Dispatches From My Ass: Ode to Matt-Man

Happy Tuesday, friends of Matt-Man. This is Matt-Man’s BFF, Schmoop, sitting in once again for that oddly endearing, yet very much ailing Matthew.

The poor boy is still in quite a bit of pain.

I thought perhaps if I wrote a poem for him (and showed him my ass), it might break the stranglehold that this unknown, yet painful affliction has over him.

I’m not a great poet, but I don’t mind telling you that I have often been compared to Sylvia Plath. Not, because of my poetry skillz, but because I am so fucking suicidal.

So without further uh-doo, I offer to Matthew and to you all…

ODE TO MATT-MAN

I’m sorry you feel so crappy…

I just want you to be happy…

I wish I could ease your current pain…

And replace it with pain from whips and chains…

Be it your gall bladder or perhaps, pneumonia...

If you stay in the hospital, I'll sneak you Bagwine and a vase of begonias...

I am drinking beer right now while you’re at work…

I fried Spam for you, like a soda jerk…

It may aggravate whatever you have….

But, it has Velveeta, so don’t be so sad…

I want to take away whatever this ailment has made…

Oh my darling, I just want to get laid…

So now you know, I’m just a callous bitch…

Come on baby, get well, I have an itch!!!!!

Zoves!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Dispatches From My Ass: Puttin' On Latex

Schmoop here with yet another, Dispatch from my Ass…

These next two weeks are going to be gruesome. Gruesome I tellz ya!

I’m still not back to full time, and I’m sure I never will be. Idiot boss/owner/mental patient.

I’m still looking, and I’m sure I WILL find something soooo much better. Either that, or I’m moving down to ‘R’ Kansas with my Jay Man!!

However, that is not the reason for this blewg. No siree babies, I’ve got news, BIG NEWS!!

The next two weeks, we are painting the love shack! Whoo Hoo!

Pale gray with white trim. Of course, the kitchen and bath have to be white, but hey, I can deal with that.

And then, and then….we get new carpet on July 1st!! Yea! Tannish, brownish, whitish. Soooo much better than what we currently have.

And then, and then….new tile in the kitchen, and bathroom. Yea!! We have lived here for nine years, and our apartment manager has been trying to give us this for a year, but…

I was the one holding the abode alterations up.

What was my hesitation you ask? Well, let me tell ya.

I AM AFRAID OF ANY KIND OF CHANGE WHATSOEVER.

I know, I know, not me, the chick who will pose for any picture for the Matt-Man, but it’s true.

Our house is so full of STUFF; it’s not even funny. Matt will tell you that I’m imagining things, and that I’m nuts, but I fear THINGS.

Brother D will be helping, and no doubt both of them will tell me to GO somewhere…anywhere…just not here!!

Anyhoo…painting, carpeting, cleaning, and tileing will progress. I think I’ll hide down in the laundry room. In the corner. With my cat. Sucking my thumb. Sobbing.

So, would anyone like to invite me to their house for the next, oh I don’t know…month?

I’ll bring you brownies…um from the store. You do not want me to make you anything, trust me.

Anyone? No? Huh…go figure.

If I don’t make it, because I have either slit my wrists or Matt or Dave kill me during this ordeal, say something nice about me at my funeral, m’kay?

Zoves,
Schmoop

Dispatches From My Ass: Boobs and Randomness

Hi all. Schmoop here...

See that picture? It is currently, prominently displayed on top of a potato chip rack for all the customers to see.

Ha!! My rack on a chip rack. That rack is packed and stacked!!

As some of you may know, I’ve been pimped out by my local, alcohol drive thru establishment.

I am getting many looks, but so far no profit. WTF? This is for charity!!

Ok the charity is the owner, Drive-By Mikey, but hey, I’m sure I teased him enough thru school to warrant this money? Huh? Throw a bitch a bone!

What do I have to do to get some fucking money from these Drive-Thru degenerates?

Get some alcohol, some smokes, tip your attendant, and put some cash toward my boobs. Geez, it isn’t that hard.

Drive-By Mikey did try to get me to put money in the jar today. For my own effin picture! I had no say so in this, why should I pony up money??

So everyone come to Bagwine, and give to this wonderful charity. I would be most grateful. Not that grateful, you sickos! I didn’t mean you Jay!! Wear the Viking helmet!! Wink, wink!

