Retsin Burps and Eating Like a Duck

I grew up with a lot of older relatives. I grew up in a really small place where everyone knew everyone and just about everyone was some level of old. I grew up on a farm, where the lifespan of the beings around you aren't exactly what you'd call 'lengthy.' I grew up around a lot old people and a lot of animals. I grew up looking at death as something that was sad, but also something that had to happen. Something that was supposed to happen. I would cry and I would feel the loss, but for as long as I can remember, I've always thought of it as something that happens to everyone -- so there is, in my mind, no reason to let it tear you apart.

I don't know exactly what it is I'm feeling today, but I suspect it might be a little bit of tearing apart.


Greg thought it was hilarious to pretend to eat like a duck. He'd cram food in his mouth, throw his head back, and sort of make duck-noises while everyone else in the newsroom laughed ... and wondered if maybe we should call mental health professionals.

Greg would try to say "Retsin" when he burped. He said it sounded really funny, if you could do it. I've tried. I can't. But he could, and he was right -- it sounds really funny.


I'm sitting on my couch, petting my idiot dog with my foot while I think about my friend eating like a duck and burping the word "Retsin" and thinking about how I don't get to see or hear those things again.

Up until now, I knew death had to happen. I knew there was a reason. Someday, I will know those things again -- but I don't know them today.



Everything else I want to say is full of swearing. Stuff that other people have said is better:

Did you tackle that trouble that came your way
With a resolute heart and cheerful?
Or hide your face from the light of day
With a craven soul and fearful?
Oh, a trouble's a ton, or a trouble's an ounce,
Or a trouble is what you make it,
And it isn't the fact that you're hurt that counts,
But only how did you take it?

You are beaten to earth? Well, well, what's that?
Come up with a smiling face.
It's nothing against you to fall down flat,
But to lie there -- that's disgrace.
The harder you're thrown, why the higher you bounce;
Be proud of your blackened eye!
It isn't the fact that you're licked that counts,
It's how did you fight --  and why?

And though you be done to the death, what then?
If you battled the best you could,
If you played your part in the world of men,
Why, the Critic will call it good.
Death comes with a crawl, or comes with a pounce,
And whether he's slow or spry,
It isn't the fact that you're dead that counts,
But only how did you die?

~ Edmund Vance Cooke

I WILL DESTROY ALL OF YOUR CHRISTMAS

Take a minute and go read the following link. It will tell you all about how I (yes - me, personally) am joining forces with Satan to ruin Christmas.

DUMBASS

Now, let's go through this line by line, shall we? Because I want to call Pat Robertson and the dimwit who wrote this piece of junk arseholes, and I want to take as much time as possible.

"It's that time of year again, when atheists and Satan join forces to wage a war on Christmas."

Interesting Atheist Fact #1: Not only do we not believe in any gods, we don't believe in any satans either, you arseholes.

"Somehow Christmas always survives, usually by the skin of its teeth, but that doesn't mean that the crusaders of modern American Christendom should lay down their weapons."

Funny -- I've been alive for 33 years, and I remember nearly half of them, and I've yet to notice Christmas surviving only "by the skin of its teeth." Christmas seems to be doing OK, actually. Wait -- do you mean the whole "Happy Holidays" thing? That thing where not everyone says "Merry Christmas?" Oh. Good. Please, make that argument again. Make that argument about how what stores put in their ads or what Hallmark puts on their cards somehow makes Christmas cry. How weak is your faith that somebody not calling something what you call it somehow makes it mean less? You can't be very good 'crusaders of modern American Christendom' if two words being replaced by two other words wrecks your day, you arseholes.

"Robertson says, "The Grinch is trying to steal our holiday." The Grinch in question is atheists, and they will not be satisfied until they stamp out happiness itself."

This is true. On behalf of all Atheists, might I just say "SCREW YOU, HAPPINESS!!!! NO ONE LIKES YOU." I hate everything, all the time. I'm even considering having surgery on the nerves in my face so I don't accidentally smile at something some day. Anyone who knows me will know that I never laugh, I have no friends, and I sometimes kick puppies in the face. YOU ARSEHOLES.

"The nation comes together, we sing Christmas carols, we give gifts to each other. We have lighted trees, and it's just a beautiful thing," says Robertson. "Atheists don't like our happiness, they don't want you to be happy, they want you to be miserable! They're miserable, so they want you to be miserable! So they want to steal your holiday away from you."

