Bullets, Dreams, and Corn Nuts

Wow!! What a stupid day on the work front. A short work week should not constitute this much dumbfuckery. It has been nothing but constant barrage of shit. I was seriously ready to kill someone by 11:00 AM.

God, just fucking listen to me and everyone will live, people!!

I’m talking semi-automatic on the roof day. Oh PMS, how I love you. You magnify the stupid by 1000. Well, at least I know that ice cream is on my shopping list. Mmmmm…Ice Cream!!

But, I digress…or do I? Anyhoo…today’s post.

Analyze this dream for me. I dreamt I was home alone and the power went out. When it came back on, I was without internet or phone, and…I was naked.

Then…

The TV lights up with a message from the Matt-Man. He said he wasn’t coming home from work because he had to drink all the Rose as it was about to go bad, and he had a date with some dude named, Guy Ahnyurdyck.

All of a sudden, I’m outside my building in the dark and a storm is coming. At this point, I have clothes on, you pervs. The wind starts howling, the clouds roll in, but no storm.

Turns out to be a huge swarm of armor plated ticks, and the only thing I have to fight them off with is a small bag of Corn Nuts. But…

They like the Corn Nuts, so I drop the Corn Nuts and start running, and running, and begin to knock on doors to find help. All I find are zombies…well-dressed zombies, but zombies nonetheless.

I find my way back to the apartment and bust through the door. There, in the computer chair, sits our cat, Corky typing a blog post about kitty blow. She turns around, looks at me, and says…

“Dad called. Guy canceled, and the Wild Irish Rose turned into serpents, so he’ll be home shortly. By the way…I can haz Corn Nuts…Where are my Corn Nuts?”

So? Is this normal, or am I totally fucked up?

Well…if you’ll excuse me, I must prepare for the ticks and the zombies. I’m not taking any chances with that shit.

Zoooooves!!

Tales from the Communist Crypt

Four days folks…

A mere 96 hours until the mud slinging, Palin bashing, and over the top lies come to an end.

In other words, after Tuesday, the fun comes to an end and I will have to find something else with which to amuse myself.

I’m posting this very late today because yesterday I was off all day and was home alone with nothing but my computer, a case of cold beer and two fifths of Rose.

Not a good combo.

This morning I know how Obama and McCain must feel from traveling back and forth to all of their campaign stops over the past few months.

However, I managed to experience the exhaustion, strain, and mental duress of it all in a 24 hour period.

I did have an interesting dream that was no doubt brought on by my alcohol consumption and the frozen pizza that I ate last night.

I was working on a collective wheat farm in the Ukraine with several of my agriculture comrades.

As we were preparing to break for a lunch of boiled potatoes and ox tail soup, a figure appeared on the horizon.

It was a chiseled, overly muscular, scythe wielding John McCain perched atop a giant, fire breathing yak.

It was as though he was the Grim Reaper, Joe McCarthy, and Paul Bunyan rolled into one.

With the speed and fury greater than that of a Wall St. bailout, he stormed down the hill towards us.

Laughing maniacally, he began whacking the heads off from the bodies of my co-workers.

With each blood curdling scream from the soon-to-be decapitated, he screamed, “Karl Marx was a fag!!”

As the Mac-Man neared me, he raised his scythe and stared me down. His eyes filled with more rage than that of Rosie O’Donnell’s hoo-ha.

Just then, I pulled out a glass of Metamucil, a Fiber One bar, and held them out.

He pulled on the reins of his mighty, fire breathing yak, halting her charge by saying, "Whoa, Sarah, Whoa."

He dismounted, and looked at me…first with a sneer, then with a smirk, consumed my peace offering and said…

“Thanks Matt-Man, I needed that.”

And that folks, was that.

Have a lovely Friday all, and Happy Halloween.

Cheers!!

Saturdays With Sarah: She's a Brick Igloo

I had a dream last night. It was a bit disturbing.

I dreamt that I was half-drunk, fully naked, and in bed with Sarah “Lame and Tall” Palin.

Her hair was down, and as she lay over me, gazing down upon me, her silky tresses caressed my face.

She smiled at me as her sharp, painted finger nails ran up and down my cheek.

My Bagwine soaked shaft was becoming engorged with fluids and an unnatural lust for the right-wing Eski-Ho.

Her pillow talk about abuse of power, Russians on her front porch, and applying moose piss to her body to attract the giant beasts when hunting was making me hot.

My mind screamed, “Matt-Man, don’t do it…She’s an idiot…A moron…A Republican!!”

But my friends, it was too late. My mental faculties had been numbed by the crazy, koo-koo, Arctic aphrodisiac that she exuded.

I wanted her. I had to have Sarah.

I said to her that we should get it on, and asked her to lay on her back. She smiled and said, “No, Matt-Man.”

As I began to plead with her, she put her finger to my lips, and whispered, “Shhhhhhh.”

She positioned her body on all fours upon the bed.

Completely naked except for her thigh-high mukluks and her Aleutian ass facing me, she looked back at me and said, “I wanna do it sled doggy style, Matt-Man.”

I said, “Wow. You are a maverick.” She winked and replied, “You betcha.”

Just then, somewhere, somebody, cued up the song, Barracuda.

As it blasted through the room, I was humping the aft of the Good Ship Sarah with the fury of a harpoon going through a huge, wet, whale.