Anyhoo, I am now off four days in a row, and the Matt Man is off for THREE, count them THREE days in a row. Oh dear Lord help me!

Holy Mary Mother of God pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death, Amen. Or something like that. I am NOT a sinner! I’m just portrayed that way! Just ask my Ma! Of course she still thinks I’m seven.

I guess this turned into a Stream of Consciousness Thursday kind of thing. So sorry.

I’m thinking about getting my hair cut this week, back to the short cut. What do you think of that?

Can’t show you the longer version, as I can’t operate the camera, but let’s just say…Trying to let it grow out is pissing me off!

One last thing…That picture of Matt-Man in my nightie that he used yesterday is hideous, is it not?

I look much hotter in that red, short nightie than Matt Man ever dreamed he could be.

He’s always trying to out do me in the adorable department! No can do M-Man, I AM the cutest!!

And, just as with trying to show you all my longer hair, if I could operate that fucking camera, I’d show you how hot I look in that nightie.

Maybe I’ll get Matt-Man to take some pictures of me in it while we’re off together the next three days.

It’s the least he can do in exchange for getting Drive-By Mikey to post my boobs at the Drive-Thru…

Not to mention in exchange for pawing me and sucking me up my oxygen for 72 straight hours.

Aaaaaaugh!! Motherfucker!! The damn camera flash just went off two inches from my face!!

I am blind. Blind I say…Hey, what’s for dinner?

Zoves,
Schmoop

Store Security...Report to the Soup Aisle at Once!!

Greetings from Schmoop and Dave.

This week, we’re combining his, Dig It, With David and my, Dispatches from my Ass segments.

I guess we’ll call it, Dig It From My Ass, David. Ha!!

We’re going to take you to the Grocery Store with us. Won’t this be a fun ride?

My brother Dave and I go to the grocery store (either Wal-Mart or Kroger’s) every two weeks or so, and we find all kinds of mischief to get into!

My brother is nice to everyone, believe it or not, and I just want to get OUT! He talks to the Wal-Mart greeter, while I grunt.

I’m just glad everyone at our neighborhood Kroger store knows us now. They used to think we were husband and wife.

Ewww! Hello! Not brother husband /sister wife. This is Ohio, not West “By God” Virginia.

As we go up and down the isles at either store, we have been known to yell at each other from three to six aisles over, asking where such and such is.

Dave smells every fucking thing in the place, and I do mean everything.

He shakes the cottage cheese (might not be enough whey you know), and chip containers, (a few might be broken) Oh the Humanity!!

He opens the frozen pot pie, and TV dinner boxes to see if they are in aluminum tins. I remind him every time, that they haven’t done that since the Carter administration.

No matter. I guess he has hope.

He wanders aimlessly…I, with purpose.

I cuss out people who stare at the soup cans for HOURS, while standing in the middle of the fucking aisle, and even when I say, “Excuse Me”, they look at me like I have five heads.

Ok, it’s in my head, but I give them really dirty looks, and sigh a lot. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, it’s fucking soup!

I know…I know…you’re torn between Campbell’s or the Kroger brand, and trying to figure out what the fuck the word, “consommé” means has just rocked your pea brained world but please…

Buy it or don’t…But get the fuck out of my way!!

I can never get to the meat section, because someone is always STARING, and handling every fucking package.

It’s hamburger people…you know, minced cow?? It’s funny, because no one we see ever looks at produce that way. Just toss it into the cart! Idiots.

Of course, judging by the looks and smell of some of the burger gawkers and produce tossers, I don’t think any type of fruit or vegetable has passed their lips since the night that Ethel Merman guest starred on an episode of, The Love Boat.

We do have fun though. We make fun of people, look for stuff that we had in the 70’s, and I always, and I mean always, look for that elusive and ultimately never found, box of Frankenberry cereal.

Years ago, when Mom, and Dave’s dog Megan was still alive, Mom insisted she have Mighty Dog soft dog food. Fourteen cans mind you. Why fourteen? No clue.

We’d be standing in that isle picking out the food, and we’d simultaneously begin singing, 18 Wheels On A Big Rig, by Heywood Banks.

Nobody really stared until I said “let’s do PI!”