Just....shut up. Shut up all the time. We are not miserable. We don't want everyone to be miserable. I like Christmas. There's lots of yummy food and presents and I get to spend time with my family and I decorate my house and I EVEN KNOW ALL THE WORDS TO ALL THE SONGS YOU ARSEHOLES.

Buttholes like Pat Robertson and the thing that wrote that article give nice, non-jerkwad Christians a bad name. And MOST Christians are non-jerkwads. It's just too bad that dickheads like these two are the ones we hear from the most.

Merry Christmas :)

~~~~~

Twunts

WARNING: This blog post contains coarse language. It is not intended for readers who are whiny and overly-sensitive. It is not available in Descriptive Video for the Visually Impaired, but I guess I could come to your house and describe me giving you the finger or making the Jerk-Off motion while I read it to you.

Alrighty then. Let's move on.


When I think about my friend Greg, I think about twunts. Don't know what a twunt is? Then watch this until about the 1:15 mark:

Twunt

This makes me think of Greg for two reasons. One: Because he is one of about three people I know who know what I'm talking about when I call someone a twunt. Two: Because I'm actually kinda surprised he didn't come up with that word before TV did.

Some of you who read this will know that Greg is pretty sick. Cancer is trying to kick Greg in the balls. Greg is trying to kick it in the balls back. It's a big ball-kick fight that's been going on for a long time. But unlike most ball-kick fights, this one's not even a little bit fun to watch.

Most of us have watched from a distance. We've kept up with what's going on with Greg by reading the things he writes for us on Facebook. Maybe once in a while we think we can comprehend a little bit of what it's like (I've been guilty of that) but today I learned that I definitely don't have a fucking clue. Today, the things Greg wrote described so explicitly what his life is like right now that for the first time while reading something he's written, I burst into tears. I cried because my friend is going through hell, and I cried because I was dumb enough to ever (even for a nano-second) think that I could understand it in any way.

(I will be sporadically dosing this blog post with scenes from Rescue Me. It's easier for me to write if every once in a while I see something funny. Plus, Greg likes this show and might enjoy watching some of the best clips. Plus, I like to show off how funny it is, even though I had literally zero things to do with it being made)

Who wants a dog?

I could write a bunch of things here about how great Greg is and all the fun shit our group of friends has done, but I don't feel like it. We all know the fun shit we've done. Greg already knows I think he's great. I've told him many times. I've also told him many times that he's an arsehole, but he knows that I hardly ever meant it, except for the times when I did. I'm sure he's called me an arsehole, too. And I'm sure I deserved it.

That, to me, says more about the quality of a friendship than all the hugs and kind words in the world. If you can tell someone they're being a fucking idiot and know that doing so won't be the end of your friendship, then you've surrounded yourself with the right people. Greg and I once had a fight over how Heath Ledger died and we didn't really talk to each other for about a month, but I knew that whole time that we were still friends. We each just had to take a few weeks to think about what a jackass the other was. Then it was all better. I've watched Greg and Jeff argue with each other while literally BOTH BEING ON THE SAME SIDE OF THE ARGUMENT, yet I knew the whole time that five minutes later they'd be joking around like total morons again. I usually don't like watching people argue, but it's so fucking funny to watch Greg when he gets wound up that I gladly make an exception when he's involved. I will watch wholeheartedly (probably with a feebed-out expression on my face because concentrating on the argument uses all my brain power and I turn into one of those mouth-breathers you see on the bus.)

What colour are YOUR balls?

So, yeah. I got nuthin'. I read what Greg wrote today, and it fucking sucked. I wanted to write something under his post to make him feel better, but those words don't exist in my vocabulary. They never, ever will. My mindset has always been "If you can't say or do anything that will help, then don't say or do anything." I still believe that. I will always believe that. But it makes me so angry. Sometimes I want to be one of those people who can write about prayers or good vibes or whatever. Not because I believe in prayers or good vibes or whatever -- but because I envy the peace they get out of saying those things. I envy how it must feel to believe that no matter what happens, everything will work out how it's supposed to.

Is that cocaine?

So I don't say anything. I think Greg knows that's not because I don't give a shit. I give many shits. I give all of the shits, in fact. I don't say anything, because Greg already knows what I'd say: This fucking sucks, and I fucking love you, you arsehole.

Cockfarts


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Oh, F*** Off, Cosmo

Facts:

1. Cosmopolitan Magazine is the dumbest thing to be printed on paper.

2. I buy it every month.

3. Even though I know it's complete shit.

4. The whole time I'm reading it, I talk to it like it can hear me.

5. All I ever say to it is "Oh, fuck off, Cosmo."

By this logic, people who come to my house will think I have a magical, evil car that can rebuild itself after running down my enemies.

I can has bukake?

The irony of Kim Kardashian selling a perfume called "True Reflection" has explodered my brains. That dirty whore doesn't even know what her own face looks like anymore, under all that spackle.

We can all has bukake?

They spelled 'color' wrong. And they forgot to put the word 'whore' anywhere on that page. And how come that lady-wrestler China is selling nail polish?

There's no such thing as a 'British accent,' you stupid assholes.

Maybe because he's covering up a fucking burp?

Yeah. He's probably the one raping people.

Wait -- no. There he is.

BOOBS!!!

Dear Everyone,

Boobs are not bad.

Sincerely,
The Comedian


---------------

