Keep Calm and Stroke the Furry Wall


I finally caught “Get Him to the Greek” the other evening (stayed tuned for a review!), and I thought that the scene with Russell Brand having Jonah Hill stroking the furry wall in an effort to keep him calm was absolutely hilarious.  So, when this cropped up on my Facebook wall today I had to repost it here at the Wit!

At the end of “Get Him to the Greek” Russell Brand’s character, Aldous Snow, makes a musical comeback with his hit single, “Furry Walls (Jeffrey).”  Here is the track for your listening pleasure:

My Saint Paddy’s Day Limerick


Alcohol-Enabled Bravado

I’ve never read a limerick that hasn’t been comical or dirty.

I’ll tell you this though: I always write them when I’m a bit flirty.

Always with a bit of liquid courage chuggin’ through my veins.

It makes me feel confident and in control—like I hold the reigns.

In reality all I can sputter to a woman is, “You look real purrty.”

Image

*Update:  This Limerick is now published at Yahoo! Voices, so head on over there to give it a gander and a like!  Thanks for the support!

Liquid Courage Makes Me Right Better


Preface:  In a semi-drunken stupor I decided to plop down and ‘write’.  Now, this can be a very bad combination and one that I have never truly tried before, but the result in my case was a piece that is oddly personal, radically different than my usual style, and very reminiscent of a strung out feline after reading the entirety of Hunter S. Thompson‘s work.  It doesn’t look so hot, he’s deeply philosophical, and your never quite sure where this cat ‘fits’ into it all.

Essentially I wrote a different part of this collection on four separate days, in four separate sittings, with four different brands of liquor.  They all intertwine and one reference usually leads to the other whether it be a pop culture reference or merely a play on words.  Hopefully you’ll enjoy this odd amalgamation of rants as much I did writing them.

Liquid Courage Makes Me Right Better

Suck that reality.  I just surreal lifed your ass, and you didn’t even bat an eye.  Stick that in it your eye like Wesley Snipes after eatin’ a rat burger.  Ever hear of Aldous?  Nah…only Hurley would ever stay fat when Lost.  Apparently he found plenty of burgers on the set till Weezer hit him up for a cover shoot.  Beverly Hills….please…isn’t that where the fuckin’ hillbillies come from, anyhow?  Why’d you want to hit that?  Fake hair, fake tits, fake smile…might as well be Sarah Palin’s hometown.  Fake all over, not worth a dime, and damn sure to either be eaten be a crazed badger contaminated by the oil soaked debt of an Alaskan publicity whore.

Speaking of which where’s that Lohan…trapped in the jaws of another outraged parent?  Cracked and strung out?  Teaching sisters how and what not to be?  What was it Uncle Ben said?  With great power, comes great responsibility.  I’m still confused whether he said that after or before he made his rice bowls, but either way Panda’s up late and he’s got Skinemax.  So sink your teeth into that blood sausage because those fangs ain’t going to retract them fuckin’ selves.  Again, back to tits, may not be fake but they’re still there to tantalize because who else would care besides a True Blood.  Sure beats a Crypt, because that Keeper is an old bastard…and trust me he was dirty.

Not quite as dirty as Pigpen, but damn would he give Charlie a run for his football.  I’d love to fuckin’ Spin this City half past two just to see two men run around lookin’ for the other half.  Speaking of a hard twist I just knocked the “A” outta that Honda bitch and now it’s hung up by a cord.  Still lookin’ better than my Protégé, but that sad bastard got cubed.  Couldn’t afford to raise it the forth, but boy did I try.  Like a bat outta hell I hit that brake like a pair of cubes hittin’ an avenged glass of Bacardi.  Once the sun fell behind those mountains that Friday the liquid courage was repurposed, rebuilt for a proverbial mind fuck.  To forget Sarah Marshall?  Nah, to forget the days’ events.  Who wants to remember, who wants to forget?

Here’s the quick:  those that know nothing…like a group of tea partyers?  To drunk, strung out, and hypocritical to realize that they’re a staggerin’ mob of stupidity all amassed to show the world that Americans are dumbasses.  They’re like a rave gone awry.  A 12-grain not worth the dollar bill used to harvest that crop.  New Zealand is looking more and more promising, but who the fuck wants to voyage to a land filled with Hobbits?  Pete better come out of that Warehouse soon because whose gonna save us now, Sully?  That blue monster sure looks like a certain cookie muncher to me, but who am I to judge?  Oh, wait like most other Americans I’ll take a moment to conserve intelligence and judge that muncher like they do.   Those that enjoy the drapes that match the carpet don’t clean just like a crazed Sheen because truthfully who wants to steam clean that bitch? Certainly not Bert, and certainly not Ernie, because when those two elope all New Yorkers will stand and shout.  That might get the stain out, but Johnson & Johnson might have a Danon Fit.

What’s that old saying?  When life hands you lemons, make lemonade?  Fuck that.  Hand ‘em back ask for limes…better yet squirt that shit in life’s eye, mug ‘em for oranges and make a screwdriver because if you don’t you’re going to get nailed.  Back to the gays…Michael J. Fox better chase that Delorean because once we hit the past we’re going to wish we went Back to the Future.

Ever chase that rabbit down the hole?  I did once and I ended up in snow covered field holding wilted roses asking for a slut that couldn’t give a shit.  Who lusts for a half-way houser?  One who cracks a crooked smile like a vulture defining “muffin top” to an Oxford scholar.  I more respect for a fucking clergymen with paddle. You bet his robes glisten with that off white hue that Ozzies out, “molester!,” because how else could he trick himself into being religious?  Like a doppelganger named Alice looking through the glass just pondering, waiting to mug that one sap that grabs the pamphlet from that tie-wearin’, bicycle ridin’ conversion machine.  Grouped, only to be bussed in n’ out of the residential.  With a chip on their shoulder, and a mission from God they eat up the ignorance like it were salsa.  But, just like a rotten watermelon the salsa’s fake and chunky like the cheese all in a sad, subversive effort to warn the normals that there is something a foot.

Full circle, I wore that white rabbit’s foot like a talisman to ward off evil.  Only Bruce Cambell and Stephen King could write in that chainsaw wieldin’ bastard and make it reach the pop culture warehouse.  Brian better be scribin’ because Peter’s escaped his Warehouse and needs his partner in crime.  Only the Greeks would beat that Griffin till he bleeds.  Fucked and drunk they fondle themselves just reach the present with a legen-wait for it-dary status inscribed upon their medallions and our history books.  Barney would tighten his tie turn around slap the nearest conversion machine, sucker punch the purple creeper who calls himself a dinosaur, and ask Ted to just get married already because his story’s getting’ old…quick.  Bob Sagat better find his career because who’s going to remember a Fullhouse when all of the twin’s poker chips are wrapped up in diet pills and Coke?

Mario’s the only doctor I get my pills from and even his door slide, reads, “plumber.”  No wonder Princess Peach wears that chastity belt…what woman wouldn’t?  He’s a mustachioed plumber with a deep tie to the Catholic church and even his hands are covered in more blood than Bowser’s.  Deep soaked in crimson, he’s pierced the hide of the lizard named Luigi.  Only R.A. Salvatore could write that dragon tale and have it be forgotten in a catalogue of realms.  Once again I’ll strike back like the Empire, and say fuck the hardships, fuck the supposed truths, fuck their way of life.  I’ll fix the corruption, we’ll fix the corruption because I am damn tired of corporations and politicians getting’ their personal fix from my wallet.  They fuckin’ grab for my idea again I’ll let a miscellaneous three letter acronym and their committee sitttin’, foot tappin’ proverts have it like Vader’s wrath on Endor and a force choke to the throat of corruption.  It’s damn hard to spew hate when you can’t breath.

