Reasons I’m Going to Hell, and Other Festive Shit

–I have trouble finding things to watch on Netflix, because my attention-span issues mean I flit from input to input like a hummingbird that’s had too much coffee, or else can listen to the same CD in my car for a year, and I don’t want to commit, quite yet, my slavish devotion to one old TV show or another.  So I “lit” on “Alfred Hitchcock Presents” last night and came across this wonderful line from 1955’s “Salvage”: “Sorry, miss, but we don’t serve unescorted ladies at the bar.”  Well, no shit.  What self-respecting woman even goes into a bar?  Next thing you know, they’ll have the right to vote and to write blogs and books and such.  (Hangs head in utter abject sorrow and fearfulness for the future.)

Line from a PBS woodworking show: “I don’t really need to screw the heck out of it.”

Me to the TV:  “Maybe it wants to be screwed the heck out of.”

I sing “Jingle Bell Rock” in fake Japanese.  I don’t know any Japanese other than “Bond-San” and “Domo Arigato, Mr. Roboto,” and “Me love you long time.”  Wait a minute, that was Vietnamese from that one movie, right?  (Insert pathetic attempt at proper apology here.)

Someone mentioned “Full Metal Jacket” I believe, which made me think of marching, singing men.  Of course, any movie makes me think of marching, singing men.  I warm up for singing “Amazing Grace” by singing a few lines of the marching cadence:

“I don’t know but I’ve been told,
Eskimo pussy is mighty cold.
I don’t know but it’s been said,
Russian pussy is mighty red.

I invite you to try it; if you kind of “schmaltz-out” the last line and linger on “red,” you can just naturally flow into “A-ah-ma-zi-hin Grace…”  The bad thing is that I actually respect religious people for this song, though I desecrate it like that.  I suppose one could insert nicer lyrics to the marching cadence in the warm up, but the fact remains that it’s a great warm up for your throat and lungs and tongue and such, for that beautiful song.

I’d do a “VLOG” about this to show you, but, the tech-impaired thing, and the laziness thing, and mainly I won’t do it because the ERs of the world would be overwhelmed with people cramming needles in their ears after it mistakenly went viral.  Why aren’t there more VLOGs, btw?  I’m tech-impaired and don’t have a smart-phone, though I could record a snippet on my video camera and transfer it to the computer, and it sounds like a bunch of work,  but whatsay you do a couple?  I’d like to see what some of y’all sound like.  I’d bet there’s some good crooners and speakers in the bunch.

I want to be blog-famous enough one day that I can get away with just randomly commenting on “blog-friends'” blogs the following: “Oh my gosh, this post was so good it gave me an erection!”  The Bloggess could get away with it.  It would have to have standards; I mean, someone would write a blogpost about abuse, or their kids–those would be off-limits–though your mothers, as always, would be fair game.  If the tone of the commented-upon post was silly/off-color/humorous then no explanation would be needed, but if it was just a straight-up observational post, then I’d have to add the disclaimer, as in “This post was so great it gave me an erection (in a manner that is totally non-threatening and non-creepy to you, that is).”

I call the “master bedroom” and “master bathroom” in any house the “masturbatin’ bedroom” and “masturbatin’ bathroom”.

I want to plunk down, with my food, at a common table in a cafeteria sometime and ask whoever’s there, “Do you mind if I sit next to you and masticate?”

I left work early, finished what little XMas shopping I had,  the postal service came through with Warrior Cat Manga for the princess and some books and Labour of Love for me, I ate some pumpkin pie and finally broke out the Martina Christmas album and UB40, as well as the boxed wine (“Cardboardeaux,” as the fabulous H. E. Ellis calls it.)  Does the fact that I like the pink Franzia more than the red make me gay?  No, jerking off to Barry Manilow pics would though.

The holidays are fucking brutal for some of us, but children and the general squirreliness of people and the feeling that we’re all on the lifeboat together waiting to finally see land or a ship on December 26th or so (or maybe the sinking of some in-laws’ car in a frozen pond as they drive away), plus one’s favorite holiday songs, plus the Cardboardeaux, and the pie, hell’s to the yes on the damn pie!, makes it okay.

Oh, Godd-Dammmm-Itttt, Barrry!!!!  🙂  🙂  🙂 🙂

“It’s so hard to find a personality, with charms like yours for me:”

Everyone has their favorite Christmas music.  I like Martina McBride the most of any one singer, and about 4 of her songs really well.  I intend to put up a live version of “Do You Hear What I Hear” here, yes here:

Happy Mid-Winter Gift-Giving Time to all.  And for actually for real, peace on Earth for a fucking change.

 

 

 

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6 Responses to Reasons I’m Going to Hell, and Other Festive Shit

  1. ksbeth says:

    thanks for the cookies with sprinkles and all kinds of little bites – enjoyed peeking inside your head a bit )

  2. Kevin says:

    You will be going to hell but it will be a fun ride. Pretty sweet blog post….and I always thought box wine was just Adult Juice Boxes.

  3. Gregoryno6 says:

    This year I’m going non-traditional with my comment. Non-traditional for me, anyhow.

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