Today was a morning like any other. I rolled out of bed at ten after seven and stumbled around the bedroom like a drunken midget attempting to maneuver through a series of cones. After finally reaching the promised land of the bathroom, I turned on the shower and shaved in the steamy goodness the way I always do. The reasons for doing so are three-fold:
1. The steam opens up my pores which lessens the chance of me nicking myself and bleeding to death on the bathroom floor.
2. The steam allows the Mach 3 Turbo to glide even more gently over my face and lessen the razor burn.
3. The steam and I get to play our daily game entitled "Who's going to finish first?"
(This is where the steam tries to cover the mirror before I'm finished and I, in turn, attempt to finish shaving before the steam completes its task. I've won the last three matches, but the steam claims I've been cheating by mixing in more cold water to slow its process. The steam, as you can see, is a lying ....... It's just jealous that I Beat It worse than that guy with the hideous face in Michael Jackson's video of the same name.)
(Please Note: If you were born after 1983, odds are good that this joke went over your head. Picture an actual person who looks like a cross between one of the zombies from "28 Days Later" and a burn victim. Then put him in a leather jacket and gloves and watch as he dances next to Michael Jackson. I think Brando said it best: "The horror. The horror.")
Anyway, after shaving and brushing my teeth, I hopped in the shower where did my best impression of Pavarotti as the wife flushed the toilet and turned on the water in the bathroom. A few minutes later, I was back in the bedroom dressing and staring at the clock in absolute amazement. I was on time. Holy Mary, Mother of Jebus! I could stop off for breakfast on the way to work. This was fantastic.
Before leaving, I picked up my Dane Cook "Retaliation" CD, my Oakely sunglasses, and the keys to my Civic Hybrid, then punched my wife in the heart (playfully) in retribution for causing the shower to switch from "Caribbean Island" to "Witch's Teat" in a matter of 2.3 seconds.
I walked out the door, said hello to my neighbor Tony and got in my Civic. A few minutes later, I was at the local Speedway where I purchased a large coffee and two Krispe Kreme donuts (or is it doughnuts?) - one glazed and one blueberry ... also glazed.
(Really quick, why does Krispy Kreme feel the need to glaze everything? Certain donuts don't need to be glazed, blueberry being one of them. Dunkin Donuts has it down. They have a blueberry cake-style donut, known to me as "The Cake Blueberry." OH SWEET HEAVEN ON EARTH, how I love The Cake Blueberry. Sadly, I'm in Krispy Kreme country which means the closest Dunkin Donuts is about 65 miles to the north, so I'm **** out of luck. But I digress.)
After paying for my items, I left the gas station and got back into the Civic to continue my trek to work. A few miles later, Dane is on my cd player making the drive bearable as he muses about crapping on people's coats at parties and naming his sons after the Transformers. Meanwhile, I'm laughing and burning my tongue as I sip the 72,000 degree coffee and pray to God I don't get pulled over (since I'm going 55 in a 35 as usual).
After a while, it dawns on me that I'm very hungry. As if sensing my need for blueberry goodness, the stop light in front of me turns red and I pull the Civic to a stop. I reach down into the bag o' goodies and pull out the aforementioned blueberry glazed donut. I take a bite anticipating the sweet holy nectar, but something goes wrong ... horribly wrong. This is not a blueberry. This is crunchy. Blueberries are not crunchy, or are they? Are blueberries crunchy? I can't recall at this time if I have ever eaten a blueberry and said "My, that was a crunchy blueberry."
Right about this time, another car pulls up next to me at the red light and I am in a state of complete panic. I roll down my window and scream at the other driver, "Have you ever eaten a crunchy blueberry!?" His response (staring back at me in absolute horror) told me all I needed to know. Like me, the other driver did not recall ever eating a crunchy blueberry.
By now, the light had turned green, but I was in no position to move forward on my trip. Instead, I opened the door of my Civic as the other driver peeled out and shot down the road away from the crazy man screaming about blueberries. My mind was racing a million different directions. What the hell did I just eat? What could possibly be in a donut that could elicit a crunch? A fly? A spider? A mouse's skull? A fingernail? In the name of Abraham Lincoln's gaping head wound, what did I just put in my mouth!? I needed to vomit in order to insure that a microscopic alien civilization was not swimming around in my stomach acid. Amazingly enough, I couldn't force up the goods and it dawned on me that I would be the worst bulimic ever. Because of my lack of purging ability, I searched my vehicle for something to effectively kill off whatever was now residing in my stomach. Because my mind works in odd ways, the first thing to pop into my head was Ash, from "Army of Darkness" and "Evil Dead" fame.
You see, in Army of Darkness, there's a scene in a windmill where Ash is fighting a bunch of little Ashes. At one point in the scene, several of the little guys plug Ash's nose while one dives into his mouth. Ash then swallows and the small guy ends up in Ash's stomach. Ash's reaction? Drink the water boiling in the kettle on the stove in order to burn him out.
Wait a minute. Burn him out. I have hot coffee right here! I picked up the cup of coffee and took a long drink. Piping-hot coffee scalded my trachea and flowed over the sides of the cup and down the front of my shirt, burning my chest and making me look like I had been attacked by Aquaman and The Human Torch; however, the coffee, now a mere 64,000 degrees, still did its job, and that was all that mattered. I got back into my vehicle and threw the donut out the window for the squirrels and birds to eat, then shifted into first gear and continued my journey - a bit wiser, and more in tune with the world around me.
I had burns on my chest, I couldn't feel my tongue, and my shirt was stained brown like I had ...... off a group of monkeys at the zoo, but I had emerged victorious in my fight with the crunchy thing. Whatever I had bitten off was more that I could chew, but not more than I could drown in a sea of boiling brown liquid.
