I ain’t got the time or the inclination to make another year in review video. Maybe next year. Until then I’m recycling this garbage from two years ago. Use your God-given powers of imagination and relive 2014 Shouts From The Abyss classic moments like these:
As I walk through this world
Nothing can stop the Puke of Hurl
And you, the trap you unfurled
And you can so hurt me, oh yes
TWO DAYS EARLIER
I love leftovers. There I was at the fast food restaurant picking up dinner when I had my aha moment. I’ll get extra deep fried things on purpose so I’ll have enough for leftovers in the future.
It would be something, a small thing, that I was actually looking forward to.
Meanwhile, deep in the Pacific Ocean, somewhere over the Great Pacific garbage patch, ominous dark swirling clouds began to form.
It was almost lunch time. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was in a good mood. I was on the way to the kitchen to prep my lunch. The lunch I had been looking forward to for two whole days. There was a bounce in my step as I walked down the hall. I hummed a little song to myself. I paused in the living room and played a game of peek-a-boo with the cat.
In less than five minutes I would be dead.
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Look what showed up on the Apple App Store tonight. It’s called Wedding Dash 4-Ever and it’s only $6.99!
Is there a Temptation Island mode? A plastic surgery center? A weight-loss challenge before the pre-nuptials are signed?
Your goal is to help Quinn, the “fabulous” wedding planner, handle all of the wedding “mania” and avoid disasters like Bridezilla, Groom Kong and a Food Fight. But wait, there’s also “fun conga lines.”
Hell, I’d be willing to pay another $20 for the Divorce Attorney expansion pack.
I wonder if I can drag and drop the Recycle Bin icon onto the game? I’m going to need someplace to hurl.
The app is billed as a “time management game.” Sounds like a pretty accurate description of marriage, too!
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to the desktop version of Hang Time!
Just a short FYI. Someone walked along yesterday and noticed my humble little blog. I thought their reaction was interesting.
“Boil that dust speck, boil that dust speck!”
So, yeah. Yesterday the blog hit 30,000 “views” as reported by WordPress stats. Whatever a “view” means.
Unfortunately WordPress stats are still not advanced enough to report the number of times my blog has induced vomit.
Maybe I should celebrate with one of those fancy poll things. Which is worse? Visiting the Shouts from the Abyss blog or stepping in poop? Show your work.
Either way, those of you who bravely grab your barf bags and come visit have my thanks. Without you I’d be one damn lonely negativity expert.
Speaking of which, who would have ever suspected my blog was so “luxurious.” Yep, you read that right. I just saw a book (on my damn bookshelf as it turns out) entitled, “You Can’t Afford the Luxury of a Negative Thought.” In other words, negativity is a luxury item! Woot! I knew I was on the right track. I have to say it is rather nice when the universe gives you that kind of positive feedback.
No doubt things are looking up for me! 🙂
At last, the Carnival came to the abyss!
It may not look like much, but this was a huge and unprecedented event here in humble Abyssia. For the first time ever the Carnival was in our neck of the woods.
The main attraction, pictured above, was a ride called The Cyclone Carousel. The carnies, however, called it The Widowmaker. Come to think of it, this was the only attraction. The photo above shows the carnival in entirety.
Perhaps feeling a bit over-enthused, I rode that thing all day until I fell off, projectile hurled, and passed out face first in my own tummy spunk. I never knew men could build such things. That ride pulled some serious G-forces and relocated my stomach. I was yelling “I feel the need for speed” and “talk to me, Goose!” as that thing spun me round and round.
The only real pain was having to get off and go back and stand in line each time I wanted to again. Well, also the time the guy on the ride in front of me pooped his pants. That was not kosher.
All we need here in Abyssia now is a 7/11 and an ATM and we’ll be just like big cities with their fancy schmacy carnivals. Las Vegas, watch your back. We’re coming for ya!
Most every day I do something unusual. Well, most every day. Usually on the days I decide to leave the house. You know – go out in public and shiznit.
This unusual thing I do is clean myself with soap and water. I generally try to make myself presentable and put actual effort into things like how I smell. Do I want to smell especially delicious? No, I couldn’t care less about that. On the other hand, I don’t want to reek like a hungry bung hole, either.
That means I try to wash off most of my body odor, brush my teeth, have fresh breath and put on clean clothes. I’m no Mr. GQ, in fact, I’m pretty much live my life as if wrinkles are the new cool, but having a dumpy appearance is my problem. Smelling disgusting is everyone’s problem.
I know life sucks and all, but can you at least put some effort into not making me puke if I’m unlucky enough to encounter you on this giant blue marble we call home? I swear to God that some people wake up and say to themselves, “I think I’ll put in extra effort to be disgusting today. I’m going to live like I’m trying to win an ugly contest.”
When I say that trying to not smell disgusting is something unusual, that is based on my empirical observations. It is based on the number of people I meet on a daily basis that smell so disgusting that literally provoke my gag reflex. Come on, people! Can’t you make any effort at all?
I want to ask them if they can do me a favor. You see, I’ve never in my entire life smelled a dead body (or what the cops call a DB.) So the next time I’m watching “CSI” perhaps they can do me a solid and stop by my crib during a particularly grisly scene to give the experience that extra boost of realism so I can really get into my favorite show. Just think of it as surround sound home theater for the nose!
Ah, America. The land of the freedom. Some of our most cherished freedoms include the right to be an asshole and the right to smell like a steaming pile of shit. Your freedom should fucking end where my nose begins.
Let’s be honest here. 99% of the time when I’m talking about someone who reeks I’m talking about a smoker. I’ve known many smokers in my life who, for some strange reason, never reeked like a tobacco factory. They cared about their appearance and took care of themselves and smoked outside and for some reason the smell wouldn’t glom onto them like Tiger Woods on classy women.
I don’t know why, but some smokers are more smell “sticky” that others. And my sweet Lord it can be bad. It really makes a statement when you walk through a room and the vomit-inducing odor hangs around for half an hour. Seriously. Clean yourself up.
And more importantly, if you smell that bad, how can you not fucking know it? I can imagine only two possibilities. Either you know about your odor and you just don’t give a shit or somehow you remain completely clueless, perhaps because you destroyed any smelling capability in your nose years ago. I find it completely inconceivable that someone could smell like that and not be aware, but I guess anything is possible.
Perhaps I’ll make my own YouTube video someday. It will feature me (with off-screen bodyguards) asking reeky motherfuckers, “Why do you smell so goddamn disgusting?” I guess that would make me a street scientist of sorts, eh? Those would be some interesting results I’m sure.
All hail freedom and the never-ending onslaught on my nose.