I am King of the Worst Liars.
Actually, I’m not.
I’ve always sucked at lying. That’s the truth.
Or is it?!
My point:
I suck at lying.
I’m not sure why this is because when you grow up as an only child and you only have you and your penis (Mr. I.M. McGillicudy) to play with you end up coming up with a lot of shit in your imagination like answering the question of “WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN THAT BATHROOM, RODNEY, YOU’VE BEEN IN THERE FOR TWENTY MINUTES?!” and this is a golden opportunity to say “I’m POOPING” but instead my adrenaline starts pumping and OH GREAT I JUST LOST MY BONER so I yell back “I’m totally NOT masturbating because I’m busy...eating...cheese!” and my mother is like “The cheese is in the fridge” and I’m all like, “I took a slice in here because it’s better when it’s dark and..um..you know what? I’m totally jerking off.”
At some point something’s gotta give.
Example #1: Laser Belt
My aunt had an antique store in which my mother used to decorate my room with all kinds of shit from this store because what else would be MORE MANLY for an 11 year old boy than to have a nice, baby blue, hand painted Tiffany Lamp with pretty white flowers all over it?
Oh, hello there, testosterone. I know you’d like to come into my room but there’s this lamp in here so you’re just going to have to stay outside while my penis transforms itself into a vagina.
I HATED THAT LAMP.
I hated that lamp with every fiber of my masturbatory-bathroom-cheese-eating being.
Until one fateful day…
I was in my room listening to records (I. Am. OLD) and it was probably AC/DC or Accept or Scorpion or Krokus or Iron Maiden or Great White before they got into the business of manslaughter and DAMN I MISS THE 80’s but I was doing what most normal boys do:
Singing in front of my dresser mirror and jumping around on my bed.
Like I said:
I was an only child (read: LOSER). Cut me some slack.
So I’m singing out loud and jumping around and the rock is blaring and then I realize I’m missing one critical rock accessory to all of this:
Something to swing over my head.
I need to swing something over my head in reckless abandon like a microphone but I don’t have a microphone but if I did I would totally ROCK. THAT. SHIT. OUT.
What to use?
My pillow? NO! Too fluffy.
My cat? NO! Too fluffy.
Bingo.
I reach down, grab my belt and start swinging that baby with the giant dirt-bike belt buckle (are you getting the full picture here?) over my head like I’m trying to fly with it.
And then it happened.
“HERE I AM…..dun dun dundun…ROCK YOU LIKE A HURRIC…”
At some point, mid-circle, the belt decided to just…
FLY AWAY.
Yes..the belt decided to simply release itself from my sweaty pre-pubescent grip.
Giant belt-buckle first…I saw it…in slow motion…
FLY STRAIGHT TOWARDS THE HOMOEROTIC LAMP.
Oh.
Oh no.
*SMASH*
The Tiffany Lamp shattered into more pieces than Lindsay Lohan’s career.
Oh shit.
I grabbed the belt and threw it under my bed as I heard my mother making a beeline for my room and burst in without even ONCE ASKING IF I WAS EATING CHEESE.
The fuck, mom?
Mom: “WHAT HAPPENED!?”
Me: “I don’t know.”
*glare
Then..this gem miraculously comes out:
Me: “It just..it just EXPLODED.”
Yes. Good one, Rod.
Because lamps just tend to fucking EXPLODE randomly and without warning.
In my head, this made sense because I knew that if there was something really hot and you poured something really cold on it that it would crack in half so why couldn’t that happen to a Tiffany lamp sitting on a dresser in the middle of the day? Right? RIGHT?!
Fuck.
Mom: “You always hated that lamp.”
Yes.
Yes I did.
No lie.
Monday, October 04, 2010
Pants on Fire - The Self-Combusting Lamp
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
26 comments:
And this is why we can't have nice things. Like giant dirt-bike belt buckles.
That's why you should have been listening to Country. No one breaks anything listening to Country. You can’t even drop your beer.