Take a breath, drown in that pool with your sycophantic bitches in tow, because who the hell is going bring that ship back into harbor? To hell with that I say! Purgatory better open their gates because that’s the only group of neutrals that you’ll be able to shift in gear…to twist, to corrupt, into a malleable bastard that knows nothing, but does everything. A back to build a nation upon, a back to break as a greedy, fat cat politician line their clouds and pockets with silver. Better hire a strung out metallurgist because that’s the only way they’ll be able to cook their crack on their silver spoons. Fork it. Spoonin’ is overrated, because sadly enough there’s always a little spoon, and odds are you’ll be it. How’s it feel to be groped and grabbed by a fat fuck filled to his nostrils with caviar? As he cuddles you, robbin’ your pockets while you ‘sleep’ wide eyed and frightened starin’ up at the debt ceiling just hoping it’ll be over soon. Or, give yourself a break and break that fat fuck’s legs. Roll outta that down stuffed bed reach under the frame, grab that four by and end this shit tonight. Screw the second of August, beat that fat fuck to death, roll his fat ass back to China and let them settle their debts with a corpse, and hit the hay; sleep dreamin’ the American dream.

 

Road Trip!


Well, Celeste and I just returned from our friends to the South, with Hanz in tow.  Luckily the Mexican authorities didn’t want to stir up any trouble, so with a couple of Benjamin’s passed their way they were more than willing to hand over Mopey the Ferret without any questions.

Hanz, however, is slightly traumatized by the event and has been particularly solemn the past couple of days.  He just keeps his head hung low, and even the stewardess on the plane couldn’t get him to eat his complementary peanuts.  Any reference to “nuts” just pisses him off even further because it reminds him of Mr. Peanut the Squirrel, which has now become his arch nemesis.  It even states it on his driver’s license that his arch nemesis is Mr. Peanut.  He just has to send in the confirmation, and then they can battle freely in the streets.

I was surprised that the plane ride didn’t make him at least a tad bit happy because how often does Hanz get to wear his flying outfit from his Abercrombie & Fitch days?

Hanz in his Abercrombie & Fitch flight outfit

Anyhow, the only time he has perked up at all is when the in flight film happened to be “Evolution” starring Hanz’s beloved David Duchovny.  I think if he didn’t have David he would be Hanz the Comatose Ferret, instead of Hanz the Mopey Ferret.

Evolution starring David Duchovny

Ultimately, he’s decided to stay at our apartment once again.  I think his trust for us has been rebuilt since we came and rescued him from Mexico.  Also, Malicious Gorilla seems to comfort him.  As quiet as Malicious Gorilla is he seems to make Mopey the Ferret feel very at home.  I find them cuddling quite often when I get up in the night to head to work.

Hanz head is nestled tightly in Malicious the Gorilla’s forearm as he slowly rocks him to sleep.

Malicious the Gorilla and his comforting ways

—————————————————————————————————————————-

I woke up this morning to find Mopey the Ferret and Malicious Gorilla gone!  My ’93 Protégé is missing as well, and the only thing to mark that they had even lived here is the large amount of feces in the closet where Malicious resides and a hastily scrawled note that reads, “Gone to Hollywood to meet David. ~Hanz”

Hollywood

Honestly, the only part that surprises me is that Malicious went with Hanz…hopefully they’re all right, but the hell how am I supposed to get to work now?

My '93 Protege

Betting on the Chihuahua Races


Today, I woke up groggy like most mornings, glanced over at my phone, which glimmered with a picture message icon that had been sent from an unknown number.  I didn’t think much of it at the time and I ended brewing some coffee, placing my annual Chihuahua racing bet for Cinco de Mayo upon Zoomie Schultz, and then started into some much-needed relaxation by slaying Goombas before I decided to check the message.  I couldn’t believe my eyes once I opened the message!  I’d describe the horror to you, but you’ll just have to see what I received in order to believe it.  Here’s the pic I received this morning on my mobile:

Enslaved Ferrets in a Mexican Jail Cell

Apparently, Hanz was in trouble and had sent me a last-ditch message pleading for his safety as well as the safety of others.  Luckily I know a guy, who knows a guy, who also knows a guy, who was able to help me out.  After a lengthy game of phone tag I eventually found out where Hanz and gone and what had happened.

