Reckmonster And Thundercat832– Mooner Sanwich Or Early Death? More Medical Malady

 

So. What a fucking week. Texas governor Rick “Pass the Hatchet, Honey, I’ve Got Some Higher Education To Fix” Perry is doing his best to fulfill campaign promises made in recent elections.

“I promise to do the stupidest shit you ever did see,” were his words. I’m paraphrasing his actual quoted words here. OK, maybe I interpolated a touch as well. But to anybody with a double-digit IQ (that would be the level of intelligence required for entrance at the University of Alabama (Roll Tide)), can decode my meanings.

In support of Little Ricky’s efforts to castrate, hysterectofy and contralto-tize the education out of Texas schools, the Austin Independent School District has decided that the best way to cut some budget fat from their problematic midsection is to fire librarians.

To paraphrase Shakespeare, “The first thing we do let’s fire all the librarians.”

When asked to comment about the plan, married to a former librarian and former president of the United States– an intellectual giant of the Republican party, the right honorable George W. Bush said, “Well..(pause for deep thought and contemplation), who needs all those lie-berryans anyways? Texas school books don’t need no help.”

When George W. was reminded that his wife, Laura, had been a librarian, he commented, “Really?”

Maybe I dreamed the GW Bushkin quote.

But worse than the nasty effects that my state legislature is having on my psyche, my bloggie comment capcha dealie was twisting my shorts so tight I couldn’t feel my balls. My computer guy finally got it fixed, but with MS Vista as my operating system, no fix is easy. Getting a new computer isn’t an option because Vista clings to what weak memories it has tighter than my Gram on a college frat boy that she’s cuffed to the bed.

And you can’t pry a college boy from my Gram’s spiny claws with a tow truck and a backhoe. Been tried.

Anyway, so early this morning I was shaving and I noticed that I needed to tend to the redwood forest that the interior of my nose has become. Actually I should call it the gray wood forest. I’ve got these thick, gray nose hairs that must have come from a wild boar gene sequence hiding in my DNA. Some long recessive trait that decided to come out and fuck with me.

Normally, I pluck or wax unwanted hairs. Like what Ingrid does for my ass shows. Ingrid is an ex-wife and owner of Ingrid’s Hot Wax Emporium. She’s got a place down to south Lamar. She gave me these professional tweezers to use at home to keep things tidy between waxings, so the first time I noticed a coarse gray hair protruding from my nose, I plucked.

Now these nose hairs are something special. Really, I mean it. I clamped the tweezers to the hair at it’s base, and gave it what I felt to be an appropriate tug. Nothing happened except I got a sharp sting in my nose and tears in my eyes. I wiped my eyes so I could see to grip the hair again, and this time…I tugged.

The hair stayed stuck in my nose and the tweezers slipped off. My hand smashed into the mirror and shattered it to bits. That was seven years ago.

Pissed, I went to the garage and grabbed this pair of adjustable needle-nose pliers we use to mend fences. I used the rear view mirror on my 1967 GTO to spot the fucking hair, gripped it in the jaws of the pliers and then jacked the knob down tight.

“This might hurt a little,” I said to myself, out loud. And then I held the pliers in both hands and yanked with all of my might.

I awoke a few hours later, laying on my back in a pool of my own blood. My hands still gripped the pliers tightly, and when I could focus my eyes, I saw that somehow I had managed to pull a balled and burlap tree from my nose.

And every time I took a breath through my nose, I could feel cold air wheezing in my liver. That fucking hair had rooted in my liver.

Plan B has been to use a scissors to trim the little fuckers as close to the skin as I can, and move on.

Anyway, my ADHD has been on the fritz, what with all the politics and bloggie capcha bullshit, and I guess I was a touch distracted. I was wondering what it would feel like to be the creamy Mooner filling in a Reckmonster and Thundercat832 sandwich. I was thinking that between the three of us we hit the gene pool of every continent, and wouldn’t it be fun.

And I clipped the flesh in my nose with the fucking scissors. Made that sound like when you use poultry shears to trim the skin on a duck.

People say that your scalp bleeds the worst of any body part. People who say that shit have never cut the inside of their nose. Or their pecker.

Peckers bleed the worst of anything. There was this one time Mother, she’s my actual mother, zipped my little precious into the rusted zipper of Daddy’s old coveralls. I was three. And I’ll stop there because that story is in the book.

I’ll just say that you’ll see less blood at a chicken fight than what you’ll witness at a pecker cutting.

