle Oregonian argonauts argue arbitrarily scarring ocelots.

A message of hope.

This may be the beacon of hope humanity has been waiting for:

“There is a company out there called Team Baby Entertainment. If you are not familiar, they make DVDs that parents can buy for their babies to help indoctrinate them into the family sports loyalties.”

Yee-haw.. Read the article and more details here.

Now visit the site and get to work making your children ALL ABOUT SPORTS: Team Baby Entertainment

(I had to go out and get one of those Ricola tuba sport horns for this one: Spooooorts…!)

How I get ogurt

I get ogurt a lot of ways. There is no “one way” to being ogurt. You just be. It’s the same for everybody so if you’re confused, don’t worry. You’re ogurt. But sometimes ogrismo can slather itself all over a situation and man, it can go haywire from there. For me, it’s usually sports. You know, sports. SPORTS!!! Ok, I need to relax… sports… Ok, that’s enough. Sports. No wait, stop. Sports. Ok wait, sports. No really, SPORTS. Stop it…

Whew… Almost lost it there for a minute.

You see, sports are awesome. You don’t like’em? Yeah well, maybe you can start a blog and tell me what it’s like being a member Al Kayduh you freedom hater. Sports or death. That’s the way it is here in God’s America. I eat beef jerky with kool aid. I scream at televisions cross eyed and shirtless with Twinkie grease smeared across my blustered cheek. I still spray roach fogger after I crap. I made a sculpture with all of the Cheeto dust I have peeled from my finger tips. I punch hamsters. And I watch sports. So get it goddamit! SPORTS!

I was in love during the 80’s.

You remember the girl from Meatballs 2, Kim Richards? Yeah, well I was in love with her. You could have said I was kind of obsessed…

Ok, I was really obsessed. I used to sit in my bean bag listening to Duran Duran dreaming about how we would take over the world. I know that Heather Thomas was the big thing back then but I felt that she was more like the naughty babysitter and Kim was more wife material. I mean c’mon, I was eight. But I knew that if I could just talk to Kim she would marry me and we would make love in my fort every day up until Transformers came on. Then we would watch Transformers, then GI Joe and feed each other fruit roll ups and make out. I would protect her during dirt clod wars and when neighborhood bullies would swarm to take away my Beastie Boys record? She would claw out their eyes with her razor-like Lee press on nails.

That’s my girl…

We would be Bonnie and Clyde with fluorescent shoelaces. Some days I would grow a crustache and we would dress like hoods and run around convenient stores, stealing paddle balls, and making out in front of old people. But most days it was two lovers living Red Dawn in my forest hideout living off Sprees and furious make outs. We would snort raw Kool Aid and make out during hide and go seek. So what if she was twenty and I was in fourth grade? We were in love.

I had it all planned out. The Fat Boys would play our wedding (Can you imagine the Human Beat Box jamming, “Here Comes the Bride”? I can.) and for our honeymoon I would have clapped my hands and summoned my special portal. This portal opened directly above my head like a hole in the sky with a magic rope dangling down from inside. We would climb this rope and enter a new world. A heaven of sorts. Who am I kidding, it WAS heaven. We would climb the rope and find ourselves on the set of You Can’t Do That On Television. Except this was different because it wasn’t the TV show, it was real life. The You Can’t Do That On Television World. In this magical world we would eat Barthy Burgers all day long and make out and roll around in green slime saying, “couch” “ouch” and “about” impersonating the deepest of Canadian drawls in a blissful love fest of two perfect souls. The portal to heaven would always be waiting for us. Whenever we wanted to hang out with Moose and Duggy and Ross and act Canadian and live pure awesome, I would simply clap my hands and return with my Queen…

And we would make out.

It would have worked. I would have killed stuff for her. Well, whatever you can kill with a dirt clod. No one could have touched us. We would have ruled every prom and roller rink.

Oh Kim Richards why are we not together!? We could have retired and you could have ran that Jellyshoe and Wacky Wall Walker store and I would have had that D&D dice carving booth at the flea market and we could have made out on a throne made of braided Twizzlers while commanding our minions to serve our every whim… But nooo… you had to go on and be a movie star or something like that.

Back then, all I could do was dream and she was mine. I would rent the movies she starred in, kiss the TV and poof! we were married. But you had to live your life right, Kim? Without me, huh? Kim? *sniff* Yeah, I suppose. *sniff* But in the world I created for us, we were gods.

Updates on the way

I have a few in the works but I have to leave town for about a week and I will not have access to the webz. So I leave you with this clip of Clive Owen dishing out a brilliant gadouree on Extras: