walking in a winterwonderfuckmyliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiife.

I live in canada. yes. we have snow.
but FUCK (seriously)
this morning i was jumping over snow hills like fucking balto himself..
all the way to the bus stop and i caught the bus by maybe a half-second.
so TECHNICALLY:
if i were not resilient and nymph-like (in every way shape and form)
-being that i am god's personal prima ballerina and all.
i would have missed that bus.
and i know the rat woman is thanking every single cosmic force in the universe that this did not happen.
because i would have strait up punched her across the fucking head.
(something about the holidays that brings out the vurry best in me..)

the rat woman: looks and acts like a rat. hence further proving my theory that people who look like rats.
act like rats.
look at snoop dogg.
and this guy that came to my elementary school.
his name was frank.
he was pure rat.and obv. the resident juvenile delinquent.
why is she the rat woman one would ask?
besides being the identical twin sister of splinter from the ninja turtles.
this betch waits at the front of the bus line.
however, be forewarned that:
the concept of a LINE does not exist in riviere des prairies.
and she cuts in the line after about 3 people get on the bus.
and true to rat form,
takes the last available seat on the bus.
rat woman.

so allegedly we're harboring dead bodies in my house
because the heating is like never on.
and the mother screams at me every time i do.
my nip nips can nearly carve out a statue of "the david".
david allan grier.
i swear to you when i say i sleep with 5 layers of sheetness.
and one is a duvet.
duvet allan grier.

what else.

sidenote: i want to be in the nutcracker.
peecaz cracking nuts is my forte.

so my new years resolution is to be more positive.
because im not a miserable old man.
i'm young.
and my boobs are really perky
so no need to be negative now is there?!

basically:

the old negative melnutso thinks:

"i want to hijack santa's sleigh and take santa and his reindeer to china.
i'll take them to a bamboo garden.
strap them to the ground and sit there for 2 weeks
(in the foldy camping chair i got at canadian tire which in reality means i stole it from minty's garage.)
while bamboo grows right through their fucking foreheads.

however

the new positive melnotnutso thinks:

"this calls for sears photo studio opp..who's down for some ugly t-shirt, fake fireplace mantle editorial posing?!"

i know i am.

and for you pleasure but in reality just the pleasure of mine-own:

">

JIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ-AH!

things i've analyzed over the weekend

1) "MTV" edition


Mtv taught me to always put my money on the little talentless white boy with the falsetto that makes liberace roll over in his grave and ass-cream all over his crimson velveteen coffin.
and then place the rest of your moneys on the coked-out white girl dressed in raw meat scraps.
even if there is no option or category of the sort.
you create your own category.
and you put your fucking money on it.

side note.
the word "situation" is dead to me because of MTV
and that asshole.
anytime anyone says "situation"
regardless of context
techno beats and strobe lights start blaring in my head.
i imagine a little orange man start to fist pump to "beat dat beat".
and i just see that bastard's ugly face.
lifting up his shirt and pointing to his abs.
that's what's going on my my head
in reality i start to flick the light switch on and off
while singing "DSH DSH DSH DSH DSH"

2) "nicki minaj's ass" edition

for the record:
i have NOTHING negative to say about this woman.
i adore nicki minaj and i think she belongs nowhere that isnt my fireplace mantle
in an anne of green gables dress and wig
because she is absolutely and completely a doll.
it is with unanimous envy when i say that her ass
deserves an area code of its own.
and a strap holster that can be hooked and placed comfortably onto my body.
when i'm feeling for some discounted kfc.
when i'm pouring 500$ champagne down my ass-crack
or when i'm bending over to smack the ground
which FYI
i've been doing a lot lately.
(i would also forget to mention that this is one of the strenuous ritual performed in order to satisfy my obsessive compulsive disorder)
that and doing "the hustle" when entering a room

3) "my mother killed the only 2 friends i've ever had" edition


the spiders in my shower.
i usually kill spiders because i'm a ruthless cunt.
but i had a special attachment to these ones.
because they've seen me naked (so we can all assume they wanted to die)
and they've heard me sing the sweet melody of really bad renditions of fiona apple songs (ditto)
and most importantly
they sold me the best weed i have ever smoked in my life.
face numbing.
i remember it like it was 10 minutes ago (literally)
i look up. no spiders.
followed by "YOU KILLED MY FRIENDS!!"
to which she responds:
"what friends?"
(she's right)

