Why Do You Treat Me Like A Tree Frog?

Can you answer me, just this once? Now that I have been out drinking all night and am full of liquid courage, please tell me: Why do you treat me like a tree frog?

Is it something I've done? Do I not make you happy? Is it because I live in a tree and eat insects? That is no reason to treat me like a tree frog. You are amphibianphobic. There is a place for you - it's called WalMart.

Footage of my near death encounter with the rabid melon-man that lived in my neighbors shrubs.

In the first photo, you can clearly see the rage in the wild melon-man's eyes. If he looks scary here, believe me, he is even scarier in person. However, pushed forward by the testosterone that was coursing through my veins, I lunged forward to capture the wild melon man in his natural habitat (which happens to be my windowsill).

He was not happy, and became even wilder. He bit my hand. I was angry. The wild melon-man has very sharp teeth and very, very bad breath. I was now worried about possibly getting an infection.

We wrestled in my neighbors shrubs for some time before we both fell to the floor, naked and exhausted. We felt a bond that only exists between two wild animals fighting for survival. I gazed into the eyes of the wild melon-man and told him I loved him. He spit in my face. I then stabbed him between the eyes and ate him for lunch.

Such is life.

Triumph!

I have just returned from a 2 month long hunting expedition deep in the hart of my neighbors shrubs.

I suffered much at the hands of nature, at the hands of god, and especially at the hands of my neighbors, who didn't seem to appreciate my living in their shrubs for 2 months. Or maybe it was the loin cloth I was wearing.

No matter!

I have returned with many stories, many scars, and a few trophies. Pictures to follow...

Pecan Pie

Here is a detailed list of all the people I know who like Pecan Pie:
Dan
Jon
Mary
Christian
Meredith
Scott
Thomas
Dieder
Jens
Frank F.
Robert
Howard
Natty 'Nugz' Nugat

TBTMNS Vacation

We here at The Blog That Makes No Sense are on a much needed, albeit temporary, vacation from the rigors of blogging.

I Dill Weed, your Master Blogger (MB) have contracted a mild case of carpel tunnel syndrome from the incessant blogging I participate in. In addition to the mild case of carpel tunnel, I have lost feeling in the ring finger and pinky finger of my right hand, have blisters on the end of every finger on my left hand, and have come down with a rather volatile case of IBS. I also have a headache, and my angry girlfriend who smells like cheese has threatened to leave me for someone named Roger Roger Roger.

Therefore, I am taking a hiatus from the love of my life, TBTMNS. Please stay tuned for future posts, and in the meantime, please feel free to peruse our extensive library of archived posts.

Thank you for your time, your attention, your love, your dedication and your pretty smile.

A Riddle

Team A and Team B are playing each other in softball. Team A is known as the "Mad Dogs" and sport blue uniform tops, gray pants and black cleats. Team B is known as the "Ground Hogs" and wear yellow tops, green pants and green cleats. Team A bats first.

The game is played in Central Park, N.Y.C and starts promptly at 4:30 pm on a sunny Saturday afternoon in early June. Air temperature is a very pleasant 73 degrees Fahrenheit, the humidity is a comfortable 20% and the wind is blowing gently from the north west at 2-3mph.

Halfway around the globe, at the same exact time, a baby cries.

Who wins the game - Team A or Team B?

Guts

You've got guts my friend. You are reading The Blog That Makes No Sense (TBTMNS), and that takes a lot of guts. Yards and yards of pink, intestine shaped guts.

Good for you.

A Healthy Recipe

Since there are still so precious few of you, my loyal fans, I feel the need to nurture each and every one of you as if you were my very own children. In return, you should think of me as the father you never met. Or better yet, the father you never knew you had until you were going through your mom's things one day after school and found a newspaper clipping that said "Lost Child" and it was YOUR picture in the article and the parents interviewed in the article were the two sudden strangers you had been calling "Mommy Moo" and "PopPop" for the past 48 years.

