Apr
Posted on 28th April 2009
I happened upon this magazine at the Portland airport on my way home from the Bridgetown Comedy Festival the other day, which is great for me because I have been trying to figure out how to get “huge freakin’ arms” for some time now. I can’t decide whether I should get the sweet (and also kind of rapey) tattoos before I get all ripped or immediately after. If I ever get early ‘90s hot rod flames and/or rage epilepsy-telegraphing slogans tattooed on my arms, I really want to make it count. I suppose I could get my hair frosted at any point during the getting ripped process though. Maybe I should just get my hair frosted, get ripped, and get sweet tattoos in that order. And then maybe the King of the Douchebags and I can rule the world together! Actually, I bet the guy on the cover of this magazine is really nice and I am being an a-hole. What is wrong with me? Maybe I just need more cardio or something.
In other news, I took this photo out of the plane window on the way back from Portland. I don’t know what mountains these are and I couldn’t tell from the plane whether they were bunny slopes or big mountains where men with ice picks and spikey boots meet their death. Probably somewhere in between I imagine. Either way, I would probably end up dead in these mountains as I am not a very good skier and I have almost no ice pick skills to speak of. Someday, someday. Also, I should probably grow a beard.
And finally, here is a picture of my nephew Eamon’s snake. His name is Snakey, which is either the most genius or laziest name for a snake in the history of snakes that end up living in the bedroom of super cool dudes who still live with their parents. It is my understanding that Snakey is a corn snake. He was really small but I was still pretty sure he wanted nothing more in life than to kill me swiftly and with no remorse (which, historically, is pretty much how snakes do it). That’s just how it goes when you are a crazy motherf@#ker named Snakey I guess.
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