Death in Omaha, Vice President style
I have a new job. And a new girlfriend. Both are amazing to me, and to you, shlubbies, your surprise reaction, especially to the second thing, is noted and appreciated.
To
the job. I now am working with funeral homes across the entire country, including Honolulu. Did you know that when people shuffle off the mortal coil in Hawaii, they have to, by law, freeze their dead asses? Something to do with the oppressive heat. Cuts down on the smell.
So at my job, there's another guy who has a "Vice President" title. He's Vice President of Strategic Planning. Shlubs,
what's strategic about DYING? I wonder. And he's always galivanting off to conventions and meetings. Most recent was the National Association of Funeral Home Directors annual "Biz Dev When You're Dead" convention in Omaha.
Do they have strip clubs in Omaha? I like going to strip clubs when I'm at conventions. But, Omaha? The average strip club there would feature...cattle, naked. Horses, unclothed. Or similar. And what would you talk about? "Hi, Trixie, before you show me your titties, let's be clear about my role here in Omaha today--I'm at the Funeral guy's convention, where we talk about how to make money from dead bodies."
Thoughts, shlubbies?
Fuck the polar bears, and Al Gore
Hello, twat lips and smegma eaters.
Are you cold enough? We're experiencing Al Gore like frigidity here in Atlanta--you know, similar to the kind that Al experiences from Tipper nightly.
It's cold here in Atlanta, due mostly to the fact that it's FUCKING WINTER and despite what the global warming douchebags have to say, the world goes round and round, and to every season there's a something or other, from Deuteronomy, and God isn't kidding, and therefore we're rotating on our axis as expected, ergo comes the cold.
Right?
Polar bears? I say, fuck 'em. Where where they when we were fighting Al Qeuda? Did one polar bear step up and say "no worries, mate, I'll bite the head off the next towelhead I see threatening the United States?" Fuck no. They're such bastards, these polar bears, they can't even live off ice floes. And where were they when Obama delicately and subtly indicated his vague concern about terrorism moving forward? Confused, is where they were.
I say fuck the polar bears.
Attention lesbians who have girlfriends!
Attention lesbos with gfs:
I am not trying to
steal away your girlfriend, who because she's my friend, and you're her love interest--guess what, she happens to be a friend of mine. OK? As in yesterday. I have friends who are lesbian women, and I know their proclivities, and they know mine. They love women. So do I.
I am a lesbian, trapped in a man's body.
Notwithstanding your general hostility, here's a newsflash:
I am a straight man, but that doesn't mean that I'm after your woman, and that's ok, which means you
don't need to be hostile when introduced to me. OK? Mostly, because your taste isn'
t the same as mine: I like lesbians who are HOT in the male-female sense, like maybe a girl who resembles
Marisa Miller (at left...pant, pant, pant). OK? If you introduced me to Marisa Miller and said Hi Nigel, here's my girlfriend Marisa--well, I'd probably be jealous. But if you said Hi Nigel, here's my girlfriend, Marisa, and she looked like "Mark", instead of Marisa--I'd not be, um, interested.
And, btw, honey, here's another newsflash:
I'll go toe-to-toe with you on the ability to satisfy any woman--fingers, tongue, you name it--and
I'll win. So bag your negativity. OK?
You're never too young for a Scientology audit
Here's an
outtake from the Jerry Maguire movie. Note the book Tom Cruise is reading to the kid -- shameless, isn't he, trying to brainwash the child at such an early age?
Yupper, shlubbies, it's me....
Hello mums and dads,
I realize your patience with me is at an end, but
I beg your indulgence, shlubbies, as I endeavor to explain away my absence from el-bloggeroo Buff My Scrotum.
In a nutshell,
I burned out posting stuff. But now think maybe I can gird my loins, and other body parts, to muster up the vim, vigor, verve, vitality, and vodka needed to make it all happen again. At least, for my personal enjoyment. If you find yourself liking the drivel contained herein, well, that's a lovely side benefit.
What have I learned about myself, your loving Nigel, during my Tiger-Woods style "break from golf" (ok, it's not golf, but yiz gets the picture)? Here now, the top 3 personal observations:
- I fart after sex. Actually, during. After many years of conjugal drought, your Nigel re-discovered the "purpose du penis", and lo and behold have actually used the goddamm
tiny, hollow thing occasionally. And, may I report and to your understandable astonishment, no money changed hands! Yes, shlubbies, Nigel found L-o-o-o-o-v-v-v-v-e. Surprised? Me too. But what I learned, much to my horror and my paramour's amusement, is that I let fly with a complete colonic symphony quite quickly post-coitus. Followed shortly by a visit to the bog, when the release of copious amounts of terrifying intestinal sculpture occurs. Embarrassed? Moi? Well, a little. Just a bit. It beings a whole new meaning to post-sex "afterglow" (in my case, my butthole is glowing. Nice.)... 
Fat gets fatter after fifty. According to news reports, I do have feet. I personally must rely on the BBC for this info, 'cause I can't see the fucking things. With this revelation comes some interesting implications i.e., toe-nail clipping is really HARD when you can't a) cross your legs and lift your feet and b) um, well...see your feet. But, lemons into lemonade, my shlubbies: my toes are now registered with the TSA as lethal weapons, and had I been on that Christmas Day Northwest flight with Nigerian Abdullah bin-Sheeathhead Douchebagaarism, I, moi, Nigel would have been the hero who slashed his ass, as opposed to that bloody Dutch guy who couldn't stop saying the word "shit" when CNN interviewed him about the experience.- I'm newly concerned about world hunger, global warming, homelessness, and other shit. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Got ya!
Well, my lovies, I'm back, and will try to post much more regularly in my attempt to offend everyone before I fucking die. See you in the funny papers.
