The Week In Review
I climbed a mountain yesterday. Seriously. Had you told me twenty years ago that I would climb a mountain, my twenty-something year old self would have asked you if they were giving away free drugs at the top. Unfortunately, they weren’t, because I could have used them today. My arms and legs feel like someone broke them off, used them to beat a wildebeest to death, then reattached them to my torso without using anesthetic. Who knew climbing a mountain would involve exertion?
The Superstition Mountains (that’s them above) were regarded as sacred by the indigenous peoples of this area, and having scaled them myself I think that this was nothing more than a work avoidance device.
Native America Woman: Look, we live in a desert. It’s hotter than balls out here, and we’ve got three teaspoons of water to make it until next month. It’s so hot that your daughter blew a coyote for the moisture.
Native American Man: And?
Native American Woman: And we need to find some fucking water! Look, if you climb to the top of that mountain, you could look around and see if there are any lakes around here. You haven’t bathed in years, and you smell like a diseased bison’s ass. We need water!
Native American Man: Sorry, those mountains are sacred. I wouldn’t want to offend the Gods.
Native American Woman: Oh, for the love of… Ok, well could you at least go gather some…
Native American Man: That’s sacred too.
Native American Woman: You don’t even know what I was going to ask you to gather!
Native American Man: Sorry. You’re right. Go ahead.
Native American Woman: Thank you. I was going to ask if you could go gather some flat rocks for me to…
Native American Man: Sacred! The rocks are sacred.
Native American Woman: AUGH! My mother warned me about marrying you, Dances With Laziness!
“Well at least clean up the trash in the yard. The neighbors have been…”
“Sacred!”
At least when I got home, I had another unsolicited email to distract me from my aching muscles.
From: Maria Simon
Subject: Question
Date: March 30th, 2013 1:38 PM
To: Greg (greg@dogsondrugs.com)Hello,
Have you ever heard of (website redacted)? It’s a game like website that pays cash reward for errors found on the internet. Here is a link to a video explaining the website.
(link redacted)
They also have a million dollar contest called the $1,000,000 Team Leader Challenge Contest. Here is a link to the press release.
(link redacted)
msimon
That’s pretty amazing, if you think about it. A business that paid people to find mistakes on the internet would have to have some seriously deep pockets. I could clean them out just pointing out the flaws on the Scientology website alone.
From: Greg
Subject: HOLY FUCKING SHIT!
Date: March 30th, 2013 3:14 PM
To: Maria SimonWow, I hadn’t heard of that! That’s fucking amazing! Incredible! I cannot find the fucking words to express how totally fucking mind-blown I am at receiving this news. If I were to train for the next twenty years to become an astronaut, pilot a spaceship to Mars, land on its rocky, barren surface, only to find a fucking Tupperware convention going on, I would scarcely be more astounded than I am at the world-changing news that you have dropped right into my proverbial lap. I am skull-fucked with surprise.
One time I suspected that my high school girlfriend was sleeping with a good friend of mine, so I waited until she was at cheerleading practice and broke into her house. Hiding in her closet I soon heard her enter and spying through a crack in the door I saw her fall to the bed in the embrace of not my friend, but a weatherman for a local news team! Stunned, I watched as they disrobed, and began to have sex right in front of me. Finally, I could take no more and I burst through the closet door and let loose with a double-barrelled shotgun. When that guy got hit in the taint with two shell’s worth of rock salt, he was less surprised than I am right now.
What’s next? What other, life-altering news am I going to receive today? I find myself giddy with anticipation, yet my nerves rattle with dread. What if this is all a pleasant dream, and I awaken to a nightmarish reality, a broken hellscape of failed aspirations and ruinous bad fortune? A website that pays cash reward for errors found on the internet, you say? GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!
Greg
Kennel Master,
Dogs on Drugs
http://dogsondrugs.com
On to what happened the last couple of weeks while you were having your mind boggled by offers from the Nigerian royal family.
- Two Mondays ago, we learned that Hervé Villachaize could sing, or to be more accurate, he couldn’t.
- A couple of Tuesdays ago, the worst thing to ever happen in the history of mankind happened to me. To me!
- The Wednesday before last, you younguns asked, “Who’s Bob Guccione?” I am so fucking old.
- A couple of Thursdays ago, the best trailer ever was released, and the world stood still.
- Last Monday, I acted like a lunatic in public, but this time I had a reason.
- Last Wednesday, in a stunning turn of events, I blabbered on and on with no purpose. I know. I’m shocked too.
- And last Thursday, with any luck, I made a poor schlub in marketing flee for his life.
I was looking over my site the other day (which is something I do when Bavarian donkey-porn gets boring) and it dawned on me that I’ve got links to the official Dogs on Drugs Comment Hall of Famers home pages, but we know very little about the people themselves. So, starting some time soon (read: when I get off my lazy ass and actually do it), I’m going to create a profile page for each of these people, detailing their lives as I see them in that rum-soaked sponge I call a brain.
Now, this may cause more than a couple of you some anxiety. Never fear! As long as I receive the agreed-upon payment (non-consecutive, unmarked twenties, please), I will be kind with my words. If I do not receive the payment, well, suffice it to say that the words “secret hermaphrodite” will come into play.
(A note to the people involved: Before you do something rash like burn the evidence or have the witnesses killed, realize that in accordance with my long-standing policy, I will refrain from using actual facts. So nothing I have learned about your filthy perversions in real life will be revealed. )
It is a new week, everyone. Go out there and tear it a new asshole.
Huh. I always thought “taint” meant a female-only part. Live and learn.
On opening WWW this morning, I found that Google made a funny. Happy April 1st, whenever you see it.
I always thought it was a unisex term, but had never looked it up. Looking at the Urban Dictionary (because apparently the good folks over at Webster’s are a bit too squeamish for their own good), I discover the following:
The first definition claims the taint is “The area between the nutsack and the asshole”, so exception Rosie O’Donnell, this means it is a male body part.
The second definition claims that the taint is “the stretch of skin found only on women”… and so on and so forth.
We could argue about this endlessly, I suppose, but I propose a new idea: We call the area between genitals and asshole the “Cetera” and be done with it.
How long did it take you to climb the mountain? And did you just say “screw it” and roll back to the bottom?
It took a little over five hours, although I waited for the others in my group a bunch of times. So I might have been able to do it in 4 – 4 1/2.
It was harder coming down, to tell you the truth. On your way up ,if you trip, you’re falling a few feet to the ground. On the way down, if you fall, there’s no telling how far you’re going to fall. Plus, you use a lot of muscles you’re not used to using.
Thank you, for my new excuse. Dust bunnies are sacred, and so is dirt that has been on the bottoms of shoes. And food crumbs. No more sweeping or vacuuming for me! I think that this is the most informative blog I’ve read all week.
It is as our ancestors would wish. Our lazy, lazy ancestors.
Can I offer you an animal cracker?
Stranger danger! Stranger danger! I need an adult here!
Oh hush. I took it out of my bra.
So glad I read that last little tidbit about refraining from using actual facts. I was about to pack my shit up and hightail it to the boarder.
I would never betray your confidence and tell everyone about that thing with the boy scout, the trombone slide, and the D-cell batteries.
As long as you leave out my name, no one will ever know…waaaait a minute.
Damn.