Therefore, because I love each and everyone of you, I will share with you a heart healthy recipe that is guaranteed to help you lose weight and to stay in tip top physical shape!

TBTMNS Breakfast Pie (serves 3-4 people or 8-9 cats)
Ingredients:
3 duck eggs
1 bottle of Heinz Green Catsup
1 pint of vanilla ice cream
2 tablespoons of salt
1 tablespoon Tobasco sauce
1 head of cauliflower

Directions:
Preheat oven to 1500 degrees Fahrenheit
Empty vanilla ice cream into blender
Crack three duck eggs into blender
Cover liberally with Heinz green catsup
Add two tablespoons of salt
Add 1 tablespoon of Tobasco sauce
Blend for 20 minutes at sonic speed
Empty contents of blender onto tray. Leave tray out for 24 hours at room temperature.
Garnish with cauliflower.

Mmmmmm Mmmmmmm! Eat your heart out Tony Blair.

Meeting

There is a meeting with Lorenzo scheduled for 5:15pm this afternoon. Please clear your calendars - this is a top priority. Lorenzo has traveled from afar to be briefed on our progress as individuals, as a team and as a self sustaining organism.

The agenda for the meeting is as follows:
5:15 - Introduce Lorenzo to the team
5:25 - Individual team members will introduce themselves to Lorenzo. When introducing yourself, please be sure to mention the following: a) Your favorite flavor of ice cream b) your shoe size c) your sexual preference (men, women, both, neither or other) d) your strategy for increasing market share for your particular product line and/or geographic region
5:45 - Lorenzo will teach us how to make lemonaid from lemons. Please be sure to bring a large pitcher, ice, lemons and sugar. No artificial sweetener will be allowed into the room. Lorenzo is deathly afraid of all artificial sweeteners. Large doses have been proven to cause cancer in lab rats.
6:05 - Lorenzo will sneeze, pass gas, belch and pick his nose. This ritual marks the half way point of our meeting.
6:07 - Lorenzo will begin his presentation on "The molecular structure of petroleum based plastic derivatives and how we can make the world a greener place by spray painting everything green."
6:50 - Lorenzo will conclude his presentation with a human sacrifice. Straws will be drawn.
7:10 - Dinner

***NOTE*** When addressing Lorenzo, do not look him directly in the eye. If for some reason you do look Lorenzo in the eye, you should immediately go to your hands and knees and begin to massage his calves while singing the Algerian national anthem.

Fight Fight Fight!!!!

Sgt. Pepper is kicking the crap out of Major Tom! I bet he wishes he had taken his protein pills and put his helmet on now. What a loser.

The Street

Frank and Joe are walking down the street together. It is a little after 2:12pm EST. They are walking at a rate of 3mph, heading north on a street that runs north/south for 2.2 miles, and then gently begins sloping towards the east/west. After another 3.1 miles, the street heads in a north easterly direction before ending at a three way intersection that contains a Kentucky Fried Chicken, a pesticide factory and a place to hang your hat.

For The Ones That "Don't Get It".

Here is an entry that I have created especially for the crazy people out there. You know who you are. You wash your fruit before you eat it. You look both ways before you cross the street. You have a file cabinet, and within your file cabinet you have a folder marked "Old Bank Statements". You like rice. And you like the smell of money. If any or all of the above apply to you, then this entry is yours...

Today is June 11th, and it marks the 162 day of the year 2007, Anno Domini. I am sitting in front of my laptop. My wireless mouse, my ipod (which is charging) and a stack of checks, bills and receipts sit to my right. To my left is a tall glass of cold water. It is perspiring in the heat of the afternoon, and a ring of water has gathered around the base of the glass and is ruining the finish on my dark, wood stained desk. I am very upset about that. To the left of the glass sits a portable, 1 gig hard drive. This purple and silver chewing gum shaped technological marvel currently holds a series of photographs that need to be delivered to my printer, Gina, at Spectra. Gina is a very nice woman with short cropped hair and a dark complexion. If I had to guess, I would say she is of South East Asian decent - either Cambodian or Vietnamese.