Recently, I saw a post on Facebook about an underpants ad, and how the underpants ad was bad because it implied women were possessions or something. To me, it mostly implied underpants. Nice underpants. Underpants I proceeded to look for at the store named in the ad, but could not find.

I don't know how exactly underpants = women as a possession or as less than men or as merely a thing that boobs are attached to. I didn't actually put all that much thought into it (because I was busy being mad that I could not find the underpants.)

Then today, I really started thinking about it again. I even went so far as to act out an underpants ad myself, and while I did feel like I'd done permanent mental damage to my dog and possibly one of the neighbour-kids tall enough to see in the window, I did not feel like a possession of any kind. I just felt like a person wearing underpants.

What I believed I looked like.

What I probably actually looked like.

Of course, this has inevitably led me to question society and religion and politics and why that store advertised underpants then didn't have the underpants IN THEIR STUPID STORE when I went in to buy them.

Mostly, it makes me wonder why exactly we don't like naked stuff. Obviously, that's not directed at everyone. Most of my friends are rather partial to naked stuff. Some of us have spent untold hours discussing naked stuff. At any given moment, there is a 97% chance I am only five seconds away from thinking about naked stuff. Hell -- one of the things that keeps me from walking in front of a truck some days is the knowledge that I can do a Google image search for "Chris Meloni naked" and will, in fact, get to see Chris Meloni naked.

I erred on the side of caution and picked a cropped version, but trust me -- there's wiener down there. Lots of wiener.

When I look at that picture, I certainly don't think of Chris Meloni as a possession. I think of Chris Meloni as  someone who is probably fun to have a shower with.

Likewise, when I look at THIS picture, I don't think of her as a possession. I think of her as someone who is wearing a bra that costs more than my car.

And also perhaps as someone who is about to go thermo-nuclear and annihilate us all with her radioactive ladybits.

And I highly doubt anyone looks at THIS ad and feels sorry for David Beckham because he's being treated as a possession. They probably feel sorry for him because apparently a badger climbed into his underpants and has decided that's where it's going to live now.

My point is this: Boobs are not bad. Weenuses are not bad. Ladybits are not bad (unless they are glowing, in which case FUCKING RUN.)

Obviously, we should probably not dance about flopping our bits-and-bites in public, but I feel like every time someone says something along the lines of "OH GOD -- NUDITY! MY EYES ARE BURNING AND MY SOUL IS FALLING OUT MY ASSHOLE FROM SEEING SOMETHING SO TERRIBLE," then we are further convinced that naked is bad. In some cases, naked IS bad. And sometimes illegal. But mostly, naked is just naked. Instead of looking at an underpants ad and thinking "That poor woman," maybe we should be thinking "Holy shit, that chick is making a frigging fortune by wearing underpants. Lucky bitch. I wear underpants just about every other day, and I don't make shit for it."

When people -- especially women -- make a big deal about how showcasing the female body is taking power away from women, THEY are taking power away from women. They're suggesting that a woman is so fragile a creature, that the mere sight of her body will launch her backward through time and space, to a world where she will no longer be allowed to vote.

Please shut the fuck up, You People Who Say That Crap. I could walk around with tassles scotch-taped to my nerps and feathers sticking out of my butt like the world's most awesome rooster, and I'd still be exactly as powerful as I was before I did it. In fact, I'd probably make some new friends and people would buy me presents and stuff.

Piss.

Had a good talk with a good friend last night about how if you don't laugh at life, you'll lose your mind because so many big chunks of life suck stinky ass. It came up because this particular friend is a grand fucking MASTER of saying the most inappropriate thing you can thing of in any given situation, and I fucking love that. The most terriblest things you can think of, he can still make you laugh over some part them. Because you have to. You can't do that around just anyone, though. Has to be the right people. Your people. And I only really care to spend time with those people. If you do that around the wrong people......well........

Today has been an epic shit stain of a day.

And the people I care about and who care about me -- you are the piss that will blast that shit stain away.

Does laughing fix everything? No, dumbass. Of course it doesn't. If you answered "yes," then you're stupid. But laughing can keep us going, even if we're only running on fumes. It can keep us from sitting and stewing and thinking about the Absolute Worst Things (like ABBA reuniting, or the dead Bee Gees coming back to life.) Laughing keeps us from becoming sad, boring, lifeless people. That's why all of George Lopez's friends do nothing but mope and yawn and cry.

Because he's not funny. About anything. Ever.

Is it OK to laugh in someone's face if their pet hamster dies or they get nose-blood on their favourite shirt? Again -- no. And again -- if you answered "yes," you're no longer allowed to be in charge of anything. Not even putting milk on your cereal or walking places. But if giggling far, far away and behind their back about how their nose-blood dried in a Rorschach-like pattern resembling a smooshed boob makes your day even a little less fucked, then I say go for it. And try to only surround yourself with people who would do the same thing far, far away and behind your back, because people who can laugh at shitty things are people who get that life can suck, but living doesn't have to. Those people will make your life better. I know that's a true-fact because I know those people, and they have made my life better.

So on this shit stain of a day, I thank you all for being the piss in my life that blasts the shit stain away. I hope I can be even half the piss that you are to me.


