Posts Tagged ‘dogs’

As if I’m not already taking up too much of my time chasing an impossible dream, I began writing for a new website. This new task has taken away from working on other projects, but from what I have learned in the last year, writing seriously has a much bigger benefit in the long run than trying to make people laugh does. In fact, making people laugh is pretty much a waste of time. Why put so much effort into something a feather to a foot can?

Anyway, the new site I’m contributing for is called Call to the Pen. For those unfamiliar with baseball, it’s a slang term for–I’m not going to even bother. To view my articles exclusively I will redirect you to my other baseball site I write by myself and the page I have dedicated to this new site. I figure, if you are interested enough to click on one link, you will probably click on a second.

You can find what I have written so far here on this really long string of words that for some reason I thought should all be part of the link.

That’s it. Just wanted to share this little piece of nonsense.

I’m also spending New Year’s with a sexy lady.

Niu Niu Timmy

No, not here. She’s only my number two and three.

I have very little to say in this post which means this will go 300 more words than planned. All I want to say is that I recently discovered someone was using a picture of me as their Facebook profile picture. At first glance, this is a sweet gesture to let me know how important I am to them. Well, let me clue you in on some facts.

birthday dogs

 

The above picture is the one they use as their profile picture. Granted, it’s a great picture. It’s still not even my profile picture on Facebook though and never has been yet it is hers.

Who is this woman?

The woman is someone whose dogs occasionally come to the place where I work. They’re not allowed to do much because one of them bites dogs. I met the woman once in person. She was with her husband who made a joke about how his dog is Jewish and it wasn’t a joke, more of a statement. I later thought of a funny response. I should have said “Yeah I can tell. He’s still got his foreskin” because the idea of circumcising a dog is humorous. I didn’t say that though. Instead I laughed and got a stern reaction back, and when I say stern I don’t mean that to be a reference to the popular Jewish last name Stern.

So I met this woman only once ever. Why am I still in her profile picture? Her dogs must be in the picture! Nope. As I said, they aren’t allowed near other dogs because they are troublemakers. So nobody she actually really has a relationship is in this picture.

Perhaps she just likes the picture. I stalked her profile and a couple of her Facebook friends, including a few younger ladies ::raises eyebrows:: liked the picture. Do they think I am related to her? Do they wonder who the fuck I am? I’m bothered by this, yet flattered in a strange way. A very strange way. A way where I’m blushing yet always looking over my shoulder wondering when I will end up tied to a bed like in Misery or whatever happens in the movie. I’m not sure. Kathy Bates frightens me.

There’s nothing I can do about this. For now I am in a picture representing a 50+ year old Jewish woman and it’s a bit of an identity crisis.

Recently I read an article in the Huffington Post by Lily in Canada arguing against picking up dog poo. It’s sad to see such a nice young lady turn to drugs and come up with a crackpot theory. I’m not saying she’s doing crack or pot, I’m nearly observing how I think she’s doing them both at the same time.

(A computer’s prediction on how Lily in Canada might look in 3 months if she continues down this path)

You can read her argument here

Now that you’re all caught up let me say my argument in favor of picking up dog poo. First, let’s give you some background on who I am. I am a man who has picked up dog poo his entire life. My mom even invented a game called “Poop Patrol” which involved going out into the backyard with several plastic bags. Whoever picked up the heaviest bag (we didn’t actually weigh it, it was more done by sight) would win. The game wasn’t all that much fun because I was the only participant and it wasn’t so much a game as it was my only chore. I got older and realized if I didn’t pick up the dog poo then someone else would. This is an attitude I have continued to maintain. It wasn’t until I had to start taking care of my mom’s dog that I had no other option.

