Like a Cat Terd in a Punch Bowl by CornFed (good books to read for adults TXT) 📕

Obligatory Introduction

Nothing much to say here except, well, if you don't laugh, then follow these instructions:

1. Put the book down. In this case, minimize it on your computer.

2. Open a bottle of Jack Daniels

3. Consume one-third to one-half of it

3.5 If you are a puritan/lightweight, then utilize the benefits of coca-cola to help with the taste and the burn

4 Wait 1.234 hours

5 Fight the urge to call your friends and especially your exes

6 Try to remember why you drank the Jack Daniels

7 Back to work! Re-read this book

8 Pepto Bismol before bedtime

Sincerely, Management


Dear Diary, Matt Damon Is At “It” Again

I never really felt much empathy for Jimmy Kimmel when it was reported that Matt Damon was procreating with his girlfriend. But as TV becomes reality, I now understand how foolish it is to assume that the Kid-Hair-Cut Matt Damon is anything less than Demonish.

Matt Damon is sticking his tongue in my girlfriend’s ear too. And it’s apparently been going on for years.

Maybe it’s all those emotionally distant, tough guy roles Matt-Attack played that formed the underpinnings for the sexual escapades he and my girlfriend have been sharing. Perhaps, it’s the shiny-object theory of female DNA, the twisting of chromosomes somewhere during the cave man era that made women love things that stand out, be they hair or club or man. Or, at the brass tacks level, maybe the fact remains that were it not for sex, men and women would have killed themselves off millions of years ago and evolution keeps us “doing it.”

Whatever the cause, Mattish seems to have tapped into this phenomenon with astounding accuracy.

I never really suspected anything in the early years. Our first date movie was carefully picked out to keep her thinking “when can I get out of here and get naked…I am so bored”

. And so I picked a golf movie for our first date.

The Legend of Bagger Vance isn’t anything one would consider an arousing moving. I was always told not even Freudian slips could penetrate the sheer boredom of spending the day frollicking around the grass holding a stick and moving balls around, wildly performing acrobatic acts in order to make it to the hole.

But as I look back at it, the first time we had sex was a three-way. And apparently I was the un-aware boyfriend Kimmel was. Matt Demon had found his way into the back of my pick-up truck on that fateful night. I should have known he was there when she screamed…

“Come on Junuh! Make the shot!”

I just figured she was drunk.

Over the years, our love life has been filled with Matt-isms that never really made any sense until the devil of restrospect became my companion.

There was that screening of the movie Oceans 11 followed by a night in Vegas where she kept on and on about how I was so sleuthish to have used magic dice to get 7’s on the craps table. I never made it away from the slot machine the entire night but I figured whatever worked for her when it came to foreplay, I’m game.

And then….only a month after watching Bourne Identity, there was that crazy European trip she booked. It took all I could do to prevent her from attempting to turn my expired US passport into something highly suspect. It wasn’t so much as the name she chose, “Mikael Namastrata” from “Russia” that had me worried. Nor was it the fact she spray painted the passport red and the pages were stuck together with seepage from the Elmer’s Glue canister.

It was her insistence we keep an airport locker full of pictures from my childhood to “remind me”.

What was worse, one half of the trip she spent trying to pick fights with strangers so I could “re-remember” my fighting skills. Luckily, the other half was spent naked in varioius alleyways, whispering that “she understood I needed do things differently to avoid a pattern.”

I thought she just wanted to mix it up a bit.

But as the years went on and as Matty Boy continued to produce more movies, the pattern became too much to overlook. If it wasn’t her insatiable desire to hide in the backyard and pounce on me while yelling “Fix me Good Shepherd! I am your baaadddd sheep!”, it was her silly attempt to throw mirrors at me from the roof of the house while shouting “You cannot steal my youth Mr. Grimm!”.

At some point I had to confront her.

“I’m not Matt Damon. I am Russ, your boyfriend.”

“Honey, you are so funny. I know that you silly goose…now would you please shut up and handcuff me to the bed for helping the police?”

As I think about it now, even as I type this, I don’t reckon there’s anything wrong with having Matt Damon around the house. I just hope he continues to stay away from the dorky roles Ben Affleck plays. Suicide would be imminent if I was treated like that.


A Sure Sign of a Recession….State Governments Attach “Super” to Crimes

I’ve always strived to be the best that I can be. I was that kid who put the extra BB into the windshield of that 74 Ford, striving to perfect the outline of a lone, single female boobie, the little nipple BB putting the finishing touches on that masterpiece. I felt Super as I raised my Red Rider BB gun into the air and shouted “Are you not entertained!”

