The Muthafuckas translation of Ovid's Pygmalion.

Ok, so as some of you may know I am a mythology major (translation: I'm a fantasist on an ego trip)  and a total asshole, so I though to myself: lets combine those two. So here is my Latin to English Translation of Ovid's  Pygmalion. It's 100% accurate and defiantly not scumbagged down. For Realz. 
I have tried (not very hard) to keep it in the original Dactylic Hexameter - pretty sure that means dyslexicShakespeare 



A sculptor notices how all  woman are like complete nag bags and total bitches and was all like "hell no". 
Pygmalion, sick of that shit, though deep and hard to himself and concluded that  ain't nobody got time for that. 

So dude created his own lady friend out of ivory (I assume that means the soap) and some other junk he had laying around, like socks and half eaten pizza pops and stuff. Let me tell you: wow, that was beauty! 

"I'll have some of that" he said and copped a good old feel. 

Pizza pop lady, ummm yeah. 

He wispered sweet nothing into that pizza pop ladies's ear, poetic sighs like " Just call me milk, I'll do your body good, I drive a Camaro,  I may not be Fred Flintstone, but I bet I can make your Bed Rock, your lucite heals are so delicate, your butt is like Pippa Middelton's after a 6 week yoga retreat ", whatever dude. 

He gave this pizza lady totally rocking gifts of shitty impersonal name brand watches and books she totally hates and or had read, maybe 50 Shade because he wanted her to get ideas in her feminist pizza head. 

"OH VENUS GRANT ME MY WISH OF TURNING THIS PIZZA POP LADIE INTO A SEXBOT!"

So luckily Venus is in town excepting an award or some shit and is all like : "sure no probs pal. I know I am usually a total asshole, well actually I still am, so here". SHEZAM. Sexbot lady at your service for you sculptor dude Pygmalion. 

The cheese melted into flesh and the flesh felt good, almost as good as pizza, but no quite, because that is obviously impossible. 

And they lived happily ever after. Well until she was all like "this is the 21st century asshole, I want flowers and a resectable job you fat slob". Then Pygmalion was totally fucked. 



(Looking back I think I may have translated pizza wrongly)

Oprah Likes A Lot Of Baby Dick On Her Face

So Oprah is a word that I have to spell backwards first before I can't comprehend the frontword spell-how. H A R P O. 

Anyways, Oprah is real vocal about how female crotch mutalation is like totally shitty and stuff but wakes up every morning and smears baby dink all over her face in the form of incredibly over priced face cream.  I asked a bunch of twinks downtown if this works and really I didn't need to know, those hard up dudes look like shit. 

This comes is the wake of Mother O doing a show in PJ durring the day capital of the world, Vancouver. Apparently their is a group of uptight ladies who don't fancy the idea of "doctors" cutting off a teeny tiny bit of their kids baby maker. Go figure. So these dink worriers have put their Sherlock caps on and noticed that H AR P O (too drunk to type forwards) has a crusade on female genital mutilation yet loves nothing better than to smear baby dick night/day cream all over her glorious face. So they are out side her  show right now protesting.

I hear you ladies who doen't want baby dick either cut off or on your face. Really when it is put like that how does? 

Whoop! Lazy Post: December Facebook Round-Up

I thought I would put this rambling of nonsense and idiocy together just to remind myself how self satisfied I am. I mean really, any jerk who has a blog must be pretty damn self satisfied, but since my posts lately have been low-brow re-writes of history I though I needed a little sumptin to remind myself that I am a total narcissistic jerk. More importantly to remind YOU that I am like totally with it and junk.

So. BOOM. Hammer Time. Whoop here it is. My top picks of my December FB posts:

"pretty sure I want to sex all over Zooey Deschanel, she's like the prettier, more lovable, funnier, wittier, more talented, richer, better dressed version of every woman I know."

"Oh Geez. Karma is a total asshole. 

Walking home tonight me and the kids spotted the last eclair in the bakery window, so snatched that shit right up. Kids went to bed forgetting all about the pastry of happiness in my bag. So like any good mother I broke out and ate the lot, safe in the knowledge those jerks were tucked up tight in their beds......to my dismay it was a whole-wheat eclair . WHY? WHY! WHY?

I blame the hippies."

"Just fucking great. My toddler is saying "mama get in, mama get in" and pointing at a laundry basket. 

Looks like I will be spending Friday night inside a laundry basket. If anyone offers me "tea" from an empty pot I am so like totally fucking out of here."

"That awful moment when you realise that "those horrifying old bags" on Sex and the City are younger than you. "

"First World problem: when you buy a cute print off some jerk on etsy and it is NOT a standard IKEA frame size...NO.........!"

"It's that time of year when my google history is filled with searches for: "online Aderall supplier", "best laxative", "foods that don't taste like sweaty camel balls that makes you loose the chunk", and every other get skinny quick scheme you can think of."

"All is well in the world: the guy who leaked naked sex shots of Scarlett Johansson just got 10 years of hard time - guy who sells guns to fucked up American kids - pat on the back 

FUCK YOU WORLD - FUCK YOU."


This post makes it seem like I love myself so much that I would take it up the butt for me - really I am just too lazy to write something original. I promise I will regret this self static-fide display of extrovertness just as much as a girl who took it up the butt once the cruel cold light of sober hits me in the jerk hole. 

Memoirs From Inside A Laundry Basket

"Is this what my life has come to?" 

That is what goes across your mind when you are sitting in a laundry basket - a full of dirty kid skid marked underpants, laundry basked, drinking "tea" from an empty pot.

But then your mind starts to wonder to all the awesome stuff your new laundry basket home should have, like wine delivery, Lenny Briscoe, and some more room to pass out in later when the wine delivery runs out....and maybe a smoking section. 

You remember how totally cool it was to build a sheet fort when you were 7? Well when you are 30 it's not such a hoot - you have to clean that shit up. It also takes all of 10 minutes to set up, not the hours of fun you remember. Kid's memories are shittier than Arnold Schwarzenegger's in Total Recall. I guess that is a good thing because they wont remember the huge ass eyelid biceps parents have from all the extree eyehole rolling we do every time our kids ask us to play spiderman and Captain America in a Lego storm or whatever practical brand of tourture your kids inflict on you. 

PS. The only morons who make sheet forts that look like the one in the image above are kidless hipster, who are either too stupid or too pretend broke to go out and do recreational soft drugs like normal teenagers. Have fun being an unemployed asshole "writer" - hey at least you can write: '"really great fort maker, as long as no kids are involved" on you CV.