So I'm packing for my trip to Miami this weekend. One of my best friends is getting married and this is his bachelor party. I've realized a few things:

• I own approximately ZERO outfits that could qualify as what a cursory Google search identifies as "clubbing" clothes. I don't go to clubs, I go to dive bars. When I was a suit, I'd go to a dive bar after work, in my suit. Since I've been unemployed, I go to dive bars in various models and makes of sweatpant/jean combinations. 

I don't even remotely know how to start to look like this.

• Who the Christ buys a shiny ass shirt? Or even worse, those shirts with like a crazy ass dragon all up and down one side of it with just the claw arching over the back or whatever. Ugh.
• I never understood the concept of just going up and being like "I'm grinding on you." I guess I'm too old fashioned. I prefer a lengthy courtship with letters hand-written with a quill pin and lots of pining in an orchard. And I hate that about myself.

Wouldst thou care to dance to this most distinguished Lady Gaga remix?

• My physical fitness is missing.
• My favorite pair of flip flops broke today.
• I am broke today.
• Did I mention I have like, no money? 
• We're going to a casino one night, and I'm in charge of finding an idiot savant to come along with us. I have completely failed in this regard.

If I end up being Zack Galifinakis in this movie just because I have a beard, I'll be pissed.

• I'm dicking around writing a blog post when I need to be finishing packing. 

See you in Miami, bitches!

Gather round children, it's time for a story; or, as I like to call it: story time. Unlike most of Uncle Phildo's stories though, this one is actually true. This is the story of how Uncle Phildo being a total asshole led to two people finding each other and eventually getting married. Because that's what Uncle Phildo does. He's an asshole. And then people get married. And he stays unhappy. Don't grow up, kids.

"And then Somali pirates took over the ark and held all the animals hostage until a UN peacekeeping force brutally murdered the pirates using bullets and ballistic knives."

Pictures really do say more than words...

Of course we missed this.

Copyright for this photo belongs to my ex-wife.

Errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!

In case you've never seen The Mighty Boosh and/or the episode about Old Greg...here ya go. This is what I'm basing my week off of. I'm going to try as hard as I can to embody the spirit and soul of Old Greg. Now where's my tutu?

So I'm taking the opportunity of being unemployed AGAIN to learn myself some French. So I procured a copy of Rosetta Stone for French and I'ma do this shit. As I'm working my way through lesson one, I'm thinking "Wow. This really is intuitive. They have me thinking in French instead of thinking what the picture is in English and then brain-smooshing it into French. Cool!"

But then I noticed something was kind of fishy...what's going on with these pictures? Take the one for "Ils lisent" for example:

And, simply put, I'm in love. (Admittedly, this is a little inside)

HULK SMASH!

I can understand that in some cases, you need the comfort of a sandal and the warmth of socks. Like if you are, I don’t know, at a cold beach. But really…this is just unacceptable.

A friend recently recommended a blog or two to me. 



Wait. Fuck. Let me start over.



Hi. I haven’t posted in awhile. I recently rediscovered this thing called…um…shit…oh! LIFE. Yeah I’d had one on back order for awhile and it finally showed up at the door a few weeks ago. It’s been nice to leave my self-imposed exile, to step out into the bright, wide world and remember what Vitamin D feels like (it feels like the sun, FYI. But not like, burning hot plasma and gas, it feels like the sun on your skin…fuck it, you know what I’m talking about.) and in general, have been living a much more fulfilling life. Hell, I’ve even found it difficult to be as sarcastic as I so desperately enjoy being. 



Those of you who follow me on Twitter (if you don’t, you really should, it’s like…constant orgasms. And a lot of ellipses.) probably noticed things like “camping” and “not on computer” and “sex with forest creatures” show up in my Tweets. You may have even noticed that I haven’t been nearly as sardonic as normal, and this is something I haven’t taken to without noticing. For a long time I have been, in my opinion, defined by two things:

1) My overarching love of commas, parenthetical asides and ellipses.

2) Being a sarcastic man-bitch.



