Things that make me feel like a loser because I giggle about them, and come on, that’s gay.
1. My bed. Ok, so it’s not my bed, really. Maybe we better back up.
Actually, no, I don’t want to back up, that would take too long and be complicated. Plus the beep-beep-beeping that starts when I back up is annoying. Instead I will just describe to you the situation as it now stands.
A. My bed is big
I am used to sleeping on a twin sized bed. Now I am sleeping on a Queen. When you are 6’6”, and used to your ankles hanging off the foot of the bed (in danger of monsters! Hello!), this makes a big difference. Now I can lie diagonally, I can switch positions in the middle of the night, I can sleep on top of four or seven pillows… I churn around in my new digs like a pig in a mudhole. Seriously, that’s the best description—I roll around, covering myself with the softness, and grunt with pleasure. Also, a pig’s orgasm can last for half an hour, so there’s that.
B. My bed is soft and comfortable
Maybe this item is more about the fact that my old bed sucked. Because it was hard. I kept telling myself that real men liked a firmer mattress, that it was actually good for a heavier body, that it actually massaged me because it was hard and knobby. Yeah, that was bullshit. You know why I thought that? Because of those stupid Sleep Number commercials—you know what I’m talking about, when the girl always says “I like my bed nice and soft—about a 41!” and the guy’s all “I’m pretty tough. I’m rugged. Do you see my stubble? That’s why I like an 87 sleep number.” They’re like the bears from Goldilocks—the girl’s Baby Bear, the guy’s Papa Bear. Well, after years of deluding myself that I could be like Papa Bear too, I quit. And guess what? I’m not even Goldilocks with the medium-softness bed, I’m just another Baby Bear. I like a soft bed. Bite me.
C. My bed has sheets
Yeah, I went to college. College doesn’t do sheets. Let me rephrase: grungy college guys don’t do sheets. Fine, get grossed out. Get disgusted. Cry me a river, build a bridge and get over it.
Anyway, I sleep about ten hours a night. It’s fantastic. It’s dangerously good.
On Tuesday night, I had Stephen Colbert’s “I am America” and Dean Koontz’s “Cold Fire,” climbing into bed at about 7:15 and I was giggling. I started bouncing on my butt while I got into bed, with gutty “hee hee hees” bursting out. I was ecstatic. I crawled around the bed in a circle like a dog marking his territory, laughing and laughing by myself, then I reared up on my knees and cast myself backwards onto the pillows, laughing and sighing and snuggling my face into the pillowcase. It was weird.
2. Eli Stone. Dude, that show is a delight to watch. It warmed my cockles so much, I almost burned my cockles. It was like cockle-fever. It was like hot-cockle-mania. If you don’t watch the show yet, this is a great time to start, for real. You’ve only missed three or four episodes, and it’s about to refresh anyway. New beginnings. So get in on the ground floor bitches. It’s right after LOST anyway, so you can’t miss it.
The writing is great, the hallucinations are hilarious, but what really makes it is the acting job of Johnny Lee Miller. He’s funny, sure, but also relatable. The heartbreaky plot elements might be contrived, but when he gets that look on his face at the beginning of one of those visions, you just want to be there to see what he’s seeing. And thanks to the wonder of television, you can. The best documentary in years.
That didn’t make sense to you did it? That’s because you’re not enlightened. Get with it. Eli Stone.
Oh, I almost forgot, the plotlines and dialogue are ridiculously liberal—I mean way out there leftist, throwing in Bush-hating blah when it doesn’t even make sense. But I excuse this because the show doesn’t take itself too seriously and everyone knows everything they say is a fantasy.
It might be sort of anti-Catholic, but in an honest, ignorant way: they make the priest who messed up the annulment really nice. Then again, he did mess up the annulment. No one told the writers that priests can’t up and declare annulments; that’s a bishop’s job. So don’t get nitpicky with it; it’s a flight of fancy, and it’s fun. God wants you to watch.
3. This limerick. This limerick is by far the best I’ve ever seen. Perfectly perversely, doubly irreverent — to politeness, to the form of the limerick, to prudeness and to crudeness.
There was a young lady from Bude
When swimming one day, in a lake
A man in a punt
Stuck an oar in her ear
And said You cant swim here it's dangerous!
And there you have it. Three things that really made me giggle so much I was almost ashamed. Like Julianne Hough style.
Oh that reminds me, Kristy Lee Cook from American Idol. She’s in this category too. I guess I’ll have to get back to her some other time. But hear this now, and remember it: Kristy Lee Cook is going to win American Idol. Take it to the bank. If she doesn’t, it will be the greatest miscarriage of justice since Sale and Pelletier had to share their gold medal with the dirty Ruskis.
I’ll be glad to get this up, and push the drama down the page. It has it’s place, sure, but it’s kind of boring, and it’s better not to get bogged down in it. Have it out and be done, that’s what I say. Just like good bowel movements and pig orgasms. Have a good weekend, y’all.