Totally inappropriate but I don't even care.

I don't even know how to start this. It's one of my BIGGEST pet peeves and it seriously grosses me the hell out. So if you're totally reserved and think that literal bathroom talk is completely uncalled for then I'm sorry but you'll have to stop reading.

Answer me this.

HOW, does one go to the bathroom (sitting makes more sense but I suppose it could happen standing up), finish their business, wipe the appropriate area, stand up, flush, and LEAVE the bathroom WITH ONE OF THEIR PUBES ON THE TOILET SEAT?
Seriously!?!!?! What the shit! What on this freakin earth makes YOU (you sick Pube Deserter/Shedder/Bandit) think that I want to go to the bathroom and sit on one of YOUR pubes!?!!
I mean come on. I've let this go on more than one occasion, more than I'd like to count. Leaving the toilet seat up, fine. Whatever. Be a dolt, or a guy, whichever you'd like to categorize yourself with (hand in hand?) and show us how macho and care-free you are and leave that seat up. Fine.
For the LOVE.
I'm not being sexist and saying that 80% of the time it's a guys fault (which it usually, PROBABLY is a guy). There was one occasion where a particular person opposite of a male spent a little too much time in a tanning bed, and had a full body 3rd degree burn. Being burnt in places that don't usually get burnt= peeling.
Fine. You shed that leprous skin and give some air to those brand new baby skin cells!
Now am I totally way off in being freaking disgusted to the maxxxxx? We're talking serious gag-reactions. I honestly can't figure it out. It's like some crazy phenomenon that is sweeping (ha) toilet seats nation-wide into the shadows. Who the hell doesn't check out the toilet after you go? I'm trying and doing a very good job at keeping this excrement free so spare the 1750's gasps of disgust and shame. You seriously can't tell me that you don't give the toilet seat a once-over before flushing, washing your hands, and exiting (along with a quick but thorough examination of your face w/special attention to your pores/oil production).

The ONLY way I will grant you clemency is if you are:
B.-so insanely tall that you can't see the toilet seat during your once-over, or

So next time you lose one of your leetl frens....
Give us a courtesy puff, or grab one more square of that wonderful toilet paper.


Now on a lighter but similar and much more enjoyable note,
enjoy this:

And think of me during your once-over.

with firm but unyielding love (gag, right?)

El Scorcho.


Revved up like a douche.

I was driving home tonight with The Count when "Blinded by the light" came on the radio, recognizable right from the start with the horrible arrangement of cheesy synthetic organ chords when the line "revved up like a deuce" was delivered with my jaw simultaneously dropping.
me-"Did it just say douche? Revved up like a douche?!"
scottie-"Yeah, I've always thought that's what it said."
And it kept repeating itself OVER and OVER again, resulting with me turning it up LOUDER and LOUDER each time to make sure that it was seriously saying revved up like a douche.
So pretending like I was a member of the Look It Up Club I searched for the lyrics on my phone, only to be disappointed when I read the correct lyrics.
But still. Seriously? Revved up like a deuce? I'm sure it fit just PERFECTLY when the song was written but it seriously just sounds like he's singing about being so totally psyched that he's as ready as a douche that's about to embark on some secret mission.
Scott and Norm are distracting me. Scott's talking about how horrible Africa is and little kids with guns and Norm is doing who knows what to the couch and I'm trying to contribute to the conversation but the only things I'm saying are "yeah" and "hmmm".
I've since moved on from eating a pound of strawberries as often as possible to dried mangoes. AND nectarines. But the nectarines have to be like biting in to a damn cement filled coconut. None of this soft, mushy shit. That's for peaches. So the mangoes are treating me oh so nicely so I'm not going to complain. There's so much I could complain about but then I'd just be like every other self-victimizing person who has all kinds of crap (and some have legit crap) and lets the world know about it. I have more important things to deal with. Like Scott interrupting whatever flow is going thru my brain to present the question "What if humans were covered in hair?......what would GIRLS do?". So now I'm picturing these sasquatch-like girls with short gross blonde dog hair all over their bodies and it's weirding me out. Mostly because I'm picturing them like one of the characters in Yo Gabba Gabba. The werid green and blue guy...but blonde and with a pink bow....and as a girl.

Time for bed.
Don't want to keep Gaston waiting :)

mucho gusto,
El Scorcho.

(I online-translationed mucho gusto and it means "a lot of taste" on one search engine, and on another "much pleasure". So we'll pretend it means "with a lot of pleasure". Or how about "a shit load". Yeah. A shit load.)



Hi guyth. It's been an insanely long time since I've updated and I'm actually ashamed that I haven't done more. I get into these modes where I'll be like "oh my gosh I need to write that down" or "oh my gosh I have got to blog this", and then I get home and it's almost like I shy away from everything. Because writing everything down makes it so FINAL, in a way. And by writing it down you acknowledge that you're either currently or have had those thoughts and that they're circulating that wonderful brain of yours and are trying to get out thru your ears and nostrils and tear ducts (except I don't cry thru my ears and nose).
I was looking thru my other blog
[if it doesn't work it's myspace.com/kitschneymarie, and on the right under Nosferatu are my entries, and you can click on "View all blog entries"]
and realized that I wrote a butt load, but then also realized that I was extremely depressed and only wrote Debbie Downer stuff. So there's my warning if you go read those. There's a lot of them. Aaand some of them are "explecit" so be warned Mum. I've tidied up my mind-mouth a little bit but not to the point of choking it and cutting off what I really think. So I've "matured" a bit, or whatever the hell you wanna call it.
POINT BEING- Some of them say the eff word (among other things), and I would go back and change them, but then it would change what I was trying to say, and quite frankly, at the time, I didn't give a damn who read it or how it was interpreted, because I didn't even care about myself enough to care about anyone else.
Moving on.
So it's like the middle of July and it's been WONDERFUL as far as the weather is concerned. The sun must've had some kind of set back like a month long appointment with his doctor or something and forgot to fry us all with his unforgiving rays.
I'm still trying to recover from the conference I had with my english teacher I had last semester, who referred me to the Hacker book to look up...(and of course now I don't remember the exact phrase for it) but it pretty much tells you how to shorten your sentences. Aaaaand if you look at my last sentence, you'll see why she referred me to said chapter.
Whatever. I love long sentences. So mleh.
Okay time to go bask in the sun and read The Secret.
I can't believe I just admitted to that.


Most ardently (I just finished Pride and Prejudice),

El Scorcho.