Elemental Eating

THIS POST WAS INSPIRED BY KYLE

Real life mythology

The other day I was watching PBS when a commercial came on for a special on arctic life. I was so excited.

I perked up and proclaimed, "Yay! Narwhals on the artic show. I can't wait!"

To which my wife replied, "Wait, narwhals are real?"

What could I do but laugh at her hilarious joke.

"No really, narwhals are real?"

I stared at her, unable to mask the look accusing her of being a complete dumbass. She had to be kidding. This is an intelligent lady ya'll. For real. I have to ask her what half of her vocabulary means. Well she WAS intelligent. Then she continued her rubbish brained talk of mythical lands.

M'LADY: "Narwhals aren't real. They can't be! They're the unicorns of the sea!"

ME: "They're definitely real."

M'LADY: "But they have a horn!"

ME: "Actually, it's a tooth."

M'LADY: "They're sea unicorns."

ME: "Shutup."

The following viral internet video is where my saddeningly illusioned wife got her information about narwhals.



Let us have a moment of silence for those of you just now realizing narwhals are not mythological. And now, a cartoon in honor of M'lady.

THIS MESSAGE WAS BROUGHT TO YOU BY REAL NARWHALS

Hilarious Quotes from my Life III

I tried to kiss M'Lady in the morning.
M'LADY:Wait, I need to brush my teeth.
ME:I should probably brush my teeth again.
M'LADY:Why?
ME: Cuz I just ate nuts.
M'LADY: Does it even need to be said?

M'LADY: I wish I had a butch body. I just look so much better in femme clothes.
ME: You can wear whatever you want honey, but, yeah,I know what you mean. You really do have an incredible hourglass figure.
M'LADY: Nowadays it's more like an hour-and-a-half-glass figure.

In response to Super Day's "She the Wetest in the Building SFW"
video.
ME:Wet like a leopard slug, wet as a waterfall. Twisted puppy fucker try to fuck me like a pedophile.
M'LADY:When I put it in your face you might just drown, I will give you a snorkle and you can go down
ME:Can't skip a skip rock cuz I'm not a lake, punk. Just because I'm wet don't mean I want a rock thrown in my junk
M'LADY:If you put peanut butter trying to get your dog to lick me(long pause, beat drops) I WILL SHOOT YOU, SON.
ME:Fuck Thanksgiving turkey, don't you know I need a tube steak. My pussy ain't no oven, bitch but it wet like a tres leches cake.

ME:I don't know what's wrong with me. I want to be horny. I want to WANT to have sex with you. Like the other night, when you started licking me, I clammed up...Oh my god. I didn't mean to say that. Hahahahahaha!

FRIEND:Facebook suspended my account until I removed the whale vagina!!
ME:Really? That's ridiculous!
FRIEND:Isn't it? I'm guessing someone reported it?
ME:Who would do that? Oh well, let's just draw vaginas instead and say they're flowers.
FRIEND:Yay!! Awesome!! Censorship is dumb. Especially when it's an animal's genitalia..Makes no sense to me...It's not like it was a gang raping video
ME:How would you gang rape a whale?
FRIEND:Idk...Killer whales, maybe. They are rude.
ME:They're more likely to, you know, kill. Maybe a hammer head shark, a gang of em. Asshole sharks raping the poor whale vagina.
FRIEND:That whale was asking for it. Putting her vagina out there on the interweb.
ME:No way. No means no, whether you understand sonar or not.
For real ya'll. No means no. An absence of a no does not equal a yes. This is not meant to belittle victims of rape, but rather advocate for them, regardless of species.



THIS POST WAS BROUGHT TO YOU BY FLOWERS

DEATH MATCH: RED vs. WOODEN STICK OF DESTRUCTION

In this corner we see Red, a ninjamallow who doesn't mess around. He's seen more bubbling bodies of marshmallow cream destruction than the rest of the ninjamallow crew combined, which has left him a mere shell of a mallow. His strengths include anger explosions and cementing stickiness. His major weakness is triggers from past combat in the heat of the fires of retribution.

In this corner we see a stick. Okay, fine. It's not just a stick, it's The Wooden Stick of Destruction. What a douche bag. You know he got to pick his own name. Who would want to be The Wooden Stick of Destruction? I think he should be called the Wooden Stick of Douchebaggery. He thinks he's so great because he came from a tree. Too bad he's like the toenail clipping of a Great Oak. Oooooh, how scary. His strengtth is that he's pointy as fuck and can dish out one hell of a jab. His weakness, besides being a big wooden douchey douche bag, is that he can be snapped like a twig.

NOTE: This commentator is not biased, I don't care what you say.

NOW ON TO THE FIGHT...