Imagine, if you will, an Adonis-like man standing proudly above the plebeians, bronzed chest glistening with sweat and diet coke…now imagine me. It’s pretty similar, no? Yes. Muscularity notwithstanding, I have had a hard time being less sarcastic and being generally agreeable and positive. Actually, that’s not true. It’s been really easy. Which has been emotionally hard for me. Despite all the challenges I’ve faced as a direct result of my recent possession of the faculties to enjoy my life outside the realm of mocking the internets, I was, on this day, as I write, here in this chair, with commas aplenty, dragged back down into the depths of loathing and abhor-ration.

 Since you're A.D.D. like I am, check this out:

A "gagalogist's" opinion.

You may be familiar with the old adage "curiosity killed the cat." Of course you may not be. If you are not, hello, welcome. This is what we call "earth." We live here.

I've spent the last few days being preposterously sick and under self-imposed house arrest, which in the hands of a more capable man, could have spent learning French, developing a cure for childhood obesity, or rolling massive spliffs and melting into a wall.

Hillary, venez mettre ce contondant dans le vagin!

Instead of doing all these excellently useful things, I've watched way too many quasi-futuristic action-thrillers, downloaded and listened to Ender's Game on audiobook. Let's break this down, shall we? If you said "No, we shan't," then fuck off. This is my blog.

1) Quasi-Futuristic Action-Thrillers:
Here's the list...
The Island
The 6th Day
Minority Report
I, Robot
The Running Man
Robocop
The entirety of the show "Firefly"

2) Ender's Game:
The epitome of sci-fi geekery. Reading Ender's Game is like a right of passage for nerds. I read it as part of required summer reading for seventh grade, because honestly there's enough pre-pubescent angst in it to make any rising middle schooler feel potent. The audiobook features a cast of a handful of voice actors, a few of which are exceptionally annoying but some of which have just...epic voices.

So there's that. But let's get back to the subject at hand, fucking ridiculous cats. We've already covered how I feel about cats and cat ownership - kind of unbelievable that I own one. Also kind of annoying from a cat's perspective to know that he is considered "owned." Frederick Douglass would be pretty pissed off about this whole article, I imagine.

Do you own a cat? Yes? Then you may stop reading. You already know this. Do you not own a cat? Welcome. This is my life.

Nothing is sacred to a cat. Every last atom that makes up the fabric of your world is privy to the imagination and wonderment of your feline friend/enemy. A dangling shoelace, a wiggling toe, a flaccid penis, all these things are as interesting a plaything for a cat as any commercially available toy could ever be. Much like with children or puppies, you learn to "cat-proof" your home. If you ever want your fingernail clippers to be seen again, you find a tight cubby for them to be placed in lest they be molested by your cat. I have learned these lessons. Everything I own finds its way into a drawer or other cat-proof locale to prevent the loss of my multitude of exceptionally valuable small items (read: testicles). Even then, there are few places that are ultimately inaccessible to your cat.

Velocicattor

You see, I've come to find that this sonuvabitch is pretty intelligent. He knows how to shut a door with his head, preventing a canine companion from joining me in the bathroom, for example. He's learned when the best times to capitalize on his curiosity are. For example, this evening I opened the above cabinet to fetch a few slices of bread. I turned my back as I prepared to slather some crunchy peanut butter (I used to be a creamy guy, but I figure if I'm already chewing, why not chew with purpose?) onto the recently acquired bread. Without thinking, I closed the cabinet door and went about making my deliciously simple treat. It wasn't until I got to a particularly annoying segment of Ender's Game that it occurred to me that there was another, more foreign sound making up the cacophony of my evening.

There was a persistent mewing, a thrashing and crashing that sounded like Helen Keller trying to bathe a drunk. As I hesitantly approached the source of the noise, I found a young catling struggling to open a box of Cheez-Its perched on his chest.

Actually, screw off. Nyquil rocks. You suck. Actually you rock. Tell other people that they suck on my behalf. Unless they read me, too. Then tell them you're sorry for saying they suck and kiss their baby. If they don't have a baby, impregnate them or give them the privilege of carrying their spawn within you. Then, when the child is born, kiss it. Now we're even. You're welcome.

Within 36 hours you shall find that I have posted part two of my ever popular "Things I've Learned From Unemployment" series. And by popular I mean...you've read it. And I've read it.

So stop thinking. Seriously. No, seriously. Fuck! What? Stop it! You're going to....oh! And there it is. You put your eye out.

