September: rhymes with dismember
Well, shove another statue in my ass, how the hell did it get to be September already? I thought I was bein' all productive, putting up a post early in August, thinking I'd follow it with at least one or two more...and then BAM. Now it's cold and my ass is all jiggly with the shivers, and not in a good way.
First things first (because it's more arrangey that way): The winners of my caption contest are Bone Machine, for the timeless "She's got Sandy Duncan Eyes." and Sheryl Stephen for the heartwarming sentiment, "Oh, Sonny, you just dislodged my mucus plug with your teeth!" I couldn't pick just one, so I am crowning Bone and Sheryl the King and Queen of the Cotillion Prom. Or is "Cotillion Prom" redundant? Either way, I'm forced to wear something made of taffeta and to put my hair up into ridiculous turd curls. Go on and dance your spotlight dance, you two.
In other news: Now that my local store has closed, I'm driving a half hour each way to a different store, and working an average of six hours a week. Like a 30-year case of diarrhea, it's gettin' old. So, my chaps and I are actively back on the job hunt. I'd really like to find employment as a court jester, or perhaps the pastie technician at a strip club; I'll keep you informed on my career progress.
Speaking of progress, how awesomely fucking awesome is it to have Project Runway back on the air? I'll give Bravo props for trying to give us a substitute, but let's face it: The Fashion Show was nothing more than a scrap of toilet paper stuck to the bottom of Tim Gunn's always-polished shoe. It was like asking for a Classic Coke and instead being handed a warm glass of piss. Well, maybe I'm being too harsh here; warm piss isn't as bad as The Fashion Show, not if it's fairly fresh, and doesn't have those lemonade fleaks in it.
Also, I did, in fact, make it to the zoo this summer. Here, have a camel's ass:
And, finally, I'd like to offer proof that just because you're about a thousand years old (in cat years) doesn't mean you ain't still cute enough to stop traffic.
Eeyore prefers to summer at the Monkey-Head Hilton condo. And where's that catnip julep he ordered ten minutes ago, hmmmmm?
That is all. Transmission ended.
First things first (because it's more arrangey that way): The winners of my caption contest are Bone Machine, for the timeless "She's got Sandy Duncan Eyes." and Sheryl Stephen for the heartwarming sentiment, "Oh, Sonny, you just dislodged my mucus plug with your teeth!" I couldn't pick just one, so I am crowning Bone and Sheryl the King and Queen of the Cotillion Prom. Or is "Cotillion Prom" redundant? Either way, I'm forced to wear something made of taffeta and to put my hair up into ridiculous turd curls. Go on and dance your spotlight dance, you two.
In other news: Now that my local store has closed, I'm driving a half hour each way to a different store, and working an average of six hours a week. Like a 30-year case of diarrhea, it's gettin' old. So, my chaps and I are actively back on the job hunt. I'd really like to find employment as a court jester, or perhaps the pastie technician at a strip club; I'll keep you informed on my career progress.
Speaking of progress, how awesomely fucking awesome is it to have Project Runway back on the air? I'll give Bravo props for trying to give us a substitute, but let's face it: The Fashion Show was nothing more than a scrap of toilet paper stuck to the bottom of Tim Gunn's always-polished shoe. It was like asking for a Classic Coke and instead being handed a warm glass of piss. Well, maybe I'm being too harsh here; warm piss isn't as bad as The Fashion Show, not if it's fairly fresh, and doesn't have those lemonade fleaks in it.
Also, I did, in fact, make it to the zoo this summer. Here, have a camel's ass:
And, finally, I'd like to offer proof that just because you're about a thousand years old (in cat years) doesn't mean you ain't still cute enough to stop traffic.
Eeyore prefers to summer at the Monkey-Head Hilton condo. And where's that catnip julep he ordered ten minutes ago, hmmmmm?
That is all. Transmission ended.
Katy Barzedor proclaimed this to be so at 9:01 PM
10 of you felt the overwhelming need to say somethin':
Congrats to Bone and Sheryl!
And I can't even begin to express my happiness at seeing dear Tim's debonair mug back on my TV screen. All is right with the world again.
But... but... I *already* have a camel's ass! Or, an ass that looks like it belongs on a camel...
You look really tardy in the photo here. And I ain't talkin' "late."
I'd like to be with Tim Gunn. I don't care how. He could be my best friend; I could be his assistant; he could adopt me; I'd just like to be with him.
Six hours a week? Geez, Louise! Here's hoping for a job that befits someone of your skillz.
Tim Gunn, Eeeyore, and a camel's ass all in one post. How do you manage to do it all?
Did I miss the spotlight dance? What music did they dance to? Oh, I hope it was something from an 80s hair band.
Also, could you look for a job out in the Pacific NW while you're looking? I wouldn't mind having family nearby.
Awww the Bubbies Eeyore. He is so happy with you.
Oh, Bucky!
Only you would be so kind as to offer us a camel's ass. *sniff*
Guess I should upgrade from rats.
Better a camel's ass than a camel toe. Those are just plain tacky.
I totally think you should open up a very tasteful (but not tooooo tasteful) exotic *ahem* toy shop. Then you could pay yourself for testing the product and even get to write it off on your taxes.
I'm just sayin'...
Thank you!
And I want to be with Susie and Tim Gunn.
*ahem*
Yeah, but October doesn't.
*ahemmm*
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