Awright, Wee Wee Pads:
So I'm sitting here with a pot pie in the oven and a puppy sleeping at my feet. He is a walking pee bomb. At any moment he could unleash his fury, and I will know his wrath. It's a Sysyphean struggle, this housebreaking shit. My house is getting more broken than the dog. Bought those pheromone pads today to make the dog pee by the door. They're called "Wee Wee Pads," and that name's the best thing that happened all day, Jack. The New Age pet store in Silverlake tried to sell me a bunch of forty dollar wholistic vitamins and twenty dollar shampoo and shit and I'm all, sure babe, keep in touch. I'll be at Sav-On if anyone calls.
BTW, yeah, they make these pads with pheromones on them. So why don't they make human pheromone pads--just slip them in your pants before you hit the bar or before your big date, and watch the babes come waggin their tails. Of course, they'd have to work it so that the babes didn't want to pee on you. Unless you swing that way.
When you get a dog, everyone wants you to start talking baby talk. You're supposed to say to the dog, "Go potty." Potty is like the biggest word in the big book of doggy vocab they give you at the pet store. Oh well, what the fuck--I love baby talk and that's OK.
Definitely getting in touch with my maternal instincts these days. I get so annoyed with the kid when he fucks up, but then he gets terribly depressed and I know that he is completely alone in the world. If I turn against him, he's got nobody. And he knows it. When I bathed him today, he held out his paw for me to scrub it. Can you be mad at a kid like that?
So today I gave my Scientologist chiro his walking papers. I can't give money to a Scientologist; it's just not gonna happen. I don't care if Beck goes to him and half the hair metal drummers of the Eighties. What the hell is up with Beck, anyway? Don't his aethetic instincts warn him against these pseudo-Space Age creepo quasi-hippie capitalists and their cheesy pseudo-Space Age aesthetics? If you've ever gotten a Scientology magazine in the mail, you know what I'm talking about. And their overuse of the exclamation point! "Psychology Kills!" their bumper stickers say. Don't they know they would seem much cooler if they cut out the damn exclamation points?!!
All the Scientology peons who go to Mayfair (across the street from the Celebrity Centre--note use of the British "tre") have awful acne and chain smoke, and are the most incredible geeks of the world. I thought that if you were completely cleansed of your alien demons you wouldn't have to smoke. But even higher-ups in the "Church" are all little chimneys. Somehow, when they smoke, it doesn't look cool at all. It looks like what it really is. An addiction born of self-consciousness. Just like Scientology. (Psychology kills? Smoking kills!)
Speaking of religious bullshit: I do adore the Holy Infant Jesus of Prague, and have been known to pray to him in the past when my friends needed that extra helping hand. But I ask you. Would the infant baby Jesus really wear a giant cross around his neck? I mean, if this is really the baby infant Jesus, he's just a kid, and the whole crucifixion thing is 30 years away, and the cross would really have no religious significance yet. I mean, it makes him look like a Christian, and he wasn't. He was a good Jew, and a Talmud scholar. Furthemore, I doubt he was blonde, but whatever.
This weirdo college kid selling magazine subscriptions outside Target called me a Jew for not buying his stupid magazines. He, of course, claimed to be a Christian. I was so insensed, all I could think of to say was "Jesus was a Jew." But WTF, I think it bears repeating, people. Jesus was a Jew. He was not Christian, and he never said anything about starting a new religion.
I have been such a lame blogger for so long, I am embarrassed, especially when I read a truly fabulous blog, such as Twinkle Twinkle Blah Blah Etc.. I love this woman, whoever she is. She makes me want to be a better man.
Also BTW, I am fat right now and I am trying to eat less, because I have heard that this makes you weigh less. I'll let you know if it's true.
(that's a kissing sound)