~~~~~

A Pterodactyl Face in Your What-Not: The Comedian Helps You Survive Awkward Situations

The Comedian has spent approximately her whole entire life deftly trying to survive awkward situations. It seems only fair that I use this forum (now read by nearly ten people on a semi-irregular basis) to help you do the same.

Of the hundreds of awkward situations I have found myself in, I can proudly say I have made it through almost one of them completely unscathed. Therefore, I am well-equipped to tell you what to do. If you disagree with that, you can sit your ass on a spike.


Awkward Situation #1: You are alone in a room. Someone else walks in. It is blatantly obvious that you have just farted.

The Comedian's Advice: Just fucking fart again. Make it special. Point your hand in the air like a disco dancer and clench your ass cheeks so it sounds like a firecracker going off in an empty storage locker. Then spin around like a dog trying to eat its tail, yelling "I WANNA SMELL IT WHILE IT'S FRESH! I WANNA SMELL IT WHILE IT'S FRESH!"


Awkward Situation #2: You believe you are alone with a friend, talking about how a different friend smells like the inside of a rain boot, but a rain boot with shit in it. Suddenly, your friend goes silent. Your heart drops as you realize Shit Boot is right behind you.

The Comedian's Advice: Tilt your head slightly and go slack-jawed. Adopt a blank stare. Slowly turn around until you're facing Shit Boot. Stand up, slowly walk toward her (shuffle a little, like a zombie) and punch her in the throat. Run away.


Awkward Situation #3: You send an email to your friends, featuring this picture:

Immediately upon hitting "send," you realize you managed to somehow send the email to your boss, because you are apparently an enormous fucking idiot.

The Comedian's Advice: Do nothing. Your boss will think it's pretty funny, unless he sucks. In fact, send more. See if you can find some with racial slurs or hilarious captions under sick children . When you next see your boss, wait until he's within yelling distance, and holler "HEY! BOSS! DID YOU LIKE THAT PICTURE OF THE INSIDE OF A GOAT'S ASS THAT I SENT YOU?" He'll think that's pretty cool, and you'll probably get a raise or something.


Awkward Situation #4: You are a dude. You are in a public bathroom, 'draining the lizard' or 'taking a leak' or 'expelling urine from your urethra' or whatever slang terms you immature, filthy pigs are using these days. You're sort of not paying attention, looking around, waiting to be done pissing into a porcelain drinking fountain with a big blue breath mint in it, when you realize you are full-on staring at the pork sword of the guy whizzing beside you.

I saw something really bad when I did a Google Image search for "urinal pervert" so I would like to look at this kitten instead.

The Comedian's Advice: Go ahead. Touch it.



Awkward Situation #5: You are a woman. Once a year, you have to go to the doctor, where he will stick a cold metal pterodactyl face in your What-Not.

This. In your What-Not.

