Buff my scrotum: September 2007

Friday, September 28, 2007

My desktop

I've been tagged, courtesy of Chalice...I'm supposed to put up a screen shot of my desktop. Here it is; you can get a more detailed view if you click on it...Fly Porn!

Amazing Japanese comics

What to make of Japanese comics? They're sure...different...from what I read when I was a lad. Take a look here; I particularly am taken with the "I like you...come over to my house and fuck my sister." That just says it all:

Thursday, September 27, 2007

Sometimes this drivel just...writes itself...

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

I am a fat ass pig, fo' sho'

So last night I'm at my favorite bar, drinking as per the norm, when a load of police came in. Maybe 10 of them, all frothing at the mouth. Ready to eat for free and then return to the dangerous streets that make up my hometown.

Well.

Given my DUI predilection, I decide the smart play for me would be to bail on the boys in blue and continue imbibification on the deck, so I proceeded fourth and fifth-with out there. Sat down on a chair. No worries. Then, moved. *Crack* The arm broke. Tried again. And again. And again. Five times, no kidding, five chairs broke under me. People at my table were laughing their asses off.

Now, in fairness, these chairs were the Wal Mart el-cheapio plastic kind (as in, at right) and had been sitting out in the Southern sun for a while. But, truth be told, many many many people had say in them without breaking them. But then along comes obese disgusting Nigel.

I am a fat grotesque piece of shit, for real.

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

Neither snow, nor rain, nor exploding planes....

Monday, September 24, 2007

Public performers can buff my scrotum

So Marcel Marceau is no longer miming. I have this mental image of him in his coffin, trying to use his hands and feet to get out. Alors, pauvre Marcel! Most people hate mimes but I don't give a flying fuck one way or the other. If you want to paint your face and prance around a boardwalk somewhere, I say: you're a dipshit. But I don't dislike you.

Of this ilk (public performers), how about the doofi (from the Latin plural for doofus) who dress up in animal costumes and stand on the side of the road trying to wave you in to the new apartment complex or the new shopping center or the new pizza place? Who the hell would want this job? Me, I think it's the teenage kids of whoever owns the apartment complex or the shopping center or the pizza place and they get roped into this without any say in the matter.

Mom and dad are just....assholes, I say. Assholes!

Saturday, September 22, 2007

Casting for porn, weatherman edition

This guy's trying to make a point about his obviously gigantic John Thomas. Undoubtedly Jenna Jameson will be calling him soon.

Friday, September 21, 2007

Public crapping at the chili cookoff--AGAIN!

Once again into the breach: next weekend is the 2nd annual edition of Nigel trying not to have to take a shit at the goddamm chili cookoff. How did I get roped into this again? Re-live last year's glory here with the hilarious conclusion to our story here...

See, I'm scared of public porta-potties. There, the truth is out. And there's nothing but public porta-potties at this charming event. And I'm supposed to fucking camp out (another nightmare for me: it's out-goddamm-doors!) overnight the night before and then get up bright and early and begin cooking chili. And basically, doing whatever I can to stave off the inevitable intestinal rumbling that occurs over the course of any day.

I want desperately to avoid backing the big brown Caddy out of the garage. Not interested in bombing the porcelain sea. Say no to hanging a rat. Or, taking a Ron Paul. Nor do I want to upgrade my Thetan level...(hey, I pissed of Moslems in the last post; now I'm going for the Scientologists....)

Thursday, September 20, 2007

Skinny dipping in Iran

Him: Ooh, baby, I can feel your chador!
Her: Oh, Sadegh! I am practicing hijab but underneath I am naked!
Him: Let us have unclothed shura! Make me hot...call me a 'Zionist infidel'.
Her: Zionist infidel, zionist infidel, my zionist infidel!
Him: Let's play 'Imam stones the cursed woman'! I get to be the Imam!
Her: And I am cursed and filthy for you, Sadegh.
Him: Oh! I am coming to the Hajj! I am coming to the Hajj!

THE END. A QUINN MARTIN PRODUCTION

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

Please take my poll...

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

New National Archives discovery

They just found this in some file at the National Archives. Amazing, eh?

Monday, September 17, 2007

An homage to Monday

With apologies to William Wordsworth, that phlegmatic drunken sot, here's my Monday morning back to work little ditty. Let's join hands and sing it together, shall we ? (To the tune of "I've got a loverly bunch of coconuts.")

Another week to work I shlep,
Another week of body prep.
Fix and primp the ones who've died,
While breathing in formaldehyde.

I put them in their coffin clothes,
While vaseline's stuck up my nose.
Their lips are sewn up tight you see,
Which means they cannot talk to me.

I like that part the most, it's true,
No nagging, whining, "hey screw you!"
There are some times it's not much fun,
And that's when Nigel's demons come.

But when I get depressed I think,
Fuck it all, let's have a drink.

Saturday, September 15, 2007

Side by side ad placement mistake....

Sometimes this drivel just... produces itself.

Thursday, September 13, 2007

Funeral home telecommuting

You know what blows dead hippos about working in the funeral industry? Goddamm telecommuting is just about impossible.