RIP jermajesty and prince michael the third.

on a lighter note.
my birtday is in.... *takes out calendar*
exactly fitteen (not a typo) days.
"22 anni pirsi" as my grandmother would say
which translates to:
"we found you in a cardboard box on the service road and nobody in the family likes you"

things that should be relevant in pop culture part one: scene one

strip monopoly.
cause nothing says "eff me" quite like nudity and real estate.
not to mention that by the end of the game
(three hours later)
all you've taken off is your jacket.
and you're no longer friends with any of the people in the same room as you.
now after that.
just picture the old man with the mustache and the top hat.
completely nude.
wearing nothing exception the sock holder-upper straps around his calf
that are holding up his tuxedo socks.

I can't admit that i have ever played a full game of monopoly.
the same way i've never watched titanic from beginning to end.
it's actually scarred me for life.
imagine being awake and seeing sunshine and british accents.
then you fall asleep...
to ultimately wake up and SHIT IS GETTING FORREHL.
the water is cold.
di caprio is dead.
and everyone is like
"disney cruise my ASS"

on that note

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cj1wcs7SZj0

the biche and i have been rehearsing this scene for weeks on end.
biche is the monopoly guy.
because i won the bet.
so i got to be ace ventura.
the bet was over the celebrity apprentice.
who could predict the winner...
i won by default because we don't even watch the celebrity apprentice.
and cause biche is a dog.
thus meaning she has no REAL opinion except for:

eat
sleep
hump
and BEHHHHHHHH *side-eyes of lividnessssssssss*



PRA PRA!

y'know what time it is?!?!!?!

blog time.
*EXPLOSIONS*
*contemporary dancers in yellow sequined jumpsuits with fringe at the bottom*
*rev jesse jackson backed up by the harlem boys choir*

so did you ever get the feeling like you wanted to kick someone's ass.
im serious.
like the sudden urge to just slide tackle them to the floor?
i would only partake in the previous if and only if:

i were wearing chandelier earrings.
you know the long, heavy ones that just hang.
why, you ask?
that's because when i'm deciding whether or not
i really want to beat the shit out of someone.
the deciding force will be driven by the idea
of being all "shits about to get hood"
where i will proceed in removing the earrings.
gently placing them in the hands of the person next to me.
(saying "hold this")
then i continue to walk forward
and uppercut a bitch.

Once i was on the corner of atwater and st catherine.
and its 8 o'clock in the morning
and i havn't injected my veins with a syringe full of espresso at this point.
however i am holding a coffee.
on my way to work.
at a traffic light, as im waiting for the bonnehomme light to show his sexy self.
a runner run's past me skimming my coffee.
at this point im thinking to myself:
imagine she would have knocked it down?
and i would pause
look at the coffee
look at the runner
and just start running after her.
catch up to her and grab her by the hair.
drag her all the way back to mcdonalds,
get to the cash, throw her to the ground and scream "BUY ME A COFFEE!!!!!!!!"
but then i realized that would be FUUUUUUCKED.

so then i crossed the street and went to work.
at work i told the guy that sits next to me what had just happened and he said:

"wow. your life sucks."

my response?

"it REALLLLLLLLLY does..."

best dream ever.

"oh man i had the most fucked up dream yesterday. vane was crying and she takes my car and drives herself home but then she leaves it there and comes back to my house and i'm like 'where's my car' and she's like 'it's at my house' and i start telling her off and then amanda was there and refused to give me a lift and i snapped and was like 'you ungrateful bitchesssssssssssssss' but i started laughing cause that's the lamest most soap opera-y thing you can say"

"it gets worse. then i'm in this scenario where i'm in a high school and i start howling as if im turning into a werewolf but everyone and the teacher in the class is like 'wtf are you smoking' and then i just stop howling and take a seat. then i woke up."

in case you were wondering. this was a series of text messagios directed towards ma boo, gee-double-L. but i only call her this behind her back.
the moral of the story is:
don't drink alcohol.
change your undies at least once a day.
and this boy.

