Again, Not Dead

Hey you crazy crackerjacks! 

Again, another post to PROVE once and for all I’m not dead. Just busy. 

And by busy I mean I went to Beyonce’s concert last week and have been trying to make up a unique dance routine to each of her songs ever since. Specifically her song “Superpower” though.  Here’s a slowed down version of it that I roll around to. –> <– I’ve listened to it 3 times already trying to type this. 

Christmas was also a thing that happened. Santa brought me a YELLOW Keurig. It is now my beloved. 

I finished the X-Files, I finished Twin Peaks, and now I’m onto The Wire. I don’t even want to talk about Twin Peaks because it broke my goddamn heart. MY. GOD. DANG. HEART. I love you Agent Dale Cooper now and forever.

I signed up for more Second City classes via the internet because I’ve been getting irritated with myself that I spend all this time watching stuff and not writing. I have my Twitter which takes the edge off when I have a joke flying around my head but it’s becoming my virtual dumping ground. Like a pseudo-accomplishment. Tony Robbins says I need to raise my standards and I believe him because he has a Hulk Hogan voice.

Tomorrow is New Year’s Eve, SO don’t drink and drive and be THAT guy/girl/merman/dog barf and ruin everyone’s night/life. 

Agreed? AGREED. BUTTCHEEKS on three! OneTwoThree BUTTCHEEKS! 

Until next time my slap happies!


Fake Face, Day 30

Hey Kling-dongs. 

That’s my new brand of plastic wrap with cartoon dicks all over it. To be used to cover the left over deviled eggs at your bachelorette party. 

Do people like deviled eggs? They seem like a staple at family parties. You see them arrive in their special little caddy but you never actually see people eating them. BUT, the mystery–there are never any left over because Uncle Marty throws his hands in the air and goes “awww who ate all the deviled eggs?!” and everyone laughs, except for Aunt Edy because she and Uncle Marty had a falling out years ago, in which Marty forgot about, but Edy still shoots stingy remarks about Marty under her breath to any female relative in near proximity. No one likes Edy, she should just let it go. 

But I digress. 

DAY 30.


QUESTION: What’s in your makeup bag? (revs blow torch, lowers mask)

As a person who dumps more money into Sephora than should be legally allowed, you’d think I’d be able to talk about all the super great things I have in my 5 different makeup bags that turn me from 8 year-old boy to 40-something drag superstar. But alas, I’m still trying to pull off  the “She’s All That” look before she actually turns “All That.”

So why do you need 3 different gold eyeliners for all those New Year’s parties you’re not going to? BECAUSE.

What about this $50 smokey eye palette? I NEEDED it and Pinterest gave me a vague idea of how to use it, so leave me alone I just want to rock the two black eyes that gorilla gave me when he punched me at the zoo. 

I enjoy makeup, but anything above “you don’t look completely dead” makes me feel like a clown. Everything in moderation. Except for things with sugar in them. You can have extra of that. 

Anyways, new topic, I have half an episode left of the X-Files and the last movie before that chapter of my life comes to a close. It’s bittersweet because X-Files was a crutch for me, BUT I mentioned that I would be starting some new (relative term) shows like Twin Peaks, The Sopranos, The Wire, etc. AND GUESS WHAT? I got a request from a lo-lite (my nickname for anyone who has ever enjoyed any of my humor in any capacity) to live-tweet my thoughts on Twin Peaks. The idea that anyone would want my opinion or reaction to anything is extraordinarily flattering. SO THANK YOU!


Lolo signing off.

Until next time, my Quispy Queens.


List 15 of your favorite things.

You’d think that would be a good question for #15.

But it’s not it’s number 11 on DAY 11 of the BLOG CHALLENGE.

It’s very open ended. Hmm…Well. In no particular order, here are 15 of my favorite things in list form!

1) The X-Files.

2) Stand-up comedy.

3) Animows (animals for you lay persons).

4) Reading self-help books.

5) Mocha iced coffee. Slurp, slurp, slurp.

6) Cartoons! Muppets! Hooray!

7) Netflix. God Bless America. Is the B in bless capitalized? I don’t know, it looks weird without it. I blame the structuring of song titles for that.

8) French onion soup. French onion dip. French onion everything.

9) Singing. I did that for a while.

10) Convincing people they should be my friend because I love them.

11) Lipstick and nail polish. BALLAH.

12) Wearing whatever I want. Platforms. Spaceship sandals. Wookie t-shirts.

13) Singing in the car and driving around in general. I turned on the radio and was greeted with the Pokemon theme song followed by Istanbul (They Might Be Giants). I nearly drove my car straight to the moon.

14) Coke. Either in a can or fountain.

15) Pretzel m&m’s.


Those are 15 of my favorite things! Cool, right?


Well fine.

Until next time, my crepe-nuts.


P.S. I forgot to mention my kitty, MooMoo. 😀

Don’t Worry, I’m Alive


I am, it’s true.

But I’ve been without internet for the last few days.

You’d think I’d have used that time to come up with super great and entertaining posts.

But I haven’t.

I’ve really just been worried about my Springfield in The Simpsons: Tapped Out. I haven’t been able to care and love my little Springfield babies.

I also haven’t been able to watch the X-Files.

It’s been really hard you guys.

Are You Addicted to Netflix?

A rejected liihiihiihiiiisssst. That’s me singing the word list. Was it pretty?



