Back when I started this blog I had just moved into an apartment in Baltimore with my good buddy Kmart. We’ve since moved out of the apartment; I chose to move into a house in Glen Burnie, and Kmart chose the life of a hitchhiker, befriending and beheading travelers (though not always necessarily in that order) as he aimlessly wanders the US. As an apartment-warming gift my parents bought everything fish-related that they could find in Walmart. They thought it would be nice for my bathroom to have a theme, or something. I don’t know, all those Trading Spaces shows were big at the time.
So they gave me a shower-curtain with an aquarium scene on it. And a bathroom rug with an aquarium scene on it. And towels with fish on them. And fish-shaped candles. And wall stickers in the shape of fish. If I was surrounded by that much fish in real life, the mercury would have killed me a long time ago. And I probably would have smelled bad, more so than normal.
Anyway, over the years I’ve lost or lost use for most of the stuff they gave to me, except for the bathroom rug. Every morning I wander into my bathroom, take a shower, and step out on to this mat:
At this point you’re probably thinking, “Man, I liked it better when he wasn’t blogging.”
Oh really? Well you can go fuck yourself then.
Right, so anyway, you’re probably thinking, “Why the hell is he blogging about his rug? This blog is boring.”
Again, you’re cordially invited to go fuck yourself.
I’m blogging about my rug because I have a problem with it. Like one of those magic eye pictures where you stare at it and see nothing but squiggles and colors until suddenly BAM! a schooner appears as if from nowhere. Then after that every time you look at the thing you immediately see the schooner. No matter how hard you try, your brain immediately focuses on the image as opposed to the colorful squiggles. Every time I look at the rug my eyes immediately go to the lower right section that I’ve taken the liberty of blowing up and posting here:
So what’s the big deal? One day I was looking at the colorful aquarium scene and them suddenly BAM! the sea anenome in the corner becomes a giant, erect sea-penis that’s about to violate the bejeezus out of that poor fish. Now I can’t see anything else. My eyes immediately go there, and the innocuous organism becomes an engorged organ. I look at it and think, “Swim little fish! Swim like the wind! Swim as far and as fast as you can! That ocean-wang is about to WRECK you! There’s no way you’ll recover from a full-on diddling from that deep-sea dong! You’re a goner! You’ll be fish-sticks in minutes! Noooo fish! NOOOOOO!”
The worst part is, it looks like that sea-wiener is just COVERED with some type of horrible Atlantean STD. I don’t know whether it’s from undersexed merladies, or curious merboys, or filthy merpedophiles, but that sea-wiener is in rough shape. (By the way, if your wang, or your partner’s wang looks like that, you should probably get that checked out.)
Finally, what the hell is wrong with my life that almost invariably one of my first conscious thoughts every morning is about a textile fish getting reamed? I need to get a new rug.
