kirby is my real name

I hated you because you tasted like dirt.

You annoyed me because your rough rhino-like skin was a lie. And underneath your bumps and bulges, you were too soft.  I especially despised the way you always caved when I squeezed you, even gently.

The whole “high-maintenance, bi-polar” thing was a major turn off. First it’s don’t touch me, I’m too good for you then after a couple days of unintentional neglect, you broke down and turned to a disgusting pile of mush.

When I did catch you at the right time, I always had to handle with care. Making sure to let none of your love go to waste or else there’d be hell to pay. And that bugged the shit out of me.

 But then suddenly, something changed in me.

That hard-to-get game you play became alluring.

I found myself lusting after your coolness.

I understand your ways and I appreciate your flaws.

You are nothing and everything at the same time.

And now I like that every time I cut you in half so delicately and hack my knife in your woody heart, I smile.

You are avocado and I am in love with you. 

I’m just going to come out and say it, Barbie today is a royal slut.

Cruising around in your Mini Cooper skank wagon, with your Victoria’s Secret model-esque midriff and bazooka cleavage showing 24/7. Plus the slew of different Fashionista Kens in your passenger seat is cause for concern. I swear, a new guy every week. I mean, you can have a different outfit for every occasion Barbie, but running through Kens like they’re high heels in your Dream Closet is just whoriffic. Honestly, people are beginning to talk. Not to mention the perma-prostitue smile and squinty coked-out eyes you’ve been displaying lately, don’t think we haven’t noticed. I don’t know how I feel about letting you around Kelly and I don’t want to think about the terrible influence you’re having on Skipper. 

I wish you would regain the dignity you had in the 90’s, Barbie…when it was impossible to get your legs behind your head.

in that they are a really good source for awesome ideas.

It’s time to eat and you have a craving for crustacean.  So you go into your favorite shrimp slingin’ establishment, order up your favorite, slightly more expensive, shrimply delicious meal and wait while your mouth waters. 

When your food arrives you dig in like a mindless hobo when suddenly, there it is, the mother of all shrimp sins: a poop trail, that disgusting collection of dirt/sand/whatever the hell shrimp eat running along the back of your uncleaned, pink friend. 

Man, there is nothing like a reminder that your protein choice is in fact a lowly bottom feeder, that basically you are about to eat the peasant of the sea, and probably that the shrimp you have already ingested contained trace amounts of shrimp shit. 

So props to all the lazy cooks out there leaving poop trails undisturbed and bringing shrimp-loving snobs, like me, down to earth.*

*Totally joking, I hate you. 

Watching football while working out it is inspiring. Men in peak physical condition breaking tackles, running for yards, dodging sacs- amazing. It makes me want to do a gazillion lunges and take down the guy who always hogs the water fountain. 

Watching Biggest Loser, however, while working out is absolutely horrible. It’s too real, too close to home, too much like watching myself workout- huffing and puffing, gross coughing and the occasional sob in the corner. Instead of motivating me to do one more round of triceps dips, this show makes me want a Mexican Pizza- do you know how many Taco Bell commercials air during Biggest Loser!? Too many. 

So I beg you Gym TV Proprietor, more football less obese antics.

Thank you. 

I finally figured out how to correctly spell the word “amateur”.

Amature Hour is now a thing of the past.  

Sometimes I feel the need to say things in Spanish to add some spice to the mix. Anyway, here you will find the multitude of random thoughts that go through my mind everyday. My apologies in advance if I give you a headache. 

Enjoy