I don’t have a single unified post in my head right now, but I do have a few unrelated smaller posts. Rather than try to force them together into a single surrealistic narrative, I’m just going to put them up on their own. Like three puzzle pieces to three different puzzles.
1) A while ago the Wombat and BJB were talking about what gets BJB motivated to run on the treadmill, and one of the two of them suggested imagining Gary Busey chasing after them with a raging hard-on. Most normal people would have left it at that, but I’m not normal. I wondered what Gary Busey would do if he caught up to you.
Of course he would make sweet, sweaty love to you. Everyone knows that. But what would he do AFTER that. I imagine he would lean over your shoulder (because you know Busey would have gotten you from behind) and gently whisper into your ear at the top of his lungs, “Yeah! Yee haw! You just got Busey’d! Yeah! BUSEY’D!” Then he would hop off of you and yell, “I’m hungry. Somebody get me some dog food!”
2) Last night Sherlock was being annoying so we kicked him out of the bedroom before we went to sleep. At about 3 in the morning I was awakened by a strange sound.
jingle jingle jingle WHACK
jingle jingle jingle WHACK
Apparently Sherlock had carried one of his jingle-ball toys up the stairs and was having a grand old time smacking it against the door. He was hitting the toy hard enough that he was actually causing the door to move a little bit. It was like he was practicing taking shots on goal, and he didn’t care that he kept hitting the goalie. Stupid cat. I waited for the next jingle and then I opened the door just as he was taking his shot. He seemed surprised that the door had opened, and looked up at me.
“I keep it now,” I said as I closed the door in his face.
3) It’s Friday the 13th. Is Jason going to kill you? Probably. How did his day start today? I’d like to imagine it went something like this:
“Jason? Jason, honey, get out of bed.”
“What? What day is it?”
“It’s Friday the 13th, you have a long day of killing ahead of you.”
“Uggh. Where’s my machete? I shouldn’t have had so many white-wine spritzers last night.”
“You were pretTY drunk.”
“Can I ask you a question, Freddy?”
“Sure thing sweetie.”
“We didn’t uh, you know, do anything, did we?”
“Well, I did leave a few claw marks on your back.”
“Damn! Now Mike Meyers is going to find out and I’m going to be sleeping on the couch for a week. I never should have gone to Leatherface’s baby-shower last night.”
“You’re such a bitch when you’re hungover. Just take your back of severed limbs and get out of here.”
I have no idea why I chose to make the Jason, Freddy, Mike Meyers, and Leatherface into queens.