On my desk you can also find the silver ring I wear on the pinky finger of my right hand, my wrist watch, my wallet and my keychain. The keychain carries 5 keys: One required for entry to my apartment building, one required for unlocking the deadbolt (a.k.a. "Top Lock") of my apartment, one key for the bottom lock of my apartment, one key for my apartment mailbox and one key for my post office box. Very exciting.

Sharing space with the five keys is a little plastic card that serves as entry to the gym I belong to - New York Sports Club. The plastic tag is tattered and worn. The original hole through which my key ring once laced through grew wider and wider until one day the interior edge of the hole met the outer border of the tag and the hole was no longer a hole, but a tear that caused the tag to become detached from my keyring. I had to create a new hole for my keyring by heating a small metal rod and pushing it through the tag. The heat caused the plastic to soften to the point where I was able to insert the metal rod completely through the plastic tag. I then removed the metal rod and, one the plastic had cooled, I reinserted my keyring through the new hole. Now I can go to the gym again.

That's it for today. Stay tuned, as tomorrow I will describe in excruciating detail the contents of my top desk drawer. Then, on Wednesday, I will discuss my rolodex and the two bins that sit behind my laptop and hold various paper products. I may also discuss at that time the photograph that sits on my desk, the clock that sits next to the photograph and the pride of my life, a brass paperweight in the shape of a pyramid that was given to me on the day of my five year anniversary with Fidelity Investments. I always keep it shiny and close to me. Thanks Ned.

The Top Ten Things I Am Doing At This Exact Moment (TTTTIADATEM)

I am virtually karate-chopping your neck.
I am paying top dollar for Yani cassets.
I am scratching a stranger's foot with a half-eaten Snickers bar I found under my bus seat.
I am submerging my face and pinky fingers in emulsifier.
I am listening to the sound of one hand clapping.
I am thinking of a number between 1 and 10.
I am staring off into space, wondering if she had changed it all, if her hair was still red.
I am channeling the spirit of Millard Fillmore, who was, in my humble opinion, one the 50 best Presidents this country has ever had. Ever.

I am laughing. At you! HAHAHAHAHA. You smell.

EEEP OPP (EO)

Frankensence and Mur.
Grandma put her face in the toilet again!
The dog is making eggs.
The parakeet is singing the blues.
The tree is farting little puffs of Cindy Crawford shaped oxygen bubbles into the air.
I am lost in the maze of coffee.

Can you please help me defeat the defeatist?

Brilliant!

Since I have yet to receive any cash donations from my legions of loyal readers, I have concocted a brilliant new way for me to feed myself and my 7 starving, malnourished children (are you feeling guilty yet?).

Here is how it works: I have created proprietary software that scans the text of this blog and places text ads to the right of the corresponding blog entry. The assumption is that if someone is reading this blog, then they will also be interested in the ads that are showing. The reader clicks the ad, and I make the money I need to help feed my 9 starving children and the litter of cute little puppies my malnourished dog just gave birth to.

Instructions:

These are for you. You know who you are.

Meet me on the Blue Danube. With ketchup.
The Marshmallow Pavilion is nearly complete.

The Pie Maverick is breathing down our necks.
Alas, I will leave this desolate place and head to where the grain grows fat and the women are like turnips.

Gum & Popsicles

It is May 31st, and the summer is rapidly approaching. This is important.

Each summer, I get my hair styled in the ever-popular mullet cut, grow a handlebar mustache, subsist on only lime flavored popsicles and cinnamon raisin toast, and go from neighborhood to neighborhood scrapping chewed gum from the sidewalks and streets of my fine city. It is only in the summer, when the sun scorches the cement sidewalks and asphalt streets, that the chewed gum can be coerced into loosening its stubborn grip on the tiny patch of pavement it has called home all winter long.

Let me be clear on one thing - I do not use my fingers, nor my teeth, to clean the gum up. I use popsicle sticks (I like to call them "Popsicle Skeletons" and will henceforth refer to all popsicle sticks as "Popsicle Skeletons").

