Tuesday, March 29, 2005

On the road....

Am currently enjoying the, er...aroma...of charming and bustling Tulsa Oklahoma. At left, the mayor of Tulsa, posing with 4 contented farmer-fans. Yes, Tulsa. Birthplace of whooping cough. Where driving cattle means you get behind the cow and do the predictable thing. Mmmmmmm....Tulsa. Where the sky doesn't end, mother earth she be flat, and living here means never having to hock up a loogie with embarrassment. Living on....Tulsa time. Tulsa. Where even the toilet paper is, um, oily (actually, it kinda feels nice, in a weird sort of I'm-in-jail way).

Next, and goodness knows I can't wait, comes Joplin Missouri. It's just up the road a piece, but a whole 'nuther world away. So they say. Here's their tourist department phrase: "Joplin. Please wave from the interstate as you RV your way to Branson, fat-asses".

Enough, now, about Joplin. Please, for the love of all that's good and gracious.

Tulsa has this big statue of some oil guy, standing tall by his derrick, drill in hand and ready to fill 'er up with premium high octane, baby. This is their main tourist attraction. People come from blocks around to see it. After that, there's Oral Roberts University. I don't quite GET why that school has a hospital, given ol' Oral's ability to frigging cure cancer and heart disease and even whooping cough (did I tell you that it was invented here?). After Oral Roberts comes the--well, the prairie, I guess. And what a peach of a prairie it is. Pretty prairie, primarily populated with loads of millionaire Tonto-types feeding at the reservation casino trough. "Texas high-hold four square shit roll blind bluff smegmatic douche-bag urinary tract infection slam-down" appears to be the name of the new kind of poker they're playing these days at the casino. "Please wave from the interstate as you RV your way through here and then on to Joplin before you go to Branson, fat-asses"--this was the ad I heard on the radio for the casino. It appears that their marketing director has some kind of connection to Joplin's tourist board.

Well, it's off to wallow in Okie orneriness. They'll KICK YOUR ASS if you look at them the wrong way. Gotcha chaw, gotcha ugly womens, gotcha deads--we're ready to PARTY! Yee-haw....and buff my scrotum while you're at it.

posted by Nigel St.John Regina Smegmatica Howle-Raines @ 11:25 PM 4 comments

Monday, March 21, 2005

Where the flaming hell have I been?

Busy.

With my head up my arse.

Who cares? So what? I'm the only one reading this crap--though it's a lot cheaper than a bloody psychiatrist.

But it occurs to me--asking where I've been is a lot like my second ex-wife commenting on how much better I look with longer hair, instead of the pretending-to-be-bald-shaving-my-head look I currently employ, just 'cause it's fashionable (and the chicks dig it, so I'm told--by friends who actually have one or two. I'm so hep, happening, and now).

Who cares where I've been? And who cares what she has to say about what would make me (with a face like a pail full of writhing maggots) more "attractive". She, now, wants to weigh in?. Really, "honey"?

Want my opinion on how you'd look better? I can think of three ways:

  • In a McDonald's uniform, behind the cash register...
  • Behind the cash register at Wal Mart, with one of those little blue badges...
  • Come to think of it...behind the cash register, any good godamn where.

Get a frigging job, "darling", so I don't have to pay for everything, always, non-stop, endlessly.

Oh, and even though it's been about 10 years: buff my scrotum.

posted by Nigel St.John Regina Smegmatica Howle-Raines @ 5:07 AM 1 comments