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Please Excuse My Dear Aunt Dynastar

2004-01-15 - 6:14 p.m.

Secret Word: 55 degrees

Listening To: Billy Bragg & Wilco, Sifl & Olly, Counting Crows

Quote: "Getting HBO is just another one of Ben's frozen pipe dreams." - Zach

What's this?! No! It cannot be! I refuse to accept! Another entry so quick?! This is like Pat Baldi choosing the salad bar over the pizza/pasta bar at Pizza Hut! It's just THAT crazy! {Ok, nothing's that crazy!} Jeeze, a Miss Bean opening last time, and now a Pat Baldi one? Who's next on our trail of tears and deal-a-meal cards? Smart money says Janet Cochrane, but funny money says Ellen Castro - because man, Ellen Castro jokes just write themselves . . .

Anyway, let's all give a big lubricated hand to Jessica "Boobs" Fletcher for fishing my besotted carcass out of some random gutter in Gonic . . . again. I don't want to point fingers, but all I know is that Chef Chen slipped me a mickey and next thing I knew . . . well, that's chloroform for you! Look, a triangle!

Yeah, so here we are. Thursday. And I'm filled to the gills with breadsticks. Which is odd. Since it usually takes until Friday for that to happen. Oh well. Simpsons Hit & Run? For PS2? Fuckin' sweet. Seriously, Suck Down Beers! Wait, how did that slip in there? Other than it being a funny fucking phrase that I haven't heard in a really long time, it has nothing to do with Simpsons Hit & Run. Anyway, any Simpsons fan worth his salt (or sugar, as it were) needs to own this game - or at the very least borrow it from me. Because it is SWEET. Did I mention I'm quite fond of it? You can collect Bart's Soul in it for God sakes. And Lisa gets to dress up in her "Floreda" costume. And lot's of Frink, Comic Book Guy, and the Sea Captain! Come on, what more do you people need?!

If I could take a moment of your time - you know Dynastar? The brand of skis? Dynastar? You know. The brand of skis? Yeah. I thought you knew. Anyway, God knows I would never have been caught in Dynastars (I don't even know what that says about me), I was more of a naive Blizzard kind of guy who matured into Atomic, anywho . . . , but I always pronounced it, DIE-NAH-STAR, but, thanks to the good folks who make the Butchikas radio ads (I'm not even gonna guess how to really spell Butchikas) I find out it's pronounced DEE-NAH-STAR. I wonder if they're any relation to Dee Spag? Remember Dee Spag? And her monsterous thighs? Well . . . to be honest, I don't really either, but I've bought into the legend like everyone else has . . . perhaps this is something I should have asked Julie Rohderman (sp.?) when I saw her during Christmas break. Not that she's a Dee Spag expert, and not that she doesn't mistake me for Ben (which she does - despite stating plainly that my mother was the cheering coach - which is correct, which just makes it all the more confusing), but I'm pretty sure Dee Spag was in her grade. Ok. Now I've typed Dee Spag WAY too many times, and it's only gonna make all the Dee Spag Google Searches funnel themselves right to me. And thank you very much, but I already have enough people finding me by typing in "Orphan Rapers" (thanks to Justin ) and "Shampooing with Placenta" (thanks to Beth from the Wallakers) into Google. So yeah . . . anyway, I thought it was DIE-NAH-STAR, not DEE-NAH-STAR.

Went to go see Big Fish earlier today. It was great. I liked it a lot. It feels like a lifetime ago when Coty gave me the book and insisted I read it. I think I read it in one sitting. It's not a long book. And Coty and I probably started hearing rumors of a movie version not long after. And now, years later it finally came out. And it's good. Damn good. Certainly not your average Tim Burton movie. And I'll be damned if I didn't tear up a bit at the end. Ok, ok, I didn't tear up. But you couldn't blame me if I did, I'm not made of stone people! Who do you think I am? Al Jackson? I'm sorry. That was a cheap shot at Al Jackson. But seriously, I mean, come on - that man is made of stone. And I'm not talking about fucking shaley mica shit here, I'm talking white hot granite. Oh yeah. That's right. While the rest of you were learning about the "fun" side of math with your maps and your graphs and your "If Jonny is Janey's brother, then Tim can't be wearing a green shirt" puzzle shit with Mitchell, we were next door getting taught the "searing gas pain" side of math that involved sticking our noses to the raw and brutal rhomboidal grindstone and none of that Please Excuse My Dear Aunt Sally bullshit, oh no - that shit's considered weak to our man Jackson, oh no - he made us TATTOO, with a rusty MMS stapler, PARENTHESES, EXPONENTS, MULTIPLICATION, DIVISION, ADDITION, & SUBTRACTION on to our CHESTS. Yeah. That's right. Shit dawg. So yeah . . . anyway, I really liked Big Fish, but like most movie adaptations, I suggest reading the book first. And like most everything cool in my life I must thank the Gods above for allowing Coty to grace me with his suggestions. (Though I still question the logic of following the Armenian-tinged suggestion to, "watch Con-Air 8 times in a row . . . without a break".)

"Follow my every command! Pay no heed when I try to awkwardly kiss you in social situations in successful attempts to embarrass you! Fret not when you wake to find me combing your hair!"

Oh those Armenians! You just can't say no to them! And if you do . . . well, if you do, they'll just stare at you. For a while. And it'll just get creepy. Trust me. That's one of their mutant powers. Just ask Jerry Tarkanian and Armen Katayian. Also, I finally got my Sifl & Olly: Songs of Season #1 that I ordered off of the S&O website . . . since God knows I'd be dead long before anyone else GOT IT FOR ME. Now, if anyone feels generous enough to surprise me with the Stella DVDs, well, I certainly won't stop you.

Wait, NEWS FLASH: Did anyone else notice that it's colder than a bouquet of witches tits outside? 'Cause . . . you know . . . it is. Kenichi hasn't gone out in days. Mainly due to the cold, but I'm sure that his new best friend Bruce not being allowed outside might have something to do with it. (That, and the fact that Bruce is about 3 stitches away from having all the catnip spill out of him.) I'd LOVE to share with you all pictures of Chef Chen and Bruce "bonding", if you can call it that, but the stupid cock-ass scanner is broken. So their glamour shots will have to wait for another day. The bone marrow-chilling cold might also explain why our pipes have been frozen for the last couple of days. That or Ben cast a spell on them. You really never can tell. Of course, we finally got our stove/oven back in working order (for the first time since March) so I should have known it was only a matter of time before some other unforseen untied shoe dropped, especially since such a big shoe had just been tied. God I'm tired. I'm making no sense. (The scary part is, I'm not even tired - I just said that to make my nonsensicalness seem just slightly less nonsensical . . . or something.)

Well, let's all cross our fingers that the grand experiment of getting us all to go Cosmic Bowling goes off without a hitch tomorrow. But, then again, I know me, and I know us, and we don't have a damn prayer that hitches won't be snaged and itches won't be scratched. Wait, what? I don't know. Just be there, and be cosmic. Unless your name is Ellen Castro. Then don't be there. Because . . . um . . . because you're psycho. {See? I told you these jokes just write themselves!}

Jam tomorrow! Jam yesterday! But never ever jam today!

Just sayin' is all . . .

It's been real,

Precious Roy

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