August 2003

Godzilla and Grandpa Can Shove It

I don't want to write. I don't want to do much of anything. It's hot. I'm sweating. And my husband still doesn't have a job because some people's mouths are so full from eating a bowl of dicks that they can't tell him he's hired. But Buzzsaw sent down a decree through his minions, Godzilla & Grandpa, that everyone has to write for this month's issue or else we're gonna get dunked in the port-a-john at the Pig Roast. Assholes.

I don't even eat pig so why should I care. I can just duck out of the pig roast to no loss of my own. What am I there for? --the sweltering day-long potato salad? The company? Give me a break. I'll head out for some mini-golf action, a movie, maybe even rent a hotel room just to take a nap in the A/C. When I come back to see the late night exploits of Sen. Gronk (G&T- NY), Godzilla & Grandpa will be so loaded that they won't be able to operate the door handle on the port-a-john & I'll be safe. Yeah. That's it, man! This article's over. Those dudes are no match for me.

But what if they get so drunk that they get all angry & irrational? What if they forget the port-a-john mandate from Buzzsaw and get all improvisational on my ass. Nobody wants to see those two loaded but still trying to work a scheme. They'll start babbling about how they have to yarf and maybe they should yarf at me. And… "No, wait. Wait. I've got a better idea. We should grate up a big pile of cheese and make her snort it." "No, it should be all armpits, dude." "Yeah, snort cheese off of our armpits. That totally works! We're geniuses." Ugh. Nope, there's no way I can battle it out with Godzilla & Grandpa in that state.

Well, I guess we're all out of luck. I have to write this crap. You're inert enough to still be reading it. If those two don't show me a kick ass time at the pig roast, they can shove it.