Oh, the adventures when Dave and I start out doing it all again this Thursday morning!! And, it will start out by both of us saying the following…

“I’m only getting what’s on the list.” Yeah baby, you keep thinking that. But…We’re a team dammit!!

And maybe, just maybe I’ll be the nice one this time, just for shits and giggles…

Nah!! Better yet, I’ll ride in the cart, Dave can push me, stop the cart in the middle of the aisle, and we’ll both stare at the soup!!

Zoves and Dig It,
Schmoop and Dave

Dispatches From My Ass: Mrs. Seinfeld, Turn On The Air!!

Ohio Sucks!

Anymore we have no spring, no fall…just cold, dead winter, and hot, dry summer.

We used to have SEASONS. You know, FOUR of them. Not anymore.

Why so cranky, you ask?

Well, I’m hot, and I don’t like to be hot. We have no air because the motherfucker is broken…again.

Do you remember the saga last year? I know that you do. So, it’s fan city until it gets fixed.

When will that be, you ask? According to the head maintenance guru…A big fat NEVER.

Know why? He’s the only one, responsible for fifty million apartments, that can do it!!

I do love Rob, he’s the best, and quite fucking funny, but like I said, he’s the only one.

He showed me yesterday the thick ass pile of workorders he has. Oh well, I can deal. It sucks, but I can deal.

Hey, wait a minute! It’s storming!!! Thunder, lightning, RAIN!! Oh thank you in the highest to the Holy Baby Jeebus!!

The farmer’s are out dancing in the fields!! The air smells good!! Yea!!!!

Oh, and I had to shut the windows, because that’s the only damn time air comes in, but so does the rain!! ARRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

Now I’m hot AND damp…And not in a good, “Damn, Matt-Man. I never knew a guy's tongue could be Double Jointed” kinda way!!

I am HOT, SWEATY, and MISERABLE.

When I was a kid, we used to go outside in this shit, and stand under the eaves of our house, sometimes under a tree! I know, risky! Most likely in a bathing suit.

Nowadays at my age, I would never do such a thing. Wear a bathing suit that is, I’ll still go out and play in the thunderstorm.

But I digress…When we were busy playing in the rain, lightning, and thunder as adorable children…

My Mom didn’t even think about telling us to come in. Hell no, we were out of her hair! Sometimes, we’d play kickball during hellatious thunderstorms, and slide in the mud!

My siblings are older than me, but we would all stand out in the thunderstorm, looking up at the sky saying, “Bring it on, Mother Fuckin’ Nature!!”

Mom probably thought, “Damn, I’ve got six kids….hmmm…how many can be eliminated during this one? How about their Dad too? Please Jesus, if you love me you’ll show me via a lightning strike.”

She didn’t really think that…right? I’ll have to ask. On the other hand…I don’t think I want to know. Outside of the Dad thing, of course. I know what the answer to THAT question is!

Anyhoo…It sucks in the Bagwine digs…again. But, there is some relief while waiting for Rob to get through his Mt. Everest sized stack of work orders.

Old, clever Matt-Man has utilized two fans and the ceiling fans to drop the apartment temp by about 7 degrees.

The crafty, little shit strategically placed and rotated them.

(And trust me that is the first time the words “positioned” and “rotated” have ever been used in conjunction with Matt and it didn’t involve a woman.)

If it weren’t for him, things could be worse up here. And…I’m almost done shedding my uterus for the month.

So maybe today, and definitely by Saturday, we can just lay around naked.

But even if we are naked, and I hear Rob knock on the door? I am pushing Matt’s nakedness away from me, letting Rob in, and in all of my naked glory say to Rob…

"Make it blow, Rob…Make it so, Rob."

Zoves,
Schmoop

Dispatches From My Ass: I Want A Cookie

Do you ever feel that something is missing in your life? Something major, that you just can’t put your finger on? Well I do.

Don’t get me wrong, I have a home, a cat (that hates me), and a great guy (that I think likes me), but…

Something is off. Could it be that new Luuuuvvvv bullshit Matt-Man’s preaching!! No? Ok then.

Something's off like the time I went through Lent with no fucking ice cream!! Whoa, never doing that dumbass thing again.

Preventing withdraws from that creamy, lovely concoction should be the Eleventh Commandment.

