My Visit To The HeadacheLand Artists In Residency Compound, My Hard Hitting SkinHead Exposé & Job Schmob Corn Cob

I visited an old friend of mine last weekend. He is an accomplished illustrator and consequently he has taken up residency at a log cabin ranch way out in the woods. They aren't regular log cabins as the logs are made out of metal and painted to look like wood, like trailers made to look like cabins. I could hardly see the point with so many real logs all over the place.

He was busy painting away, so not to be outdid, I drew a big intricate drawing of a tree with brand new buds forming on the branches all springtimey except the buds were all skinhead's heads.

I associate springtime with Hitler just like all of you guys.

Anyway, the skinheads were all buck toothed and cross eyed, which is totally funny cuz it's unexpected because skinheads are usually handsome geniuses with great vision.

The other residents of the fake cabin complex kept wild animals as pets and behaved in distinctly carnivalishy ways 24/7 which was way too burning man for me.

Hang out too long with artists in residency and you'll end up wearing the jester hat acting whimsical..

WHIMSICAL SUCKS.

ALWAYS.

I did however enjoy the wide smiled monkey dog created in the crossbreeding workshop.

Round about quittin time, the director of the compound put out the word that they were looking to hire more artists and my friend wasted more energy than needed trying to convince me to apply.

I was tempted for minus ten seconds.

Apparently he didn't remember the last time he vouched for me and got me an art job. I spent the most of the workday conducting personal business on the company phone or sleeping under my desk.

True story.

Summary:
Skinheads are like pussy willows minus the willows.
EmploYEe, not ME.

Now Schteffie:

Schteffie - Deitada

DON'T FORGET GRANDMA!

That's all for now.
Don't get caught making conceptual circumcision doodles of skinheads in high pink turtlenecks.
Your Race War Instigation Precinct Captain,
Charlie Brown

Violated By The Church of BBQ Tentants, Billy Ray Looked Better With a Mullet & You'll Find Me in a Tub in Jersey

While I wasn't looking, my tenants started a new church in my back yard. They built a massive stadium style deck to host their church meetings/BBQs. I haven't really looked over the lease for a while but I'm pretty sure they are in violation.

Speaking of violations, pretending to be cool with religion makes me feel like I've been violationed in my pooper.

Nonetheless, I spent a few hours spying on their sermons. I rolled my eyes so much, I barfed up a whole bag of quarters.

On of the attendees, Billy Ray Cyrus, came to me talking about his new idea for an "electric avocado". I got the impression that he went though all my photos and saw all the crap I do with groceries and figured an electric avocado would be the ticket to my friendship.

Anyway, becoming his "best bud" was a big mistake, now I have to help him with his adoption papers. Apparently he has a douchebag son in New Jersey who wants emancipation.

I'm not even a lawyer.

Don't get me started.

I saw one of my best friends from high school. He is so fat now that he requires two movie seats for his giant pooper. Good thing they have those lifty arm rests now, although his crack seems deep enough to accommodate an old school sitch.

That's two times for the word pooper.

I also saw an ex half girlfriend -- she really was trying super hard to play aloof but I out aloofed her times a billion.

I'm aloofer than a dead cat.

Later I found a box with all my clothes from junior high school. Every single item had a Pittsburgh Steelers logo on it. Boy was I ever trying to fit in. Truth is I just really like black and yellow.

Holy bumblefag.

Summary:
Religion is for renters.
I'm aloofer not a fighter.

Now Heather B.:

Heather B. - Deitada

BOOKS!

That's all for now.
Don't get caught saying pooper just one more time to adhere to a fictitious OCD comedy rule of threes.
Your Favorite Excuse To Stay Depressed,
Mylie

Shin Meat Sandwiches With George Bush, Pillow Talk with The Jerk and Nancy Reagan & Plumbic Enemy #1

Yesterday I ate baloney sandwiches with George Bush and I asked him if he was worried that Jihadists in the middle east were trying to acquire uranium for nuclear weapons.

He said:
"Truss me, ain't nobody gunna "obtain" MY "anium" for no nukular bombs."

Then he cinched up his belt and went on for a half an hour about how NASA was using telescopes to study his butthole.

Later on I interviewed Steve Martin on The Bed Show. If you haven't seen it, it's not that great, the whole set is a giant bed and the guests are all old wrinkled cartoons.