I know you well, my avid reader, loyal fan and lifelong servant! You are smart, intelligent, good looking, and both admire and appreciate my genius (However, I must note with a twinge of disappointment - you are apparently not very well off, as I have yet to receive any cash donations). That is how I know you are asking yourself "How on earth does TBTMNS keep his daily dose of 19 lime flavored popsicles from melting as he transverses the baking city in search of gum carcases?". A most excellent question my pupil! Let me explain...

I have a wagon. I have a bike. I have affixed the wagon, which I painted bright yellow and call "Fred", to the bike. Resting within the wagon is a mini-refrigerator. I call the mini-fridge "Melissa". I have affixed solar panels to Melissa's lovely frame so that she can run on the energy that is emitted from the earth's nearest star, which I affectionately refer to as "The Sun". It is this little bit of ingenuity (coupled with dedication and moxy) that keeps my daily stash of lime popsicles from melting and fuels my ceaseless journey through the city's gum covered streets.

Logic

Toast = Sustenance
Sustenance = Life

Therefore:
Toast = Life

Living A Lie

I am living a lie. It is called my life. It is a lie because I am really someone else, not myself. I have been lying about this since my birth, some 91 years ago.

Under the guise of anonymity I shall reveal my true identity and remove the albatross of deceit from my soul:

My real name is Pedro O'Neil. I own an ice cream and latex glove manufacturing plant in east Jersey. I have 3 children, 2 ex-wives, 11 fingers and two eyes. In my spare time I like to peel strawberries and feed them to strangers I meet on the subway. I have calf implants and wear a mohawk toupee.

If we ever cross paths, be it on the subway, on the street, or at the doctors office where they give me electroshock therapy to try to keep the voices in my head quiet but they can't shut them up because the voices know the truth and they guide me and tell me what to do like go out to the store and eat a pumpkin or stand in the street the voices always know what is best for me they are the only friends i have everyone else is out to get me they pretend to like me but are talking behind my back and plotting to get their hands on my ice cream and latex glove manufacturing plant but i (we) will have the last laugh.

Long Island

"It's true." she said as she raised her bejeweled left hand in a spastic manner to wipe away the beet juice that had accumulated on her brow.

"It can't be." I said as I kicked the bag of frozen peas into oncoming traffic and watched as they sprayed across the night sky like florescent green buck shot.

My French toast has a British accent.

I wear an aqualung around my waist to help me through the day. When people stop me in the street and ask me what it is, I say it is a big metal aqualung that I wear around my waist to help me through the day. When things get really bad, I submerge my left hand in the aqualung until my pH balance has been restored.

THE CHICKEN CUTLETS BURN MY EYES!

I saw your mom the other day. She was fishing. I asked her how she was doing. She said she was doing "Ok". I asked her what was new and she said "Nothing". I asked her if she had caught any fish and she said "No". I asked her how long she had been outside in the freezing cold and she said "I don't know". I asked her if she needed a ride back into town and she said "No I don't need a ride into town. I'm taking my new Hummer 3 out for a spin later on this afternoon and then I have to stop by the market to pick up more fish and some milk so that I can cook dinner for my family".

I said "Goodbye" and returned to my horse. I was happy to be away from that strange, ugly woman.

Shhhh....

The codfish king is sleeping.

What?

Otto von Boobenhoffer likes to eat sugar beets with his feet while listening to his "Engleberg Humperdink's Greatest Hits" record on his phonograph.

Advice from TBTMNS

DO NOT burn tires in your apartment and then attempt to put the fire out with hydrochloric acid.

Not a good idea. Trust me.

Chores

Can I please have my allowance? I did my chores, made my bed, slept in it, and then made it again. I had my cake and ate it too. Then I took out the garbage. Then I dusted the file cabinet with your favorite pair of tighty whities. Then I peeled some fruit and decided to throw it out the window at the old woman who was passing below. I followed that with coffee grinds and pork rinds. She was not happy.

