Heaven's Gonna Be Crowded and Annoying in 2070
Everytime I see one of those ads that claims if you solve the game you could get a "free sidekick" I always imagine getting a free sidekick. One to dress up fancy colored pantyhose and follow me around all day, occasionally spurting pun-rific blurts.
- Extremely Tired Colleen pinballs herself towards the kitchen, from bookshelf to wall to table to cuboard handle, eyes 1/16th unlidded. Brand new caped Sidekick follows. Colleen blindly grabs in cupboard, rips open the cardboard top and pours a huge bowl of cereal. Colleen opens fridge. Stares down empty milk jug.
Colleen: (mumbles) Goddammit.
Sidekick: HOLY COW!
(Colleen turns to sidekick)
Sidekick: Yeah, holy cow. Milk. Cows. Ya know. The holes in the udders of the cow are where the milk comes out. Get it. Like when you squeeze and lightly twist them the milk...
Colleen: I hate you. (walks back to bed)
Speaking of youths of today...Last week I finally got off my tuckas, showed up to my long-neglected writing group, and brought this--the first poem I wrote in 8 months which I forced myself to spit out ten minutes prior to the meeting. I promised a few folk I would start to share this kinda stuff. Appologies to Mr. Runton for the use of his badonkadonk, which was actually a new line suggested by the awesome group members. It's still in a chunky state as far as writing goes, but the idea of girls learning to French with the Lord and NKOTB sized Pins makes me warm and fuzzy and makey-outie inside:
Heaven's Gonna Be Crowded and Annoying in 2070
The Church of The Virgin
on 83rd and Sixth
cured religion
in pre-teen girls
by drawing tattoos
of fierce, yet humble,
birds playing guitars
on the forearms of Jesus,
hanging, hipster-y, from the wooden cross.
His scruffy look,
and slender thighs,
a six pack like no other.
Emaciation never looked
so good. Jesus, Jesus,
the girls couldn't stop
A-kneeling.
The once leaky roof has
been repaired, with the
money made from Jesus Pins.
"Pins bigger than a heathen heart."
Father Gerard Preached.
"A Lord large enough to teach
French kissing. Plastic enough
for easy clean-up."
God took notice
of Virgin Church, it
was hard to ignore all that screaming
and smelly sharpie hearts on oaktag signs.
There was so much noise coming
from the saved souled little ladies,
God missed a few wars.
The bombs weren't loud
enough to cover the pink
sparkly chanting.
In preparation of 2070,
God is working on his dance moves,
but is getting upset with himself.
God can't shake his badonkadonk
like he used to.
Saint Peter's only got 80 years
to stock up on lip gloss
the gift shop had, like, better sellllll.
As for other weekend excitement, I didn't get too many pictures of the famous RED PARTY (aka Mikey/Mason/Daniel/Isaac's monocramatic theme parties, the "YOU MUST WEAR RED OR GET OUT OF OUR HOUSE" installment). I did get this great one of the day after. I had spent nearly three hours blowing up and tying strings to 300+ balloons. By morning this was all that remained (those strings on the ceiling used to be balloons):
There were so many amazing costumes, Annie in a laundry basket skirt, a handful of lumberjacks, Marianne in her handmade dress, the girls in plastic plate halter tops, me as someone who pulled minnie mouse behind a shrub, beat her up and stole her clothes. My favorites, though, were the two people that showed up all decked-out in lobster (one as a giant lobster and the other just covered in fake ones).
Lobsters are the new black! Ak, no that's cliche. Lobsters are the new chicken! Well, not really. Lobsters are the new uh....man, I almost just wrote "Lobster are the new crabs."
Luckily I didn't.
Oh, wait.
Crap.
Distraction from awkwardness with cunning use of pretty women photograph.
Boo-yah! Did I, in the last five minutes, mention my friends are royally awesome? Because if not, I'm long overdue.