Baby christ, dark water.

Happy belated Christmas everyone, I made out like crazy this year! I got a new man bag, new glasses (Paul Frank frames), an electric kettle, a convection toaster oven, fancy man soaps, R. Kelly badges and magnets, a Bassman vinyl figure, DVDs, new clothes, and all sorts of other stuff. I was cat sitting at my cousin's nice apartment with a fireplace so Heather and I decided to do Christmas over there. All those gifts, then Dinner, let's talk about dinner. Not only did we have a Vidalia onion glazed deep fried turkey from Jive Turkey in New York, Heather also made a ton of fixens, dressing, gravy, mashed potatoes, corn pudding, asparagus, sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce, with pumpkin and cherry pies for desert. Being in Seattle during Christmas is normally a bummer because my family always has had really big Christmas's but this year I think we had them matched.

And the next day things got weird...

I went back to my apartment after scouring the Christmas sales for a bit. When I walked in my door stuck, and there was a weird smell in my place. I look around but everything looked ok so I assumed that I forgot to take the trash out before I left. I walk into the kitchen to investigate and my feet stuck to the floor. I look down to see that it was covered with some sort of gunk that kind of looked like the watery blood that comes out of a trash bag that's leaking meat. That would explain the smell, but you'd think I would have seen something like that sooner. I started to clean the floor and noticed the same substance my was on my convection toaster oven, which was brand new! At this point I'm really confused, and that's when I looked up.

You know the point in a dream where you realize it's a dream and start to wake up, this was kind of like the opposite of that. I look up there are little dots of the that stuff EVERYWHERE, all over my ceilings down the walls. I run into my living room and it's everywhere in there too.

At this point I'm freaking out so I got the crap out of there and called the on-duty manager who met me at my apartment. We go back in and look together and tried to figure out what was going so we checked the bathroom, where all my stuff had been moved around around a bunch of it was thrown in the bathtub.

Ok, someone had been in my apartment?

The on-duty manager said he would start calling around to see who was on duty over the weekend and see if, and why, anyone might have been in my place. About two hours later I get a call and he tells me that a pipe burst in my bathroom sink (nice of them to leave a note to let me know) and that they came in to shut it off. So, why was my ceiling now pokadoted and my walls ozzing, with, something? They say it's the after effects of a smoker who lived in my apartment before me. The smoke mixed with the condensation and sauna-like effect that took place after the flood made all the stuff that was painted over (I thought you were supposed to wash walls and ceilings before you paint) seap out.

I have the paranoia that it's actually a killer mold that was made apparent by the moisture but up until that point invisible. It's really weird; in some places the dots will almost be forming a straight line. Here are some pictures, what do you think...am I going to die?

?

I don't know who these people are but I love this picture for so many reasons.

Money making scheme.

My huge women's "Git-Her-Done" panties reminded me of my brilliant plan for a cock fighting t-shirt that I want to sell. Like the fat panties, cock fighting shirts have a lot of absurd non sequiturs on them. For example, one of my favorites has a pictures of Washington, Franklin and other founding fathers with a vicious yet majestic looking cock (that's standard) and under them it says "The United States of America, founded by freedom loving cock fighters!"

For my shirt, imagine a vicious yet majestic looking cock and under him it says:

"Cockadoodle-DON'T!"

That's flee market gold, baby.

Git-R-Done Vs. TCB.

So, this guy at work was carrying a bunch of shit down the hall and I gave him a manly "Yeah, you're TCing of B" as he walked by (which I thought was funny because that would translate to taking caring of business). He said, "What"? I said "You know, TCB, taking care of business" and he said "I don't know...uh...Giting-R-Done?"

At this point in my life I should know that the things I perceive as "talking manly" differs from what actual dudes say to each other. Learning this would allow me to avoid unnecessarily awkward situations like this, but what's MORE disturbing is that Giting-R-Done is B-T Overdriving my beloved TCB! I knew it had infiltrated the heartland, at the Flee Market back in West Virginia you could hardly buy something that wasn't Git-R-Done-ized...lighters...t-shirts...bed sheets...everything! I even saw a hat that combined all the flea markets favorites; a camo hat, with a rebel flag in the background, a dear on top of that, and Git-R-Done written above it! Surprisingly, they didn't have Git-R-Done on a huge pair of women's panties", which would have been a more logical progression than the weird stuff they had on them. In a, my huge fat wife, I've got to Git-her-Done, sort of way.

I'm sooooo done with Git-R-Done, let's keep it out of Seattle and besides all that Larry The Cable Guy is a dick.