Hi everyone,

It's me. I'm here after having a few Jack 'n Cokes and the only thing on TV it seems is the AKC championship. So far it's some dude from Entertainment Tonight...Bob something? And some girl who really shouldn't be wearing a sleeveless dress.

Anyway, I figured this would be exceptionally boring, so for your benefit I'm going to be getting incredibly drunk during the course of the program.

Edit: 8:03 PM / Four Shots - There's some dude that looks like The Rajin' Cajun James Carville saying something about sallow cheeks.

First event is beginning and it's the Toy category! Get out your leotards and strike a pose, 'cause the gay is getting gayer!

Bob-Something said something lame about being a chauvinist because the male dog was wearing a bow. Way to go. Papillon means butterfly. You know what else means butterfly, Bob? Butterfly does.

The Chinese Crested is up. What a fucking ugly dog. Toy Poodle also ugly. What's sad is that the commentators really are proud that they've followed this competition for "years." And the worst thing is they aren't even as drunk as I am.

Edit: 8:08 PM / Five Shots - Bob is going chauvinist again! Ooooh this is so naughty. I'm surprised this isn't rated M for "Making me want to get drunker." Wait, wait...looking at a Maltese and it has THREE bows in its hair, and Bob doesn't say a thing?

The walk-people or whatever you call them are wearing Nazi-like sleeve bands. I'm not sure how I feel about this. Oh who am I kidding, where's Hitler when you need him?

Apparently there are "Junior Handlers" which is code for "slightly less sad than the regular kind." Ooooh a bull dyke! The human kind, not the dog kind.

Edit: 8:15 PM / Five and a Half Shots - This Afrin commercial is racist. Now there's a Tide commercial with some punkass bitch in a yellow shirt. She sucks. Jen with the green shirt in the Comcast commercial sounds extremely annoying - the commercial clearly says she takes an hour to tell a five minute story. I know people like that. And I kill them. Word? Word. RONI DEUTCH SAVED ME $35,000 ON A TAX BAILOUT! THEN SHE ATE OUT MY MOM! AHHHH!

THese are all commericals. I'm going to stop editing here so you can see a nautral digression.

Edit: 8:18 PM / Five and a Half Shots - James Carville lookalike just said something about short tits, I think. Bob Dickface is making everyone run around in dainty little circles and shit is getting real. I fully expect Ethan Hawke to show up somewhere and make a pensive, thinly mustachioed face.

Some chick with unfortunate breasts and far-apart eyes is saying something about Eukaneuba or Blue Danueba or whatever. Oh! Oh! Percy get your ass over here! We're about to start the Non-Sporting Dogs Event Section!! I'm SOOOO EXCITED.

Geico is involved in this shit somehow. Michelle Billings is a judge. Whoever that is. She looks like the Cryptkeeper. Y'know, from the Krypt

We just got an explanation of the word "withers" which is one of my favorite words in the English language. Seriously, say the sentence "This bitch is 26 inches at the withers" and tell me you didn't giggle. Just a little.

Barlkey has an owner with tig 'ol bitties. And bitch needs some de-frizz shampoo. Fuckin' A.

Edit: 8:24 AM / Six Shots - I was watching paint dry on the wall so I missed the last part, but the audience went "OHHH!" like the last dog got called to the principal's office. Hahahahah the dude said "She's a beautiful bitch and a bit of a brat, but she's a great dog." THIS is why I watch dog shows people.

Lhasa Apso is up with some chick that looks like my high school English teacher. Except with less formaldehyde.

This Bob guy is killing me, he's like the Uncle figure I wrote about a while back, the guy from the World Series of Poker.

HOLY CANKLES!!! Jolene Parreira the owner of some small bitch (ha! I can say this and mean it) has ankles like oak trees.

Okay, y'know what? The more I think about it, the more I realize that nobody wins. It's over. The internet is filled to the brim with porn and I'm watching a dog show? With commercials for lawyers wearing cowboy hats? Whatever.

I'm done with this, stop thinking, bitches. Especially at your withers.

OK, listen. We need to talk. So pull up a chair, put some shaving cream on that upper lip so I can laugh at you if I start to feel uncomfortable, and let's do this.