I really need my allowance.

you smell.

Good News!

I just received an official off-the-record email stating that the Blog That Makes No Sense has been issued a non-conditional temporary permanent permit to resume posting our knowledge and wisdom on the internets. Frank F. in internet compliance pulled some strings for us (although he has yet to produce the cup of warm soup we requested) and apparently got the Mid-Level Senior Junior Vice-President of Lower-Level Senior Junior Vice-Presidents who is in charge of overseeing the oversight of the department that sits across from the Internet Compliance Compliance Department to get the appropriate stamps and signatures. Bravo to you, Frank F. You will always be a friend (and maybe more (wink wink)) of The Blog That Makes No Sense.

TBTMNS has been set free like a caged pigeon, and like a caged pigeon that has just been set free, we are ready to spray the world with our postings.

Look skyward. Be ready.

SUSPENDED

The Blog That Makes No Sense (TBTMNS) has been suspended from posting on the internet. All entries are being reviewed by Frank F. in the internet compliance department, and we will return to broadcasting our wisdom and wit once Frank F. from compliance gives us the green light and a cup of warm soup.

Until then my friends, remember: Darkness is not the opposite of light. It is the absence of light.

Also, remember to call your mom.

Your fearless leader,

Dill Weed

Smelly Nellie has a big belly. They say she is smelly 'cause she rolls her self in jelly.
It sticks on her arms and sticks in her hair. When she stand up, jelly flies everywhere.
She wobbles down the street and she rolls down the lane, squashing little kids like stale candy canes.

She'll eat you out of house and she'll eat you out of home, she'll eat your pet dog and she'll eat your garden gnome.
She'll eat your arm and she'll eat your leg, she'll eat your kitchen table and then she'll beg.
She'll beg for more food and she'll beg for some cash, she'll beg and beg to find your porno stash.

OK.

Now let's discuss something real. A real topic. Like Smurfs. Smurfs are AWESOME. They are little blue dudes that just run around all happy all the time. What a life. Keep rocking little smurf dudes. Keep on rockin in the smurf world.

Mr. Big Eye

Mr. Big Eye is watching you. That's why they call him that. He's got a really big eye and he can see a lot more out of his giant eye than most people can see with their (comparatively) smaller eyes.

A Very Special Day

Today is a very special day!!! April 20th is Semi-National Rotten Fruit Appreciation Day (RFAD). In celebration of this glorious day, I will be eating rotten fruit for the next 11 hours and 8 minutes. The best part about eating rotten fruit is that you don't even have to chew it. It is mushy and you can just suck it right in. Some fruits (depending on just how rotten they are) you don't even have to peel! The skin becomes one with the fruit in a dance of decomposition that has been taking place for millions of years. It is brown and it is beautiful.

The fruit flies have been right all along.

I have seen some unbelievable things. Like grass and cows and clouds and pie and ants and freeze and big smiley marshmallows and pie and pie and pie and pie and pie and bugs and sneeze and trees and whales and sharks and snakes and pie and french fries and paris and the sea and the sky and babies and pie and pie and pie and pie and pie plates and diners and squash and forks and dead wombats.

What Mime is it?

My apartment is INFESTED with Nicaraguan mimes. They are everywhere. I can't get rid of them. They are just falling all over each other, miming. Mines in mime boxes, in mime prisons, pulling mime ropes, eating mime pie and watching mime soap operas.

The horror. The horror.

Check the Facts

Check the facts. They don't add up to anything more than a bunch of hypocritical nonsense that serves to keep the machine oiled and rolling over the bones of the people who have given their lives to keep it running smoothly. Long live Mike and Steve and Peter from the Hess gas station! Long live Betty and Marsha and Francine with the lazy eye! Long live Milk Duds!

are you talking to me?

i punch myself in the face and then i drink whole milk.

