So, Matthew Mcconaughey was letting my Ladyfriend use his upstairs bathroom, and as I wandered around his house, which doubled as an after-hours hillbilly sex-club, I started to notice all the dismembered body parts that he'd set-up in strange and horrendous tableaus all over his basement, which of course meant that we had to fend off his inbred clan's advances, and we'd barely escaped with our lives when the zombie apocalypse happened, and we watched a group of Tibetan monks sit stoically on the highway as they were devoured by the undead.
That's when the Ladyfriend woke me up by tickling my feet, which really isn't as funny as everyone thinks, as it leaves one incapacitated and as helpless as a newborn kitten, but hey, if you guys are having fun, who am I to complain, even though I cooked up all that bacon for you and sat through two episodes of Kenny Vs. Spenny, or as I like to call it, Unlikeable Asshole Vs. Even-less-likeable Asshole.
Also: this picture freaks the hell outta me, which is probably why the Ladyfriend has it as her desktop picture now.
That's my weekend so far: Torture-porn dreams and unwatchable television and grease. If yours has come even close to being as disturbing, I will buy you a pie. Now I must go find pictures of fat squirrels to make the Ladyfriend happy and not eat my head.
(Next time I post I will have more music as I have discovered SO MANY NEW SONGS!!! I promise.)
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