Zirealism

That's pretty funny! That fucking Rosie! She's pissed-off about the lottery ticket. She asked me if I won, would I share it with her. So, I asked her, well, if I lose, will you share my loses? She didn't get it at all. Her uncle is Dom Antonelli, who's big on the real estate and parking lot business in Washington, DC. They tried to try him one time; but the first trial, one of the jurors said that her pop worked for Dom Antonelli, then because of the first mistrial, the second trial kind of got called-off because one of the jurors disappeared in the middle of the trial, then pieces of her turned up all over Washington in plastic bags, they ID'd her on account of her hand in a plastic bag. The Hand! Get it? I knew you could figure it out. My pop's sister used to send me silver dollars and business cards that said, "Murder, Inc." That's all it said on the cards. I think that they're from Chicago, so you can call 4/11 if you're looking for the hand. Also, youse can kiss my mood ring.

It's good to wake up after four hours of sleep, still be drunk, and see a new zirealism up. Especially one that mentions drinking.

Do you suppose his eyes are gone under the hand or is the other hand the extent of the damage. This by the way is the most effective anti-drinking ad I've seen in my life, which speaks more of how sad anti-drinking ads are than anything else.

I have been reading some cautionaries about fisting, that a woman's vagina can break your hand. I think he put his hand up the wrong cooter!

Having killed off my last two remaining braincells on Friday night, I am still on the mend. I was at
the bar ya know (yes THAT bar). I was getting drunk. I was getting mellow. I was attempting to play pool. As I was making my bleary-eyed
triple-shot shots I was being heckled by a gang of 20-something hooligans nearby, thereby throwing my unsteady aim wayyy off and opening up a brand
new hole in the otherwise pristine felt (it kinda *felt* good for some reason.. probably because it wasn't MY table). I turned around to bean the closest of this flock of no-goodniks with my 21 oz. pool cue when what did
my eyes alight upon? The biggest fattest person I had ever seen in real life sitting around (and I mean AROUND) the pool table. He was what polite ppl
call humans of such girth 'Morbidly Obese'. Of course I was drawn to him like a maggot to a piece of wood-chipped Vancouver hooker strewn about the grounds of a pig farm. He was a-grinning away, much pleased with himself and I had a big shit-eating grin on my face to match. I said 'So you like my poolside skills, do you?' (although in reality it may have sounded like
this: 'Sho ya ljeiiii miit pjehgjio schkields, fjeje?') He countered with an impolite comment (I thought, though truthfully he could have stated that he could snort a 24 box of Timbits in under 30 seconds, because I really wasn't listening). I was concentrating on the struggle of every fat joke I had ever heard in my life, jockeying for position on my tongue, ready to make itself known, as soon as my slack nerveless lips let down their guard.
He waited for my retort, and resisting the urge to giggle like a schoolgirl, the best I could come out with in my highly advanced state of drunken debauchery, was:
'Do you have to hire someone to wipe your own ass, or do you use a roll of TP on a stick?'
At that point my 'support' pool cue slid out from under me and I landed in an untidy heap, laughing uncontrollably. He was not gentlemanly enough to
help me up (though I doubt that he could get up from his bench without some help himself), and I had to untangle myself and climb back up onto my dangerously-high-heeled boots myself. His friends were guffawing in the
background as I smoothed my rumpled self down and tottered to my table to lick my wounds, and replenish my alcamahol-to-blood ratio. The rest of the night is a blur but I do remember actually sitting with the guy later on, no doubt to ask all kinds of personal questions about the trials and tribulations of the Morbidly Obese.


--
Morticia~
http://www.geocities.com/morty_baby/

I think what might have happened is that Posthumous gave up on trying to draw the hand, and just made it a stump. A hook might have been OK. This could give rise to a new logger song about a guy who stirs his coffee with his stump.

hey, can I post my blog entries in the comments section of thingsihate?

Antwan, why didn't you come to my defense when HB questioned my artistic abilities? The stump came first! I drew everything else around the stump.

Yes, the stump is central! The stump is key! The whole thing revolves around the stump. The stump is pivotal!

This Zirealism, I like. At first I thought it was just stupid. "Oh, He's got such a hang over that he can't reach a bear no more than 2 feet away from him." But then, on closer inspection (closing other "distracting" windows) I realized that he must have lost his hand in a night of drinking. I haven't laughed so hard since I put my pants on backwards this morning and thought that my genitials had shrunk to an almost comical level.

But alas! I was not here to defend the stump as I was busy with more stressful matters. (Bothering JSP)

However, I agree with the biscuit, a hook would have totally rocked.

Yeah, a hook would be piratical! But it's hard to determine a fresh hook, and the taped stump is obviously a recent event. I think that Morticia ate the hand in one of her hand recipes.

Either he was petting Knifekitten or he was using a rabbit puppet in the Pel-Freez part of town.

Or it could be zombies, I guess.

???