Taxing

The following post was originally posted at Killer Rants blogger version on Saturday, April 07, 2007.

Liz is kinda sorta happy to contribute:

When you study ancient civilizations you learn about the tributes that the common people paid to the king and the king’s guards. You find out that taxes have been around even longer Larry King, which seems impossible but is true. I try to mark all historical events as “pre” and “post” Larry.

Wasn’t it Franklin who said, “There are two certain things in life. Death and taxes.”? He left out asshole, but that’s a whole other rant.

Taxes serve obvious purposes, but what I’m getting taxed seems extreme because there appears to be little accountability on how the money is spent. The IRS has a clever way of disguising this shafting. They call it a refund.

I did my taxes yesterday and had a severe case of Intaxication; Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until you realize that it was your money to start with. Once I saw that a cool $1500 was coming my way, I made all sorts of plans, including a real vacation and a shiny new dishwasher. Then I thought about it and a stream of profanity came from my pure lips.

I get to spend about 70% of my money the way I want to, with around 30% going to taxes. Even though I’m doing 100% of the work. I am the government’s sugar daddy. This pisses me off. Do sugar daddies have a say in how their money gets spent or do they simply give an allowance? I need to know in order to best maintain my role. If Congress is my bitch, I need the protocol on how to treat ‘em. And I think I should get to stay in any congressional office I want to when I visit Washington. I’m paying for it. A couch will do. And a foot rub.

Unrelated but always relevant, I have noticed that as I age my standards of good looking have dramatically dropped. When I was a kid I found the following people disgusting looking: Luke Duke, Bea Aurthur, Alan Alda, and Rhoda. Now 35, these people aren’t mutants. Hell, Luke Duke is HOT and Rhoda is actually pretty. What is the lowering of standards called? Hotollerance? Poor vision? I now also think Stephen Colbert is fine, when I know that at 9 I would have simply thought he looked like someones dad. Yes. I said FINE.

How about you? Was there any one you thought horribly ugly as a child that you now think, “You know, with enough drinks in me I might...”?

Memorable Quotes and Conversations with Patients

The following post was originally posted on Killer Rants blogger version on Tuesday, December 12, 2006.

“I’m just scratching my balls. If I ever need help for that I will kill myself.”

“You’re too fat to be a nurse, go lose twenty pounds and try again.”

“A man nurse! Their gonna let that bitch, Hillary, be President, and my nurse has a dick. What has happened to America?”

“Your not giving me a suppository! Look at the size of your fingers!”

Patient one: “You have to move me, the guy in the next bed smells like elephant shit.”
Patient two: “You spend much time around elephant shit?”
Patient one: “No, that’s why I gotta move.”

“After you wipe my rear I want you to show me the toilet paper so I can assess my stool.” (studies used toilet paper for about a minute) “My doctor says my paralysis is all psychological. Does that look like the stool of a crazy person?”

Patient: “I think the woman in the next bed has had a bowel movement.
Me: “That bed is empty.”
Patient: “Well that just leaves you and me, and I think I would know if I had a bowel movement.”
Me: “I’ll go the bathroom and check.” (It was her)

Patient: “You guys are always poking me with a needle. What, do you charge per stick?”
Me: “Yes, the more sticks the more I get paid.”
Patient: “I knew it! I can’t wait to tell my brother, he said that was ridiculous.”
Me: “I was only joking. I just like sticking people with a needle. I’d do it for free.”
Patient: “Oh, well I’m going to tell him anyway, he’s an asshole when he’s right.”

Patient: “A male nurse? Why aren’t you a doctor?”
Me: “I was but my patients kept dying so they demoted me.”
Patient: “Can you become a doctor again?”
Me: “If you live through the night I’m one step closer.”
Patient: “What if I die?”
Me: “I have to work in the cafeteria.”

A Rerun From Liz

The following post was originally posted at Killer Rants blogger version on Monday, December 04, 2006.

I’m reposting my very first blog post ever- but for a reason. The reason will be summed up in a future posting. It’s like a cliffhanger.

I hate cliffhangers. Sorry.

Wednesday, January 18, 2006

The Generous Hairdresser

I have decided to make my first blog entry about my hairdresser because I find this story hysterical and everyone else I’ve shared it with has been violently disgusted. You be the judge.

Last night my drug-addict hair dresser told me that she’s JUST (as in yesterday) gotten out of the local mental institution where she did a 28 day stint at rehab. She always gives me these updates on the men in her life. About 6 months ago she was on a “tour” of sleeping with all of her ex-boyfriend’s best pals as a method of revenge on him for cheating on her. Classy. Next came a Vietnam Vet who lived with her in a motel for a little while before being able to score a FEMA trailer after a hurricane destroyed the home he never lived in, owned, or rented but was able to somehow claim. Currently she is sleeping with a younger guitar player who looks like Napoleon Dynamite but is physically “gifted” in ways that might not be obvious to the causal observer. She is struggling because she loves to be loved by him, but she finds him slightly repulsive to look at AND he has an obnoxious laugh.

Now, I LIKE this chick. She is TRASHY but she cracks me up. I wouldn’t trust her alone in my house- hell, I don’t even want her to know where I live- but I really dig her quick wit and hilarious spin on things. She’s asking me what to do about Napoleon (maybe I should call him “Dynamite") so I ask questions- getting a sense of the guy. IS he a good man? How close, exactly, is he to too ugly to screw? I mean, for some people they’ll hump anything that can’t outrun them and I’m thinking she might be like that, you know? She keeps going back to the fact that his “member” is so big they need to make a plaster mould out of it and display it. I’m trying to move beyond the anatomy and get to the “meat” of the issue. (Really, no pun intended).

Then it happens:My hair dresser, who told me that at one time she HAD hepatitis, my hair dresser, who has willingly disclosed that she’s sleeping on the couch at her youngest daughter’s boyfriend’s mother’s house (who, incidentally has a gambling problem), my hairdresser whose oldest daughter is in prison for federal burglary, my 42 year-old hairdresser who once told me that 3 years ago she had a one-night stand with a boy so young that she had to DRIVE HIM HOME the next day and they passed his mom WHO WAS RIDING AROUND IN HER SUBURBAN LOOKING FOR HER SON WHO MISSED CURFEW (he ducked down in the passenger’s seat but was still spotted by his mother) THIS hairdresser offered up Napoleon to ME for a free sample!!! I can’t HAVE him all the time, but if I want to see why it’s such a hard decision, I’m free to ask for the hookup and she’s willing to provide. We can share him, because, to quote her, “This stuff is too good for just one woman. You deserve a treat!”

OH MY GOD.

Although flattered (?), I am mortified!!! Do you think this was a 3-way invite or just extreme generosity? Is a sex partner really the type of thing you want a first-hand second opinion on? Once you have Hepatitis does it really go away?

I left the salon with MUCH lighter hair than intended due to the rambling story of Napoleon, but with a tale that I consider the perfect example of microblogology. 

Ass Flowers

The following post was originally posted at Killer Rants blogger version on Tuesday, May 02, 2006.

Artistically posted by Killer

I spent this past weekend in Oxford, MS., at the Double Decker Art Festival. It was a grand old time. My best friend is an artist and has a booth there on occasion, so I come to town to help pimp his work. The problem with art festivals is that you only get a few actual art buyers, but a whole lot of art lookers. It is the art work that brings in the people, but it is the crappy crafts that get purchased. By crappy crafts I mean when a person paints a flower on a small mirror and then glues some fuzz around the edges and sells it for five dollars, etc. The crappy craft folk end up making a lot of money by selling hundreds of trinkets to the local yokels. I don’t really begrudge them this fact, it just irritates me because I can’t bring myself to buy a bunch of crocs sandals ($35 a pair), paint some pretty flowers on them and then resell them ($45 a pair). This was another crappy craft item available.
Are people who paint pretty flowers on crocs or mirrors any less of artists than those painting pictures or making pottery? Maybe my view of art is skewed. I tend to appreciate art that I could not create myself. I could paint pretty flowers on random objects, I just don’t have the drive to do so. Maybe my problem is not with crappy craft makers, but with myself, subconsciously. Perhaps I am angry at myself on some deeper level for not getting my ass in gear and painting more pretty flowers on objects. I could support myself by flowering found items and not have to support myself by wiping people’s ass. I am going to start immediately.
Here are some items that I have decided to flower.

This first item is a CD. It cost me about 80 cents, and I could sell it for 10 dollars, huge profit potential.

image

This next item is a tortilla that was in my fridge. It was probably too old to actually eat, which makes it’s cost even lower. Cost about 25 cents, and I could sell it for 10 dollars. Even bigger profit potential.

image

This last item is harder to figure out the market potential. It is my own ass. I was born with it, so it cost nothing. The only problem is I guess I could only sell it once. Maybe I can use it as a performance piece and have people pay just to look at it.

image

The art work is more rudimentary here because it is actually very hard to draw flowers on your own ass. I suggest trying it sometime. I will point out however, “permanent marker” does not wash off. I will keep you informed on how long it takes to wear off.
I hope to see you at the next art festival. Just look for my ass.

THEN and NOW

The following post was originally posted at Killer Rants blogger version on Wednesday, June 14, 2006.

Liz compares:

I was recently told by a work friend that, although an attractive woman, I am no supermodel. Where did that statement come from? I would venture to guess directly out of his hairy ass, but that would be presumptuous. I felt violated by the statement; I wasn’t asking for his assessment, he just laid it out there, unprovoked. I found it strange and meaningless but it’s stuck with me for 8 nights now. I’ve broken it down to mean these things:

* You’re not hideous, but don’t go without makeup
If you’d lose 30 pounds, I might be interested
You’re pretty enough… for someone who’s not really into looks
You’ll find a good mate, but don’t be surprised when he dumps you for a hot chic
Your genes should die with you when you go

He was telling me about his request to his wife for a divorce. As he spoke on this intensely personal subject, I heard one theme: I loved her as a girlfriend, hate her as a spouse. This got me thinking: is what makes a good girlfriend the same qualities you seek in a wife? Let’s break THIS down:

* GOOD GIRLFRIEND: Flirty and fun, all your guy friends love her
* GOOD WIFE: Hardly speaks to your friends, stays home, doesn’t flirt at all
* GOOD GIRLFRIEND: Wears sexy clothes and shows off her body
* GOOD WIFE: Owns granny panties; multiple turtlenecks
* GOOD GIRLFRIEND: Can out drink half the guys you know
* GOOD WIFE: Takes sips from your beer when she brings you a fresh one
* GOOD GIRLFRIEND: Plans fun weekends for the two of you
* GOOD WIFE: Doesn’t want to go anywhere
* GOOD GIRLFRIEND: Loves any present you give her- almost a guarantee you’ll get laid
* GOOD WIFE: Quit expecting presents years ago
* GOOD GIRLFRIEND: Too busy being with you to keep the house clean
* GOOD WIFE: Scrubs your pee off the toilet seat without complaining

I don’t get it. One day I’ll make a list of what makes a good boyfriend. I still have no idea what makes a good husband… but I know that telling you that you’re no supermodel won’t make the list.

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