Poem:

Here is a poem I have written and recited many times (I've actually only written it once, but I have recited it many times. Sorry for the confusion). If you happen to live in NYC, you may even be lucky enough to catch me reciting this poem live. In person. Oh happy day! Then you can pay me the money you owe me and I can absolve you of your duty to touch my mustache and buy me some berries and a cup of coffee.

Self Portrait

Here is a self portrait. I think I look quite handsome, thank you very much.

Don't be jealous. It's not good for your skin.

Rappa

My name is Peter Piper Peter Locka Duka Docca.
Hit me in the face with flava mava freakin' kaka.
Punch me in the arm with blaza maza razor flocka.
Tell me that I am the Cravin' Mavin' Hippa-Hoppa.
I like to drink my coffee with Choc-fulla-gloppa.

Krocka Rocka.

My name is Peter Piper Peter Locka Duka Docca.
If you don't respect me I'm gonna flippa-floppa (your face).

Subject of the story

This blog tells the heart wrenching story of a misguided blogger and the epic journey he undertakes to save his dying ficus tree.

Fighting off plagues of aphids and the blogger's angry, cheese-smelling girlfriend, the two find love only to lose it in the end to a Danish pygmy who was the runner-up in the 1997 Eastern European boogey-boarding championship.

Faustian in it's theme, it is, in reality, a modern day tragedy based on the eternal struggle between flora and fauna, heartbreak and heartburn, chocolate and vanilla.

Friedae

(farting noise)
(harmonica & guitar noise)
(blowing nose noise)
(eating pie noise)
(reading TBTMNS noise)
(hemoglobin noise)

No Post Today

I have decided not to write anything today, as I am very busy and just don't have the time to post. I am already late for meetings with famous people, world leaders, super models and hot dog salesmen. Yes, it's a very busy life. Having a blog that reaches 44% of the earth's population is no small job. Everyone is vying for influence. Bribes, blackmail, hallmark cards, first born children, mangoes and mechanical pencils fill my post office box. My phone is always ringing, and so are my ears. My feet itch and my eyes water. I like tennis.

Ok - so no post today. Sorry to disappoint you, my legions of loyal readers. Do not fret though - we shall persevere and make believers out of those who doubt TBTMNS and vanquish the rest.

Good luck and God speed.

Your friend and ruthless leader,

Dill Weed

"YOU"

You are the "crazy" ones.

You, the ones who eat "chicken" and "beans". You "know" who you are, and you should be "ashamed". That is, if you're not already.

Rudy McScroogles - TBTMNS Response

Dear Mr. McScroogles,

I am quite flattered by your interest in wanting to eat my spleen, and I am sure I speak for my wide audience when I say that they too are flattered.

Since your initial contact, I have done extensive research on the human spleen, as well as the gall bladder and the appendix that you stated you would also accept.

Unfortunately, I can not offer you any of the aforementioned internal organs at this time. They all seem to serve a purpose (except perhaps my appendix), and to be honest, I have grown quite fond of them during the course of the past 32 years.

I will let you know if I have a falling out with any of those organs and change my mind regarding their edibility. In the meantime, I wish you the best of luck with your spleen endevours, and urge you not to be a stranger to the TBTMNS community.

Kindest Regards,

TBTMNS

Fact:

All known multicellular organisms eventually die.

Exception:
This blog. This blog is a living multicellular organism that will live forever. It eats, it sleeps, and more importantly, it breeds. And after thousands of years, it will evolve into the most powerful multicellular organism ever seen. It will destroy everything else and will eventually rule the entire universe (except for the planet Neptune which, due to a previous agreement, is off limits to TBTMNS).

Pay homage to TBTMNS today, and be spared it's wrath! You can pay homage in two ways: by sending money (U.S. $ denominated bills - no coins) or by posting a comment. Any comment at all. Failure to either leave a comment or donate money will result in your eventual destruction and/or immediate expulsion to the 9th dimension, otherwise known as the 'LEMON' dimension (trust me, it's not as cool as it sounds).

Don't hate the player. Hate the game.

