I Feel Smelly.

We've all had those mornings. The mornings after a long night of blissfully drinking ourselves toward destruction. Well, New Year's Day was one of those mornings.

"I feel smelly."

"You can't feel smelly. You are smelly."

"NO! I FEEL SMELLY."

I have a friend that possesses a degree in English. He calls it his License to Invent Words. I have a degree in Math. So do I have a License to Invent Numbers? Notsomuch. doesn't sound as cool either...

What if I said I can Taste Happiness? (oooo dirty joke potential!) I'd probably go around licking people and things to check if they taste Happy. Wait. I already do that...

Point is, I know what I meant by it. So did he. End of story.


A passage from IT by Stephen King, which I've been reading for about 2 months:
(and i only have about 100 pages left!)

One old campaigner, Egbert Thoroughgood, now ninety-three, told me of taking a slat-thin prostitute in a crib on Baker Street.
"I only realized after I spent m'spunk in her that she was laying in a pool of jizzum maybe an inch deep. Stuff had just about gone to jelly. 'Girl,' I says, 'ain't you never cared for y'self?' She looks down and says, 'I'll put on a new sheet if you want to go again. There's two in the cu-bud down the hall, I think. I knows pretty much what I'm layin in until nine or ten, but by midnight my cunt's so numb it might's well be in Ellsworth.'"

CHARMING that Mr. King is...ICK that picture is fucking creepy!

OH YEAH: Why wasn't I informed about the Bacon of the Month Club?! And this retardedly funny StuffOnMyCat.com? People have too much time on their hands.

mmmm PORK!

NOTE TO SELF: DO NOT talk about blogging to non-bloggers. They just don't get it. (And it makes me feel even nerdy than my math degree, AS IF THAT'S POSSIBLE!)