Make the Voices Stop!
So Wednesday I'm working, and not working, and driving and not driving, and I wrote down a bunch of stuff to stick in my next post. None of it connects to anything else. And I'm gonna swear a lot and talk about sex. You've been warned, dammit.
1) Wayne Brady. Let's talk about that cat now. I remember seeing him on 'Whose Line Is It Anyway', the American version, and thinking, Wow! He can really sing and isn't he just the clever clever guy. And I drooled over his ass, cause it's a great ass. Nice and round and yummy and bite-able. But then.... Oh hell. Sergei introduced me to Dave Chapelle's Show on Comedy Central. And he did this bit with Wayne Brady. Dear, sweet, Wayne, who all the ladies love. Perhaps you've seen this one? Wayne and Dave go out, and Wayne turns out to be a gun-totin' pimp murderer gansta pusher man. When one of his hos doesn't give him proper money, he says, and this phrase is constantly in my head when things piss me off, "Is Wayne Brady gonna have to choke a bitch? I'm gonna hafta choke a bitch!" What I didn't understand after I first saw this sketch was my reaction...at first I was amused, then repulsed, then...strangely...turned on. Bad Bad Wayne turned on my sprinker system, and I wanted to shove his round derriere against a wall and do a nasty-girl pole dance on him. Is that so wrong?
2) Okay, all you guys who ain't married to me, listen up here. Just because a girl's on her period doesn't mean she isn't horny. Granted, the first few days can be like a crime scene, and you really don't want to go *there* and she doesn't want you anywhere near *there*. But once things have stabilized, FUCK HER. I mean, geez, she doesn't like the mess any more than you do. She sure as hell doesn't like the cramping, the big ol' belly fulla fluid, the irky way everything just pisses her off, the cost, the excuses, the crinkling in her pockets when she walks down the hall. It sucks, okay? We just have to deal with it. And you should too. Throw down a towel or two, that'll help. Take her in the shower. Just forget the Red Devil is playing around with her naughty bits. Screw her brains out, stroke her hair, tell her she's beautiful. But please, don't look at yer johnson until she does a little recon work, okay? We don't want you all weirded out.
3) I am fully aware that when I'm in public and just happen to be heartily licking a sticky lollipop, or an ice cream cone, or the cap of my pen, I look damn sexy. You can drool, but don't comment. I've heard it all before.
4) I love pork. (I love 'porking' too, ya pervs, but this entry ain't about that.) Swine meat. Oh. Dear. God. Gimme. Pork. I love bacon, I love ham. I love rubbing a large juicy pork loin with garlic and olive oil and rosemary and roasting that succulent dish until it's tender, and eating that meat, and eating that meat, and eating and eating until I'm porked out. I love potted meat. Sausage, scrapple, whatever. Pork! Mona's meat!
5) I am not stalking you. Really, I'm not. If you have any kind of tracking system on your blog, and you notice I'm out there, like, 50 times a day, just relax. I'm often really bored at work. Let me say that again. BORED. Outta. My. Skull. I love my job, but seriously, it's a weird time there, we just lost a guy, we're functioning like motherless ducklings, and my attention span is..uh..what? So I'll do a little work, then I'll pop over to a blog. Then more work, then I'll forget what was on the blog I just read and go back, and peruse their photos or their archives, then get a work phone call and then blow it off to re-re-read the blog post, and my day goes like that. I'm bored. I have a short attention span. I like the act of clicking (and I'm not even talking about masturbation here, but that was a good guess!). If ya all weren't so damn prolific and entertaining, I wouldn't keep visiting yer posts! So rest assured. It's because I love you. I love you and want to see you naked.
6) Now I'm fantasizing about you naked. Yes, you. You're terrific, ya know that? Why don't you come over here and sit down by me. I won't bite. Well, I won't leave marks where they'll show, m'kay?