You spend at least 2 hours a day watching your new favorite show! (Who’s last episode aired in 2008).

You don’t answer when your friends try to reach you, but you love hearing The King of the Hill theme song play every time they do.

The Freaks and Geeks opening credits releases so many endorphins. 

You don’t even understand how you lived before Firefly.

You’ve contemplated formal essays expressing outrage of only one season of Bob’s Burgers, and worse, only two of Louie.

God, that Fox Mulder is sexy.

I’m a Piss-Bitch

Hey flarpnarbs

I’m in a real piss-bitch mood. I had 2 cups of coffee and 4 cups of tea, now I’m crashing and trying to chase the high with a little shit ton of macaroni and cheese. It’s not working.

I’ve been hunching over my laptop with my neck sunken down and my head up like a friggen Skeksis. I’m terrible at getting the plates to spin all at once, so now that I’ve kept up with the blog, I’ve totally neglected writing outside of it. Then when it’s 3am and I’m laying in bed with a bag of M&M’s in each hand and a M&M funnel shooting down my throat and I’m sobbing candy-coated tears, I realize I’m not famous because I haven’t been doing shit with myself. Fuck. Sigh.

I’m also looking at a nail polish color called “Fuchsia Bling Bling.” What the fuck does that even mean? Am I missing a cute and delightful reference in my blind piss-bitchery? Either way I think I’m going to bring the iPad to the gym so I can watch the X-Files and work on my glutes simultaneously. That’ll really cheer me up.

Until we meet again, my little Maroon Shing Shing’s.

Camping Trip

Here’s a writing prompt, provided by the lovely people at Writer’s Digest.

“You and your three closest friends decide to go camping. You arrive and set up camp nearly three miles away from where you left your car. Late that evening, as you sit around the campfire roasting marshmallows, one of your friends reveals a deep dark secret that turns what was to be a fun weekend into one of the scariest weekends of your life.”

First off, that camping trip was called a”Leprechaun Watch” (like a whale watch) to get me to go on it. It takes a strong persuasion to get me, in my weakly, powder-puff condition, to go to the grocery store, let alone three miles from my car. So we go on this leprechaun watch, my two best friends, Bilbo and Sanchez, sat outside of their tents as they got the fire ready to make the hotdogs I wanted for dinner. I stuck my head out of my RV’s window. “How are you guys doing out there? Are the hotdogs almost ready? I just need a fork to stir the macaroni and cheese with.”

That’s when the bomb was dropped by Sanchez, “We don’t have a fork. All we have is this spoon.”

Bilbo saw the mascara starting to drip down my cheeks. “The leprechaun must have switched our fork with a spoon!”

I knew leprechauns were little tricksters, but making someone use a spoon for macaroni? Despicable, sickening, grotesque.

A rustling came from the bushes surrounding the campsite.

“WHAT WAS THAT?” Sanchez cried.

“Tarteeteetartahtartar!” An evil little laugh resounded.

In my fork-less rage, I barreled out of the RV and snatched the spoon from Sanchez’s hand, and chucked it at the bush.

“Ow!” The leprechaun emerged from the bush. “What did ya’ do that fer?”

“You’re ruining everything!” I shouted, as I stomped on him and his stupid little outfit.

I felt his body squash beneath my foot, but when I pulled it away, there was nothing but green glitter all over the bottom of my shoe.

“Ew.” I scraped my shoe against the ground, leaving a trail of glitter in the dirt.

“That’s not gonna come off.” Bilbo said, grabbing our fork off the ground.

“What an asshole. I hate leprechauns, I don’t even know why I came on this stupid watch. They are so tiny you have to squint the whole time and that hurts my forehead, and then one goes and takes our fork.” I said as I walked back to the RV, grabbing the fork from Bilbo’s hand, and slamming the door behind me.

“She’s not going to like when we tell her about the macaroni stealing el chupacabra known to these parts of the woods.” Sanchez whispered to Bilbo, as they laughed in front of the fire, eating my hotdogs.

The Truth Is Out There

There have been some odd happenings lately. I’m not entirely sure if it’s because I’ve been watching no less that 3 episodes of the X-Files per day for the last 2 weeks, or …no, that’s definitely it, but stay with me.

It’s been a long running joke in my family that my mom was abducting from our house sometime in the early 90’s. She claimed that there were bright lights and that she woke up standing next to her bed, no conscious memory of time (which we all know is a clear indicator of alien presence.)

This leads me to yesterday. I started joking with a co-worker about how I could possibly be a figment of my own imagination, and that of everyone I work with. I then retold the story of my mom’s alien abduction, and pointed out that maybe, just maybe I was an alien spawn given to my mother to birth and that her abduction was just some sort of intergalactic visitation rights. We laughed. Heehee hawhaw.

That’s when a car pulled into the office driveway, and suddenly the power went out. The lights went out, computers shut down, the toilet even stopped running. We looked out the window, but could not identify who was driving the car, and as they pulled away, all the lights came back on. Which could only mean one thing:

I know too much. And as the X-Files shows, the government is in on the whole thing, and whoever that driver was, was trying to distract us. So what happened next?

I went home, played bingo, went to bed.

Until today. The office dog started frantically barking and chewing at her retractable leash, trying to break open the plastic. My theory is that she senses a disturbance, and the leash is bugged. That’s how White Car knew we were onto something with extra-terrestrial talk.

It all falls together.