Alright, in the … call it a sphere … of virtually innumerable and infinite miscellaneous … call them weblogs … [I cannot bring myself to use that new piece of cant ending in sphere and I gag a little on that ubiquitous abbr.] very little … anyway … rises above the level of merely personally significant ephemera (the musings of yours truly included, I humbly submit).

But once in a while, one spots on the horizon an example of far too candid documentation which promises to transcend the all too human world in which it’s first manifest and survive forever in whatever shapes digitized self-expression might take in the future.

The new-media version of the lifelong record of the aphorisms of one Sam Halpern, kept by his son Justin as shitmydadsays, comes to mind: “The dog is an outside dog. You want an inside dog, you go get your own inside.”

(Can you tell I spent far too much time today wading thru far too many blogs written by navel-gazing knobs who fancy themselves journalists or public intellectuals?  And never mind the stuff I waded thru by knobs who are journalists and public intellectuals!)

But … ahem … I digress.

Without further ado, I give you weblogging sensation Karen Slavick-Lennard and the extraordinary somnolent utterances of her mild-mannered husband Adam, known to millions as Sleep Talkin’ Man.

“My bagder’s gonna unleash hell on your ass. Badgertastic!”
“No, not the cats. Don’t trust them. Their eyes. Their eyes. They know too much.”
“Just look at yourself. Yeah, now look at me. You don’t stand a chance. It must suck to be you, I’m sure.”

“Monkey power! Straight from the jungle.”

“Hey, don’t… don’t say anything. Why don’t you put it in an email, then I can ignore it at my pleasure.”

“If I wanted to see a long nose and a big ass, I’d look at a horse.”

“Butt cheeks ahoy! There she blows!”
“You can’t be a pirate if you haven’t got a beard. I said so. MY boat, MY rules.”
“We haven’t got a plank. Just fucking jump.”
“Yes I’m sad, but if you stood further away, I’d be happier. No, further away. Well, let’s face it, just fucking CUNT OFF! Thank you, I appreciate it.”
“Don’t jump on me!”

“You’re pretty. pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty…. [long pause] Now fuck off and be pretty somewhere else. I’m bored.”

“Oompa loompas don’t sing in heaven. They tidy up the clouds.”

“Flap’s on fire. Your flap’s on fire! Chili in the vagiiiiina. I’m a bad bad boy.” [Karen’s note: you guys have to image “chilli in the vagina” in a child’s sing-song cadence. Creeeeepy]

“Let me hold you in my arms. Feel me squeeze the living fucking breath out of your bastard body. Bliss. Lovely.”
“Skipping to work makes everything better.”
“I haven’t put on weight. Your eyes are fat.”
“I’d rather peel off my skin and bathe my weeping raw flesh in a bath of vinegar than spend any time with you. But that’s just my opinion. Don’t take it personally.”
“Elephant trunks should be used for elephant things only. Nothing else.”
“Lentils are evil. Pure fucking oozing evil. Take them away from me.”
“My vision of hell is a lentil casserole.”
“By the way, washing in rose water doesn’t stop you smelling like a piece of shit.”
“Avocados? You can shove them up your ass as well.”
“Be happy happy happy happy.”
“Now fuck off and let me bask in the glory of being me.”

It just goes on and effin’ on!

And that, my friends, is the piss-my-pants funniest shit I’ve read on the interwebz in like forever.

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