Randumb wisdumb

Don't it make my green eyes red?

• It wasn't that long ago that I cleaned in my home office, tossed out years and years' worth of crap, but now I am looking at the items stacked around the room, the closet, the desk, with a different eye, the Moving Eye. The Moving Eye sees things differently from the Cleaning Eye. The Cleaning Eye sees things that can be kept because they can just be shoved right back where they were with little effort. The Moving Eye sees things that will likely never be used again, and therefore are impractical (some bordering on the stupid) to bring along to my new headquarters.
  
  Don't worry, people - you don't really think I'd leave a single toy behind, do you? The action figures and the old notebooks are non-negotiable. I also vow that when I get moved, I will take my favorite nine-inch toys out of the box finally, and take some pictures.
  
  You sick fucks, I mean my deluxe Babylon 5 action figures. Get your collective minds out of the gutter.
  
  
• Actually, don't. You should never be far from the gutter when you read my posts. If you are too far away, it will only hurt worse when I drag you down, yet again, and scoop you through the floating things we'd all rather not talk about.
  
  
• When I had nipple rings, I used to fantasize about tying helium balloons to them and getting a little assistance in my fight with gravity. But now I realize that would've just looked like two naked weasels were attacking my face.
  
  
• You think I could get my twat tattooed to look like a coin purse? I think the worst part would be inking the zipper on the labia.
  
  Maybe I should have it done up to look like Chumley from Tennessee Tuxedo:
  
  
  
  Or maybe it should resemble Dr. Zoidberg from Futurama:
  
  
  
  
  
• I may post about my digestive distress when I get liquored up, but here I am totally sober, talkin' about makin' my vagina look like a walrus. On purpose. So, do you guys prefer the drunk obnoxiousness (for which there is an excuse), or the sober obnoxiousness (for which there is no excuse)? Paper or plastic? Ginger or Maryanne? Oral or rectal?
  
  Aw, dammit, I promised I wouldn't talk about my ass. Although, I wasn't especially talking about my own ass there, so I think I'm still good.
  
  Just another ass-free day down at Cotillion Court.