It is I, Mac from the currently ruined shambles of pesky’apostrophe. I have been given the keys to the House o’ Elisson. Silly monkey.
I am currently ready to go stark raving mad from the hijinks going on at the server on which I am hosted. Two-ish days of intermittent service followed by a day of no service followed by half a day of service followed by what I hope is a temporary period of no service at all. Bitches, I’m fragile, dammit! I’m sure by the way I’m perched at my office chair hyperventilating you can tell that I’m a delicate giver goddess whose tender feelings can only take so much jerking around.
Now, combined with the fact that we may or may not get eight inches of snow tomorrow...well...I’m done in. I’m two seconds from walking over to the local news station and choking the life out of our weather person. Amy Freeze. Sure, her name is really Amy Freeze. And my name is Mac Imaboutagonuts.
Eh.
So now that that’s out of my system, who is watching the awards tonight? I’ll admit, I’m watching. I don’t give a rat’s ass about who wins. Mostly, Mr. Fish and I will be playing our usual awards game of ‘Spot the Botox’ed Forehead’ and I will be providing the snarky fashion police commentary.
I tried watching Star Jones and Kathy Whatsherface on the red carpet during the last awards show, but Star Jones makes me want to reach through the television and play ‘whack a big ass head’ and that Kathy chick is the least funny person I can think of. They were enough to make me miss Joan Rivers, and I hate Joan Rivers.
It occurs to me that it sounds like I hate everyone. Well...maybe today I do. Not everyone. Just people who are pissing me off. Which is a lot of people today.
What I’d really like to see for a red carpet commentary team is me, Sylvia Browne [you know, the psychic chick], and Carrot Top. While I admit that I have a slight crush on Carrot Top [dude, shut up! I have a thing for red heads and have you seen him without a shirt on? Damn!], I think he could provide commentary that’s at least as ludicrous as Kathy Whatsherhead and who wouldn’t love to hear Sylvia Browne shout out in her whiskey voice, “Nicole Kidman! Oh honey, your spirit guide tells me that you’re not going to win tonight, but I’m predicting that you and Tom will get back together in 2008. Oh, look out for large bodies of water.” Come on, comedy gold!
What will my role in all this be? I’ll be wearing a silver spangled dress and carrying a triangle. So anytime Sylvia or old Carrot Top let loose with a zing-ah, I’ll push to the front of the camera and ding the triangle to signify that something silly has been said. It’ll be a lot like the Gong Show. I think it would be a hit.
I am currently ready to go stark raving mad from the hijinks going on at the server on which I am hosted. Two-ish days of intermittent service followed by a day of no service followed by half a day of service followed by what I hope is a temporary period of no service at all. Bitches, I’m fragile, dammit! I’m sure by the way I’m perched at my office chair hyperventilating you can tell that I’m a delicate giver goddess whose tender feelings can only take so much jerking around.
Now, combined with the fact that we may or may not get eight inches of snow tomorrow...well...I’m done in. I’m two seconds from walking over to the local news station and choking the life out of our weather person. Amy Freeze. Sure, her name is really Amy Freeze. And my name is Mac Imaboutagonuts.
Eh.
So now that that’s out of my system, who is watching the awards tonight? I’ll admit, I’m watching. I don’t give a rat’s ass about who wins. Mostly, Mr. Fish and I will be playing our usual awards game of ‘Spot the Botox’ed Forehead’ and I will be providing the snarky fashion police commentary.
I tried watching Star Jones and Kathy Whatsherface on the red carpet during the last awards show, but Star Jones makes me want to reach through the television and play ‘whack a big ass head’ and that Kathy chick is the least funny person I can think of. They were enough to make me miss Joan Rivers, and I hate Joan Rivers.
It occurs to me that it sounds like I hate everyone. Well...maybe today I do. Not everyone. Just people who are pissing me off. Which is a lot of people today.
What I’d really like to see for a red carpet commentary team is me, Sylvia Browne [you know, the psychic chick], and Carrot Top. While I admit that I have a slight crush on Carrot Top [dude, shut up! I have a thing for red heads and have you seen him without a shirt on? Damn!], I think he could provide commentary that’s at least as ludicrous as Kathy Whatsherhead and who wouldn’t love to hear Sylvia Browne shout out in her whiskey voice, “Nicole Kidman! Oh honey, your spirit guide tells me that you’re not going to win tonight, but I’m predicting that you and Tom will get back together in 2008. Oh, look out for large bodies of water.” Come on, comedy gold!
What will my role in all this be? I’ll be wearing a silver spangled dress and carrying a triangle. So anytime Sylvia or old Carrot Top let loose with a zing-ah, I’ll push to the front of the camera and ding the triangle to signify that something silly has been said. It’ll be a lot like the Gong Show. I think it would be a hit.
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