Posts Tagged ‘lollipops’

Art at Pouring My Art Out wished for me to basically write a post devoid of jokes involving race, sex, religion, or abuse and it must not have any outlandish opinion to it. In other words, he wanted me to write something nobody would ever want to read. He did however say it should be about happy things or at least I think he did. So here’s a post about happy things without any insults to anybody. I feel like throwing up. What’s something that makes everybody happy? Animals! Here are some things about my experiences with certain animals. It’s completely appropriate for children too as there are no insults or foul language.

(This post can be enjoyed by everyone in this picture)


I grew up in a home with pussies. We had three pussies in total. The first two were named Stephanie and her brother’s name was pronounced “Stah-Shoe” which I am told is the Yiddish name for Stanley. I’m scratching my head too. The third cat we had was named Briscoe after the Bruce Campbell show Briscoe County Junior. At least we watched the show.

Stephanie’s strangest quark involved her sleeping habits. There were only two places she ever slept, in the “messy room” on an old air conditioner and on my bed. She shed a lot and I have always been allergic to cats so I always tried convincing her the air conditioner was better. Still, it was nice to know I had the most comfortable bed in the house in a room with a door that could not shut.

“Stah-Shoe” was a tough cat. By the time I could have memories he only had one good eye. He was always getting into fights with other cats in our old home in Edison, New Jersey which I am told was a tough neighborhood. He was a black cat who purred louder than anything else. He was probably the most cuddly of the cats I ever had ownership over. He also has the highest kill count if you’re scoring at home.

Briscoe was more my older sister’s cat. My mom did not like him very much. He always peed in the corner of the living room and was a general annoyance. In a lot of ways he’s exactly like McGwire the Dog, more of a pest than a companion. I think this is what happens when animals are overly babied. Briscoe was still a nice cat who never minded being picked up and swung around the room. At least, he never said it annoyed him.

(Little pussies are my favorite)


It seems like every dog I meet is a male dog, never a bitch. I prefer bitches. Female dogs usually like male humans more and vice versa. I had mastership over one female dog in my lifetime, her name was Baylee.

The first time I met Baylee was when I came home from school one winter day in 2nd grade. She was extremely thin at the time after the abuse she endured. Baylee sat on the couch and when I opened the door her head poked up. It was love at first sight. By far she was the coolest dog ever. She had bad hips yet was still a great athlete. I could throw balls to her and like Air Bud she would hit them up in the air.

Baylee was a great companion for a young boy. She even somewhat understood soccer rules. A dog comprehended that she was supposed to block a ball from going one way and that she was trying to push it in the other direction. McGwire the dog still doesn’t understand his heavy breathing is the least sexy noise to wake up to. I miss Baylee.

(Two bitches playing Frisbee together)


In America it’s illegal to own an ass. Asses, otherwise known in children’s books as donkeys, are not great pets. I’m not exactly sure why. Has anyone ever tried it? I think we need to give them a chance.

There’s not much I can say about these animals. Nobody goes to a zoo to see them. I know asses are important in some countries where they are used as transportation. In America their only purpose is to run for public office and screw over the kind people who live in this fine country.

(Check out these adorable asses rubbing together)


Some people wake up from the sound a cock makes. It sounds like “cock-a-doodle-doo!” I think we have all at some point in our life thought about quitting our jobs and working on a farm. I know I have. There’s something about living on a farm that seems so pure and beautiful. Your biggest responsibility is making sure you’re pulling your weight.

It’s been a while since I’ve seen a nice cock. Whenever I do see a rooster they’re always scary. Aren’t emus just giant roosters? Emus are the scariest animal on the planet and yes I’m including Megashark in this debate. I don’t know if I would ever want to wake up from a rooster cawing. I prefer my phone alarm because at least my phone doesn’t creep me out.

(Three cocks just hanging out doing their thing in a public park)

There you go. A nice post where I did not degrade anyone and managed to keep everything completely family friendly. If we learned anything here it’s to never trust me to grant you a wish with a positive result in the end.

