Of Mr. Pig and Snapping...

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Looks like you've gotten up to some naughty snapping, Mr. Pig. Oh dear... We all know what the black one means!

Of Mr. Pig and Sins of the Flesh

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It seems that Percival Pig is also somewhat given to the vice of lechery. Looks like another hearty round of penicillin for you, Mr. Pig.

Of Percival Pig on the Red Carpet...

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Oh Mr. Pig. Looks like you've gone and made a proper ninny of yourself again. Too much blow -- That's your problem!

Of Mr. Pig

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This is going to be a new feature of my blog. I call it Percival Pig Caught in Compromizing Situations. Oh, Mr. Pig. What shenanigans for a proper British bloke. Look what we've caught you buying! Back to the Haberdasher's shop with you!

Expect to catch Percival in all kinds of embarassing acts.

Of iSluts and other cool gadgets...

Quick question – Has the word “i” lost ALL meaning?

Okay – so it never was a word, but the latest tech trend has been to treat the letter “i” as a valid prefix. You know, like iPod, iRiver, iMac, or iChat. Obviously, Apple is a repeat offender here, but they can be forgiven on the grounds that they originated the idea, and their products are relevant enough to justify the odd grammatical faux pas.

Interesting trivia: The “i” in iMac, was originally intended to describe the intended purpose of the first iMac, which was that of being primarily an (i)nternet computer. Times have changed. Now the little “i” has become ubiquitous with anything even remotely technological in nature, and rarely, if ever, has to do with the internet any more. You can stick it anywhere – Go ahead – Be creative. iSlut*, iFork, iRifle… Anything goes!

Apparently, sticking the diminutive letter in front of your product’s name makes your wares look “hip” and well engineered– like an iPod. Or it could have the complete opposite effect, asshole.

I don’t know about you guys, but when I see a translucent blue cordless phone called the iTalk, I experience roughly the same emotions as those elicited by hearing my mother freestyle rap about saying “No” to “the drugs”.


*(You may be wondering what an iSlut is, so FYI, It’s kind of like a regular slut, only it has a bigger ass, and it carries a sweet cell phone. Plus it has a nifty “i” in its name.)

Of Terrorizing Budgie University...

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Okay, that's it - I'm not longer welcome at the pet store.

I had a nap tonight. Woke up groggy. Forgot to take out my contact lenses during the nap. Couldn't see shit. Decided to go shopping with Pat.

So after a few pit-stops, we end up at the frickin' pet store. I'm still half asleep from my nap, and whilst navigating a veritable obstacle course of animal habitats, I run head-on into a cage, atop which is perched a massive grey fucktard of a cockatoo or something... THUD! All hell ensues.

Needless to say, the bird took a shit-fit and went flying half-way across the store, and in doing so, scared the living bejeezus out of everyone in the vicinity. Even worse, however, was the panic and disorder that erupted at nearby Budgie University. There were pastel feathers everywhere, and franky, I don't think one of those budgies can be sold as a pet any more.

Wanna know the funny part? I was completely oblivious to all this as it was going on, and while terror reigned in Ugly Bird County, I was groggily checking out the poorly bred puppies.

As we left the store about 20 minutes later, staff members were still frantically trying to calm the Cockatoo, whose gaze was securely fixed on me, and who fought with handlers as they tried to return him to his perch.

You're welcome...

Of coming clean...

I was going to tell everyone back when it happened, but a lot of people made a huge deal out of it, so I clammed up.

And it’s not like much damage was done – nothing a couple days of cleaning couldn’t fix. I’ll admit, there was a lot of shit, and a lot of stuff got destroyed, but I was a stupid kid at the time, and I had no idea what I was doing.

So here it goes… after all these years, I’m finally ready to admit it… I let the dogs out.

I was walking by a local kennel, and couldn’t help but feel sorry for the furry little prisoners inside. I’m a pretty compassionate person, and I had consumed a relatively large amount of mushrooms 30 minutes prior, so everything seemed more urgent, unjust, and fluorescent. Plus, the head dog (A Chihuahua) promised to grant me 3 wishes if I let them go. Not something that happens every day, and not an offer I was willing to pass up.

So I did it. I pulled the latch and all hell broke loose. You saw the music video. The dogs caused widespread destruction and many small children were mauled. I know what you’re thinking, but please don’t blame me. I was as much a victim in all of this as those unfortunate children. I was never granted ONE single wish, and from what I understand, the magical Chihuahua was never seen again.