1. The steam opens up my pores which lessens the chance of me nicking myself and bleeding to death on the bathroom floor.
2. The steam allows the Mach 3 Turbo to glide even more gently over my face and lessen the razor burn.
3. The steam and I get to play our daily game entitled "Who's going to finish first?"
(This is where the steam tries to cover the mirror before I'm finished and I, in turn, attempt to finish shaving before the steam completes its task. I've won the last three matches, but the steam claims I've been cheating by mixing in more cold water to slow its process. The steam, as you can see, is a lying ....... It's just jealous that I Beat It worse than that guy with the hideous face in Michael Jackson's video of the same name.)
(Please Note: If you were born after 1983, odds are good that this joke went over your head. Picture an actual person who looks like a cross between one of the zombies from "28 Days Later" and a burn victim. Then put him in a leather jacket and gloves and watch as he dances next to Michael Jackson. I think Brando said it best: "The horror. The horror.")
Anyway, after shaving and brushing my teeth, I hopped in the shower where did my best impression of Pavarotti as the wife flushed the toilet and turned on the water in the bathroom. A few minutes later, I was back in the bedroom dressing and staring at the clock in absolute amazement. I was on time. Holy Mary, Mother of Jebus! I could stop off for breakfast on the way to work. This was fantastic.
Before leaving, I picked up my Dane Cook "Retaliation" CD, my Oakely sunglasses, and the keys to my Civic Hybrid, then punched my wife in the heart (playfully) in retribution for causing the shower to switch from "Caribbean Island" to "Witch's Teat" in a matter of 2.3 seconds.
I walked out the door, said hello to my neighbor Tony and got in my Civic. A few minutes later, I was at the local Speedway where I purchased a large coffee and two Krispe Kreme donuts (or is it doughnuts?) - one glazed and one blueberry ... also glazed.
(Really quick, why does Krispy Kreme feel the need to glaze everything? Certain donuts don't need to be glazed, blueberry being one of them. Dunkin Donuts has it down. They have a blueberry cake-style donut, known to me as "The Cake Blueberry." OH SWEET HEAVEN ON EARTH, how I love The Cake Blueberry. Sadly, I'm in Krispy Kreme country which means the closest Dunkin Donuts is about 65 miles to the north, so I'm **** out of luck. But I digress.)
After paying for my items, I left the gas station and got back into the Civic to continue my trek to work. A few miles later, Dane is on my cd player making the drive bearable as he muses about crapping on people's coats at parties and naming his sons after the Transformers. Meanwhile, I'm laughing and burning my tongue as I sip the 72,000 degree coffee and pray to God I don't get pulled over (since I'm going 55 in a 35 as usual).
After a while, it dawns on me that I'm very hungry. As if sensing my need for blueberry goodness, the stop light in front of me turns red and I pull the Civic to a stop. I reach down into the bag o' goodies and pull out the aforementioned blueberry glazed donut. I take a bite anticipating the sweet holy nectar, but something goes wrong ... horribly wrong. This is not a blueberry. This is crunchy. Blueberries are not crunchy, or are they? Are blueberries crunchy? I can't recall at this time if I have ever eaten a blueberry and said "My, that was a crunchy blueberry."
Right about this time, another car pulls up next to me at the red light and I am in a state of complete panic. I roll down my window and scream at the other driver, "Have you ever eaten a crunchy blueberry!?" His response (staring back at me in absolute horror) told me all I needed to know. Like me, the other driver did not recall ever eating a crunchy blueberry.
By now, the light had turned green, but I was in no position to move forward on my trip. Instead, I opened the door of my Civic as the other driver peeled out and shot down the road away from the crazy man screaming about blueberries. My mind was racing a million different directions. What the hell did I just eat? What could possibly be in a donut that could elicit a crunch? A fly? A spider? A mouse's skull? A fingernail? In the name of Abraham Lincoln's gaping head wound, what did I just put in my mouth!? I needed to vomit in order to insure that a microscopic alien civilization was not swimming around in my stomach acid. Amazingly enough, I couldn't force up the goods and it dawned on me that I would be the worst bulimic ever. Because of my lack of purging ability, I searched my vehicle for something to effectively kill off whatever was now residing in my stomach. Because my mind works in odd ways, the first thing to pop into my head was Ash, from "Army of Darkness" and "Evil Dead" fame.
You see, in Army of Darkness, there's a scene in a windmill where Ash is fighting a bunch of little Ashes. At one point in the scene, several of the little guys plug Ash's nose while one dives into his mouth. Ash then swallows and the small guy ends up in Ash's stomach. Ash's reaction? Drink the water boiling in the kettle on the stove in order to burn him out.
Wait a minute. Burn him out. I have hot coffee right here! I picked up the cup of coffee and took a long drink. Piping-hot coffee scalded my trachea and flowed over the sides of the cup and down the front of my shirt, burning my chest and making me look like I had been attacked by Aquaman and The Human Torch; however, the coffee, now a mere 64,000 degrees, still did its job, and that was all that mattered. I got back into my vehicle and threw the donut out the window for the squirrels and birds to eat, then shifted into first gear and continued my journey - a bit wiser, and more in tune with the world around me.
I had burns on my chest, I couldn't feel my tongue, and my shirt was stained brown like I had ...... off a group of monkeys at the zoo, but I had emerged victorious in my fight with the crunchy thing. Whatever I had bitten off was more that I could chew, but not more than I could drown in a sea of boiling brown liquid.
Last edited:
