Yes, So I Was Off By A Week

The astute amongst you -- and it should be noted that I have my doubts as to whether any blog readers can claim that quality -- will recall that I said my brother Roderick, his family, and my mother were arriving last Wednesday for Thanksgiving. Turns out I had my dates mixed up, as they actually arrived earlier today. Which makes a lot more sense when you think about it.

Either way, they're here till Saturday. Which means the next three days are going to suck long, and they will suck hard. The only saving grace is that Roderick's oldest daughter, Tabitha, is developing quite nicely. But get your minds out of the gutter. I don't want to perform coitus on the lass. I just want to ogle her a bit. No crime in that, friends.

For christ's sake. Mother just shit herself, spoiling my fine Corinthian leather sofa in the process. When is that woman going to die and stop making my life a living hell? Oh well; time for me to rouse the houseboy. Hell, you don't expect me to clean it up, do you? After all, I have company to entertain.

If There's One Thing I Hate, It's My Family

Yeah, yeah, so I haven't updated in over a week. So what.

In case you hadn't noticed, the country went to hell in a hand basket last Tuesday. As a result, I've had bigger things on my mind. Like the hit my lifestyle's going to take once the democrats get their goddamn tax machines up and running. Or how I'm going to hold onto all my cheap labor after they re-tighten their regulatory screws. I mean, shit, do you have any idea what it costs to hire an American houseboy? Plenty, that's what.

As if that wasn't misery enough, today I got a telegram from my brother Roderick, reminding me that it's my turn to host Thanksgiving. He says he'll be here Wednesday night. Plus, he's bringing his cunt wife and their shit-eating kids. And, oh yeah, mother.

So there goes my weekend. Here's hoping your's will be just as shitty.

That's What I Call Shrewd Corporate Synergy

He may be the first Republican president in history for whom I wouldn't take a bullet, but I gotta hand it to Dubya -- he knows how to pull the strings. Or at least, he's just smart enough to let Cheney and Rove pull the strings for him. Take their latest coup: the announcement of Saddam Hussein's long-awaited death sentence, just two days before our hotly contested mid-term elections.

Frankly, I couldn't have planned it better myself. Unless they don't arrange to have Hussein hung tomorrow evening on live national prime time television, which is how I would play it. Ha! Those stupid democrats wouldn't know what hit them come Tuesday. They'd probably all turn to cannibalism and hard drugs by three o'clock in the afternoon, pissing their pants in shame as we proud Republicans whipped them down Main Street for being the whiny little shits that they are.

Alright, I'm outta here. Me and some of the boys from the office are going to drive through poor neighborhoods, so we can post fliers reminding the residents to come out and vote on Wednesday, November 8. Sure it's an old trick. We'll stop using it as soon as it stops A) working and B) pissing off the liberal media. In other words, no time soon.

My Eyes Are Bleeding

Oh dear sweet jesus, never in my life have I been as hungover as I am on this most horrible of mornings. It's as if my head has been forcibly shoved into a feverish horse's rectum, while a fat man in lederhosen repeatedly bangs the outer rump with a Louisville Slugger. Nightmarish, to say the least.

I can only hope that last night's festivities made today's hell worthwhile. Given the lack of whores in my bed when I woke up, I have my doubts.

Don't Nobody Go In The Bathroom For 35, 45 Days

Good god. I'm actually ashamed of myself. Myself and the 20-pound brown baby boy I just dropped off at the pool, if you get my drift. If you don't, I mean I just took a shit large enough to choke a horse. Hear me now?

Don't get me wrong -- I love a good shit. Moreover, few do it better or with more regularity than yours truly. But some things were never meant to see the light of day. And that... that... monstrosity I just left in the bathroom? It's one of them.

Double damn. My houseboy, Kang, just walked past the bathroom door and dropped to the ground like a sack of flour. Here's hoping smelling salts will bring him around, 'cause christ knows I'm not in the mood to answer a lot of stupid questions from Immigration.