Wait, Madam! There is comedy in your purse

Spread the word! Rich wears women's underwear (No, not THAT word!) What I meant was, spread the word that this BLOG makes polio string cheese come out all of your orafices. And if it doesn't, lie to your friends and say it does. Rich is tired of sucking scrotum to get ahead, and he wants a real job, one that pays. So come on in! I have Hot Pockets in the fridge

Monday, September 04, 2006

The life and death of innocence after watching myself dance in front of the mirror with my shirt off listening to Queen.

It wasn’t like I’d never seen myself without my shirt on before. I mean, sometimes when I take a shower, I even flex in front of the mirror before I step into the tub and make my man boobs hard like they’re made of magma formed rock, or, if not rock, then at least some sort of flan like Jell-O that’s been frozen in the freezer for about half an hour. But nothing, and I mean nothing, prepared my eyes for the assault on my soul when I danced to “Don’t Stop Me Now,” by Queen, and took off my shirt and spun it around over my head like a helicopter propeller as I rocked out to Freddy Mercury and his wailing libido.
Now, my soul has been crushed before—when they took off the Waynes’ Brothers for no apparent reason, when I faced Sagat in Street Fighter 2 and all he did was “Tiger! Tiger! Tiger!” over and over again until I threw my Super Nintendo out the window—but seeing myself, in all my glutinous glory, kicking my legs up in the air doing the can can and watching the fourteen rolls in my gut make washer machine noises and overlap each other while I shook about, made me realize that my life would never be the same again.
So I turned it off, but the sight wouldn’t leave my mind. Whenever I heard a Queen song on the radio, Pavlov dog style, I would start to drool at the sight of bosoms, but then I realized that they were MINE! So I decided I had to get help since every station preordained in my car is designated to classic rock, and while I could just change the stations, I can’t miss the opportunity to hear Boston’s “More than a Feeling,” I just can’t!
So I decided hypnotism was the best and most logical step, outside of liposuction or losing weight, of course. The doctor looked at me severely. I don’t think he thought a change was possible. I lifted my shirt and he dug his middle finger into my belly button and tickled it, I didn’t feel anything.
When I asked why he did it, he told me that it made him happy and that I shouldn’t ask any more questions. He then crammed a lollipop into my mouth and told me to suck it rhythmically to him thrusting his pelvis while he put his hands behind his head and danced to Madonna. He told me that this was crucial to me getting better.
Afterwards, in a strange turn of events that had both of our shirts off and his pants, he began with the hypnosis. He told me I was getting sleepy, and I was, his breath was part turkey sandwich, and part halitosis, it created a scent that was an instant drowse medicine. While I was in my daze, I began to hear the roster of greatest hits play on a speaker in the corner by the fichus tree—“We are the Champions,” “You’re My Best Friend,” “Bohemian Rhapsody”—they were all there, dammit. I began to feel a bit nauseous when the hypnotist finally put on “Don’t Stop Me Now,” and I knew I was going to vomit at any moment. But then he said, when I snap my fingers, whenever you hear Queen from now on, you will now only see scenes of Lou Diamond Phillips in the movie Bats.
And when he snapped my fingers, like magic, I was back at home. But after hearing Queen once again, I’ve realized two things: 1. I kind of miss having daydreams about my man boobs, and 2. if anything in this world sucks, it’s Lou Diamond Phillips.

Five Fast Food Places Morbidly Obese People Would Create If They Had the Energy to Build them.

Fast food places, in comparison to the fat man’s wet dream, pale in comparison to what the fat man ultimately prays will be their supreme burger/burrito/forbidden donut glazed in three different kinds of sin joint that they can eat at. The solution, ideas mailed to their congressman about new places that can be built in the middle of their town or closest to the nearest hospital so they won’t have to travel very far for their next triple bi-pass.

Sure, Burger King’s new quadruple burger is a good start to the impending apocalypse, but we’re talking about meals that could even put the lumbering, modern day Godzilla, John Goodman to rest. So here are four great new ideas (and one great old one) from fat folks around the world for fast food joints that have yet to be constructed, but will be, as soon as they garner the energy to pick up their arms long enough to draw up a blueprint.

1. Burrito Hut with Dripping Cheese on the Roof-Taco Bell may have its endearing qualities (obese employees who look like their customers, sticky floors, sassy sauce packets), but what it doesn’t have is nacho cheese that drips from the roof in a constant stream of gooeyness that people can stand outside and just let drop into their mouth like snow on a cool Christmas morning.

Matter of fact, Burrito Hut actually doesn’t need to be erected and Taco Bell can stay just the way it is—it already has the ideal menu for the fat man’s perfect diet. But they definitely should add that dripping cheese feature as soon as humanly possible so hefty people won’t have to wait for their meal when they drive up to the window. They can just get started on cheese and top it off with four or five ½ lb. Beef and Potato burritos for the road. The council has spoken!

2. Sloppy Seconds-Sloppy Joe’s are often underappreciated in the world of Trans fatty acids and deserve the respect of having a whole restaurant that serves nothing but meat piled in mounds of red sauce. It doesn’t really matter what kind of red sauce it is—ketchup, catsup, cocktail, Kool-Aid powder, the cherry kind, of course—but it has to make an appearance on some sort of chopped up hamburger meat. Also, there should be whole bodysuits, advanced husky size; that we can wrap around ourselves just in case we happen to spill any goodness on our best moo moos. The council is hungry!

3. Sausage Factory-Meat and pounds of it. We’re talking about so much meat that a thirty pack of White Castle burgers is equivalent to one hot dog of glowing goodness. And if anybody happens to, I don’t know, die of a heart attack while eating one of these succulent, succulent dogs that any one of us would sell our 17 year old daughters for on eBay, there would be no need to dispose of them or find them a burial at sea. I’m sure the council will find a means to dispose of that fallen fatty. Just have somewhere to put those bones, though. Those don’t go down so easy. The council is starving!

4. Donut Depository-A great idea would be a bank that basically deposited all your doughnuts from home or nestled in your belly button and kept them in safe keeping from anybody else around the house. This would especially be good for people who are supposed to be on diets but realize that diets are for sissies and shouldn’t be told what they can and cannot eat. This not only should be built but needs to be built, as my wife keeps finding blueberry jelly marks on my collar and this has turned into a problem. And God help her, she just can’t find out I’ve been cheating on my diet. The truth, like my body, would crush her soul. The council is ready to devour human flesh!

5. Fat Burger-Yes, it already exists, but no, there aren’t enough of them in the world, so just build a few more and our unctuous UN unity will be satiated. The council is now ready to take a nap! Thus shall it be!