i swear to you i will dress up like link from zelda.
and i will hunt this fucker down with a cross bow.
i dont care if his abs look like i can use them to wash my delicates.
i'm tired of seeing him shirtless, doing cartwheels on beaches while simultaneously riding a motorcycle.
that's a physical impossibility.
and who fucking wears jeans to the beach?!

i'm pregnant

with sextuplets.
i've chosen out names.
and you can rest assured.
that "mortimer" is one of them.
"miss thang" is another one.


so today i had the great fortune of reading the biography of ted bundy out loud.
to a heaping audience of 2.
bitch was fucked.
so basically i've been working on my psychopath history.
cause there are A LOT.
and i need to outsmart the magnetic force field which i exude that super-sucks in psychopaths.
and sociopaths.
like a turkey baster.
they come in every shape and form all having one thing in common.
the desire to see me lose my fucking mind.

you know its bad when half the people you meet remind you of alex from clockwork.
next thing you know he's cutting the boobs off your orange spandex onesie while he's not singing "singin' in the rain"
my psycho sings the mentos theme song.
then he hums it in the bathtub and then i go in there only to stick a hand grenade (shaped like a giant marble penis) up his ass.
(in case you were wondering. i get out before it goes kablammo)
just like keanu in speed.

am i the only one bothered by the fact that alex cuts a perfectly fine orange spandex onesie?
if i remember correctly, there WAS a zipper on that thing.
zippers are there for a reason.
they're there so that in order to take it off, you don't need to use scissors to do this.

my magnet not only "come hither's" sociopaths.
it also attracts homeless men.
only those who smell like a mixture of piss and colt 45
(boiled at high for 10 mins, decrease heat and let simmer for an hour)
the same ones that don't make any sense when they're screaming at you while waving a banana furiously over their head.

ps. how fucking awesome is the picture of the dog with the syringe in his mouth?

so i created this scenario in my head....

remember lamb chops play along?
remember this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HNTxr2NJHa0
now. if you think im fucked and obsessed with lamb chops.
you're absolutely right.
lamb chops is the genuine coming-together of 3 things that i hold close to my heart:
yeta accents, wool and shari lewis' female jewfro (its like a condensed shaun white).
i swear to god.
if barbara streisand were born a lamb and THEN was cast in Yentl.
she would be lambchops.

anyway.

i thought about it the other day.
what if at the end of every episode, when they're singing that song.
shari lewis like. flips her shit.
she cuts off lamb chop's head with an axe.
shoots charlie horse in the eye with a nail gun.
rapes hush puppy?

that would be FUCKED up.
capital FUCKED.

sooooooooo...
(you know its bad when you have to say "sooooooo")

i've been getting into situations where really obese people get annoyed and consequently pissed the fuck off.
i don't know why i always have to be in the same place at the same time.
but it happened quite often recently.

there was this like. i kid you not. 600 pound haitien woman on the metro.
she was wearing curtains. or what use to be the curtains from the sound of music.
she sits down. and eventually gets off at pie IX.
doesn't she bodycheck a tiny asian lady
turns around and gives her this "oh no you did not, child!" look.
i think i was the only one to notice and i was like HO SHIIIIIIIIIIIIT.
not gunna lie.
i was kinda disappointed that she didnt scream.
"WATCH WHERE IT IS THAT YOU WALK"
while clapping her hands consecutively so as to prove just how forehhhhl she is.

then.

the other day at atwater mcdonalds.
ie. homeless-crack addict-aids volunteer worker centropolis.
there's this woman sitting on the terrasse.
she was (you guessed it). obese.
but she wasnt wearing a bra either.
i wont get into detail.
but lets just say
the melons were resting peacefully on the table in front of her.

NEXT.

i got into an arguement with this woman at work.
i work over the phone but she had one of those voices that you can tell.
like deep breathing
you can taste the oxygen tank sitting next to her lazy-boy recliner, basically.
and i ask her "how come you didn't make your payment?"
and she says "I CANT WALK!*inhale*exhale*I MAILED'EM"
and when i asked why she hadn't contacted her branch to trace the payment she says
"i don' know"
...

what do you mean you don't know?!?!?!
(this was my inside voice)

piece de resistance?

right before she hangs up she screams "GO AWAY!!!"

and now i get to cross that off my to-do list...