“Thou shalt not go without the ice cream, dumbass.” Or something…

I know what it is, but doing something about it is hard. It’s…………Wait for it…………..The JOB! Or maybe, it is cookies. No, no, it is the job.

Although, I did have a dream the other night about making home made cookies. Hmmm, maybe it is the cookies!

Hey Ma! Could you let loose of your walker long enough to make me some of those oatmeal cookies you used to make? No? Hmmmph.

I’m looking for a job, I really am. And what do I get for my "search and send my resume", quest? Silence. Crickets Chirping. No responses.

Maybe, it’s because I send resumes from my current “job”. Maybe it’s because I don’t have a college degree, or I’m too fucking old.

Maybe, it’s because those fuckers never take the time to interview me, and know that I would be one bitchin’ addition to their company.

Hell, I don’t know, but I’m still trying, and something good will come out of this. Right? RIGHT?

It’s not about the money. It’s about getting out of the hell hole I work in, and doing something I enjoy.

Have I mentioned previously that the hell hole that I work in, SMELLS!!?

Oh Jesus, Mary, and Joseph...

It smells like an overripe, overfull, colostomy bag that was used by an octogenarian Hungarian dude, and has been lying in an Ohio pig farm for an entire week during the hot, humid, butt ass crack of August.

Oh, I have told you that it smells? Sorry.

Or maybe…what I am missing is all about the cookies…

Mommy!? I know you’re 85, but c’mon, can’t a girl get a cookie!?

Zoves,
Schmoop

Dispatches From My Ass: It Should Suck, Not Blow!!

Hi peeps. Schmoop here, and time for me talk out of my ass once again.

I have a feeling that my appliances are banding together in order to kill me in my sleep…

Much like my cat, and Matt on occasion.

Oh please, I can see it in his eyes. The way he ignores me when I talk, the way he says, “that’s fine dear” without moving his lips. Mmm Hmm.

The first appliance to give me grief was a toaster that my Uncle gave me years ago.

He always bought top of the line things, nothing cheap. He was highfalutin’ that way. Yes, that is a word.

Geez. When I brought it home, immediately one “leg” fell off. So to this day, I have a three-legged, quasi-palegic toaster.

Holy crap, see that picture? It leans more than Heather Mills!! Lovely.

Next? My coffee pot, which I have lovingly named, Darth Vader…

It makes a LOT of noise when brewing…raspy, bellowing, “Luke, I am your Father” noises. Sometimes, it won’t brew at all, except...all over the mother fucking counter!!

Well, it was only $10 at the Dollar Store…eight years ago. So perhaps, it has grounds to be a piece of shit. Ha!! Get it? Grounds!? Oh, I kill myself.

Well, tonight was the kicker on the appliance front.

I’ve been wanting a new vacuum cleaner like forever, but M-Man says the NINE YEAR OLD vacuum is JUST fine, no need to buy another one…do you vacuum, Mr. Butthole?

Oh yeah, he does…so disregard.

Anyhoo, the fucking handle came loose, and dust, which I like to call Cat Funk, was blowing all over the place.

I managed to put it back together to finish, but I am SO buying a new one.

So now, I’m officially taking donations to buy the Dyson Ball! Ha! I said ball!! It’s only $400 plus. Too much???

Well, I want it dammit! After living with the Matt Man for nine years, I think I deserve a new, super dirt sucking vacuum…

And speaking of things that suck…

I also deserve a telethon for a woman who cannot get enough air due to someone’s EGO sucking all of the oxygen from this tiny, tiny apartment. Feel sorry yet? No? Damn.

What was this all about? Oh yeah, appliances. Well, Matt-Man is kind of like an appliance. In fact, you could call him my, B.O.B.

Bagwine Operated Boyfriend.

In fact, we are both off today and I plan on plugging in Matt-BOB in order to do some hot, “cleaning” on me today.

And let me tell you guys…

If Matt-BOB can’t perform the way he is supposed to, he’s going to be put in the trash along with the damn vaccum.

Thank you for allowing me to send you yet another, Dispatch from my Ass.

Zoves,
Schmoop

Dispatches From My Ass: Streaming Into the Principal's Office

Ok, so here we go again. Thursday’s with the Schmoop. Whoo!!!

