BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

It’s true. I’m short. Even shorter when my wife wears heels, but that’s a different story…

I’m in the running for a “Shorty Award” – Sort of a big deal, most interesting folks on twitter type of thing. Not just some silly graphic for your blog, either. This is an actual, engraved, lucite statue sort of thing with the fail whale on it and everything. Presented in New York of all places. I actually hate New York. Well, maybe hate is too strong a word. I don’t like DRIVING in New York. I have stories. They aren’t good. But that’s beside the point.

Thing is, I’m in the running (for the moment) in the Author category. I know I can’t win, because Neil Gaiman is in the running too and he has 1.5 million followers. Well… 1.49999 million followers, because I’m sure as hell not voting for him. Plus, Richard Castle, an author who doesn’t really exist is on there too. However, I really think I should be ahead of the “Horny Housewife” and J. K. “More Money Than God” Rowling.

I mean, come on… I’m interesting, right?

So, if you have an active twitter account, I’d appreciated it if you’d vote for me. I haven’t had an opportunity to wear a tux in a while and I look damn good in one. Just ask my wife…

Follow the link below, and don’t forget to add a “reason” after the “because…” or your vote won’t count.

Thank you. I mean that. Seriously. Why would I lie?

More to come…

(Really. You haven’t heard the end of this…)

Murv

First she steals my heart…

Then she steals my freedom…

Next she steals my French fries… (right off my plate)

And then she steals my virginity… Wait… No… That was already gone.

Thing is, now she’s stealing my schtick.

Yeah, I know, Richard Castle is already doing that, but I can’t say too much about that. Last time I did I pissed off the fan club shill.

But, even with everything else, now E K – Her Supreme Evil Redheaded Goddess Techno MILF – is taking my schtick. No, not that schtick… She got that one even before we were married, and she doesn’t even let me see it, much less play with it anymore.

I’m talking about the part where I’m funny.

Okay, stop laughing, I am too funny.

Seriously. Enough.

All right then… So, there I was, engaged in my morning routine. You know, the one that starts at 5:30 AM where I get the coffee going, then give her Eebilness a back massage, followed by setting out her breakfast stuff, yadda yadda…

And that’s when it happened.

There she was, the Eebil Redhead, standing in the kitchen in her sheer black negligee and stiletto heeled mules, as she does every single morning, looking like she had just stepped out of the pages of a Frederick’s of Hollywood catalog…

Wait… That was while I was still asleep. Let’s fast forward a bit…

There she was, the Eebil Redhead, fiery hair sticking out at all sorts of odd angles, one eye shut, clad in sweats and a fuzzy bathrobe. How’s that for truth in advertising?

Anyway, she was standing at the counter peering into a fresh box of Raisin Bran. If you remember my previous blog entries, you know that E K must have Raisin Bran every morning, otherwise people suffer – namely me. I came around the corner just in time to see her eyeball the contents, then eyeball the bowl she had just filled. She did this a couple of times, then closed the top on the box and began to shake it in a most violent fashion. She bounced it up and down, rattled it, beat it on the counter, slung it around in a circle, then shook it some more.

Then she opened it, eyeballed it, eyeballed the bowl, and then did it all over again.

Unable to take it any longer I asked, “Ummmm… What in the world are you doing?”

“Imma rebbstrupping nabn race pins,” she mumbled. You have to understand, when she’s half asleep she speaks the same language she does when she’s drunk (See: Gimme Mai Shooz…)

“What?” I asked.

“Imma rebbstrupping nabn race pins.”

“What?” I asked again, because that’s what I say when I don’t understand someone. Truth is I’ve been saying that a lot lately.

With an exasperated sigh, she cocked her head, put a hand on her hip, drew in a breath and half yelled, “I’m redistributing the raisins!”

“Oh, okay…” I replied. I stood and watched her in silence for a moment, then asked, “Why?”

She pointed at the bowl and said, “Two scoops in every box and I’ve got one of ’em right here.”

I love you honey. I even obey you and try not to complain too much when you beat me severely, use me as a doormat, and steal my French fries…

But now you’re crossing the line. Observational Satire and the associated witty commentary are MY things. You need to stick with being unbelievably smokin’ hot and incredibly evil. It works for you.

Me, on the other hand, humor is all I’ve got.

More to come…

Murv