Our home's director, Weston Wiges, fits every stereotype of a Funeral Director you could imagine. He looks like Lurch from the Addams Family. He rarely smiles. He doesn't like music. He's married but has no children (probably because sex is too much fun, ergo he doesn't have it). He's one sad ass mofo is our Mr. Wiges. There he is, right. And you shlubbies wonder why I drink...

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

Beer--it's what's for dinner!

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Santa's making his list already!

Me, I'm hard at work Christmas shopping already. Here's what I'll be giving the lovely ladies who work at the funeral home. Perfect for their desktop--and cute, huh? Do you think they'll like it? I just bet they will!

Monday, September 10, 2007

Britney Spears new diet regimen

Saturday, September 08, 2007

Marry our daughter--wtf?

Marry Our Daughter is a website claiming to offer up girls for traditional, arranged marriages. This has to be a joke--dontcha think? According to the site, the 17 year old at left can be had for $19,995! But wait--there's more! If you call within the next 20 minutes, we'll bonus your order! Two daughters for the price of one!

Sheesh.

Friday, September 07, 2007

Helen Thomas, RIP yet?

--Question: Helen Thomas ... is she still alive?
--Answer: Yes!
--Question: Who's to blame?
--Answer: Fast moving doctors.

Goddammit.

Wherein your Nigel learns the TRUTH!

This was my earlier, optimistic yet suspicious report about a visit to my pool by a real live attractive woman in a small bikini. I couldn't figure out why she deigned to grace me with her long-legged presence. So, I was waiting for the other shoe to drop...

Turns out my basic cynical nature was right. I learned last night that this was a setup designed to piss her husband off and get him back on the straight and narrow. Seems what was good for the gander was good for the goose, or something, and I was the pawn in the middle of the whole thing.

Apparently Mr. Dick Hangingoutofhispants was horrified when he learned that his wife had sunk so low as to take up with me (not that she had, mind you--she just wanted him to think that she had). Anyway, he's come to his senses, quit his philandering, they're all reconciled now lovey-dovey, and I'm sitting at home smugly aware of my own stupidity.

What a bunch of 8th grade bullshit. And so now: back to reality for your Nigel.

Thursday, September 06, 2007

For real, on the 101 outside San Francisco

Wednesday, September 05, 2007

Desidero questo nudo: donna toucha da fish!

Luciano Pavarotti è morto, che è molto triste. Desideriamo soltanto il la cosa migliore per lui e la sua famiglia, includendo forse la visione di Monica Bellucci nudo che migliorerà chiunque possibilità di sopravvivenza! Bella!

Lucidi il mio scrotum voi cane dalla donna.

Keith Urban is slow on the uptake

Nicole Kidman, talking about wanting to have a baby with husband Keith Urban:

"I'm yearning to have one," she says. "I think I would be very sad if I wasn't able to have a baby. Keith knows I want one and he has been getting there slowly."

So I'm thinking: what is this "getting there slowly" business? Perhaps this is the root cause of the trouble! Keith should be all over getting there damn quickly and enthusiastically. I mean, if I had Nicole Kidman laying on my bed all naked like, and waiting for me to, um, engage, well, hell. I'd be getting right there really fast. What, does he need a guide or something? One of those wedding night books, perhaps? Maybe a wanker porno film, to help him get in the mood?

I know: how about a surrogate, someone to "stand in" for him? I'll volunteer, if that's what he's needing.

The septic tank guy

Sitting around, waiting for the septic tank guy to show up. Could be something's wrong or then again maybe not--but I don't take any chances with shit, if you know what I mean. Called him up, set the appointment, and he's late.

What a crappy job it must be, being a septic tank guy. Then again, people say that about what I do for a living--I've actually had kids hide behind their parents when I'm introduced to them! Wait--maybe that's because of how frigging ugly I am?

Tuesday, September 04, 2007

So this sales guy walks into a funeral home...

Even I can't believe this. In to work today comes a sales guy from Oxford Coffins, who advertise direct to funeral homes--they have a web site where you can see pictures of the cool, colorful coffins they offer for "specialty cases." Like this, for dead kids, which is beyond even my disgusting and insensitive imagination...I kid you not (no pun intended):

Monday, September 03, 2007

The weekend's not over yet!

With still more debauchery on the schedule, I pause from my imbibing endeavors to wish you all l'chiem and kanpei and cheers and up yer skirt...

Saturday, September 01, 2007

I"m really frinking now. Dringking. Drinking.

A joke whilst recovering from weekend hangover #1

She married and had 13 children. Her husband died. She married again and had 7 more children. Again, her husband died. But, she remarried and this time had 5 more children. The third husband died.

She finally passed away after having 25 children.

Standing before her coffin, the preacher prayed for her. He thanked the Lord for this very loving woman and said, "Lord, they're finally together."

One mourner leaned over and quietly asked her friend, "Do you think he means her first, second or third husband?"

The friend replied, "I think he means her legs."

Thank you, thank you, I'll be here all week. Try the veal. Don't forget to tip your waiters and waitresses.

Light and hearty observations from a fat and ugly guy. Home of hackneyed drivel and ersatz-existentialist effluence. Choleric biliousness a specialty, since 1958.