Sooooo... the Big I told me that I was using "shot out" incorrectly & that it was supposed to be "shout out." I replied that I knew that, but I liked "shot out" better. The truth is, Big I, I didn't know that. I didn't. I am a big, big idiot - to the point of no return, the neverending story, and hello again. It's like when my sister said the word "khaki" was pronounced "ka-ha-kee" or "lhaso apso" was "la-hasa ap-so" (by the way, my friend from high school - Diggy - used to have a lhaso apso, and for the life of me, I can't remember that damn dog's name, but we'd frolic through the living room together, me and old... mrvmshp. Good friends, me & that dog. What the hell was his name!?! ARGH! I'VE GOT IT! IT WAS HORMEL!). Anyway, I will continue using "shot out" because I feel my idiocy is worth expounding on, although it is disheartening that I am not as ghetto gatsby as I wanted to be.
On that note, I would like to give a shot out to Johan, who not only mentioned me, but also has the cutest damn duck I have ever goddamn motherfucking seen. I curse here because my emotions are overwhelming when it comes to seriously cute little furry fuzzy poopers. Goddamn, that duck is cute. I would like to just roll it up in a burrito and eat it, it's that cute. And I'm that sick.
While I was reading up on Mr. Rogers' untimely death, I saw that the Eagles are having a farewell tour. Didn't that already happen? And how come Poison can't have a farewell tour? I'd like to unskinny bop my ass into a hangover and out of a job, people! That's what being young is all about. You hear me, Poison? DO YOU!?!
I realized that the shirt I ordered yesterday (and the link on yesterday's entry has since changed, I suppose - I don't know) might be a little confusing on top of the 26" chest ordeal. Since the image is a little abstracted, a little distorted, I realized that it looks like me, and so when I wear it, people are going to think that I'm wearing a picture of myself on my chest. My 26" chest. Pfff. And also, the people I know and who know me and may not know me (and I might not even know) will not put this sort of narcissism, this sort of egoiste, past me. This is right up my alley. Everyone is probably expecting me to wear a shirt with myself on it - they'll probably say, "Why haven't you worn a shirt with yourself on it before?" I will not be ashamed when this happens - I will simply correct them. Why yes - yes I have worn a shirt with my beautiful face on it - you never saw it? It was spectacular! More lovely than Audrey Hepburn, more stunning than Grace Kelly... Unfortunately, however, I am wearing Sophie Ellis Bextor's face on my chest today (if it even fits). You were wrong, this is not my fantastic face. It's her's. Now apologize and buy me a martini.
Further shot-out's: Big I - Ladytron is from Liverpool, and they're playing Chicago tomorrow night. Too bad we're not there. But I like Broadcast better anyway.
I hate doughnuts (and why oh why did it become acceptable to spell them "donuts" & why did I succumb to that spelling the first time around?). I hate sweet stuff in the morning, and this morning, it was reiterated by Krispy Kreme's Coffee-filled doughnut (it's under that "special doughnut" box up there). I had my usual Cheerio's, and then came to work, having had the only sweetness of coffee when I had to go into receiving to hand off paperwork. I ran into Larry, a guy that works back there who has the aforementioned sweety-sweet shitass doughnut. I had to try it - never one to not try something new unless it's the anal probe - and now my stomach is trying to push that little bite somewhere - up, down, left, right - am I having the Jesus doughnut? Is this the immaculate conception of breakfast pastries? Have I been so wrong throughout the years, thinking that my stomach could handle anything? Why oh why did I taste the doughnut? I even said, "I don't like doughnuts" and still. STILL! Still I took a bite. Ne'er again shall I eat the forbidden fru-its of the doughnut again! Ne'er!
And with that, I must say that this year, I am trying the McRib, without onions (that McRib site is weird, I apologize. Now get me a martini!). Maybe I'll do that today! One down - two hundred new things to go! But for now, it's my turn to crack perverted jokes with pen-vendors at the bookstore. We just love it when English Lit. professors walk by...