Friday, May 29, 2009

More on string-instrument porn and some random pictures from the vault of Lemish

Three people have found my blog by searching for "ukulele porn." To those three people I apologize for not having a greater selection of ukulele porn included in my blog. I did my best by making a plea to the porno industry that they merge these two great arts into one supreme masterpiece; I cannot be faulted that they did not heed my call. They, like so many before them, lack the vision that we, The Enlightened Ukulele Porn Lovers, share.

Oh, here are some unused pictures that I have saved because I thought I might use them someday but never did. Unrelated to ukulele porn, but still equally as pointless possibly interesting:

For an unpublished post about the dangers of flying penises. An update to
my mom's crazy warnings.

This was for a time when I saw a guy with no arms and legs being pulled on a skateboard by a dog. The problem with that post was that there was really no place to go from there. My post would have been one sentence: "Holy shit! I just saw some guy with no arms and legs being pulled on a skateboard by a dog!" Okay, I guess that was technically two sentences. But Jesus Christ, quit being so picky. The dude had NO ARMS AND LEGS. He can't be expected to be perfect! Give him his damn two sentences and shut up about it!
This is a man smoking a tiny pipe. That's all I have to say about that.

Here is a cute parasitic worm. I love parasites. Not in the way that I would personally want one, but I love to hear other people's stories about their parasites and how gross they are. One of my favorite pastimes is watching youtube videos of people removing botfly larva from their bodies. I totally don't watch videos about them or anything though. What kind of sick person would do that!?!? Sick fucks, that's who. (I named him Chester.)

Here is a picture of my friend Katrina playing the world's largest tuba. I think this was for a plan I had about creating a marching band where everyone carried huge instruments. I still might put this plan into action, so nobody steal it because I'm pretty sure it's awesome.

I forgot to post this for a special Christmas greeting.

My head on The Last Unicorn's body. This was just for my personal use.

Sunday, May 24, 2009

No one ever tells you not to spray your junk with Scrubbing Bubbles because it burns and will not make it less purple. I just did. You're welcome.

Sweet Jesusaurus, I made a terrible mistake today. It's kind of a sensitive subject, but there's no reason to beat around the bush (you'll see in a second how that is a totally hilarious pun.)

As I mentioned previously, Lemish's Husband and myself are in the home buying process. And because this process is basically an ass raping very expensive, we have been trying to cut back and save as much money as possible. Because of this, I have been trying to do things myself at home that I wouldn't normally try. For instance, I cooked dinner this week. AT HOME! IN OUR KITCHEN! It was crazy. I also vacuumed myself for about five minutes the other day until the whole thing started smoking, shaking, and making a high pitched squeal. I called my husband and told him the vacuum either died or was having some kind of sexual experience. He said "it probably died of shock because someone other than me touched it." I could tell he was proud of me.

So tonight, as another cost saving measure, I thought I could cut back on some of my grooming costs and try an at-home bikini wax. NEVER TRY THIS!!!!

Everything started okay. The wax melted smoothly in the microwave, and I applied it without burning myself. The cloth strip went on easily and I followed the timed directions. However, when I went to remove the strip, something went horribly, horribly wrong.

First of all, fuck. It hurt like nothing I have ever experienced. When I was ten a piece of glass from our fish tank sliced through my ankle after I stomped on it because my mom was being mean and I was trying to teach her a lesson. I had a 5 inch piece of glass covered in fish shit sticking out of my leg for 30 minutes before I got to the hospital, and let me tell you, that pain was NOTHING compared to attempting to pull this wax strip off of my junk.

The other problem, after I awoke from my pain induced blackout, was that the wax was not coming off completely. Some of it was stuck to my body and some of it was stuck to the strip. So what was left was, forgive me for this image, a big, sticky, purple mess of pubic hair, skin, and wax. By this point there was also wax, and hair, and skin, stuck to my hands. So everything I tried to touch to help get this shit off of me was also now covered in wax, and hair, and skin. It was fucking disgusting.

I attempted to clean myself off in the shower, but it really didn't do much. I spent about an hour and a half in there trying every cleaning product I could think of. Finally my husband came up to see what the hell was going on and he found me spraying my junk with a bottle of Scrubbing Bubbles. He looked all flustered and kind of backed away saying, "Oh. I was just coming to see if you were okay. You'd been up here for a while..... Looks like you have everything under control here...." And then he left. I tried to drop the bottle of Scrubbing Bubbles to explain myself, but it was stuck to my hand. I had no choice but to keep scrubbing.

Finally I had rubbed enough skin off so that I couldn't see anymore purple gunk, and I figured I was good. So I got out of the shower and got dressed. I soon realized that I was NOT good. I was still sticky as a motherfucker. My underwear was completely glued to me. There was also a bunch of fuzz stuck to me from when I sat down on a blanket on the bed. I tried to wipe it off with some tissue and rubbing alcohol, and now that is stuck to me as well.