The two start with equally cutting insults. The Wooden Stick of Destruction is definitely using his knowledge of Red's weakness here, but the mention of s'mores isn't quite enough to cause our ninjamallow to waiver. In line with this commentator's observation of the douchebag, I mean Sticky Stick of Destructing Things or Whatever, Red points out how insignificant his opponent seems in the grande scheme of things. The stick has held firm though and it's time for blows.

The Wooden Stick of Destruction launched, javelin like, through the air aiming for Red's center. Red didn't waste a second, jumping just inches above the stick's trajectory. The stick's speed was not fast enough for the ninjamallow, but it was fast enough to cause an intensely painful dive into the ground. Red jumped on the chance.

He cemented himself into a suger rock, smashing into the Douche Canoe Twig of Idiocy. A resounding BLAM! filled the arena, throwing dust and lightning into the air. The haze began to settle as the crowd inched to the edge of their seats...

The cement slam worked! Red won. It was a ninjamallow victory! The crowd roared with excitement. Meanwhile, the Wooden Stick of Destruction (and Douchebaggery) didn't do anything. Because he was dead. Because it was a death match.




THIS POST WAS BROUGHT TO YOU BY PROCRASTINATION

Dr. Skeptic

WAYS TO KILL YOUR DOG

My dog, Sophie, is awesome. You may remember her from a weirdo thought bubble, but probably not. I don't believe you remember much about thought bubbles.

If, by chance, you do remember a lot about thought bubbles, you should send me your favorite one, especially if it's a homemade weirdo thought bubble. I'll post it one day. I promise. Pinky swear.

Anyway, back to Sophie. She is awesome and I love her and I figured she'd like to ride on my motorcycle. There are a surprising amount of products for motorcycle doggies online, which are probably better than some of my ideas, but mine are cheaper. Cheaper is better. Mostly. Well, at least for my wallet. My first thought was to go to the pet store by my house. If anyone would know about pets and motorcycle safety it would be the pet store. Right? Wrong.

I asked the dude if he had any kind of harness I could strap to my body, like a papoose holder or something. He thought he might, so I followed him telling him my ideas. He stopped walking. His brow lowered. His eyes darkened. It was suddenly apparent that he was not going to help me find a safety device for my dog. "Dogs should never be on a motorcycle. There is no way to make that safe. Why don't you just wrap a jump rope around its neck and tie it to the fan before you go out of town, you crazy bitch." Ok, maybe he didn't say that last part, but it was in his eyes.

It was time for plan B. The interwebz. I searched for motorcycle safety equipment for dogs and found a variety of wonderful products like this, and this, and THIS! Some of it costs quite a bit. If my dog needed a surgery that cost as much as these things I'd have to curl up in a ball and berate myself as I watched the vet inject her with the blue juice. Well, I guess I could have a fundraiser. Anyway, the online products gave me some ideas and I figured I'd try to make them myself.

This idea failed. Why? Because I have absolutely no follow through whatsoever and ended up watching back to back episodes of Law and Order SVU. I love Mariska Hargitay. She's a badass.

I finally decided to use some weird bag I found in the garage and only take her a few blocks. She LOVED it!

I don't even think she got bugs in her eyes. She even got to hang out at the cofeeshop and get petted by strangers. It was a blast.

All this was beautiful, until my wife decided to open her mean ginger head mouth and make me cry.

We were at a different coffee shop on a different day, because we used to drink a lot of coffee (although she quit drinking caffeine because her doctor told her to, and I quit in solidarity, until I relapsed a month later) and I was talking about how ingenius it was to bring Sophie on the bike. Then she said it. The evil gingery sadist spoke. This is what she said.

GINGER CRAP HEAD: "It's cute until she falls off. She's going to fall off on the highway and die."

POOR INNOCENT ME: "No she's not!"

THE EVIL WHORE: "You know she's not going to live forever. You should just get used to thinking of her as a red smear on the road."

I burst into tears and began laughing hysterically at the same time. I don't cry, ya'll. Not in public anyway. She was just teasing and the thought of poor dead as dead Sophie had me blubbering like an eight year old who crapped his pants in elementary school. I'm surprised I'm not crying right now, although my lower lip is pushed out. I'm not smiling, guys. Poor Sophie. I THOUGHT "Danger" was her middle name.

Every few weeks the redheaded satan brings it up again. We'll be cuddling or eating pie or talking about Being Human, and she'll say it. She's going to die. Those four words have me in a mess of tears.

She's not going to die. But just in case, no more motorcycle.

P.S. I actually have 2 dogs. The other one, Nunzio, is awesome too, but in a SLOWLY awesome way.




THIS POST WAS BROUGHT TO YOU BY NUNZIO

Octopi Wall Street

THIS MESSAGE BROUGHT TO YOU BY MY SON