You see, I hate picking up dog poo. I like doing other gross things like cleaning out his ears then saying “Ewww!” in his face at all the gunk I get out. I do it anyway because it’s the rules. Lily in Canada would like to change these rules. Maybe in a perfect world this would work, but I do not live in a perfect world, I live in New Jersey. Lily argues that poop is biodegradable. True yet I have seen the same dog poop sitting outside by a tree for over a month now. I’m pretty sure it’s here to stay. I’ve named it Newton. By the time this poop biodegrades humans will have developed levitation powers. Perhaps this poop came from a special dog but until my dear Newton disappears into the soil, I win this one.

(Accept it Olivia Newton John, I named a pile of dog shit after your middle name. Get physical to that)

Lily goes onto argue people should look down to avoid stepping on the poo. This is fair but here’s some math, something you guys don’t have in Canada. My next door neighbors have three dogs. Each poops twice a day. That’s 6 poops a day. This adds up to 42 poops a week. Add in my dog who makes poops the size of those dogs and we’ve got an additional 14 poops raising the total to 56 poops every week. These are just the poops provided by two apartments. Add in the black family across the lot who never keep their dog on a leash, the black family around the corner who never keep their dog on a leash, and the black family who live in an unknown place who never keep their dog on a leash and we’ve got a number of poops approaching 100. I don’t know how gigantic your lawns are in Canada but if we didn’t pick up this poop then we’ve have nothing to step on but (no pun intended) the poop.

Present poop is a bigger issue than stepping on it. Poop is trouble to all the human senses. Who wants to look at poop? Unless it’s a big one in a toilet my friend has on his cell phone I don’t. Then there’s the smell! I know Lily is so incredibly tall that she has a better chance at smelling Saturn than she does poop on the ground so I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt. Us normal heighted people however are a nose scrape away from getting the stuff on our nose hairs. Touching poop is gross in itself and the sound it makes when you step on it is even worse. There’s also tasting poop. Some people are clumsy and always doing face first dives into the ground. With poop lying around there’s a chance they may get a mouthful. Nobody wants to eat poop. Not even me and I like Arby’s. Of course there’s also the sixth sense that poop invades. Imagine seeing a ghost and a pile of poop on your lawn? That’s too much to handle all at once.

(“I see dog shit. It’s everywhere.” – if The Sixth Sense took place where I live)

The main reason why I believe poop should be picked up is because not everyone has a dog or contributes to the problem. This is a bit of a Communist viewpoint, which I believe Lily in Canada is. Think about it, she once told me her favorite movie was Say Anything starring John Cusack. This came out in the 80s when the Russians were still a threat. She’s also never seen Hook starring Robin Williams. I don’t know about you but can you really trust someone who claims to have grown up in the 90s and has never seen a live action Peter Pan film starring Robin Williams? She’s also originally from Chicago. This is the home of John Wayne Gacy, Al Capone, and Lincoln Burrows, a fictional character who allegedly killed the vice president’s brother. Even Hollywood knows their made up characters are crooks. Ferris Bueller for instance, he got really good seats to the Cubs game last second. You don’t think he had to illegally buy those from a scalper?

(Even with the entire upper deck empty these are still really good seats on such short notice)

The verdict is simple, pick up after your dog because it’s just one of those things you do. The same reason you pick up after your dog is the same reason why you don’t take a dump on your own lawn. It’s just the way things are and that’s the simplest reason behind it.

Today’s musings does not come from me. Instead it comes from a good friend of mine. He came to me asking if he could write something about being a hardworking single guy trying to make it in the fast-paced business world. I reminded him that he had no job and he stared at me blankly, probably not understanding a thing I said. He’s convinced I can reach a larger audience with this blog than he can on anything he could ever create. So today I present to you the ramblings of my dog, McGwire. It’s mostly him trying to pick up chicks. He’s definitely the Uncle Jesse in our Full House life we have.

(I don’t remember for sure, but I am almost definite I had to distract him with food here)

“Good Boys Finish Last”

By McGwire

I have been single for my entire life. 13 years and not a single lady has ever given me more than one date. A dog date is different than that of you humans. Dog dates consist of ass sniffing followed up with a little bit of oblivious humping of the female. Have you ever seen a female dog’s face while she receives a good roggering? She looks as if she’s done it a thousand times before. And yes, dogs say roggering. We’re all originally from England.