This is undeniably the best blog post I have made all day. And if I may be permitted to take it a step further, this is definitely one of the top 22 best posts I've ever written.

I am the Hemingway of March 27, 2007.
I am the Bukowski of Apartment 10-E.
I am the Nietzsche of The Blog That Makes No Sense (TBTMNS).
I am the zeitgeist of tomorrow afternoon.

Yes - the post is that good, and I am reveling in my creativity.

Photo

Hizzle Fashizzle Dizzle.

'Nough said.

NCAA Tournament

Watching college basketball this past week, I am reminded of something my father once told me.

I am also reminded of avocados and fire ants. Also, Yusuf Islam (the artist formerly known as Cat Stevens) comes to mind.

Am I the only one??????

I can't be....

weekend plans

you are a sinner. go wash your hands and brush your teeth. go eat some melon and throw soiled diapers at the mirror. go wrap tin foil around your head, pour milk on yourself, run outside of your apartment/house, look up at the sky and scream at the top of your lungs: "apple turnovers? why?!?!". stick wasabi peas up your nose, as far up as you can get them. eat styrofoam, but not before you cover it with garlic powder. pee on your neighbor. punch yourself in the head. pour salt in your eyes. staple your nipples to the wall. shave your eyebrows off, then eat them. get a tattoo of a rat on your forehead. a big tattoo of a big rat.


Disclaimer (from the TBTMNS legal department): TBTMNS is not responsible for any injuries, fights, wars, plagues, nuclear winters, winters of discontent, spring chickens, summer squash, or autumn warts that may occur from any of the above suggestions.

Rudy McScroogles, Pt. II

I just received an email from our old friend Rudy McScroogles. Here is the actual transcript of our conversation:

From: Rudy McScroogles
To: TBTMNS
Re: Eating your spleen

Dear Sir,

I am still very interested in eating your spleen, and/or the spleen(s) of any of your many, many readers. In lieu of a spleen, I will happily settle for either a gall bladder or an appendix. Please reiterate this information to your many, many readers and respond back to me at your earliest convenience.

Yours Truly,

R. McScroogles

Theme Song

I have composed a theme song that I (strongly) recommend all visitors sing upon entering the realm of The Blog That Makes No Sense (TBTMNS). The lyrics are as follows, and are sung to the music of the 17th century Ukrainian love song "The Brown Cow's Utters Have Gone Dry".

This is the blog that makes no sense.
This is the blog that makes no sense.
This is the blog that makes no sense!?
Bloga Bloga, Blog Bloga Bloga.
This is the blog that makes no sense.

Yeah.

(Repeat first verse)

Yeah.

(Repeat first verse)

Yeah, Yeah. Oh Yeah!! Blog Bloga.

(Repeat first verse)

Yeah.

(fade out)

copyright d. weed productions, MMVII

Good night to all

I bid you all a fond farewell, and wish you a peaceful night's sleep. I am worn out and exhausted by a busy day of blogging. My fingers are bloodied, I can only see out of one eye (thanks to the ugly pie incident), and my body is wracked with pain.

Until tomorrow,

Humbly yours,

Best wishes,

Sincerely,

D. Weed

YXYXYX

ugly pie is in my eye
i don't know why it's in my eye
but it sure is ugly pie.

(Upon further reflection, I have come to learn why there was ugly pie in my eye. I was initially sceptical of just how ugly the pie was and so, with curiosity beating out better judgment, instinct and divine intervention, I approached the pie. Now only a few feet away, the pie was as ugly as ever. Still disbelieving, I decided to get an even closer look. I crept so close to the ugly pie that I soon had my face buried in it. I was marooned on the pie like an ancient mariner who lets the beautiful siren song guide his ship to ruin. The pie was the rock. My face was the ship. And not long after I came to my senses did I then realize that aside from having ugly pie in my stomach, in my hair, my nose, my mouth and ears, I also had ugly pie in my eye.

How silly of me - how could I have forgotten about something like that! In retrospect, it seems pretty obvious to me why there was ugly pie in my eye . Another day, another life lesson.)

