P.S.

Sleep is for people who need to be unconscious to dream. I live them--by being FUCKING AWESOME.

When I'm Dead

Fuck a headstone; I'm going to have a brainstone. It's going to be a stone carving of my fucking brain. People will be able to look at my brain and say, "genius." They'll especially say the word genius if they read the words carved under the brain out loud, which will read "Here lies a fucking genius. 1987-present." Because I'll always be a genius, shithead. Even in the future, I'll be a genius in the present. In the past, I'll be a genius in the present some of the time but mostly in the future. But once that future comes--fuck. Genius.

It's finally Christmas!

Ahoy, jerks. Now that it's cold out, it's time to celebrate the holidays.

No one gave a fuck about anything that happened over the last two weeks of December, which might as well have been Christmas in July for all my internal thermometer could tell. That rise of mercury in my blood sure didn’t help, but the ensuing tunnelvision made my focus sharp on the days when a little nip in the air could have replaced the nip of gin in everything I drank to deal with to numb hourly my crummy Crimble comportment.

And now to learn why the true meaning of why holidays should be weather-permitting.

This March your boss is going to let you take 1-9 days off, the maximum being for those Hannukah+Christmas festive fucking freeloaders. All you have to do is share this post, and Mark Zuckerberg will personally email your boss to make it happen. You've given Zucks more than enough of a trail to figure who you work for (and against), so it's time to reap the benefit of sharing personal information and cash in on a much deserved postponed double holiday proper.

While you're at it, enjoy the wintery fuck out of all those festive foodstuffs our frankincense-forgetting forecast forewent the fortuity to feature.

Allegory of the Man Cave

If some bros sit inside watching football, do they, upon exiting the man cave, believe that sports matter?

Beany quiny

It's quinoa and baked beans on a festive fucking tablecloth. High art and low art in one dish, born of two refrigerator-residing tupperwares that were lonely, looked at each other, and said "eh?" And who knew it would be a marriage worth consummating in my mouth. It's the centerpiece of my Mesoamerican/Dipshit fusion restaurant, and what I'm bringing to this guy's tailgate. Commercials involving the NFL are consistently the best, now setting the bar by figuring out a new way to mispronounce quinoa. Protip: KEAN-woah. The first part is derived from Keanu, and the latter is how he says woah

YES, I AM A G, THANKS FOR ASKING

I imagine this is what goes on at a Dominican IHOP

And while I haven't your attention, I feel like this guy would've gotten through security if he had just said he won it playing darts

Spinach Challenge: Dayten (Ohio)

Sorry, I broke one of my unbreakable rules to you (never apologize). I finished the challenge, I just keep forgetting to tell you. Just kidding, I kept not wanting to upload the pictures. I'll reward you with a Special Comment.

Remember when we talked about semicolons, friends? Just kidding, we're not friends. And now semicolons are in vogue; see how inspirational I am? I won't even mention this. Well now I've got a bone to pick with split infinitives. I like to fucking ride my bike, but now I can't. "No," my English teacher would say, it's "I like fucking to ride my bike." What kind of sense does that make?! Not any that I want to be a part of.

I made a vegish macaroni 'n cheese, made from cashews, nutritional yeast, some stuff I can't remember, and don't make it. It wasn't good. It wasn't like this vegan place around here that has vegan queso that tastes so much like cheese I almost didn't want to eat it!

But with that side dish, my journey concluded. It was an expedition of green, green proportions, with plenty of attitude. Can everyone start pronouncing it like that? Man, she has such attitude. Anywhey (which I don't eat anymoor (which I've never been too anythyme (which I don't have any of, nor do I have any more puns, which I realized by thinking of Blondie (side note, the opening lyrics are insane? (also, note that one of the suggested after-songs is You Can Call Me Al))))), there's only one thing left to say:

Smile, you son of a damn, dirty ape!