If you can read this, Mr. Chihuahua, I just want you to know how deeply it hurt when you lied, and used me as a pawn in your plan for wreaking mass hysteria. You are a liar, sir, and you took advantage of my innocence. I was even going to wish for world peace.

So now you know who it was. It was me, and I’m sorry. Jesus has forgiven me, and I hope you can too.

Of Bitches in SUVs...

This post is meant for the bitch driving the SUV, who cut me off today, and then gave me the finger like I did something wrong. Bitch.

Okay, so maybe I was driving a little slow, but I was simply observing road conditions – not the girl who was bent over, tying her shoelaces on the sidewalk (cause I know that’s what you thought).

I understand that your time is valuable, asshole, but so is mine. Don’t cut me off like you have more important things to do than me. So maybe I was going to the store to buy a Hustler and some Twizzlers, but you didn’t know that. You’re not omniscient.

And don’t look all satisfied with yourself because you think you hurt my feelings by flipping me off. You were the third person to give me the finger today, and one guy was so pissed off I could hear him yelling that I was a piece of shit, through his closed car window, about 10 feet away! I deserved that though, cause I threw a handful of pennies at his car on purpose, and for no particular reason. I’ll admit when I’m in the wrong.

Anyway, next time I see you driving, I’m going to give YOU the finger, and see how YOU like it. Not very much, I hope. Not very much at all! Plus, I’ve still got a shit-load of pennies in my cup holder.

Of Mullets...

Lately, there’s been a lot of hating on the mullet, and I find this thoroughly disappointing. There are entire websites devoted to hunting, rating, and generally dissing the haircut, and I think the reason for this backlash is sheer ignorance.

For starters, the mullet, or schlong (as it is sometimes called) has a noble heritage, and is considered to be beautiful in some cultures (namely, the Southern United Sates).

If you ask me, and most people do – The mullet originated out of American ingenuity when Southerners realized they could keep the top of their heads cool while protecting their necks (which are already prone to redness) from the blistering sun. They’re also pretty unique in that the mullet-wearer can maintain their serious and formal look up front, while the back of his or her head parties like its 1989.

Admit it. You criticize mullets because you’re insecure. You can’t handle the mullet – The “who gives a fuck” aura, the overpowering masculinity and the endless functionality. You want one, but you know you’re not man enough have one… so you laugh, and jeer, and make stupid websites devoted to ridiculing that which you can never have, pussy.

I respect the mullet – I’m not man enough to wear a schlong and I know it. I’ve come to live with that depressing fact, and feel ashamed to confess it. I die a little inside each and every time my barber asks me how long I want it in the back, and like the coward I am, I say “short”. You know where I’m coming from.

I see better men than you and I walking down the street, sporting sweet-ass mullets, and I respect them for their valor. They are living the life we all want to live – out there, every day on the front lines.

So, don’t hate. The mullet WILL rise again, and there will come a time when those with mullets walk around with camera phones, hoping to catch a shot of some sick fucker with a brush cut. Will it be you?

What's up with the name?

Some of you may be wondering why my blog is named "I wasn't a Mouseketeer". Well, I'll give you a little insight.

For a period of time, it seemed like every new celebrity had had some affiliation with Disney's The New Mickey Mouse Club, and the popular media felt obligated to beat this like a dead horse.

Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, Justin Timberlake, that guy who dated Tara Reid, dude from The Notebook -- they were all on The Mickey Mouse Club, and we know that. We don't need to be reminded every time one of them takes a shit, that they sang and danced on a crappy kid's show in the early 90's. In fact, anyone who isn't already well-aware that Britney Spears was a Mouseketeer must be deaf, blind, lacking hands, and a little retarded.

This was the inspiration for the title of my blog -- the countless hours that have been stolen from my life because some idiot thought I needed to see a clip of Justin Timberlake with feathered bangs.

Following this example, I want everyone to be aware that I WASN’T A MOUSEKETEER! Every time someone stumbles upon my blog, I want them to be very aware of the fact that I was NEVER on The Mickey Mouse Club, and if, by some divine justice, I ever become famous, I want it in my contract that each time my name is publicly uttered, it will be followed by “not a former Mouseketeer”.

I’ll remind you again in 10 minutes.