Scab Friday

I'd like to declare Scab Friday the blog's first tradition. Which means you can start looking forward to next Friday's clots today! I'd like to also include the fresh carnage, so when I'm able, I will also include the newly-oozing wound. Maybe you'll get lucky and I'll do Bonus Tuesday, too, posting pictures of all the common household objects on which I've left pus.

Tubing behind a boat is a stupid thing to do -- your arm muscles are tested to Stretch Armstrong degrees, your sinuses are routed by speedboat wake, and generally you're left floating with a bleeding frontal lobe. There's also the strong possibility you'll endure tube rash, the phenomenon to which this week's scabs give thanks. Let's just say you've never seen so much elbow pus in a sleeping bag. Or have you, Roy Horn?

The original bloodletting:

Doesn't look too bad. But look how shiny!

Here's a picture of this Friday's scabs. For comparison purposes only, I've set them next to my Guinness World Record trophy. All hail:

Home Depot Improv Theatre

My new ideal armpit smell: summer rain. I'm a little over the musty apricot-scented armpits, Tom's. Apricot deodorant? Might as well rub a bowl full of warm Jell-O under there and call it good.

Levi and I were in Home Depot today returning something without a receipt like the homeless guy I once saw in Home Depot trying to return a box of nails without a receipt, only we got store credit and the homeless guy got the boot. Which he took and I'm sure enjoyed since he had no shoes. I'm in the car while Levi picks out a bottle of Raid so later we can play ant Hitler when I get a phone call that he needs more money, so I come back inside where the Home Depot greeter does his job well and says hello, can I help you. I'm usually not jokey with strangers, but I think I tripped a wire at Lake Powell last week, maybe snapped something important in my neck, because A) I currently can't move my head sideways, and B) I said to the greeter, "Can you help me find my husband?" And you know what? Yes he could. "He was over there looking at the pesticides, then I think he went out to the garden area, but I'm pretty sure he came back this way." Meanwhile I'm thinking maybe too many important neck cords were severed and I'm now hallucinating because this guy knows who my husband is and where he's been. We're down a strip of garden metal and a bag of sand, but my mind is totally blown.

And that's not all. While I was walking to meet Levi at the register, I fell in synch with a large, extra tall version of Humpty Dumpty. Levi told me later that together we looked like an example from a beginning Spanish textbook: gordo y flaca. I'm glad that Spanish textbook moment ended when it did because those characters usually end up having lots of inane conversations with one another, and I had no idea where the bathroom was or where he could find a lime.

A Swing and A Miss

Levi and I were driving home tonight and saw this billboard:

Do you first notice the clever motivational slogan? Or do you first notice a little boy missing leg? You first notice a little boy missing a leg. Then your husband says "Looks like he threw cancer a curve ball, then cancer stole a base." Which is not technically possible in the game of baseball unless you assume that the cancer is pretty malignant and has, therefore, pretty much loaded the bags. Then cancer can steal the base that is your fucking leg. But good for that kid for being so positive.

Newsletter

The Olive Garden is simplifying its menu so their food is easier to understand. Which is great except that now 90% of the menu is cheese thing with noodles.

Arnold Schwarzenegger is planning to make an acting comeback. That's right -- Arnold's planning to apologize to Maria.

A new report says the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan will cost the American people $4 trillion. Just think -- with that kind of money we could've proposed to a Kardashian.

Sarah Palin will have to make up her mind pretty soon. Seriously, she's been at Chili's for like three days now and she still doesn't know if she wants the burger or the fajitas.

Jerry Springer dismissed a report that his TV show is offering $1 million to Casey Anthony. They got it all wrong -- it's one million dollars and a folding chair.

An Oregon man urinated into a Portland reservoir, forcing the city to flush eight million gallons of clean drinking water. But I've eaten at Taco Bell, and I can tell you, you'd never notice that amount of urine.

A photograph of Billy the Kid sold for $2.3 million. And that's for a photo of him without the sparkly glove.

The Pope is on Twitter. But he wants to get a little practice in before he tweets a picture of his giant hat to a choirboy.