Apparently, he ran off from my parent’s house shortly after a particularly terse argument with my sister Caitlin about how David Duchovny is NOT the greatest actor in the world.  This argument occurred yesterday morning, so he had only been on the prowl for a day or so.  This argument enraged Hanz and he had promptly ferreted off with his duffel bag and Orange Lantern, Lantern in paw to a supposed friend’s house.

Mopey Enraged After his Argument with Caitlin

Apparently while in Arkham he met another inmate who was liked-minded and was released just a tad earlier than Mopey.  His name is Mr. Peanut and he happens to be a crazed, health nut of a squirrel obsessed with ruing the day.

Mopey thought that he could trust Mr. Peanut because of the experience that they shared, but as soon as Mopey entered the squirrel’s abode he was abducted via drop down cage and quickly shipped off to Mexico for several pounds worth of peanuts and a canister of Whey Protein.  Now Mopey is residing in a Mexican prison cell on Cinco de Mayo with other enslaved ferrets that also thought they had made a friend with a macho squirrel named Mr. Peanut.

Mr. Peanut

Normally on Cinco de Mayo Hanz would make his traditional nine layer bean dip, watch and bet on the Chihuahua races at my parent’s house, and get liquored up like he always does.  The most trouble he’d ever cause was maybe peeing in a garden or two before collapsing into a pile clutching his empty box of wine and autographed picture of David.

The Annual Cinco de Mayo Chihuahua races at my parents house!

Mopey doesn’t deserve this!

Nevertheless, as I write this post my girlfriend and I are packing.  We’re going to Mexico, and we’re rescuing Hanz!  And, once we return it will be Mr. Peanut the Squirrel who will rue the day!

I wish we had Seal Team Six...

David Duchovny


Unfortunately, readers, Hanz has moved out.  After being released from Arkham he stayed with us briefly, but as soon as he found out that we were the ones that sent him off to the asylum, after attacking me and the cat in full battle garb, he decided it was time for us to part ways.  He packed up his little Rambo-style duffle bag with his autographed picture of David Duchovny, his jester cap, and his Orange Lantern, Lantern….wait a minute that’s mine Orange Lantern, Lantern!  Little furry bastard!  Argh, never mind, anyways after packing up his belongings he headed on over to my parents place in the Logan District.

Hanz's Autographed Photo of David Duchovny

It has been over a week since that happened and I haven’t heard a peep out of Hanz since.  He hasn’t written me any letters or even been featured on the news calling my name to pay his current bail.  My Mom has called a couple of times and we’ve chatted like always.  Apparently from what she’s told me Hanz has apparently been quite mischievous.  In less than a week he’s shaved their long-haired Daschund, Fuzzy, flooded the basement several times by clogging the drain with said shaved Daschund hair, and devoured entire crock pots of Chicken Ole’ before it ever even hit the dining room table!  He even hotwired a derelict VW Van and took off down the street before colliding into the neighbor’s trampoline kit sending one child careening over the fence.  Luckily no one saw they incident, so it was kept hush, hush and blamed upon the ‘bad’ neighbors of the block.

Fuzzy after her shaving 'incident' with Hanz

And, even after all of this my parents have begrudgingly still accepted to watch after Hanz.  He’s settled down there lately, and now just drinks cases upon cases of Heineken while watching re-runs of the X-Files and longingly staring at his autographed photo of David.

Well, we’ll see how long Hanz will last on Ermina.  I hate to say it, but I miss my Hanz….