The Comedian's Advice: Prior to the Pterodactyl Appointment (or 'Pterodactyling' as I believe it's not called in the medical community) decorate your inner thighs with Spongebob Squarepants Bandaids. I suggest using them to spell out "HI, DOCTOR!" He's going to laugh so hard when he sees it. Hopefully, he'll laugh before he does the thing he's going to do with the pterodactyl face, because if he starts laughing after and his hands get all jerky and stuff, he will hollow you out like you're a screaming watermelon made of meat.

This, minus the teeth and plus the hemmoraging

~~~~~

Shit That's True.

If you say "I seen" or "youse guys," and you're not kidding, then you're a fucking idiot.

It does not matter how many times you forward an email or click 'like,' because that kid in that picture in that hospital with tubes coming out of its nose is probably photo-shopped and isn't even dying of anything, and if it was dying of something, emails and likes probably wouldn't cure it. But thank you for passing it on, thus alerting me to the fact that I don't ever want you to be near me, you phenomenal moron.

Dogs don't give a shit when it's their birthday.

High as fuck.

You know that music you like? The stuff that literally no one else you know has ever even heard of? And mostly it's some bitch whining and then doing something weird like rapping, but backwards and in Spanish and while crying? And you have to go to some dank, lonely back corner of an independent music store to find it? And the only three people who ever go back there are you, some emo twerp and the dude who vaccuums the store once a month but instead of vaccuuming just jerks off onto Miley Cyrus CDs? And you don't even really like it, but you think it makes you cool because you like something that no one else likes? You can go ahead and never send me links to Youtube videos of that shit ever again.

Wearing deodorant does not hurt.

Ed Hardy won't ever be cool again.

Thanks a lot, cockface.

Telling me about how awesome the Beatles were won't change my mind. I will not suddenly go "Holy shit! You're right! I didn't see it before, but now that you've said 'the Beatles were awesome' at least seventeen times, I suddenly get it! How could I have not realized this before??? Now I think they were super duper!"

Same goes for Seinfeld. Seriously -- me not liking the things you like doesn't make the things you like die.

If this guy is ever a guest star on any crime drama, then he's the guy who did it:

And if this guy's ever the star of a show (See: Criminal Minds, Dead Like Me, Chicago Hope) don't fucking bother getting attached:

Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. I'm on your TV show. Prepare for me to be a bitch and leave.

Tom Cruise is three and a half feet tall.

Psychics do not exist.

Seals probably don't even feel it when you club them.

I'm Tired But Not Really and TV is Being Stupid

WARNING: I didn't get much sleep last night but I'm not tired and I'm maybe crazy now so if nothing I type here makes sense, go fuck yourself because I don't care what you think.

This is about things I saw on TV today and how stupid they were.

Stupid Thing on TV #1: Life insurance commercial. "If you don't want your loved ones to be burdened by the cost of planting your dead ass in the ground, blah blah blah as little as 7 cents a day, blah blah blargle schmargle fuck kaplooey buy our life insurance you don't have to have a medical or get even one finger put up your bum by a doctor."


Dear My Loved Ones,

Please do not burden yourself by planting my dead ass in the ground. Go ahead and torch me and put my ashes in a little urn or tin or coffee cup or whatever. I won't care, because of how dead I'll be. This will enable me to save as little as 7 cents a day on a stupid life insurance policy that I don't want and even if I did want one, I'd get the one where a doctor put a finger up my bum.


Stupid Thing on TV #2: Sarah McLachlan singing about dead dogs or something.


Dear Sarah McLachlin,

Every time I see you singing about dead dogs or something, I use a black Sharpie to make a little line on a picture of you. Once the picture of you is completely covered in lines, I'm going to go out and kick one puppy for every line. Please shut the fuck up forever.


Stupid Thing on TV #3: Eggie, I think it's called. It's a little round thing that you boil eggs in, because apparently that's too fucking hard for people now.


Dear People Who Buy the Eggie (if that is, in fact, what it's called),

Please die before you have a chance to breed.


Stupid Thing on TV #4: Some message that said I had to press the "Select" button to make my TV go.


Dear TV,

I already pressed one button to make you be on. I should not have to press another button to make you go. Don't be so fucking lazy, TV.


Stupid Thing on TV #5: For a dollar a day, I can feed a kid.


Dear Commercial About That Kid-Thing,

I go to the cheap-ass grocery store that never gets cleaned and where they don't have bags so you have to put your groceries in old banana boxes that probably have Black Widow Spiders in them, but it still costs me waaaaaaaay more than a dollar. Can you tell me which grocery store you shop at so I can go there instead?