Time for TMI. I do some of my best thinking in the shower or, ahem, on the throne. Some days, the king is content and then there are the shitty days. I am the King of Tangents. Somehow, I feel they are all connected and make perfect sense, together. You may not be so inclined.
If you prefer a pristine world of princesses, perfume and room service, then you won’t like many of my observations, below. However, like much of life, there are always a couple sapphires shining through the mud. Are you willing to sift through the shit to find them? Be my guest.
The world is transitioning to ever greater degrees of transparency. If you cannot show up authentically, honestly and transparently, then you will go the way of the dinosaur.
Give me a kick-ass computer game and keep slipping PB&Js under the door, please! Sometimes, you just have to shoot the shit out of some virtual Nazis.
What do you do when you don’t have a real job, but need some real money and every employment ad you read makes you want to extract all your teeth, one by one, with pliers and without novacaine?
Yeah, yeah, I know. Stop playing computer games. Bite me. I’m 50-years-old. I do what I want.
I can scarf down an entire batch of chocolate chip cookies and a quart of milk in one sitting. *burp*
I am a creature of the night. I love the quiet stillness, the cooler air and the vast emptiness of possibility. Actually, I just like that most of the idiots are asleep and staying out of my way.
Why is it that I could ride across the U.S. eight times on motorcycles (some days going a thousand miles), but sitting in this fucking office chair for two hours kills my ass?
I’m going to shove a chocolate-dipped sugar cone of Rocky Road down the throat of the neighborhood ice cream truck driver, tie him to the steering wheel and place a brick on his accelerator, sending him into the reservoir, the next time his twinkling little “It’s a Friggin’ Small World” tune plinks its way down my street while I’m trying to take a nap (see “creature of the night” comment, above).
It annoys me that any online merchant can instantaneously access my credit/debit card to complete the transaction, but woe unto me if I should expect my money back earlier than 7 – 10 business days, even if I have legitimate reasons and the business agrees on the return.
Under promise . . . over deliver. Period. Anything else is shit.
Automated hell phone operations by companies are the absolute shittiest form of customer service. If you don’t have a real operator, answering the phone, that speaks and understands my language, then you deserve to go out of business.
Walk your talk or shut the fuck up. I have more respect for murderers who say, “Yeah, I killed ‘em.”
When anyone tries to expound upon the sanctity of their divine prophets, I always imagine Gandhi, Buddha and Jesus taking a shit. It’s tough to deify someone who is asking you where the TP is.
It’s a hell of a lot easier for someone to take a dump on you, if you place them on a pedestal.
Over or under? I say over. I prefer my own bathroom, but if I must share, then it better be over or the shit’s gonna hit the fan.
I can speak softly. If I’m yelling, then perhaps you’re not listening.
Reluctantly, I’ve been using Twitter for the past week, checking it out, and I’ve discovered that it’s an extremely fast, concise way to shovel a bunch of shit in my face. Can you say Spamalot?
If all you do is Tweet never-ending online marketing schemes, viral pies in the sky and MLM tactics to become the next uber Twitterer, then you are a Twit and I’ll dump you faster than a 3 am shit.
Make sure the person who says, “I’ve got your back” isn’t the same one who’s just waiting for you to bend over. Unless you’re into that shit.
It’s a shitty world. The guy in the Mickey Mouse costume farts and Tinkerbell has a yeast infection. You can keep reaching for the stars while I’m reaching for the last square of two-ply.
Speaking of which, if I visit your establishment or home and you provide one-ply TP to get the job done, I’m going to use the whole roll . . . on purpose. If you want me to not waste paper, then stop being a cheapskate and pony up for the good shit.
If you have only one-ply, rolling under (against the wall), then I will shove the whole roll in your toilet and plunger it in tight.
I refuse to use any TP that I can see my fingers through. Duh.
Same goes for paper napkins. You cheap bastards that offer a stack of worthless one-ply napkins at your eatery would save a lot of money, if you’d just provide one quality napkin. Otherwise, I’ll keep pulling out ten of your see-through pieces of shit to wipe my fingers on.
My childhood dog used to vomit in the yard, then eat it. He would also eat piles of shit. Dogs do this for a variety of health reasons. Remember this the next time your pooch wants to give you a sloppy lick in the chops.
Out of a pile of shit, a flower grows.
People who refer to excrement as poop, poo poo, doo doo or any other cutesy phrase are full of shit.
Sanitation workers are the real heroes and should be paid accordingly; not these self-righteous, self-absorbed, narcissistic superstars who think their shit don’t stink.
Don’t shit where you eat.
Okay, enough of that shit. I need a sammich.
The Kat
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