I think of myself as a good boy. A very good boy. Oh yes I am. Yes I am. I’ve heard it said that “nice guys finish last” which I guess is true. My owner, the one you call Mooselicker, is a very nice guy. Even though he poops with the door open and acts as if that make him better than me, he’s still pretty nice. He never forgets to give me a cookie after a walk. When I wake him up in the morning, on the fifth attempt he always gets up. He puts up with a lot about me. When he gets off the couch I always steal his spot. Not because I like wear he sits. I’m hoping he gives me a black eye and I can report him and enter a new home with someone who doesn’t walk around without his pants so much.

(Sometimes I wish I had three legs. I could get on album covers and have an excuse as to why I am so incredibly lazy)

I digress. As a good boy I feel like I too finish last. There are a lot of great things about me that most women and children find endearing. Yet the female dogs find me repulsive just because I’m a little chubby and have a disgusting skin tag hanging off the bottom of my snout. What happened to inner beauty? Well, not my innards. That’s mostly tumors and heartworms at this point. I eat cat poop the other day and even I find my insides vomit inducing. And if I was to vomit I would eat it up before anyone noticed because I am a good boy like that.

I am aware that many females read this blog. I have seen some of their photographs. It makes my lipstick (my red penis) poke out. Many of you would have a great time out on a date with me. I assure you of that. I don’t even have to wear my leash. The other day I escaped from my leash and instead of running away to freedom I ran back to the door where I knew I would survive. The world is a scary place. Next to the bed or on the couch is my comfort zone. Sometimes I even try to crawl behind the toilet. But that’s only when I hear fireworks. Those scare me tremendously.

(So loud and so bright! I think I’m going to go dog deaf then have a dog seizure)

Food is a big part of my life. Dog food, cat food, human food, frozen, heated up, in the garbage, dropped on the ground, out of my own butt I love food. Ideally I would like to take a woman out to eat somewhere we could both enjoy. I highly suggest eating plaid shirts or blankets. They are delectable! The best thing, your poop turns plaid. It’s very grunge, an era I know nothing about because I am a dog and my version of music is licking knees that come out of the shower.

The best part about me, and you slutty girls out there will really appreciate this, is I have no testicles. I lost them in a hazardous mishap. I was told that I was going to go for a car ride (one of my favorite things to do) then was taken to the doctors. They gave me a shot to my butt (which I didn’t mind, I love my butt rubbed, scratched, and spanked) and when I woke up my nuggets were gone. I still have the sack to prove it. A class action lawsuit is in the works as soon as I evolve into having thumbs. I’d cross my fingers in hopes that it happens soon but I don’t have those either.

A few other things you should know about me: I love to be baby talked to. If you blow in my face, I will try to kiss you. Don’t pick me up. I’ll groan then kick my fat legs. I swear like a sailor. I smoke pot so if you got a problem with that you can f*ck off. I am strongly opposed to gay marriage. Like really? Next thing you know a man will be trying to marry me. And sorry but I don’t swing that way. There’s a time and a place for everything. It’s called obedience school.

(How is this fun? They are all dressed similarly and things are entirely too dark. Not to mention I see little food present. Where are the blankets to lie down on? I will never understand Liberal Arts majors)

I’m open to doing a lot of new things with lots of new people. I even like fatties because I can use their bodies as a pillow for my heavy face. If I at all seem interesting to you then please let me know. I will be replying to your comments on this post. I hope to hear from you soon you whores.

Fin

Thanks to McGwire for writing up some material for me. Also thank you for not mentioning the time I sat on you naked. I know, it seemed like a good idea to us both at the time but things have been weird between us ever since. Sorry buddy!

