This Ain't Your Grandpa's Tool Shed

Please turn back now if you're under the age of 18, or sex toys offend you:

... you have been warned.

Preface: I have friends who work the graveyard shift (or they're insomniacs). Sometimes they get bored. Sometimes, I spend the wee morning hours messing around with them online, like a big happy game of cyber-tag...

Or cyber-"I tagged you with something outrageous, see if you can one-up me."




"Ahoy, matey! Call me Ahab! Thar she blows.... oh, nevermind."



This looks horrifying until you scroll down the stats section and realize it's only 1.5 ft. tall ("assembly required").




But wait! Here's a lovely little soldering gun with holder in girl-friendly pink!





Maybe not.





This one is very Shaun's-uniform-fetish after dark (and I think Chuck would laugh at it too):



Like Dr. Steel (TM) taking over the world, one "goody cabinet" at a time.








Okay, now this is just getting ridiculous!!! If you require heavy machinery, you need to GIVE "IT" A REST!!! Just because you beat the crap out of it [pun intended] before and it bounced back doesn't mean it's going to stay that way!!
Didn't your mother ever tell you that if you keep making that face, it'll freeze like that?!






Okay: stop. Just... stop.

At this point my horror movie-saturated mind pictures mechanical failure resulting in multiple stabbings. It also makes me think there's a room full of heterosexual, male engineering geeks out there who've watched too many episodes of Jackass.








OW OW OW!!! OH SWEET CHRIST! *THAT'S IT!* I'm finishing this wine and calling it a night!!

I have GOT to start going to bed before 4 a.m.

Buggin' Out

Previously, I posted a little tribute to Chuck, whose LJ pieces keep me chortling day after day.... That's right: chortling.

Chuck always finds great material I could never find on my own. This made me cough Cherry Coke Zero into my nose:



If you want to play with this fun digi-racnid, Chuck found the home site:

http://www.onemotion.com/flash/spider/

Warning: For 'spidee'-lovers this thing is Cute Level:Addictive.

(Sex) Changing the Baby

Some of you may have discovered these in your e-mail box, but, after getting into the intentionally wry (and humorous) debate over the Miley Cyrus picture flap on Chuck's blog, I felt the need to share:


You had a baby, but Daddy always wanted a little Jr. to whom he could teach the joys of sports and urinals? Or Mummy wanted a lace-covered lovely?


No longer a problem!






They even have a convenient payment plan, which helps ease the burden of all those necessary follow-up procedures, like little Timmy's breast implants at age thirteen.


With years of hormone injections and body-waxing ahead, a parent or guardian should do a lot of research on their child's primary health care provider(s).

Remember: Selecting a provider based solely on cost can have dire consequences. Your wallet may feel the pinch, but think of how much you'll save on therapy bills down the road....
















Umm... There's a reason to have the entire staff review the company logo before moving ahead with the sign order:

























Oh, well... Nothing says 'professional' like 500 business cards with sexually suggestive art.

At least you have something to toss in the 'win a free lunch' fishbowl at the Elephant Bar.


(Oh, Jewels... How you make the day brighter... Thanks for the chain mail.)

No, I'm Not Your Stalker (Part Deux)

Voyeurism: Scopophilia; the tendencies or behavior of a voyeur (an obsessive observer of sordid or sensational subjects).

For those of you who have been around since the beginning, you will remember my earlier entry on Shaun of the Dead... Who is, undoubtedly, unaware of that little post.

And he's not the only subject worthy of obsessive scrutiny... Oh, no.


I think I'm in love.


Meet Jodi of Zanesville, OH. Biggest Def Leppard fan in the universe, kick-ass mother and wife: stalk-worthy.

I bet this woman could drink me under the table while spanking Joe Elliott into submission. Her playlist makes me want to present my wrists, manacle-ring side up.

And she loves

Eddie Izzard as much as I do; seems we like our lovelies as we like our coffee: covered in bees...

Jodi, please come to CA to visit Kevin... I'm sure he would love the chance to make out with you, too.

[UPDATE: THERE'S A BEE IN MY KITCHEN RIGHT NOW - 11:05 PM! It's fate, I tell you!]


Meet Chuck, of Denver, CO. I have no freaking clue who he is, but I knew he was gold when I read his profile on OKCrazy (FYI: 'wooing' = low-grade OKC spam e-mail equivalent of "whuzzup, send me a pic of yo' naked torso"):

"About me:
If you even DARE consider wooing me, I swear to GOD I will find out where you live, break into your home, crap in your kitchen sink, use all your bras and panties in your undies drawer to wipe my butt, and help your cat pile the corpses of every mouse, bird, and squirrel in the neighborhood in the middle of your livingroom floor...and then maybe your cat and I will rent a movie or something. Who knows?

"You should message me if:
Hmmmm. I guess, for one thing, you can write me if you want to engage in some good, creative lunacy for starters. Or brain trading. Or hair sniffing. It'll be fun.

I find I'm instinctively treating this thing more as a message board rather than a vehicle for getting somebody in the sack. (None of you are actually having sex, are you? Admit it.) So please be at liberty to freely spew your vomit into my inbox without the fear that I'll put it into jars and make an altar to you or something. (Unless you want to specifically request something like. I'll fax you the paperwork.)"

Tell me YOU don't want to build him an alter. (you know you do)

Turns out there's more to be enjoyed on Live Journal:

Anyone read about that couple who got in a fight over which gang should initiate their toddler? Chuck did.

I follow his LiveJournal postings, many of which leave me laughing and, sometimes, feeling like an illiterate teenager who plays too much Guitar Hero and can't spell "endometriosis". (How the hell do all you people find the time to do a literary genealogy of Aleister Crowley? I can barely check my seven e-mail accounts and reply to my employer!)

Dying is easy; comedy is hard... And dry wit is priceless.

"Dear Jodi and Chuck,
If you ever need someone to clean your catbox, spit-polish your Docs, wax your sister, or comb the shag in the livingroom: I'm already there. But I don't do toilets.... Or laundry with skidmarks.
Clatto Verata Nicto, baby.
Deep prostration at your feet,
RD"


Okay, maybe I am your stalker...
But at least the high level of American Airlines flight cancellations ensures I'm not in your bushes right now.

(stupid black-out dates)