What exciting Dispatch from My Ass do I have for you today boys and girls?? I don’t know, but I was told it better be funny.

Ha! Good enough? Sigh…

Let’s see.

My day consists of going to a crusty, smelly, (Oh God the smell!), creepy, should be condemned, and or burned down hole in the wall I like to call work.

There I am surrounded by crusty, smelly (Oh God, again with the smell!), creepy, should be condemned people! How exciting!! I live the high life, I tells ya!

Well hell, that’s not funny. It’s just pathetic. The stupid around me grows! Like the mold, and asbestos surrounding me. Wait…I feel a poem coming on…

Nope, sorry, brain cells dying!!!! Help me!!

Anyhoo, I’ve been at this “job” for almost eight years now, and for the last six months, have been down to 24, count em, 24 hours a week.

I must say, I do enjoy having my Friday’s on Wednesday, and I am looking for a job where I am NOT exposed to toxic waste… building, and people wise.

I’m a damn fine catch if I do say so myself, and somebody fine will come along, make me forget about lovin’ you, and the Southern Cross….

Sorry, I digress.

I guess you might call this post a stream of consciousness, but hey, I’m not conscious!!!

Oh, and by the way…this ain’t funny! Ha! I crack myself up!

So how many people out there got into trouble in school? Me, I started in the first grade…spent most of that grade in the hall.

My teacher finally moved my desk out there.

Then I spent two weeks in the principal’s office in sixth grade for crimes I shall not mention…well, okay, I will.

Four of us sixth graders were alone at school for a week, while all the coddled, spoiled, rich other sixth graders went to Camp?

We were totally unsupervised by any of the other teachers who had class I might add.

So, I went skateboarding down the hall for God’s sake.

Where were these “adults” while I was hangin’ ten, as I turned Horace Mann Elementary School into the Bonsai Pipeline!?

I plead innocent by reason of no fucking supervision.

And then…myself and two of the other three abandoned sixth graders (all boys) decided to find out what lay beneath the trap door in the Audio/Visual room.

We entered it and spent an entire hour underneath the school. That’s right, it led to the middle of a great big empty under the school.

Anyhoo, the third boy who didn’t go with us, turned us in to the evil, blowhard, my shit doesn’t stink, Principal Meeks.

I guess the little shit, thought the other two boys were getting something that he wasn’t, so he squealed.

Little did the dumb ass know that no one would be getting any from me for several years to come.

I spent the rest of the week in Meeks’ office while the other kids were at camp.

(By the way Drive-By Mikey, I know YOU got to go to camp that year.) I have zoves!!! Not really.

So that’s about all I’ve got.

After sixth grade, I moved on with my life (all my teachers from that time, and the evil Principal Meeks are dead, no evidence), and became the model citizen you all know and love.

Keep something in mind with this post….I’m NOT CONSCIOUS!!! And there are more than a few people ‘round here that prefer me that way.

Zoves,
Schmoop

Matt-Man says...Tune into tomorrow as Schmoop's brother, David, makes his Bagwine debut!!

Dispatches From My Ass: My Pussy Adores Matt-Man

Hi all. Schmoop here with another installment of Dispatches From My Ass.

Have I ever told you about our cat Corky, and my relationship with her? No? Well good, hang on.

Matt and I have been having hot, out of wedlock sex together going on nine years.

About seven years ago, he ventured out to find a kitten. For me.

I wanted a wittle, itty, bitty, furry baybee!

He came home with a CAT, not a kitten, a CAT. Ok, it took ten seconds to fall in love with this CAT. Shortly afterwards, we found out that this CAT was pregnant.

So lo and behold, a little while later this CAT had five itty, bitty, precious, furry baybees!! Ya need to see the baybees!!

Anyhoo, we, meaning I, took care of the CAT, and her kittens, until they were weaned, and then had the babies put to death. I kid, sorta.

We had to take them to the Humane Society (lock box of death) because we live in an apartment, so we couldn’t keep them, and could find no one who wanted any or all of them.

Deep breath, and many, many tears.

The CAT got quite ill two times, and the trips to the vet were expensive (Thanks D and M!). She finally got put on prescription food by HER doctor, so everything, so far is cool. All fourteen pounds of cool.

