I Say Floriduh, You Say Tomahto


So. Call me crazy, but I think the Republican Party’s slate of presidential candidates is funnier than a three-peckered cat at a rocking chair convention. Each rises to the top of the heap as if fired by a rocket ship, then soon explode in a fiery ball of tears and spilled guts—the results of self-inflicted wounding. I can hardly wait for BJ and Squatlo to post the latest videos from J. Stewart and Rachael M. and Colbert. This is seriously funny shit, guys, and we were here to watch it live, and in real time. We’ll look back on these times and say to anyone who’ll listen, “I was there.”

BJ has been posting music videos over to his place at Dumb Perignon aka Un-Original Thoughts, which is available for your viewing pleasure by clinking onto the linkster over there ====}}} to my Bloggie Roller, and at the very top. BJ has great taste in music, and pork products as well, and I find myself downright nostalgic when I visit over to his place.

Squattie, also over there ===}}}, has recently posted some of the sillinesses of Fauxed-up Newbs. The heros at F-uped Newbs have decided that the Muppets are commies and anti-capitalist instigators training our kids to be moronic liberal future voters. To hear the pompous, big-haired Fox announcers speak of this horrible Muppet affair is hilarious. Sad as well, but hilarious.

Which reminds me. I have spent numerous hours over the last week working on the thirty-second video trailer for my book, Full Rising Mooner. And having said that, I find myself reminded that when I went to the Amazon site that sells self-same book, a situation that occurred when I clicked on the linkster over there ===}}} marked “Full Rising Mooner- Amazon Sales Linkster”[,] I discovered that there are six different places to buy my silly fucking book.

At first I was impressed with myself, and quite so. “Look at me,” I said to the Squirt and Yoda, “not only am I a published author but I’m on sale in six different places.”

The two adorable puppies were each perched atop my desk—their standard position when wanting to bug me. Squirt sits and gives me the steely-eyed stare she’s perfected from watching old Oz reruns on HBO, her brown eyes burning holes through my soul. Yoda takes a more direct approach as he romps across the desk, stomping on my keyboard and stuffing his snout into whatever drink I have sitting desk side. They wanted to bug me for their “pick-snack”[,] what they call their before bedtime morsel of food.

“Holy shit,” Squirt exclaimed when I got her eyes diverted to the computer screen. “Someone is charging $47.00 for your silly fucking bibleo!”

She was right. “Anyone willing to pay forty-seven bucks for my shit needs to contact me directly.” If someone makes ridiculous profits from Full Rising Mooner, it should be me. And that reminds that I also saw where there are three books titled “Full Moon Rising” and by three differing writers, all for sale at the same time. That, dear friends, is ridiculous.

We logged off the Amazon sales site and back into the video trailer linkster so I could make final choices and click the “SUBMIT” button. I had to choose photos, short videos, music, and “style” selections from the multiples of each given me by my video team. They did a nice job of choosing choices for me, and the dogs and I did a nice job of selecting final choices.

I love the music we chose and if they will tweak the visuals as we requested, we’ll have us an award-winning thirty seconds of book trailer magic. I’ll post it here as soon as it’s ready.

The weather turned brutally cold while I was in Floriduh, and Yoda fought with Gram about taking his shits outside. Everybody peed in the sink and Gram remembered to flush with adequate frequencies, but the funky-looking bat wing-eared puppy seems to have a strong dislike for standing in icy-wet grass. He left several loads on carpets, and always Navajo carpets.

I’m either worried that Yoda has a Navajo prejudice, or proud of his good taste in woven art. Raising kids is a series of risky decisions and I try to never jump my conclusions and act foolishly. So I scolded him for shitting on his tastefully-chosen spots.

Oh, and get this. I got an email from this fuckball down to Floriduh—some shithead calls himself Gator Bill. Seems Gator Bill takes offense to my calling it like I see it by saying “Floriduh”[.]

To rest my case, please allow me to paste Gator Bill’s literal wording: “You Texas shits think your so fucking smart. If you dont stop calling us DUMB and RIGHT NOW I’m coming to Teaxs to kick You’re ASS!!!! I’ll feed you’re dogs to the gators and fuck you in the eye sockits.”

Hey Billy… Floriduh, Floriduh, Floriduh!!!

Seems Gator boy and I suffer the same needs for editing.

Anyway, I’m headed out to take my collection of animals on a walk. Rush Limbaugh and Rick Perry are both rather pasty-faced from spending so much time in the closet. My pet pig and ostrich need what little sun is peeking from behind the clouds. I’ll likely need to carry Yoda since it’s still cold, and I’ll have to find the fucking cat. Honor left the house early this morning to hunt birds and hasn’t shown herself since.