But interior nose cuts are a good second place. One second I’m thinking how much trouble I’d be in if SAC Ellen knew I was thinking about the texture of the Reckster’s skin, and wondering if the T-cat has big nipples, when… snip!

So, I’ve spent the day with the end of a Tampex stuffed into my nose. I’ve been busy all day and haven’t had time to change it, and now I’m scared to. I just know that my blood has welded the absorbent cotton to the lining of my nose. So I left it in.

Then, a few minutes ago, sitting at our just-finished dinner, Gram looks at my face and says to me, she says, “Oh fer shit sakes, Mooner. Yer gonna get a case of them taxer shit Simmons. Git that cotton out yer nose.”

“Don’t you mean “toxic shock syndrome, Gram?” I had to ask.

“Who gives a shit, Mooner. Sumthins gone a git you sooner er later. Now go blow yer nose and git me a bowl a puddin’.”

I made some butterscotch pudding from scratch. It was good.

So. Now I’m worried I’ll get TSS, but I’m also worried about reopening a nose bleeder. Maybe if I soak it in warm water I can get the Tampex loose enough to remove without tearing the scab.

This is going to be a twelve-packer of Carta Blanca beers night. I better get cracking. Manana, y’all.

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8 Responses to “Reckmonster And Thundercat832– Mooner Sanwich Or Early Death? More Medical Malady”

  1. You pulled a “there’s something about mary” and accidently sewed your junk in your zipper?….wait….wait for it…here it comes…AHAHAHAHAHAHAAHHAHAHAAHAHH! *passes out* Sorry I had to! 😉 Oh, by the way, Me and Reck are gonna sell you on ebay for food stamps and meatloaf! 😉 mmmmm..meaty goodness!

  2. admin says:

    T-cat. Why do I love you when you hurt me so bad? Meatloaf?

  3. squatlo says:

    Mooner, you need to invest in one of those Brookstone yuppie nose hair clipper tools that my wife bought for me! Looks like a little silver bullet pocket rocket you might find in Thundercat’s purse, but it’s actually a miniature chainsaw for nasal brush clearing.
    Works like a charm on old-fart nose hair, take my word for it… One of my kids happened to walk by the bathroom door one morning when I was doing some landscaping and I’m sure the sound of this thing bogging down on the heavier foliage must have resembled the noises their mom’s bedroom made after I left her ass twenty-one years ago… but I can’t tell that story because it’ll end up in your book…

    Why don’t men have vibrating devices that make our tiddly’s wink? We invent all the toys THEY play with, you’d think we’d have found a pecker-poker that slurps and slides like a milking machine vacuum by now… My theory is that we HAVE such devices, but the government has kept them from reaching the public because they know we’ll stop going to work and copulating with women if we can find something that does the same thing without all the headaches and hassles women bring to the party.

    Kind of like cheap fuel for our cars… they’ve got the technology to give us a cost free million miles a gallon car juice, but won’t let it out of the bag because they’d lose too much money if Exxon and BP bit the dust.

    Get the tampon out of your snout before you’re mistaken for something with tusks.

  4. Sy says:

    tampon in the nose… super classy.. you know how to go out in style. :)

    very funny
    -SY

  5. admin says:

    Style is my middle name. Love your site Sy but Vista won’t let me comment. So far I can only post comments with URL. Wahhh.

  6. admin says:

    Squat. Tried one of those mini-weed whacker jobbies. It got my snout stubble rwisted around the blades and before I could stop it– it wound itself up into the sinus cavity under my right eye.

    Streaker Jones is working on that perpetual fuel dealie of yours, more in coming weeks.

    Yea, when I gazed at my naked profile in the mirror, I looked like a bull rhino. Hoo-ya!

  7. I don’t think the Mooner could HANDLE being the filling in the the Reckmonster and T-Cat Sammich. Shit, you’ve had 10 wives, Mooner…you OBVIOUSLY don’t deal well with the double X’s…

    And answer one question: I’m assuming that GRAM has already gone through “the change” – so why the fuck do you have tampons in your crib? I mean, lucky for you that you had one to shove in your schnoz…but what, were they like randomly laying around for “guests” like an extra toothbrush or something? WHOA! Wait…those are SAC Ellen’s tampons, aren’t they?

    Man, you’re gonna be in serious trouble. And just for the record…my skin is quite smooth, I’m sure that T-Cat has big nipples, and we both have big asses. SEE? You are in deep doo-doo! I hear Ray LaMontagne singing, “Trouble…” right now. [No, really, I do – it’s playing on my iPod]

  8. MOONER – your comment section is blowing chunks again! Where is my comment, dammit?!!!

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