At some point in the 1990s, terrorists infiltrated the water systems to my neighborhood. They put massive amounts of some foreign substance in the water and the children of the town drank it up. That’s the only explanation I have for how many weird kids I have met in my life. To name them all would take forever. Instead I am going to limit this to a particular page I have in my 8th grade yearbook. A page I designated as the page only to be signed by the strangest people in school.

Boomhauer – Like with most things, I am not going to use real names. I’m also Facebook friends with this guy and his brother. I would really hate for them to learn how to read and then come after me. I give him the name Boomhauer because he sounded exactly like the character from King of the Hill with the same name. He talked fast and for some reason had a southern drawl. In 6th grade he attacked me with a yellow wiffle ball bat. By attack I mean he picked it up, pointed it at me, and said something that could not be understood. His walk could be described as quick. His shoulder hung low and would sway back and forth. If he was 40 years older he could have invented a popular dance in the 1970s based off of how he walked. He tried befriending me in high school. I would only talk to him in gym class because I had no one else to talk to. Boomhauer would ramble about wanting to be a mechanic. In my yearbook he wrote “Have a nice summer” then signed his name in a different colored pen. He also forgot the dot in the exclamation point. Bastard. Now he pretends he’s Spanish because he’s dating a Spanish girl. His trademark look is his thin early puberty mustache and glasses. I swear he’s never shaved that thing. It looks the way Vanessa Hudgen’s vagina looked in that fabulous leaked photo of her from a few years ago.

Fireball – This actually was the kid’s real name, he claimed. Fireball claimed to be a God I think. He was a short fat black kid who was a grade below me. I think he got too caught up in some fantasy game. I had a fish named Fireball so I always took a liking to this classmate. I think the only conversation I ever had with him was when I asked him to sign my yearbook. He wrote his name in huge block letter and didn’t even include his last name. He wrote “Ready for high school cause I know I am” which was a lie because I’m pretty sure he wasn’t ready for much. I have no clue whatever happened to Fireball. I just hope he’s somewhere safe, like away from all humans.

Lollipop – “Yo Tim have a great summer and maybe I will see you again” wrote this weird kid. I never did see Lollipop again. The way Lollipop got his name was in 6th grade we were given laminated maps to draw on with laminated markers. Mrs. Ashton was hung over. It was a nice silent activity and out of nowhere he mumbles something that phonetically sounded like “blah blu blah fwa” then added “I drew a lollipop!” He lifted his map in the air to show us that he indeed did draw a lollipop extending from South America all the way across the Atlantic into somewhere in Germany. Lollipop had red hair so it kind of makes sense how retarded he was. Lollipop and I actually become somewhat friends. By that I mean he made fun of me for having dry skin on my face but also at one point tried helping to get a girl to dance with me. I guess things even out like that.

Mr. Douglas – Sixth grade was a strange year for me. Seventh was the one where everyone picked on me, but sixth was the one where I met a lot of weirdos. Mr. Douglas was one of them. He gets his name because on the very first day of school he came up to my friend and I (this was the same day that Boomhouer attacked us and in the same spot) and he asked us a question about our principal, Mr. Douglas. Thing is, Mr. Douglas wasn’t our principal’s name yet this idiot thought it was. So if you’re taking notes, Mr. Douglas doesn’t exist. He had apparently read some paper sent home or the student handbook and they used an example principal as Mr. Douglas. He had assumed that was our principal’s name too. I didn’t talk to him much after that. We were divided into two groups in that school, the Lenapes and the Mohawks. Our school mascot was also a Native American with a gigantic nose. After 9/11 they changed it to the Stars and Stripes. You go from honorable indigenous people to exploding masses of gas and a row of parallel lines. Yeah that’s cooler and patriotic. In my yearbook he wrote his name upside down. I guess he wanted to be an ass. Or maybe he was that stupid. It wouldn’t surprise me. He always wore horrible clothing. For some reason in my head he looked like Doug Funnie with a pedophile mustache.

You’re welcome one person who actually enjoyed reading this because you know who everyone is.

Who were some of the strange kids you knew?