Friday nothing

I got nuthin'!

It's Friday and don't really have anything to say. I guess the streets are safer now that Captain Underpants is in jail. And thank God they sent those three girls who came to school dressed as Captain Underpants home to preserve decency. Except that there really isn't much of it left to preserve, so why bother? And oh my God, Britney is a drug addict who spends every dime as fast as she gets it according to the latest headline! Who knew?

Ellen Degeneris is being blackmailed by animal terrorists. Environmental terrorists are cruising the oceans sinking fishing boats operated by penniless men and then pounding on their chests in pride at having ruined the lives of the poorest of the poor. By the way, the man behind this Sea Shepherd terrorist cell is a millionaire. Couldn't he just send these impoverished fishermen to night school or something to help them find a better life? Why sink them in the middle of the ocean and then leave them to drown while their families starve? This is called social justice, folks. This is how it works.

I'm not reading the news as I write this, by the way. I'm just going from memory. So if every single bit of this is pure bullshit, don't blame me. I'm not the New York Times. If I were, it would still be pure bullshit, but it wouldn't be accidental bullshit.

President Bush apparently made a joke about VP Dick Cheney being Darth Vader. Doesn't that make Bush the Emperor? Is Cheney going to throw Bush over the railing with his one good arm while having a heart attack? Does he get to wear that cool suit? How does Luke Skywalker fit into this whole scenario? Is Condaleeza Rice playing Luke? I'm too disinterested to actually read this story. Someone fill me in. I'm lazy here. Cut me some slack. Do my reading for me.

Steph in Australia has redone her blog with a snappy new template. Her wild and bendy friend, Kylie, has started another new blog and her various profile pictures are cracking me up and giving me a boner all at the same time. I need to move to Australia or California and just sit around watching the hot women walk by. I swear, they don't make ugly in either of those places. It's all kept here in Memphis.

I texted a rich woman in Dallas when I pooped this morning, reminding her that she has to donate money to Susan G. Komen every time I poo. She was thrilled to hear from me and my toilet. So excited, I cannot tell you.

Microsoft says that I should stop in the middle of my squatting at the gym, to help me build even more muscle in my fine, fine ass. I'm thinking this would cause me to shit myself as I tried to regain my momentum from this highly compressed and strained position, what with my butthole being stretched wide open at this point and all. Has anyone actually tried this or did they just write the article and leave it to us to find out the hard way? I'm not shitting in the floor of my gym just to test a Microsoft theory of weightlifting. And what the hell does Microsoft know about weightlifting anyway? Nothing, that's my guess.

The stock market has gone Britney Spears on my ass, making me rich on Wednesday and then taking it all away and then some over the past 2 days. I feel like I should be on medication or something. First it was all "Yay! I've won the lottery!" and then it went straight to "shoot me now! Shoot me now!" This is what happens when friends let friends trade on crack. Everyone knows all those mutual fund managers and hedge fund hippies are drug addicts, you know. They do it all while tripping on acid and meth and shit. That's why it's so hard to predict how the market is going to go, and also why it jumps like Kim Kardashian when she gets a spider down her dress. They've all got the shakes and they're just buying and selling at every little hiccup.

"Oil is up to $95 per barrell! Sell! Sell! I'm out of milk! Buy! Buy! BottleBlonde posted a new blog thing today about farting in the gym! Sell! Sell! No wait, she's hot. Buy! Buy!

Seriously, you have to think like a doper to ride this wave. That's why I only invest while drunk. It works better that way.

OK, well, I don't have anything much else to say. Steph and I are engaged. Kylie is the maid-of-honor, which means she has to hold Steph's ankles up while we shag. And all my Canadian lovers have left me for other girls. It's a wild, wild life.