By Figgy | Eloquent Eloquence | April 15, 2010 |
By Figgy | Eloquent Eloquence | April 15, 2010 |
OK folks. I’m kind of in the middle of an insane family crisis and can’t really write much here. It’s nothing really bad, just my grandma being…you remember that movie The Ref with Dennis Leary? Remember the grandmother? The one who gets the “I’m gonna give you a big cross for Christmas so you can nail yourself to it” line? That’s my grandma. She’s not as overtly evil, but she’s pretty terrible sometimes. So, anyway, I’ve been having an insane chat with my cousin (who lives with her) and I’m just exhausted and confused. The only thing that’s kept me from going to bed and wishing I were adopted is your comments and going through them. And how fucked up is that? Your crazy keeps me sane.
I need professional help, I think.
Here’s your list!
10. You know how people say they’ll move to Canada if Sarah Palin gets elected? Well, if this movie happens, I’m moving away, but not to Canada, because it’s too wussy. I’m moving to Germany, getting myself elected fuhrer, conquering the world, and using my power as Dominatrix of Earth (you should see my official outfit!) to destroy every copy of the abomination with my Whip of Doom. —esme
9. and then he ran into my stake… he ran into my stake 9 times. —Tammers
[Hee. I’m such a sucker (haaa!) for musicals. If Twilight was like that I might just watch it.]
8. My kid didn’t hug me today so I took her to the psychiatrist. He said it wasn’t autism and I was overreacting. I told him he was an idiot full of shit and hugged her right in front of him. At first she just wanted down but I wouldn’t let go. Then her arms slowly but surely wrapped around my neck as I cured her autism right in front of him!
Judging by his agape mouth and slow steps toward the door, I could tell he was suitably awed and chastised by my techniques. I asked him to hand over his Doctoring License immediately so his lies and propaganda could finally come to an end. What if he misdiagnoses another autistic child and they don’t know about my techniques?! I’ve never read a book on autism, but I’m pretty sure he would’ve prescribed LSD and punches to the face for my little angel. Not today, good sir! —Kballs
7. One day Jolie is going to gradually disappear and leave nothing behind but her disembodied lips. She’s the Cheshire Cat of actresses.
6. This is the first time I’m discovering that someone seriously goes by the name “Q-tip.” I once used a Q-tip to help pull a piece of material my dog had swallowed out of his ass because it was stuck and binding up the poor guy’s plumbing.
Pretty much, I have never used a Q-tip in any way that wasn’t disgusting on some level—don’t try to tell me cleaning wax out of an ear isn’t a little gross. So I can definitely see why I’d want that to be my name. You know what I truly identify with? The tiny-cotton-on-a-stick device you use to swab out bodily waste and then discard. That’s me. Fucking Q-tip. —Lindsay
5. An experiment…gone wrong!
What do one of these experiments look like when they go right?
“Yes Johnson, we have successfully spliced together the DNA of an Iguanadon, a Balrog, and Brett Butler…”
“But sir, isn’t that a pinch irresponsible?”
“No, Johnson! This creature has been spawned from the genetic mire of creation, to serve one noble purpose, to heed the call of its’ tasty, bite-size human masters! Quick, Johnson, is my creation fulfulling its’ intended purpose?”
“Yes, sir, it’s folding your laundry as we speak.”
“Gooooood, Johnson! Now get me a glass of brandy, one of my prized Cubans, and cue up the song they used for the montage in Rocky IV.”
“Hearts on Fire?”
“Indeed, Johnson. Hearts…on FIRE!”
/end scene —D-Day
4. admin…not to burst your bubble…but “master of the skin flute, yeah. you may want to find another phrase to turn there good buddy.
Only women or gay men should be masters of the skin flute…since it involves penises…and your mouth. I prefer some of the following euphemisms:
“Choking the Ferret”
“Playing catch with the hankie”
“Manhandling the muppet”
“Snappin’ the slimjim”
“Bossin’ the hog”
“Straining my eyes”
“Having a lovely bit of chocolate and tea with gentleman and scholar Lord Vandenberg Humpliwink III, Second Earl of Cheshire”
[That last one made me laugh so hard I snorted. Gah.]
3. Good for Conan getting to put his foot down and get what he wants. And way to go TBS for making a smart decision. However, this does mean that when I watch Conan, I’ll get a billion ads for their Tyler Perry shows.
It’ll be like owning a puppy that’s eternally fluffy, but the fluffy puppy owns a cobra. So that, while you’re playing with the fluffy puppy, every fifteen minutes or so, the cobra bites you in the jugular. And then, after about an hour, the puppy runs off and then the neighborhood feral cat comes over to chill with you and the cobra, but instead of being fluffy, he’s way too pudgy (because everyone give him too much credit, I mean food) and then marks his territory all over your couch. Gross. Good thing I’ll be asleep by then.