(He must like me again if he’s willing to show me his disgusting stomach. Awww)

P.S. Special thanks to  The Hobbler for having nothing better to do than to stalk my blog yesterday. You managed to put my over the edge to make this yet another record breaking month as far as hits go! Also thank you to the random person who became my 200th follower. I’d link you but I’m pretty sure you will never comment. I will just say you look like you’re kissing actor John Hawkes on the header of your page. You can figure out who you are.

Every day has a morning. Except that one day when the Pope decided to skip over it and go straight to 8 at night. He really couldn’t wait until the American Idol Results Show. When you have the kind of pull that the Pope has, why not skip through the early part of the day?

(Doesn’t that hand gesture mean asshole?)

My mornings, like yours, are full of self-pity and wishing that over night a fungus had formed in the air conditioning system and killed me in my sleep. Really, mornings are lame. No matter what time you wake up either. Those first few moments of awake are terrible. Your body is tight, your eyes glued together, possibly have your boxed stuck to your stomach if you were a naughty boy, and if you’re like me, your bed sheets are all over the place. I move around a lot when I sleep. I don’t know if it’s because I keep my temper bottled up or that I have a lot of unused energy. Could be both because I sit way too much and boy howdy do I want to punch a lot of people.

Typically the first thing I do when I wake up is turn off the alarm on my phone. I hate beeping. I never understood those jokes about alarm clocks getting smashed until I had responsibilities. I used to have an alarm clock shaped like a baseball that would say “Hey, wake up. The big game is here!” or something then proceeded to do play-by-play of me hitting a game winning home run. I liked that alarm clock. Then I got older and probably smashed it angry that I knew my big league dreams would never come true. Now I have to deal with the beeping on my phone. Beeping alarm clocks is what I blame for the murder of birds. I hate birds now because of alarm clocks. If Michael Vick had strangled flamingos to death, I would have been more forgiving. Birds chirping is the sound of cancer growing. How can we like a species that vomits into their children’s mouths? For fun too. I can understand chewing a sandwich then throwing it up into your kid’s face for some laughs but for sustenance? For survival? Birds stink. You became irrelevant after the invention of throwing things through the air.

(The asshole The Pope was referring to)

My alarm now turned off, I roll out of bed. I don’t make my bed in the morning. It’s way too much of a mess. I’ve got things to do. Like turn off my sound machine. My sound machine, the one thing I could not live without. It’s a product created in the 1980s that I use for white noise to help me sleep. I’ve had it forever. I don’t know how it still works. I knew I would never marry this one girl I liked because she told me she has to sleep in complete silence and in complete darkness. I like a little bit of light and my sound machine blasting. It’s so soothing. It has two setting. Hi and Lo. How cool is that? They abbreviate the words! That’s how you know it’s from the 1980s. Everything was abbreviated back then. Especially respect for gay people.

After flicking off the sound machine with my toe (I told you it was awesome, I don’t even have to bend over to turn it on or off) I head out to the living room. It’s here that if my dog is around that I’ll find him stretched out on the couch. He’ll stretch more. He knows it’s the start of a new day. I’ll make myself breakfast which usually is nothing more than some awful tasting cereal in milk. Actually I shouldn’t call it awful tasting. I’ve gotten used to it. It’s healthy though and breakfast is the most important meal of the day. I fix the dog some breakfast which is his dog food which looks very similar to my cereal. I question if he switched them over night then realized there’s nothing I can do about it now.

(Anything that looks this delicious can’t possible be for dogs)

While the fat dog eats I brush my teeth. I had a dream once that the prettiest girl in school was talking to me at an ice skating rink and then she smelt my breath. It blew my chances with her. Since then I make sure to brush my teeth frequently. If I can still hear fatty eating I’ll stick some mouthwash in my mouth to kill the time. I think for a moment if I should swallow it, quit my job, and become a wino. Then the dog runs over to me wanting to go outside. He hits my knee hard and the mouthwash splashes out into the sink. Damn it! I’ll have to wait another day to do something new with my life.