Um, rockin' mullets are not still awesome. Or rockin'. Sorry.
That lamp totally looks like a hot chick ready to give a BJ. See your Mom actually gave you a hooker named Tiffany...duh!
Actually, I think the lamp looks more like the mushroom cloud. I'm wondering what kind of girls are giving Vapid BJ's.
This is evidence that you cannot make someone gay. Although I suppose it is also evidence that extremely feminine room decor causes really regrettable hairstyle decisions.
I personally liked the Tiffany lamp, but I can see how an adolescent boy who's obsessed with his penis wouldn't like it. Why doesn't your stick person have a penis? Did it fall off from too much rubbing?
You had a mullet???? lol that must have been a sight!
This has to be one of the funniest posts ever!
EVER.
And I will be watching my son's bathroom habits closely in the future. Thank you.
As boys get older, we begin to plan better when we go into an "exercise" session.
I soon learned that telling people I had "brown water butt" would keep people away from the bathroom for plenty long enough.
Silver: You CAN..you just have to avoid swinging them around but, then, what's the point?
Coffey: I would rather be shanked.
Doug: You're silly.
Vapid: I believe I would have to turn that one down.
JUST KIDDING!
Elly: Hey..a BJ is a BJ. - Mark Twain
Brutalism: You, woman, are on fire lately with the comments.
Like.."Michael Jackson hair on fire," fire.
Pat: Like now, you have to look really really closely.
Eva: Check my "About" page!!
Mrsblogalot: Thank you. Now go buy a goddamn mug would ya?
Lou: It also has the side effect of keeping away most women who hear you say that.
The more you know.
HAhaha! It's an only child syndrome - myself and many others experienced similar shenanigans due to our over-imaginative minds.
Never. Eating. Cheese. Again.
Moog, I must say, you are poorly misinformed on the whole "water-bed sex thing".
Nookie on a water-bed with a partner is awesomesauce. Neither one of you has to work as much, the waves really help.
Solo adventures on a water-bed not so much. Just kinda sad, like tugging one out in a canoe
So maybe I see why you'd think any sex on a water-bed sucks. ;-)
Thank God you weren't a cowboy/bull rider...their belt buckles would have taken out the Tiffany Lamp, a window, and the neighbor's dog.
As the youngest of 7, I blamed a lot of shit on the older sibs...like the time I spray painted the side of the house. I had to decide which brother (of 5) to blame it on, and I chose the youngest, figuring dad would go easy on him. He didn't. And bro never found out it was me.
Siblings ROCK!
So did you get a new lamp? Like the Christmas Story one?
that lamp was as ugly as balls. way to take it out, ninja rock star. respect!
(ps: best drawings ever)
Just think of the shit you could have broken if you were listening to Twisted Sister instead of Scorpions.
"We're not gonna take it!" {crash}
"No, we ain't gonna take it!" {bang}
"We're not gonna take anymooorrree." {boom, crack, bang crash, kapow}
I laughed outloud several times.
Now my cube mates have PROOF of what they only previously suspected...
I am both a tard and sloughing off.
Pearl
Respect that Ninja move. Awesome. I also.... what the hell, who even uses the word "also". Nothing like a sperm belt buckle.
Surprise, you're a retard!
quote of the day.
p.s. you'll never be allowed near the fancy lamp in my bedroom. fyi.
aahhaha love this post!
Next time anyone asks, tell them you're working on your "night cheese", to the tune of Bob Seger's "Night Moves".
It worked for Tina Fey on 30 Rock. Except that she wasn't in the bathroom. And she was actually eating a honkin' chunk of cheese, while nestled in her slanket.
Regardless, the Bob Seger reference will instantly make whatever you're doing sound really cool.
Great stuff man. Brings back memories, esp regarding parents giving me girly stuff. :))
If my son told me the lamp in his room just exploded I would totally just believe him!
Post a Comment