Here lies the rub.

I take care of her…food, water, litter evacuation, which she expects done at the same time every day by the way…and I fluff all of her own blankets. Hell, I won’t even vacuum if she’s asleep!!

Who does she want? Who does she love? Why it’s the Matt Man of course. Me?

What the hell do I get from Corky? Heartache, that's what!!

I get bitten, scratched, and snubbed. But Daddy, sweet, sweet Daddy, is the bestest ever!!

If Matt is not around and my brother David comes by, D gets the love I should be getting! How fucked up is that?

On the odd chance that she does let me hold her, if Matt-Man comes within 2 feet of us, she reaches out for him like a needy baby.

Corky follows him around like a dog…If he calls her, like Forrest Gump, she comes running, and dig this…

If her precious Matty sneezes, even if she is dead ass asleep, she wakes up and freaks out with concern and checks to see if he’s okay.

If she’s sleeping and I sneeze? She lays there like a piece of deadwood probably all the while dreaming of my death.

Matt’s even got her trained to get on one arm of the chair, so he can pick her up without bending down!!

Then, she proceeds to kiss him, rub all over his face, and call him George, or whatever the fuck she is saying in her cat talk.

This blows! I should be getting this attention, but noooo.

She doesn’t bite him, or scratch him, because he disciplines her, and she LOVES it. Bitch.

Hell, she even lays on the arm of the couch while he types and blogs!

Fucked up, I say.

So needless to say, the CAT, the little fuzzy, wuzzy baybee, that I wanted to have, hold, and cherish…wants the Matt Man. Damn, I can’t win…

Oh hey, here she comes!!

Oh Corky, snookie-wookums, come to mama I haz love!!!!

OW! Bitch!!

Hump Day Hodgepodge

I have several things to briefly mention on this last Hump Day of April. So, let’s get to it. Shall we?

First of all, my boss, Drive-By Mikey, has imposed a new nickname on me.

For over a year now, he has referred to me like most people do: Matt-Man. As of yesterday, he now refers to me as, “Toothpick”.

Why? Because of my legs…

While I do have damn muscular thighs (right Schmoop?), my legs below the knee are according to him, like toothpicks.

As you can see from the picture, he may have a point.

Between my constant pacing at home (I think better that way) and the walking I do at work, I probably ambulate 3 miles a day, so they are sinewy, but a bit thin looking.

Oh well…

I still don’t know if I like being called, “Toothpick” by my pig fucker boss. Yeah, my boss, the pig fucker.

See, Mikey not only owns the Drive-Thru at which Pizza Bill and I work, but he’s a farmer as well, and he raises pigs. He recently delivered a litter of 15 piglets.

I just hope Mikey wore a rubber when he dorked the pork, at least until it burst and he impregnated sexy Sooooozy.

And now…a brief political comment. Senator Arlen Specter has decided to leave the GOP and join the Democrats.

While I find it funny, I am not a big fan of what he is doing. Now don’t get me wrong, I have always liked Specter, but I am disappointed by his decision.

If Specter was leaving the Republicans solely on ideological and policy issues that would be fine.

But, he is abandoning the party that helped him to get where he is in order to avoid losing his seat in the 2010 Senate Primary to a more conservative Republican, Pat Toomey.

I didn’t like it when Jerusalem Joe Lieberman did it to the Dems, and I don’t like to see Specter do it to the GOP.

This type of action lacks loyalty, and is incredibly self-serving. So, pfffffffft to you Arlen.

Lastly, Schmoop’s brother David, relayed a very disturbing story to me yesterday about their sister. You know…

The sister who gives their 85 year old mom coloring books and Serenity Adult Diapers as gifts…

Well, her dog died.

Overcome with grief, Koloring Book Kunt (David’s words, not mine) and her husband (who will drive 300 miles to save 50 cents on a 2 liter of Mountain Dew), laid out a wad of cash for a tiny dog casket and a headstone for said dead dog, and buried her in the backyard.

Where in the backyard, you ask?

Next to all of the OTHER pet headstones and caskets!! Are you listening Stephen King!? Schmoop’s sister is running her own, personal Pet Sematary!!

Hell, why not combine all of the dead dogs into one, giant Pawsoleum!?

