I have both delightful and disturbing news to share. And while under most circumstances I would now introduce two distinctly separate conjectures, such as (if I was Maury Povich), "You ARE the father!" (Delightful!) "Of over 100 babies!" (Disturbing!) But as it turns out, one sentence shall suffice to say both in this case: I actually went ahead and got a job at the sex shop. (See? That's both delightful and disturbing!)
This news is delightful because I can now tell you stories that begin with, "Where the anal plugs at?" and also quite disturbing because I can now tell you stories that begin with "Where the anal plugs at?" However, always thinking about my money, I won't be revealing too much about my new job here because 1) I don't want to get fired again, and, more importantly, 2) I can probably get paid for some of these stories. I've been waiting to sell out for YEARS.
But just because I'm not going to go into detail about the who, what and when's of my new employment (I don't really ever want to think too much about the where's and the why's...), doesn't mean this blog will continue to suffer from lack of worthwhile reading material. Or wait...maybe that's exactly what it means. But just think about how awesome my eventual book will be! "The Devil Wears a Strap-On" will surely top the bestseller list.
In the meantime, I've found some things on the Inturbonet that aren't as worthless as this blog currently seems to be, and because I'm a linguistics nerd, we're going to count them down in good old-fashioned Old English. (Ironically, I'm also enjoying an OE malt beverage as we virtually speak. Actually, that's not really so much ironic over here as it is simply expected. And yes, I have yet to put on pants this morning, as well. My helper tortoise Vladimir still hasn't returned, though, so at least I have a good excuse. All those zippers and buttons confuse me.) Uh, anyway...
An! Speaking of idiots, or more accurately people who probably should've just shopped at the sex shop instead of actually had sex, allow me to introduce my favorite new Web site: Why the F*ck Do You Have a Kid? You're welcome.
Twa! Hey, do you work in an office? If so, I'm actually a bit jealous. Why? Because it's always been a dream of mine to unleash my inner T-Pain and collate at the same time. (And a hearty Ic þancie þe -- that's "Thank you" in Old English -- to one of my favorite DC-based blogs, Manufacturing Rarity, for bringing that clip to my attention.)
Thri! In a non-news story that's been floating all about the Web the last couple of days, it seems MTV's prolific-turned-prosaic crack baby, The Real World, may be coming to DC. All I can say, is that I hope rogue Congressman Norm Coleman gets cast as the bad boy with a sensitive side. SHUT UP! JUST LET A GIRL WITH A DYING OBSESSION DREAM!
Feower! Stephen Colbert = Win! Glenn Beck = Lose.
Fif! Well, this article in New Scientist about how your brain peaks in your early 20s explains a lot. And now I don't feel so bad about having gone from "serious reporter" to "dildo peddler" because, according to science, "The peak of your brain's powers comes at around age 22 and lasts for just half a decade. From there it's downhill all the way." Like I said, it explains a lot. Now, if only I had Vladimir around to change my adult diaper. Hey, blame science!