So my crotch is totally beginning to look like one of those japanese katamari balls and I think my ass might be stuck to my desk chair. Good times.

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

I can't think of a title that doesn't involve drowning vaginas and a bunch of seamen, and I'm just too classy for that

My mom called me last night concerned.

Lemish's mom: "I want you to be really careful if you go in the ocean."

Lemish: "Mom, I live like 1200 miles from the nearest ocean."

Lemish's mom: "Yeah, but you might take a trip and I'm seriously concerned."

Lemish: "Okay, what is the issue? Did you see floating medical waste or watch Jaws again or something?"

Lemish's mom: "No, the ocean is filled with flying black penises."

Lemish: "..."

Lemish: "..."

Lemish: "Mom, these are the things that you say to me and then deny later. Then I look like the insane person saying 'Hey Mom, remember the time you told me the ocean was filled with flying black penises and how fucking crazy that was?' and you'll be all like 'I never said that!' and look at me like you are insulted and tell me I should go to church with you."

Lemish's mom: "Well maybe if you went to church with me more often there would be fewer flying black penises to worry about."

Lemish: "Touché Mom, touché."

Friday, May 1, 2009

I'm sorry I stole your pills and then defaced your home with my Jewish graffiti

So we've been shopping for a new house, and house hunting is, decidedly, a pain in the ass. The only thing that I like about it is that you have a legitimate reason to look through people's stuff. Like, it is totally okay for me to go through people's medicine cabinets because I need to accurately judge if it will hold all of my meds. Our realtor says I don't need to read the labels on all of the pill bottles to judge the size of the medicine cabinet, but obviously I need to see if the previous owner took a bunch of anti-depressants or something because maybe it was their shitty house making them depressed. Or if they take anti-psychotics because they are seeing things, maybe their house is haunted. These are things I need to know.

Aside from looking through the home owner's stuff, they rest of the home buying experience is stressful. It's hard to find a house that people didn't totally fuck up by adding their own style elements. And I feel like the second we do like a house, someone else is going to come in and snatch it out from under us. So to avoid this I came up with a really awesome plan to dissuade any other buyers from buying one of the houses we like; I draw satanic pentagrams all over the place.

This is a totally awesome plan. No one is going to buy a house from a bunch of depressed devil worshippers! The house will be ours. We can totally low ball the seller too because we will be the only offer. "We shall give you $5 for this house. Good day Sir." And they will have no choice but to take it because once word gets around that they are devil worshippers they will get fired from their jobs and be totally poor. Everybody wins!

So anyway, I decided to put my plan into action at a house we saw last weekend. While my husband had the realtor distracted by concerns about "structural integrity" I quickly drew three pentagrams inside the master bedroom closet with a sharpie. I also wrote "I love the Devil!!!!" with a big pentagram around it like an evil Valentine. Just in case the people were from Canada and didn't know what a pentagram was.

After that, I went around back and started drawing some kick-ass pentagrams on the garage. My husband walked up all concerned and said "Oh my God, what the fuck are you doing? Vandalizing the house?" as if he wasn't totally in on my plan already. I was like "Isn't it obvious? I am making the owners look like scary devil worshippers so no one will put an offer in on the house. I know, I am awesome, no need to thank me."
So then he was like, "Are you a complete idiot? That isn't a pentagram. It's a mother-fucking Star of David, symbol of the Jewish faith! You look like a Jewish gang member out here tagging this place up for the Sabbath or some shit."

Then he tried to pull the sharpie from my hand to scratch out my work. I screamed at him to stop. "First of all, I don't think you are right. It has 6 points, just like 666. That is totally the Devil's favorite number. And secondly, if it is the Jewish star, you can't just cross it out! Someone could see us and think that we are all anti-Semitic. Like the owners decorated their garage with these symbols of their faith and we come along and are all 'Nuh -uh, won't have any of this crap while we live here. Heil!' Plus, there is probably some curse involved that's put on people who defile religious symbols. We are probably fucked even talking about this! In fact, I think we should write down how much we love Jewish people so that the curse knows we are cool."

So I started writing things under my stars, like "We wish we were Jewish!" "Kosher or DIE!!!" "Cut up penises for everyone!" Well right about then is when the realtor showed up to check on us.

We were escorted to the curb and asked to leave and not contact them again. As my husband forced me into the car I was screaming and sobbing out the open window "We love the Jews! We love the Jews! I was trying to draw Devil worshipping symbols, that's all! Please give me this house. Puh-lease!!!" I frantically scribbled down my offer on a crumpled piece of paper and threw it out the window at the realtor.

I'm hoping to get their counter-offer some time this week.