I take the dog outside and he shits. He always shits. I’m pretty sure he’s just a pile of shit in the shape of a dog and each time he goes outside a piece of himself falls off onto the ground. I pick up the shit and see a neighbor with a dog not on a leash. Wonderful. You can afford to own a nice car with a nice stereo system with a nice pair of rims but a leash is out of your price range? Hey, it’s your money stupid.

(Nice rims. Too bad you live in a one bedroom apartment with 6 other people)

We return inside and I look around one last time. Maybe I’ll urinate. Did I mention I always urinate as soon as I wake up? Yeah that’s pretty normal. I can admit that. I actually pee a ton. I could easily fill a child’s swimming pool with my weekly urine. I gather up my cell phone (left pocket), my keys (right pocket), and wallet (back right pocket). Then I realized I’m going to need my keys to open up my car so I take them out again. I say goodbye to the dog and he pretends that he’s going to miss me. He gets to lick himself all day long without me yelling at him to stop. You’d think a 12-year-old dog would know to stop licking himself so much. I guess it’s true, you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.

The morning for me is officially over. As soon as I start my car it’s no longer morning. There’s no turning back. No matter where it is I’m going to, the odds of me going back to sleep are slim. I have begun my day. Every possibility is now open. Will something good happen? Will I meet a person who will change my life? Will I die? I have to live my day to find out. Unless I die. You don’t really find out that you die. You just do it. Then maybe you go somewhere. Hopefully somewhere that you don’t have to suffer through the mundane mornings.

Roommates

Posted: December 20, 2011 in Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Years ago, a Jewish person who I thought was gay and flirting with me gave me some advice. He said to never make a friend of yours your roommate. You’ll grow to hate them. I think this is true. Unless you’re open about how you don’t want to hate each other, it’s inevitable. I later found out that he wasn’t gay. My mistake was that I had never talked to a Jewish person before. I didn’t know how flamboyant and talkative they could be. The older you get, the more you learn.

I have a roommate. It’s a dog. He’s the family dog whom I am taking care of, temporarily I hope. What’s temporary? 8 months and counting is. He’s not technically allowed to be here because he’s too fat. They have a weight limit in my apartment complex. They don’t want dogs over 35 pounds. I wish they had a weight limit on people here. It only seems fair if there is one for animals. Luckily the people who live above me don’t work which means they can’t afford to eat. I only have to worry about them crashing through my floor during one of their weekly shouting matches. Why do I get the sense that I’m going to have to be the one to call the cops?

My roommate and I don’t get along very well. He’s a dog, remember. I usually get along great with animals. They love me. Not this bastard. He’s a dick. We used to get along better. Then I didn’t see him for a year and he has an attitude about that. I was never his favorite. In fact, no joke, he just farted on me as I am typing this. I didn’t feel it or hear it but I certainly smell it. I told you he was a bastard.

So to embarrass him, I would like to name a few things that he should change about himself. I feel like a woman yelling at her boyfriend doing this. It’s necessary for revenge factors.

Annoying Things About McGwire The Dog

1) He always pants whenever the temperature is 65 or above. I get it that he’s fat and all, but 65 isn’t that hot. My electric bill was so high in August because of him. Does he care? No. Dogs don’t have to worry about bills. Only ducks do! (I hate myself for saying that)

2) Whenever I pat the couch and say “come on McGwire, sit next to me and cuddle” he walks over, looks at me, then leaves. What a dick move! Not only does he not obey his master, he teases me and then leaves and goes into the other room. He’s sitting next to me right now (remember how he farted on me?) and that’s only because it’s late and he’s trying to hint to me that I need to go to bed and get off his fucking couch. His words, not mine.