You should hear the Squirt calling for the cat. “Vinir aqui gato, gato, gato. Kommen hier kitty, kitty, kitty. Come the fuck ici votre asswipe chat!”

Some people say I’m a bad influence on my little dog, what with all of her cussing and rude behavior shit. But I limit her Carta Blanca beer drinking and refuse to buy her cigarettes. In my world, that’s good parenting.

Anyway, manana, y’all, we’re walking.

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12 Responses to “I Say Floriduh, You Say Tomahto”

  1. chrisinphx says:

    Mooner you should be impressed with yourself, I don’t remember the last time I read an asshole internet comment that included a skullfucking. Congrats yo!

    As for Newt, my favorite news blogger joemygod sums him up perfectly:
    Newt Gingrich: The GOP nominee who believes marriage is between one man and one woman. Whom you abandon riddled with cancer on her hospital bed while you fuck the shit out of your next wife whom you later cheat on while screaming with Godly moral outrage about the infidelities of the president.

    And Fuck Rick Perry!

  2. melanie says:

    You are killing me.

    And I can’t wait to see the video.

  3. Squatlo says:

    Don’t be surprised if someone from Florida has problems with contractions… and I’m not talking about labor pains. There are an inordinate number of Duhmasses in that state, and they make sure we’re aware of them whenever we watch their college team play on television. I’ve figured out the Gator Chomp motion they make, tracked it down in a Merck Manual under psychological afflictions: it’s a neurological tic common among the children of parents who were siblings. Explains it all.

    I was going to try to post something snarky about Noot or Frothy Boy Santorum or Field Marshall Romney, but they keep making headlines faster than I can post. It’s like trying to narrate an episode of Seinfeld, you remember a line only long enough to have it eclipsed by an even funnier one.

    When are you gonna tell your loyal readers about you and BJ shivering like wet puppies in my living room because my lovely wife wouldn’t crank up the heat for you hearty men of steel? I seem to remember a lot of bombast and antler rattling the night before when you both went on and on (and on…) about how you loved a cool house, and Squatlo must be a pussy if he wants it warmer, etc. etc… Your readers might find it amusing to hear the song you were singing when frostbite was starting to threaten your toes the next day…

    Damn, I’ve missed this shit. You have to stop travelling and write on your blogger more often.

  4. Squatlo says:

    By the way, your CAPCHA censored the word “pussy” again… and I’m sure I’ll have to type in some code words to post THIS one, too. What the fuck? I can say any word except “pussy”??? What kind of shit is that?

  5. Squatlo says:


  6. admin says:

    Chris. Skull fucking AND an ass kicking. The Newbt is a slimy one all right and he’ll be getting his soon.

    Mel. Your passing at my hands is a bother to me. Try attaining an altered state before attacking my poisoned prose once again. You might also store the unused book in an airtight container. Just saying.

    Squat. OK, first, pussy, pussy and more pussy to you. Fuck Floriduh and Rick Perry too! I’m considering telling the cool house story now JUST so I can set the record straight. Besides, “Popsickle Toes” has a catchy melody.

  7. admin says:

    Squat. And you’re gonna love this one. CAPCHA just required me to type “twa teeners” to post that last one.

  8. Squatlo says:

    TWA TEENERS? That sounds like a 70’s porn movie about teenaged flight attendants… I’m gettin’ a chubby!

    Now, before you go and post some kind of revisionist history concerning your and BJ’s wimpy behavior in the frozen tundra my wife likes to call “the living room”, just remember that there were three other witnesses to this tale of mystery and intrigue. Maybe you can talk BJ into going along with some watered down version of things, but my dangerous wife has a memory like a steel trap and won’t appreciate hearing anything but the unvarnished truth. She was there, still laughs about it, and will be quick to jump all over any bullshit, if offered. It wasn’t that you were cold that’s funny, but that you spent the previous night dogging my ass for expressing concern over our cold house. (and watching the two of you shiver instead of using the fleece Cindy offered was classic, too…)

  9. Squatlo says:

    Shit, Mooner! Now the damn thing hit me with a capcha ‘causa the word “PORN”! Who’s moderating your site, the Church Lady?


  10. admin says:

    Squat. Kharmic payback is my middle name. I’m posting a thoroughly truthful story soon. Read… weep.

  11. melanie says:

    I meant that you were killing me in the best way possible. That is all.

  12. admin says:

    Mel. That’s what I’ll tell the Michigan State Trooper when he flies down to arrest me. “She said she liked it.”

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