It’s true and you can see where this is going.

Pretty soon, we declared that we could sense a disturbance in the Ceiling Cat. The Ceiling Cat is with you, always. May the Ceiling Cat guide you. You’ve fallen to the dark side of Ceiling Cat.

And all of this is retarded, but it was hilarious to us. Donna was drinking excessive amounts of hot-buttered rum at the time, which I may or may not have provided for her. I was drinking egg nog without the booze, so I have no excuse.

The egg nog was probably the last time I’ll see egg nog until Christmas, which is why I had to beat that old lady down. I promise, the bruises will fade in a few days. I’m not a total monster.

Devon, upon creating his toon: “Twi’lek, really? A fucking cultural dance? That’s your special power? Fuck you!”

So far I’m fairly impressed, although my toon is still in newbie land, so there’s a lot more to see before I decide whether it’s going to be my new boyfriend. I need to roll a Sith and see what it’s like to be eeeeeevil. In a video game, I mean.

My Jedi Consular is kind of a dick. In one quest, I bust two young lovers for doing what they do. Jedi are not allowed to fraternize. I felt bad for about a minute before I realized two things:

1) This couple is so cutesy they make me want to vomit, and for that they need to be stopped.
2) The last time a Jedi got his groove on, it led to Episodes 1, 2 and 3. The Jedi are right. Love is a threat to galactic peace and should be squashed beneath my cynical boot heels.

Sorry, kids. You’re gonna have to go back to masturbating like the rest of the Jedi.

Maybe I’m more temperamentally suited to Sith. But that can’t be true, because busting those crazy kids is a light-side choice. Maybe the light side of the force is just an asshole, like me.

The Food and Drug Administration is telling Trent Arsenault of California to stop giving his sperm away like it’s a keg party at Delta Tau Chi.

The best part about this whole story is HuffPo’s headline: “Trent Arsenault, Sperm Donor, Gets Cease Order From FDA.”

Like, it wasn’t enough that this story is made of awesome. HuffPo needs to make sure we remember his name, too. It’s like if I said, “David White, Public Masturbator, Does It All For The Kicks.” I picked that name randomly. If your name is David White, my apologies. Unless you masturbate in public. Then I’m totally right about you. And you’re gonna go blind.

Arsenault is giving the sperm to low-income and gay couples, who he says have a harder time getting donations from sperm banks. I gotta side with Trent on this one. He’s not selling it, and if he were, shall we say, making home deliveries, this wouldn’t be a problem at all.

By “making home deliveries,” I mean “sticking his penis into her vagina.” I worried that wasn’t clear.

I have to agree with George Carlin: “Selling is legal. Fucking is legal. Why isn’t selling fucking legal?” Taking it one step further, why isn’t giving away the byproduct of fucking legal?

C’mon, FDA. Give Trent a chance.

Enormous pants bring me and Devon closer together

Well, they ARE my pants. Sort of.

I own these pants now thanks to the Finders Keepers Losers Weepers Law. That law was passed right after the Patriot Act, which is why no one noticed. Really, people, you need to pay more attention to politics if you don’t want to lose your enormous pants.

I don’t know how we got them. They just showed up on our dresser one day. It’s like the crappiest Christmas miracle ever. This is what I get for making Tacky Plastic Jesus date my Barbies when I was 9.

I’m trying to be positive, but I’m not exactly a ray of fucking sunshine, so it’s hard. Like, there are starving kids in Africa who don’t even have pants and would love these. If they had pants, McDonald’s would let them in, and then they could buy Happy Meals and they wouldn’t be starving anymore. These pants could save their lives.

If these were your pants, I’m sorry. They probably got mixed up with my clothes at the Laundromat. I would give them back, but I’m sending them to Africa. It’s the right thing to do.

++++++

This shit’s cool. Trust me:

I don’t even understand this headline, let alone the underlying science
The 7 Dumbest Video Game Inventions That Actually Exist
I link to this because it would have been useful when Devon’s computer sounded like it was          taking off from a tiny runway under his desk

Me: I like this one. It’s nice. Relaxing.
Devon: It would be good for gaming.
Me: Yeah, for the forest scenes. Right before a kobold rapes your face.
Devon: <silence>
Me: You know how it is. You’re just wandering thought the forest, all “la la la la,” and then kobolds come out of nowhere and rape your face. It happens a lot.
Devon: I think you shouldn’t talk anymore.

+++++++

This shit is cool. Trust me:

Nigella Lawson’s amazing tits
This 26-pound party Gummy Bear is totally real
Food porn: Twix cheesecakes 

It’s the euphemism treadmill – where words that had perfectly acceptable meanings become insults, to be replaced by more acceptable words that go on to become insults. Like, “I used to call those retards in the park morons, but I’m more sensitive now and call them ‘imbeciles.’”

Idiot, imbecile and moron morphed into “mentally challenged,” “special” and “exceptional,” which are even now being tossed at that kid in the second grade who never remembers to wipe himself.

For physical disabilities, it was: lame, crippled, handicapped, disabled, physically challenged and now differently abled. “Handi-capable” is still bullshit and don’t let anyone convince you otherwise.

I expect this to go on forever. People will create new phrases and try kill the old ones by making everyone else feel like insensitive neanderthals. (I have no evidence that neanderthals were insensitive. I’m sure they volunteered at no-kill shelters and sent Christmas gifts to poor kids.)

In the interests of navigating a politically correct world, I agree to use whatever the currently acceptable word happens to be. All I ask in return is that once a word has fallen out of polite usage, it be released to the wilderness of impolite usage, where the rest of us can use it to insult the drooling retards in our lives.

+++++

This shit’s cool. Trust me:

Like a Snuggie, but for dorks
Punisher pie 
Why teens are awesome sometimes 

1) Rule 34 is the idea that if you can conceive of it, there’s porn about it.

2) My Little Ponies are the best toy figures ever. Anyone who questions this truth is a stupid poopy head. Also, some people think they’re hawt.

Proceed.

Our friend mentioned she took her daughter to see something called “Freckleface Strawberry,” which is apparently about a girl whose raging insecurity leads her to believe her classmates hate her. After groveling for their acceptance in a vortex of codependent need, she snaps and kills them all with a chainsaw before settling down for some quality time with her XBOX and that kid from “Freckle Juice,” who thinks she’s pretty effing hot.

At least, that’s how it would end if I wrote children’s books. Which is why I’ve been chased out of all the best playgrounds.

And I know what you were thinking, gutter brain. Sheesh. I can’t even run a family blog around here.

Spanking not included

She’d never been able to jump over the child gate we installed by the bedroom door until last night. She finally realized she could get over it if she jumped near the slightly lower edge. Her jumping over might not be so bad if she didn’t do it with claws out, ninja-fucking my face on the way in.

We put up a strip of tape on the door and on the floor where she launches herself, and that seems to have solved the problem for now. But I had another idea.

Devon: What do you want for breakfast?
Me: We could eat Sahrah.
Devon: She’d be kind of stringy.
Me: But it would solve the problem.
Devon: That’s a more permanent solution than I had in mind.
Me: But we’d be able to keep her with us. Forever.
Devon: You’re really disturbing sometimes.