She moaned, but that was not all that I heard. I could hear another voice.

It was an innocuous voice shouting out commands. Commands such as…

Hips to the left, Sarah!!…Moan now, Sarah!!…Tell him he’s all that, Sarah!!...Scream, Dear God I’m cumming, Sarah!!

To which she screamed, “Dear God, I’m coming Sarah!!”

I realized then, that something nefarious was afoot.

I withdrew the Matt-Meat from her melting tundra, turned, and I saw, standing in the corner…

Rick Davis, John McCain’s campaign manager.

Davis had been scripting and handling Palin’s every erotic move.

Even in bed, Palin is not to be trusted to perform on her own. Even in my dreams, she is still a moron.

I’m working ALL FRICKING day today, but I hope that you all enjoy your Saturday.

Until the ‘morrow…

Cheers!!

Bi-Carbonated Dreams

It’s not going to be a good day here in Bagwine, Ohio.

I did not sleep well at all.

I mean, I was pretty comfortable, but I kept tossing and turning due to a strange dream.

I dreamed that I was at some type of huge family gathering. Everybody was there.

Even Mom and Dad were there and let me tell you, they look pretty damn good for a couple of dead people.

Anyway, several of the younger ones got quite angry with me because I tripped over my niece’s plastic guitar.

They kept saying, “He broke it!! He Broke it!!”

I didn’t break it; there wasn’t even a mark on it. So, I got into a fist fight with my niece and a half dozen other Children of the Corn.

I won, but I didn’t get a chance to celebrate, because the dream shifted gears.

I began having a discussion with an ex sister-in-law, about Catholic doctrine, and sex. The ex SIL kept calling herself, Eva Marie, but that’s not her name.

Soon after, I am sitting next to two writers from the Letterman Show. One guy is laughing because he came up with a funny bit.

He said, “We’ll have everybody stand up for the Pledge of Allegiance, but then direct them to the food line.”

WTF? The three of us thought that was funny.

Out of the blue I get a phone call, without being near a phone, and start talking to an old friend of mine.

He asks me, “Do you guys celebrate it there?” He asks me this three or four times, “Do you guys celebrate it there?”

I finally screamed, “Celebrate What?” And he says, “Alka Seltzer Day.”

Just then Speedy, the Alka Seltzer dude picks up the plastic guitar and starts dancing…I woke up.

And now, our Bagwine Ruminations Comment of the Week…

This week's COW comes to us from my Half Nekkid Thursday, clambake picture post.

I think Jo of My Place for Whatever, probably captured the feel of how many readers feel when coming here, when she said...

"Sweet Mother of Pearl. You bring "Fun with scissors, paper & glue" to a new level.

Every time I come to Matt-Land I end up a little traumatized...but I keep coming back! You're like a voodoo witchdoctor."

Congrats to Jo for ropin' this week's COW, and for the compliment. Click HERE to swing by Jo's and congratulate her.

Have a lovely Saturday. I am off to do some frickin' yardwork over at Ryno's. Man, I need some Alka-Seltzer-Less sleep.

Cheers!!

When Matt-Man Was in Egypt Land...

Just a brief post on this beautiful, half-way warm Monday.

I am going to spend time today fixing and updating my Links That Make Me Drink, finally catch up on everyone’s blog, and…

Get to work on producing a Blog-Fo-Mercial ™ for a special someone.

Later, I will have to go to my new P/T job that I took in order to supplement my seemingly pro bono writing career, and anemic Bagwine Apparel sales.

Oh, and if you read yesterday’s post, you know that I have to send a scathing e-mail to Conan O’Brien.

Why do I share with you my daily schedule? I share, because I care.

I can impart to you a few things that I dreamed of last night.

I fell asleep watching a couple of specials on Ancient Egypt on the Discovery Channel. Doing that, greatly influenced my dreams.

I dreamed that I lived in Ancient Egypt and was a Pharaoh. My name was Akhenmattman I, and I rocked…

I led armies against the Akkadian Empire, put the Hebrews into bondage, and surrounded myself with a palace full of Nubian nookie.

Sometimes I had those busty harlots put me into bondage. But man did the place ever smell. Whewwww!!

In addition to my military, social, and 120 hour work week innovations I also did something else. I invented stand-up comedy.

More accurately, BAD Stand-Up Comedy.

I had the Nile Valley denizens rollin’ in their hovels. It helped to keep their indentured minds off just how miserable their lives were.

Here’s a couple of samples:

Knock Knock. Who’s There?…Hiero. Hiero, Who?…Hieroglyphics-Gram. Hahahaha.

Wow, who cut the goat cheese? ‘Cause it really Sphinx in here. Hahahaha.

How many slaves does it take to change a light bulb? None, because electricity hasn’t been invented yet. Hahahahaha.

Yep, not that funny to us, but the Hebrew slaves ate it up. I even had at least a dozen Jews begging me to let them be my agent.

Anyhoo, one thing about my dream is the giant obelisk built in my honor and likeness. It was unlike any obelisk you have ever seen.

I drew a picture of it for you…

Ahhhh. Such a fine tribute denoting my uber-masculinity, virility, and the fact that I am a major dickhead.

Enjoy your Monday, and I’ll see ya soon.

Cheers!!