David and Schmoop…They just found out themselves, but as you can see, for good reasons, they don’t…go…over there. Oy.

And now, speaking of Schmoop, she will be doing another installment of, Dispatches From My Ass tomorrow.

It should be another award winning offering from the Schmoop.

Until then, my friends…Eat a pig. Betray those who helped ya, and bury a dead pet in your backyard.

Cheers!!

Dispatches From My Ass: Fans

Editor's Note: Due to the lukewarm response of Schmoop's post yesterday, we have sent Matt-Man packing on vacation. Enjoy some more of Schmoop...

So, last year I decided to buy a new fan. The one we had finally went kaput, so I got one.

On a trip to Wallyworld in the summer of 2008 I found the one for me..

My brother bought a sterling, very quiet, lots of air, circulation fan.

I, on the other hand, bought a compact, piece of shit, old man who smokes three packs a day, can barely get the air out of his mouth fan.

I am not fucking kidding….unless you were two inches from this particular fan, there was no way in hell it was going to mechanically spit out any air on your face.

Just because this was the only fan that WASN’T on display at the time, and my brother David picked up a fan that was on display and pumping out the air like Rosie O’Donnell blowing coney dog farts…

I bought the goddamn thing anyway…

Can you say, FORESHADOWING….

Okay so, I got this fan home, I gave it to Matt, and he looked at me like I had five heads.

He began to assemble said fan and it was then that my stomach began to feel queasy like the way James Brolin feels like prior to being ordered to go down on Babs’ pussy.

Anyhoo…said fan didn’t work out. It blew less air than Steven Hawking on albuterol.

But, I tell you my friends…

Today, Ladies, and Gentlemen….I bought a NEW fan.

And Bitches, this baby oscillates…and it’s chrome, and it is loooooooovely.

However…

It’s tooo loud, and toooo big. I was told by the dickhead big guy not to buy a fan; he would do it.

What was I supposed to do??? It was cheap, inexpensive !!

I ask you Ladies, and Gentlemen….What would you have done!!

Thank You and Come Again...

Zoves,

Schmoop

Bagwine Ruminations Presents: Schmoop!!

Helllloooo!! I’m Schmoop and I welcome you all to the first installment of:

Dispatches From My Ass*…

So first out of the box, what’s with wedding and funerals? Sorry, Seinfeld reference. I’m watching it now, and there were so many good points.

I am a firm believer that everything in our lives can somehow be traced back to one of the many Seinfeld episodes.

Ponies for instance. Who has a pony? If you do, or you did, do you still? And why?

I mean the poop alone would put me off. Not to mention the big ass, glassy looking eyes. I have enough problems with our cat, Corky, zoning off.

Now, weddings…Good Lord!!

Why pay all that money for gowns, dinner, gifts, bridesmaids, etc. For what?

So you can live with this person, whom I guarantee you will fucking hate in eight months?

Do as I do. Shack the fuck up for almost nine years, and have a blast!

Save money, still in love, and the sex never gets old. Novel idea, no?

Funerals? Same thing. Do you even know you’re dead? I don’t think so.

Even if you do, would you like a whole bunch, or in my case not a whole bunch of people, crying and looking at your redesigned dead body in a box?

I know my Dad did not appreciate the showing at his funeral.

His pre-corpse words were, and I quote...

“Hey Girlie, burn me, stick me in a beer can, and put me on the ice box.”

Unfortunately, Mommmmm didn’t want to do that. She is such a killjoy.

When I die, just throw me atop a bonfire. Hell, my liver should keep the pyrotechnics glowing for days.

If Matt wants to utter a brief eulogolical (is that a word?) remark such as, “She was the best pussy I ever had.” That’s cool too.

However, he’ll probably reserve that post-mortem accolade for when our zoned-out cat, Corky, kicks the bucket. Bastard.

Where was I? Oh yea, inside my own fucked up head. Sorry about the language. It’s French, right? Right? OMG the voices!!

I have no point really. Just that I hate weddings, funerals…..and obviously….ponies.

Thank you and come again…

Zoves,

Schmoop

*I really liked all of the title ideas you guys came up with for my entries, however…Matt-Man liked his, Dispatches from my Ass idea best (naturally).

As not to harm his massive, yet fragile ego, I went with that. God, it’s so hard living with him.