"It's too long" she said.
I know...I know.
...but it only gets this long when I'm really excited.
My blog post...she meant.
I've been chastised lately for my posts being too long.
...this is the first time I've EVER been accused of having ANYTHING that was too long...so I'm going to relish this moment.
I don't like criticism:
Commenter: "Hey, just wanted to drop you a friendly note and let you know that I think your posts are too long."
The Proper comment:
"Thank you, I'll take this under advisement."
"My posts are too long? So are your boobs. They look like they dropped something on the ground and are searching for it. Also, you smell like old fish. Go clean yourself up...preferably with something acidic."
Criticism + me = bitchy me.
So, in an effort to make nice with this f*cking ass-eating douchebag (sh*t..there I go again), I'll be making a concerted drive towards shorter posts.
Unfortunately, most of my stories take a while to tell...
...in the future, you may see "The Chronicles of..." or "...Part One" in some of my titles.
"My Ass Itches...Not in a Scratchy Way...More Like a 'Finger in the Hole Digging Around' Kinda Way...Part One"
("Part Two" involves a ladle and some whipping cream)
(this is also a reminder for myself here to wash my hands fairly soon)
If you like things the way they are, let me know. Otherwise, you're going to start getting shortened versions.
...much like my stature.
OKAY...On to a topic:
My Icky Sticky Advent Calendar Update:
Well...I've done it.
I've gone through the motions of ejecting my little swimmers at least 25 times as recommended by my Urologist post-vasectomy.
25 times I made a squishy-eating-lemon face and then went:
My dog is SO pissed at me.
(reminder to myself to give the dog a well-needed bath)
The thing is, I'm not sure if there are any swimmers actually ALIVE in there or not.
To make sure, I have my follow-up appointment next week...
...where I have to bring in a sample of goo.
What's weird is that I had to SCHEDULE this.
I had to schedule the drop-off of my own drop-offs.
I'm having two problems with this:
1) I've forgotten what day my appointment is.
This means that I very may well show up with a cupful of "little Rodney's" on a day they're not expecting it.
(it's always funny to surprise girls with an unexpected sperm delivery)
Me (handing her Moog-spooge): "Here you go!"
Nurse (surprised): "UGH!!...Why didn't you warn me?!? I wasn't expecting you to...Why didn't you tell me you were going to...OH GOD...Ugh!!"
It's funnier to surprise women this way in the bedroom (guys..TRY IT AT HOME!), but I'm extrapolating that experience to my office visit.
I've also just coined a new phrase:
Moog + spooge = Mooge
I've been trying to call them to find out when I'm supposed to be there...but there's no answer.
As such, I may have to just show up every day with a new Cup-A-Mooge (Patent Pending).
Man...I'm gonna be tired.
2) I now have the pressure of creating a "fresh" sample prior to my leaving the house in the morning.
They only accept these things in the morning between 7:30 and 8:00 a.m.
I'm NOT a morning person.
I can barely get my ass out of bed, let alone get my wiggly all jacked up and ready to fire.
This means that I probably have to go all postal on my penis while my kids are downstairs eating Apple Jacks...
...blissfully unaware that just 12 steps up, is their father...
...a cup in one hand...
...his little pee-pee in the other...
...beating the bejeesus out of it...
...while reading a Cosmo.
(Ugh. If there's ONE picture of Renee Zellweger in that issue, there's no way I'll be able to finish. It's like looking at the bottom of a foot. Penis down. Game Over.)
Also, I've been wondering if I could "harvest my Mooge" ahead of time...
...and how far ahead I can do it...
Me (handing over Mooge sample): "Here you go."
The nurse takes the cup, and looks inside...
...where it slightly resembles the cracked dry surface of the Sahara Desert.
...lint is strewn across the surface.
Nurse: "Um...when did you make this?"
Me: "Last week after bowling."
Nurse: "Um...I think it's too old...you'll.."
Me: "Listen, there's NO way you can stick your fingers in all those little bowling ball holes and NOT feel SOMETHING in your loins. COME ON."
Perchance I've said too much.
They also told me NOT refrigerate it.
I don't even like broccoli in my fridge...
...damned certain I'm not going to be placing my genital fluids in there.
Houseguest: "What is this? Eggnog? Eggnog with a hint of...what is that...English Muffin Pizzas? Mmmm...It's goooood."
They'll need a fresher sample, I guess.
I wonder what time bowling opens.