Accordingly, Nancy Reagan was my second guest. She was STILL all yappy about "Just say NO" as if it was a brand new public service announcement we hadn't heard yet -- but I was the host so I put a stop to it.

"Don't be so Bum-outy, Nancy. Don't just say NO, say IF."

"What if someone offers me DRUGS and I don't want to eat them?" She wheezed.

"Then just say "I'll eat drugs IF they are made out of lasers and IF they come shooting out of Vladimr Putin's nipples. Since that's not likely to happen you get the same results without being a little ol' Negative Nancy."

"You don't know Vladimr." She said.

When I got home after the hosting gig I discovered that everything in my garage had been stolen because I left the effing door open. The weird part is that whoever jacked all my stuff installed about ten super skinny shower stalls before they left. They were too skinny for me and I'm not even 400lbs anymore.

Be on the look out for a half guilt ridden plumber.

Summary:
My "anium" is apparently radioactive.
Nancy Reagan Self-Rufies.

Now Jenny:

Jenny F - Deitada

BUY THREE!!!

That's all for now.
Don't get caught staining your six pack just because the president thinks pre-karate sex is un-American.
Your Secretary of Defense,
Link Cheney

Soggy Snoring Sleeping Bag Sopranos, The Inside Out Pants Trick & Yelling While Sprinting Full Speed Through The Park

My friend who owns the art gallery where I did my 111 book show had a sleep over at his house which also happens to be one of SF's premiere opera houses. He doesn't really have it set up like a normal house with bedrooms and the likes so we all just slept in the lobby which is where he usually sleeps anyway.

Some of the opera stars slept over too.

The roof was really leaky so it was chinese water torture time up the wazoo all night long and forever and ever until I ran yelling into the park. Not screaming, yelling. It's different.

The line for the bathroom was extremely long and crowded so in order to divert attention away from my cutting in line I took off my pants and turned them inside out. It totally worked, you should try it, of course if you're like me you'll want to match so you'll have to turn your jacket inside out and if you left your jacket back at the opera house as I did, you'll have to sprint back at full speed to get it before some fat ass opera singer tries it on and stretches it all to hell.

Feel free to yell your head off as you are sprinting.

It's ok to copy me. I'm totally used to it by now.

Anyway, in other news...

Nobody reminds me of my dad more than George Carlin.

It's always sad when a funny person dies.

Summary:
Tenors snore loudly and with vibrato.
Screaming is gay, yelling isn't.

Now Cyan:

Cyan - Deitada

LEARN TO READ WITH NAKED GIRLS!!!

That's all for now.
Don't get caught saying it's ok to copy and then silently resenting those who do all passive aggressive steeze for the next five decades.
Your Silent Resentful Copycat,
Flavor Flav

Blogtrotting To Up My Geek Cred , Complaints Look Funny With Your Junk Flopped Out & Carol Channing Lays Some Cable

In an attempt to raise my level on the geek pole I took a trip up north to hang out with an internet friend I had never met in true life. She likes to go on and on about her blog fame and what not which is why I assumed she was like way up there on the geek pole.

But apparently she ain't.

Everywhere we went I got spotted and she didn't.

She was pissed.

It was Naked Night at the Hotel bar where she always hangs out with her friends. I normally don't like Naked Night anywhere but her friends were so complainy about everything that had they not been naked it would have sucked like ten times as much.

Complaints look funny on naked people.

My shoes got really dirty.

There were animals in the street.

One of the worst things about hanging out with a group of someone else's friends is the crapping situation. I had to take a giant crap but didn't know how to go about accomplishing it. To make things worse, she had a friend who had a pink poodle that had to poop every ten steps.

The fancier your haircut, the dumber you look taking a crap.

I just held it.

Felt like I had a bowling ball in my anus.

Still I was happy to be spotted more than her in her own home town.

So if you were one of the people who said hi to me, now you know why I had gruntface.

Summary:
Internet friends should stay there.
Strange groups inhibit easy dumps.

Now merkley???:

merkley??? - Birthday #41 Self-Portrait on Friday The 13th In Green Sharkskin, White Velcro Retard Sneaks & Eighties Golden Ray Bans In The Living Room On a Thronish Type Deal With Hundreds and Hundreds of Megapickles

For my Birthday why not buy YOURSELF a present.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught waiting till the last second to tell everyone it's your birthday.
Your Favorite Kind of Birthday Cake,
Willard Scott