3) He can’t aim when he pees. This could be due to a few medical problems he has, but seriously, this is annoying. You’ve got paws. Use them to aim your dick! I would much rather be living with a guy who pees on the toilet seat than a dog who pisses on his own leg and one time into his own face. He also pees like a girl. So embarrassing.

4) He has this unwritten rule that I can only go outside twice a day without him crying nonstop. I can do it in the morning after he eats and at night after he eats. In short, after he gets what he wants I can go die in a car crash for all he cares.

5) My dirty clothes sprawled out on the ground in my bedroom is his favorite place to lay. This is annoying when I feel like wearing a dirty shirt. Yes, sometimes I like to put on a dirty shirt you know for painting or dates with fat girls I want to end poorly. It’s probably my fault for allowing him there and once Christmas rolls around I’ll have a hamper and things will be better.

6) He eats my clothes, blankets, and bed sheets. Have you ever seen a dog poop out the color plaid? I have. A lot. He loves eating plaid things for some reason. He ate a part of one of my plaid shirts. He ate the image of a smiling face off of another shirt. That’s cruel and Satanic. Of all of the images to eat he chooses one of a smiley face. The shirt did say “I Hate You” but he doesn’t know that. He can’t read!

7) Sometimes McGwire gets in the garbage. I don’t ever throw away anything interesting to eat. The other day I came home to two egg shells, a ripped up plate, and a bottle of carrot juice which he didn’t even bother touching. I’m sure he was very upset to realize that I always clean my plate. Probably why he hid with his tail between his legs while I beat him with a belt.

8 ) My apartment has two rooms in it. A bedroom and a living room type thing. Chances are, if I’m in the living room he’s in the bedroom. When I enter the bedroom, he leaves and goes into the living room. My parents lived together for about 2 years and didn’t speak. This reminds me of that and I start to cry again.

9) Whenever my girlfriend comes over he will not leave us alone. All day long when I’m with him he acts like I don’t exist. The second she gets here my crotch becomes the most interesting thing to him. Maybe he’s trying to send her signals that it’s what she should be doing, but I don’t think he’s that clever.

10) He does a lot of other things that most dogs do. He barks at inappropriate times, tries to eat other dog’s poop, exists, begs for food, and makes me sneeze. I can’t really fault him for these, but I wanted you to know that he also sucks in the obvious ways that other dogs do too.

11) He has never gotten a girl to talk to me. Isn’t that the whole point of having a dog? Attracting girls? I’ve walked him in public enough for some hot mama to notice and everyone looks at him like he’s a big retard buffoon. He is, but it’s impolite to stare and they should be old enough to know that.

12) He will only let someone pet his face for so long before he sticks his butt in your face. He loves his butt rubbed and slapped. No normal living creature should like this much humiliation. He’d probably get off on reading how embarrassing this is. His red penis (lipstick as I call it) would pop out.

13) He’s a pussy. I mean a massive gaping one. Three little yapping dogs live next door and whenever he sees them he hides. He’s 5 times their size and that’s not an exaggeration. Even three of them they’re barely half his size. He’s also very afraid of thunder and fireworks. He’s very unpatriotic. McGwire hates America and that’s why you should hate him too.

McGwire does have a few cool things about him. For one he knows what the word “Dinner” and “Breakfast” mean. I can say to him “Do you want to go for a car ride?” and 50% of the time he will guess the correct car in which he will be entering. He doesn’t do it anymore, but when we were younger boys whenever I would toss him a ball he’d try to catch it with his paws like I would catch it. He farts a lot which can cover up any of my farts that I might make in front of others. If I drop food he’s there to clean it up. That’s my favorite because I’m lazy when it comes to cleaning. For a while, he would wake me up right before my alarm went off. I really dig internal clocks. I don’t know why he couldn’t have waited 5 minutes to walk into my room wagging his tail and smiling. He would have saved himself a couple of strangling sessions that I gave him later on in the day.

