If the Underwear Fits...

Wow, two blog entries in a day.  Is that normal?  Probably not, but who cares?  The last one was an "everyone" entry.  It was about my kid and his awesomeness, suitable for all audiences.  This one, not so much.  I mean, it won't be vulgar (well, not very vulgar) or violent, but I do like the freedom to speak my mind.  So if you're sensitive, you should go play with a puppy now.

Still here?  Good.  You'll be glad you stayed.  First on my agenda is Adam Levine.  That puts me in what, the 98th percentile?  He is going to be in Orlando at the end of the month.  Sigh.  So close, yet so far away.  The concert is already sold out, and I'm broke as a joke, so it doesn't matter anyway.  What I wonder is how many pairs of panties the janitorial staff is going to have to sweep off the stage after the concert.  Why do you do this, ladies who throw panties?  Do you think he's going to pick yours, fall in love and then come find you so you can live happily ever after like some skanky version of Cinderella?  Can you imagine how that door-to-door search would go?  "Um, excuse me miss, but are these your drawers?"  Speaking of Mr. Levine, and I often am, I had a great idea for a birthday party game.  Instead of pinning the tail on the donkey, we could draw the tattoos on Adam Levine.  Heck yes!


And while we're on the subject of gorgeous people, some Colombian model has announced that she thinks eating chicken makes people gay.  I wonder if she also thinks that eating people would result in gay chickens.  Being a supermodel, you would think she would have plenty of gay people around to point out her flawed ideas.

I was thinking the other day that maybe I could prostitute my blog out to Google and let them place ads on my page.  Then I would get some sumpin' sumpin' for all this entertainment I provide.  Turns out, they will not let you do that if you use "excessive profanity."  Really?  Just what do we call excessive?  If I'm talking to my young children colorfully, that's probably excessive.  But say I'm at a sailor convention?  Or Ozzy Osborne's house?  What say you, then Google?  Is the judicious use of the word "fuck" excessive?  

My mom and I were talking about imaginary friends and the fact that my kids have none.  Does this mean they are just that damn well adjusted, or that they lack imagination?  I can't decide, but imagination doesn't seem to be a problem thus far.  (overheard in my kitchen:  No, Jadie!  You're the walrus with a purple skirt!  The villagers are bringing you brocolli!)  But I had an imaginary friend.  He was Mr. Cooey, and he wore a tall top hat, like a way cooler version of the Monopoly guy, no monocle.  One day, though, he went on vacation to the south of France, and he has yet to call or write.  Bastard.  He's probably still out partying with his friends.  Being an only child, you might call that normal, to invent a companion, but my mom had a brother and a sister, and she had, like, 7 imaginary friends who were all named Polly.  She was a Polypollyist.