The first zero-packaging grocery store has opened in Austin, Texas. It's a great idea, but don't expect your Kraft Singles to taste the same without the plastic coating.

The White House will pay $37 million is salaries for 2011. Imagine that -- $37 million and they don't even have a decent short stop.

Rush Limbaugh has launched his own tea beverage. The tea itself isn't remarkable, but the bottles do come with an extremely wide mouth.

Some people are questioning whether parents should lose custody of their obese children. You could lose your kids if you're caught outside making an angel in a mound of Twinkies.

Free Herpes in the Alley

The thrift store is the place you go when you're looking for true vintage, when you want something for less money, or when you want free herpes, which are distributed for free in the alley -- half of free for seniors on Tuesdays. So I went to the Goodwill to find a picture frame because picture frames are always too expensive when purchased new. Plus, when you buy a used frame, there's always a chance you'll find a million dollars or Hitler's retainer when you rip open the paper backing. Let me emphasize the most important bullet point about thrift stores -- the less money bullet point. The thrift store is where people bring their shit. The thrift store sorts through the person's shit, then puts a tiny price tag on the shit in hopes of making a little bit of money off of that shit. And you can't tell me there's a system to the pricing because one wicker spoon cannot be five more dollars' worth of wicker than another wicker spoon. Same with the wicker chairs, wicker baskets, and wicker underpants from the 20's. So when a picture frame in a thrift store has a fifty dollar price tag on it, you know the guy with the far apart eyes who's been put in charge of the price tag machine is hiding behind a pair of Denver Broncos-themed polyester epaulettes while he watches and laughs like Butthead while you find the hilarious price tag on the picture frame you like.

Let me be perfectly clear, thrift stores -- your price tag machine should not have space for more than three numbers. It can be $1.99. It can be $5.99. It can be $9.99, but only if it's something from Michael Jackson's basement. But it cannot be $50.00. Because that price tag will automatically be peeled off and replaced with a real price tag. End of story.

And The Lady Bits Are Okay

Yesterday I went in for the annual lady bits appointment. To make sure that I don't have a third elbow or something growing in the girl cave (already have a number of extra elbows, thanks), and to make sure that I get a renewed prescription for the all-important birth control pills. Because if I want to remain happy, I have to continue getting 8-10 hours of sleep a night and avoid chapped nipples. And if I want to keep getting 8-10 hours of sleep a night and avoid chapped nipples, I have to remain baby-free. And if I want to remain baby-free, I have to let a stranger stick her salad tongs in my snatch. Am I the only one who thinks these things (the pills, maaaaybe the salad tongs) should be in every vending machine? Right next to the Kit Kats and the Nut Rolls. Actually, Nut Rolls shouldn't be in any vending machine. Am I the only one who's been in line behind the food stamp-toting lady whose five kids are picking through the Rolos while the cashier runs like twenty gallons of blue drink over the scanner? I'm trying to decrease the national debt here. So a vending machine full of birth control pills, and another vending machine right next to it full of pamphlets that make the Pope look silly. Not hard to do, people. Multi-packs of Microgestin right up by the registers. They should come in different flavors, different colors. Hell, make them look like Flintstones Vitamins. Stop in the name of a good night's sleep and buttery soft nipples, you silly eggs. The Great Gazoo said so.

Fourth of July Grand Lake Style

We spent the weekend in Grand Lake where, if you hiked up a short trail behind approximately 750 slowish Boy Scouts, you might see Adams Falls. A few years ago some guy pushed his pregnant wife into them. Look at those pretty flowers!

Lolevi tried on some little girl sunglasses. Stylish, but they only have a UV rating of pink pony.

It wouldn't be the fourth of July without a pair of pasty white old guy legs. And a novelty bikini shirt. And a cowboy hat. And cowboy boots. And a bucket full of money to help pay for the aloe later.

I celebrated my independence by totally pitting out my shirt. I'm an American -- I'll fly my B.O. flag if I want.

And later topped off the liberty cake with a high-altitude bloody nose.

Now we're back in the 'hood where it seems a solid twenty square blocks of neighbors have spent this month's unemployment checks on gun powder and war canons. Forget the right to bear arms -- here's to whiskey and earplugs.