Yo. Adriandrogonous.

Sylvester Stalone is my favorite HGH user ever.

my dog got lost in the fog. then it peed on a log. then it went for a swim in a bog. now i am writing about it on my blog.

HAHAHA sucker - i don't even have a dog!!!

Congratulations!!!

I'd like to thank everyone for their help in making "The Blog That Makes No Sense" the 6,829,941st most popular blog on the internet.

Thank you to everyone for making this possible. I have poured a lot of sweat and alcohol into making this dream come true, but at the end of the day, the truth is that I could not have done any of it without the help of my many loyal fans, servants and supporters.

You have my word that I will not let this new found celebrity go to my head, and I promise to keep posting my deepest, most insightful thoughts right here on this blog. In the meantime please keep the fan mail, the naked pictures and the donations coming.

Your humble servant,

Dill Weed

Gibbons

John Gibbons has 6 toes on his right foot and a birthmark that looks like Margaret Thatcher on his back.

He too smells like cheese.

Rudy McSroogles wants to eat your spleen.

The Matrix

It wasn't until I was without my computer for a week that I realized just how much of a slave I am to the damn thing. Normally, I'll sit at the computer for hours, under the guise of 'working from home'. In reality, all I seem to do is go from tab to tab in Firefox, reading websites, checking business updates, seeing who's on my other websites, etc. It is really just a big merry-go-round, since by the time I am done checking all the tabs and sites, it's time to start again from the beginning. Then, at the end of the day, I have no fucking idea what I did all day.

Being without my computer sucked (because of all I lost and all the catch up and reinstalation I've had to do), but in actuality, that week was quite productive. I read, took a bunch of photos, relaxed, etc. At least I had an answer for how I spent the day.

These computers are addictive. You have been warned. BY ME. AND THAT IS THE GREATEST WARNING OF ALL. GREATER THAN GETTING WARNED BY NAPOLEON OR BY MILARD FILMORE OR OSCAR GAMBLE.

Destruction and Tears.

A surprising number of people (ok, it was 2 people. and one was my friend.) wrote me and asked why I hadn't blogged in over a week. The answer was this:

The hard drive on my 2 year old Mac Powerbook G4 died. I am not sure if it was suicide or a natural death, but that does not matter now. What matters is that I lost almost everything. I lost all my emails. I lost all my bookmarks. I lost a lot of writing, and most of the files I use to run my business. Many of these files were complex Excel spreadsheets that had been honed over the past two years into weapons of mass organization.

Luckily, I had some of the stuff backed up. However, this has been a very demoralizing event. I want to cry. I have to start from scratch in so many different areas that I think it might be easier to just never turn the fucking computer on again. I can't even log onto any of the websites I remember going to, since all my passwords are gone! This sucks...

Back up your data you bastards!

Yo Vomitar

I puked last night. Technically, it was early this morning, around 5am I guess. The good news is that I managed to get it all in the toilet, so I don't have to worry about cleaning it up now and possibly throwing up again.

I puked a mixture of beer, very cheap bourbon, very cheap white wine (we ran out of beer and cheap bourbon), more beer and I think there was a vodka tonic thrown in there somewhere. Undoubtedly, the vodka was very cheap vodka.

So, the moral of the story is: When you drink too much and have to puke, get it all in the toilet so your girlfriend doesn't get mad at you and so you don't have to clean it up later.

I'm reading this right now

I am reading this right now. Now I am typing this. In a moment, I'll be reading this, but right now I'm typing this. Once I start reading it, I'll be done typing it. Then I will have to find something else to do.

my angry

girlfriend smells like cheese.

i hear the sounds
of whining clowns
who've come to beat my face.
when they arrive
i shall derive
the nectar of toothpaste.

no.

yes.

My First Post - EVER

This is my first post. It smells like burnt toast. Please don't eat compost.

That is it. Most other posts will probably not make as much sense as this one did, so be warned.