Whatever, cobra bites and cat piss win over Jay Leno any day.
[I pictured all of this in my mind and it was glorious. Particularly when the cobra bit and pissed (do snakes piss? They must) all over Jay Leno. No that part wasn’t in the story but it was the next logical step.]
2. I will rent this and have a chuckle, if only because my father LOVES Mark Whalberg. Not the Mark Whalberg the actor or the underwear model, but Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch Mark Whalberg. I have no idea why, but my sixty year old Irish-Italian father with back hair thinks the song “Good Vibrations” is Grammy award quality, and that calling yourself Marky Mark and having a bunch of your dancers calling themselves “funky” qualifies as straight up gangster.
When I was little and the song came on the car radio, Dad always cranked it with the windows rolled down and sang/seat danced along. He also took it upon himself to christen himself Vincy Vince and the Funky Bunch…because of COURSE he did. After one memorable night of too much drinking (one strawberry margarita at our local Mexican joint), Dad was driving in the car with myself, my younger sister and my mother. Dad took an exit ramp too fast and got pulled over by a cop. My father, still feeling giddy from his one cocktail, started seat dancing silently while the cop ran his license. When the cop came back he asked my father why he felt he could take the exit ramp so fast, and without missing a beat he said “Well officer, it’s because I’m Vincy Vince and the Funky Bunch!” The cop just stood on the side of the highway for a second and none of us said anything. I’m not sure if he thought my father was impaired in some way or was kidding or just an idiot, but he happened to look back at me and my sister in the backseat (we were about 7 and 9), and he said sternly “Sir, because you have young children with you, I’m going to let you go.”
This is also the man who requests “Everybody Wang Chung Tonight” at every event he attends that has a DJ. —scorzi
[Like most people said in that thread…I think I’m completely in love with your dad, scorzi. That would’ve won #1 but then this came along…]
1. Wow, I guess there can be an ****0-sexual for every letter:
Aetro-Sexual: wear Italian garb and publicly blow your top every once in a while.
Betro-Sexual: dorky giant sunglasses with nondescript black clothing.
Chetro-Sexual: red blazer and crew cut.
Destro-Sexual: black leather suit open to the navel, chrome mask.
Extro-Sexual: obnoxious clothes on a much more obnoxious person.
Fettro-Sexual: your dad’s dented armor repainted and worn over a blue jumpsuit.
Ghettro-Sexual: the most ostentatiously expensive clothing you can find (but not afford).
Hetero-Sexual: no one cares how you dress, especially you, and it shows.
ITro-Sexual: lots of gadgets, dark tee-shirts, and a goatee.
Jethro-Sexual: rope-belted high-water jeans with boots and a checkered picnic shirt.
Ketro-Sexual: you’re tripping and may or may not be actually wearing any clothes.
Lutero-Sexual: probably a leather tunic or jerkin here somewhere.
Methro-Sexual: no one can tell what you’re wearing because they can’t get past your horrid grille.
Netro-Sexual: pajamas and carpal tunnel brace.
Olestro-Sexual: brown pants…trust me…always the brown pants.
Petro-Sexual: Whatever you have on, your dog or cat’s hair is a major component of your look.
Quetzalo-Sexual: lots of colorful feathers and gold.
Retro-Sexual: just, you know, dressing like a dude.
Setro-Sexual: long snout and a skirt, accessorized with an ankh.
Tetro-Sexual: round wicker hat, black pajamas, and rubber tire sandals.
Udetro-Sexual: grey uniform decorated with a lot of medals and stuff.
Vetro-sexual: either scrubs covered in cat vomit or desert fatigues.
Wetro-Sexual: lots of black neoprene accessorized with a big metal cylinder.
Xtra-Sexual: jeans with socks stuffed in the crotch.
Yetro-Sexual: parka, bib, and boots, with stocking cap, mittens, and sasquatch repellent spray.
Zebco-Sexual: size XXXL tee-shirt and shorts, with rubber sandals, accessorized with domestic beer and trash left all over the river bank. —laredo
That’s it. BAM. That’s all we need here. Do I even need to explain this win? No. I’m done here, folks. Just enjoy reading that comment over and over again and try to get the references and try to keep yourself together all the way through the end.
Laredo, you win, well, everything.
And I would kill to see someone illustrate that ‘dictionary’ right there. It would be beyond the beyonds.
I’m outta here. See you next week!
Figgy is a displaced Honduran living in Dallas, TX. She can’t think of anything witty to write here, but you can read her blog at if you have nothing better to do.