The only other good thing about him is that for the first 5 minutes after I come home he pretends to be happy to see me. I know it’s because he has to pee, but I like to pretend that he actually has some sort of love and affection towards my being. I know that can’t be true. Something that smells as bad as he does can’t possibly have the capacity to love anything that cannot be eaten. Unless he’s planning to eat me. Shit. That’s why he’s been so sweet lately.

They love the Cure, black fingernails, Wednesday Addams, and crows. They’re goth girls. Girls who have a darker side to them. They write poetry, listen to music when they’re sad, cut their arms to feel something, and have had a phase of wearing boy’s clothes. Goth girls are great.

I have always had an attraction to goth girls. There are many reasons for it. For one, they have low expectations of everything. They’re beaten down by the world already. They have THE SILENT SOUL!!! Normally I don’t like negative attitudes. Especially from women. It scares me. I think that if they can criticize a puppy’s face then they can certainly find something wrong with me.

(“Disgusting!” – Goth Girls)

When I say goth, I don’t necessarily mean what you think I do mean. I want to use the term a little more loosely, if that’s okay with you. Goth to me is anything with a dark edge. Fans of metal music are goth to me. You might be sitting there in your mom’s basement, in your Slipknot t-shirt, eating Doritos thinking that you’re not goth. You are. Emo kids are goth too. They wear big coats with large buttons, a surefire sign that you have a gothic edge to you. Emo kids never claim to not be goth. They don’t really care what you call them. Just don’t mistake emos boys for girls and emo girls for boys. It’s an easy mistake to make, but make sure you don’t do it.

With all that said, I think I should praise goth girls a bit. I love their variety of styles. Goth girls come in so many different varieties. Some have goofy colored hair. Some have so much makeup on that they look like ghosts. Then there are other ones who look normal then you see them wearing some silly contraption like a giant bracelet with spikes or a belt buckle shaped like a steak. Goth girls have great senses of humor. They really don’t care what you think about them. Well actually they probably do. But try getting one to admit it! You can’t. Their lips are sealed. Black lipstick must be made out of glue.

My favorite of the goth girls are the ones that shouldn’t be goth. The kind of girls that should be preppy and spit at me when I try to ask them to prom. Those are my favorite. The ones with a little pit of a punk rock edge to them. Think Avril Lavigne without a long face. Does she have a long face? I’m not sure. My memory says she does. She’s missing something. Like I wouldn’t tap that anyway. She’s famous! I’d do it with anyone famous. For the story and the chance to be involved in a big Hollywood murder. You never know these days.

(According to my calculations, Avril Lavigne has a face over 5 feet in length)

There’s only one goth girl that I have ever fallen in love with. She was a beautiful Spanish girl who asked me if I knew where she could get tickets to Lamb of God. I melt just thinking about it. I’m not a fan of Lamb of God or anything. But knowing that this adorable brown-skinned specimen finds it entertaining to listen to loud obnoxious music with no real lyrical theme to it makes my heart skip a beat. I didn’t know where she could get tickets and she left me forever. I asked her where she was from and she said the town of Wayne, New Jersey. Ahhh Wayne. A town with the most beautiful goth girls in the world. The name says it all.

(Wayne gives his approval for Goth Girls from the city of Wayne)

The goth looks is more popular than ever. There’s actually famous people who will dress up as such and are no longer made fun of like they would have been in the 90s. It’s okay to wear a t-shirt with a tie around your neck. Nobody thinks twice if you wear a sexy short skirt with steel skeletons on the edges. Goth is mainstream.

Thanks to Hot Topic being in every mall, Goths have a place to go and say “This place used to be cool.” I mean come one, they sell Justin Bieber shirts there. How punk can that be?

I still go into Hot Topics whenever I can in the hopes of meeting my future wife. Or maybe just a future girl to obsess over and fantasize about. I love goth girls. Everything about them. From their unique hair, to their tight leather clothing, to their negligent attitudes about life. I love it. Keep it up goth girls. I’m here to comfort you whenever you need me.