From that day onward, my friends call me Super Boob.
As I graduated to more violent guns, like the .22 or the super fast 7 MM Mag, they became the extra tool I had in my toolbelt for the art of war I would perform on wildlife, some living in and out of caged quarters. If it wasn’t the pen-raised quail that I could pick off-hand at 50 steps, it was the running boar hog dodging my spot light as I landed yet another “Super Shot”. I had graduated to the nickname Super Death.

But the joys of being Super have lost their innocence, a downward spiral of our societies capitalistic instincts gone awry. If it isn’t Big Company making a “Super Computer”, it’s the small guy offering a “Super Low” deal on some kind of furniture made out of a recycled refrigerator box and duct tape. And now, in a blatant disregard for morals, ethics, and the joy of just being known as a common criminal, the government of Georgia has turned up the heat.

They have invented the Super Criminal.

You heard me correctly sports fan. Tired of just being a speeder? Why not be a certified Super Speeder? Simply pack up your families station wagon, drive on over to Georgia, find any two-lane road, and simply go 20 MPH over the speed limit for as long as you can. Any cop with a commission will certainly pull you over, give you a Super Speeder ticket with matching rear window decals, and send you on your way to the Billy Bob’s Bait and Loan for that money you’ll need to live the lifestyle of the Super Speeder.

Admittedly, being a Super Speeder seems harmless enough. That is until you get some egomaniac that is tired of regular old tickets and labels. The real crowd-pleaser is when we start getting into a bigger recession or the state wants to build a new swimming pool for crack babies. That’s right, soon we will have the likes of Super Drug Dealer or Super Gun Shooter convictions as part of the revenue-making scheme.

And it is certain to back fire.

I can already see it now. There is this drug dealer named Hector who is bound and determined to one up his competition. He consults marketing advisors. He reads the advertising journals.

Nothing.

But then, what the hell, he watches the news and sees that the State of Georgia is instituting a new Super Drug Dealer tag to those who sell more than 5 ounces of cocaine a day. Well, Hector has his marketing now! He simply markets himself as a Super Drug Dealer, lives on the street credit he’ll get if he gets captured, and basks in the glory of being a Super Criminal at the Super State Prison. The mere mention of his name would draw interest on his bank account.

But that’s not all. Hector wants something a bit dangerous added to his title. So, he buys a grenade launcher to put himself into the category of Super Gun Shooter. But wait, there’s more! If Hector acts now, he can also earn the title of Super Pimp Daddy if he simply adds 5 more whores to his harem.

And if that isn’t enough, the more research Hector does, the more he realizes he could franchise this Super label statewide. He could open a Super Shit Hole Crack House so everyone caught there gets the Super Crackhead conviction. He could open a Super Hector Ho House complete with repeat offenders, labelled Super Ho’s, and then all those Super John’s will certainly flock to his doorstep.

I must be honest with you here.

I’m all for watching Super heroes at the movies but the last thing we need is the government to start enticing people into taking their crime to the next level. If a state government wants more money, then they should become a Super State..a place where they give all the residents their damn Super Tax Money back!


Why I’d Liked to Matrix-Pummel Kirk Cameron

It’s not so much that I didn’t like his little tennie bopper sitcom show, Groin Pains. And it’s not so much that I didn’t consider his cutsie pictures anything but super adorable. I don’t think I’m jealous of Kirk at all either. I am no stranger to the affect he had on women worlwide. Even in the inbred country land of Alabama, up until I was 12, my sister kept one of Dapper Kirk on her wall. Captain Kirk was wearing some kind of hat that looked more like something a Chippendale Dancer would wear than something a 16 year old “you-cannot-have-sex-with-me-cause-I-am-too-young-due-to-state-laws” idolized television star would wear. I endured, and even came to like, the way she would rush outside to turn on the hijacked power so she could get The Kirk-Kid Wonder at night.

I think the day that I suddenly realized I’d like to pummel Kirk Cameron occurred when I was 30 years old. It was during Christmas holidays. I was busy flipping around on cable television looking for something that didn’t have any clothes on, and then….

“All of a sudden,
There rose such a clatter
I dropped my beer
To see what was the matter

There’s old Kirk
On religious TV
Hating the sinners
And loving the screen”

Yeah, I think that was when I started wanting to Matrix-Pummel Kirk Cameron. The day he formed the Did-I-Tell-You-About-Hell Holy Spirit Power Squad and found his way back into my television. I didn’t ask for this! My fanny puckered more as I saw Mr.-I-Don’t-Diet-Cause-I-Stay-A-Constant-150-Pounds-For-Life go toe-to-toe with a man the size of 5 Russian gymnasts on the streets of New Orleans over is it a sin to look at a woman.

Lucky for that man, he was born