Hanz when he posed for Abercrombie and Fitch in '10

The Return of Hanz


Unfortunately I haven’t written about Hanz our ferret in a while; not because I’ve become apathetic on my personal accounts of the dubious adventures of Mopey Ferret and the Malicious Gorilla, but rather because Hanz has simply snapped.

I had just come home from the Safe, thrown my keys onto the counter top (like I always do), and was in the process of grabbing a cup of coconut enriched coffee when I looked up and saw Hanz.

Apparently he had spent the evening drinking again and watching Braveheart over and over, and like all viewers of the movie Braveheart had fallen into a deep semi-drunken coma with his furry little paw still clutching his Bacardi bottle.  When he had awoken he had trashed the apartment, ripping out the closet doors revealing Malicious Gorilla’s domain (in which he peered at me around the corner now), dyed his fur with blue food coloring, and fashioned a rudimentary spear out of my Bushido stick that I keep in our office.

From there he had headed out on the balcony of our apartment covered in blue war paint, frantically hopping about the railing screaming in Gaelic, with his crudely made spear threatening the neighbor’s cat.

I had no idea that he was even outside much less making all that racket!  I couldn’t hear through the sliding glass, but as soon as I saw him I spit out my coffee, and ran for the sliding glass door.  As soon as I opened the door Hanz was on me in flash.  He was biting, gnawing, cursing…I couldn’t help but scream!  All the while the dumbass cat across the way just stared at me as a rabid ferret hopped up on his own imagination and insanity with way to many scenes of Braveheart in his little fuzzy cranium attacked me!  I eventually beat him off of me and trapped him back out on the balcony.

From there he just menacingly staring at me through the glass with his Bushido stick in one clutched paw and his Orange Lantern, lantern in the other.

“Hey, wait a minute that’s my Orange, Lantern, lantern you furry little bastard!”

Anyhow, long story short, I ended up getting a Tetanus shot that day and ultimately submitting Hanz to the Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane.

Today is the big day where I get to pick up Hanz from the Asylum.  Hopefully he’s been rehabilitated (we’ll find out I suppose!).  I know Malicious Gorilla has been missing his regular beatings and I even have to admit that life isn’t the same without my Mopey Ferret.

Crabs


As mopey the ferret sits in the waiting room reading the latest issue of Cosmo waiting to be checked for any sort bacterial leftovers via Barb the Comcast hooker…he thinks to himself…I wonder what the gorilla is doing this lovely Spojakistani afternoon?

Flash forward not in time, but in place to the closet of solitude and the malicious gorilla is thinking to himself…how the fuck do I get out of here!?

As Hanz gets into his hospital gown his hairy yet toned cheeks feel a slight breeze and he instantly starts hoping around in a festive but natural war dance about the hospital room.  The camera attended by the lonely yet curious security guard zooms in on the ferret’s exposed cheeks wondering why he is so lonely and intrigued by a ferret’s buttocks.

My Stoic and Downtrodden Gorilla

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The gorilla sits in silence pondering the many mysteries of life…how did we get here, why are we here, and is there life elsewhere in the universe?

Mopey Ferret Dance in a War Dance

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As the orderly fondles the particulars of the mopey ferret the hospital staff member also wonders why am I touching a ferret?  And, even though I’ve been through numerous medical courses can I contract crabs via prostate exam?

All of these stories are intertwined with one another and their immediate destiny, but whose will be lead the future of the human race to glory?

Find out on our next radio serial…on October 8th!

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Stoic and Downtrodden


I feel as if I’ve let my readers down by not divulging into the complex and sensitive nature of my gorilla’s psyche.

Without the gorilla…there would be no mopey ferret, and without the mopey ferret there would be no gorilla.

Therefore I present to you a small nugget of the intricate nature of the malicious gorilla who has assumed Prince’s neglected symbol.

My Stoic and Downtrodden Gorilla

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