Okay so I’ve gotten a lot of flack for being at the bottom of the list for contributors to the Pseudobook Review. Lucky for me, I love flack. Especially with mustard. Which brings me to my next point: Mustard.
My friend, Musty
What is he? Why yellow? Did you know he was a plant first? Does HE know he was a plant first? I have plants for arms. Did someone make him out of my arms? Does this threaten him?
“I love hot dogs with Mustard.”
Why does he join people when they eat cookout food? What does his presence do for them? Does he look over their shoulder as they eat and mutter witty comments? Is he only funny when people eat burgers and hot dogs? Why don’t people do other things with him besides eat?
So tonight Musty and I are going clubbin’. I want to see if we can break him out of the mold of only being asked to do things when people eat certain foods. It’s such a limiting social life.
There’s a great hot dog place next to the club we’re going to. But it’s not why we’re going to the club. Oh, we may walk by it, and I may joke around and say, “Ha, I bet you get requested to go there a lot,” and “Look at all your friends hanging out, Ketchup, Relish, Onions…”
No. Not tonight. This is Freedom Night. Musty will club it up with me and we will dance and meet girls and afterwards take them back to my place.
Maybe if we get hungry I’ll see if he wants to go to the hot dog place with me. But I’ll try to do it tactfully. I’ll try to make the girls suggest it. Yeah. Hard to say no to girls.
Don’t let Musty ready this. I really love those hot dogs.
Well how about that? I didn’t write for the entire month of July and no one cared or said anything. I’ve been flattering myself.
All this time I thought I was flattering my readers by pretending that they would “get” me and that I could blog and tell my stories and express the frustrations of life as a barrel and I tricked myself into thinking they’d understand.
Apparently knot.
It’s a new roller coaster at Magic Mountain. I’m surprised they let me on, considering their rule about pregnant women.
I’m not a woman, nor am I pregnant (as a result).
Today I was dividing up vote power with my roommates over the decisions that will face us in a new apartment we just moved into.
My vote will count as 2. My girlfriend Alberta’s vote counts as 1. This other barrel named Alejandro gets the tie-breaking vote.
It’s okay that I live with my girlfriend. We can’t have sex. We’re barrels. That doesn’t stop her parents from looking down at us, though. But that’s mostly because they live upstairs and have a trap door that looks down to our bedroom.
I have some questions for you all in the meantime:
- Does Alfred Hitchcock not look like me?
- Do you not look like Alfred Hitchcock?
- How much is Nerd Rope where you shop?
- If I was sentenced to death by hanging, I’d want to use that instead.
The Pseudobook CEO said that soon he will be posting his explanation of The Huge Plan. What an opportunity to beat him to the punch!
Now I can tell you about it all sooner, and then he can add it to his stupid theory about collective baseball cards, or whatever he uses to justify why he’s a terrible writer.
Let me tell you. Pseudobook has plans. And they are huge. I can’t argue with that. Here are only a handful of select highlights from The Huge Plan:
- Introduce a new line of sodas: Gold® (cola) and Silver® (lemon lime).
- Introduce Diet Gold® and Diet Silver® too, with 1/9th less fat.
- Open a 27-Hour fitness center called Sleep!®. They will be open 27 hours a day, don’t ask me how. Something about starting every day in Florida and flying in a spaceship to San Diego over the course of the day.
- Develop a spaceship that flies from Florida to San Diego every day called The Tindenburg Hitanic®. The bridge of this ship will be called San Luis Rey. Applications are now being accepted.
- Introduce lasik ear surgery.
- Start up the Pseudobook Psoftball Pleague. Wimps need not apply.
- Pseudobook is going to run for President. Not sure what that means.
- Build a canal connecting the Mediterranean Sea and the Pacific Ocean called The Atlantic®. Or at least start letting people know that we already did it.
- Start a peer-reviewed journal called Lyre Lyre Pants on Friar about the secret life of Dominican friars who serve their community by day, and play the local clubs at night as the traveling blues band called The Lyreicists. If you’re wondering, they do have a lyricist, but they’re an instrumental band, so they rotate every 3 days.
- Take over all pseudo industries: fake flowers, fake weapons, fake breasts, fake televisions for entertainment center displays, fake dog poop, prosthetic limbs, glass eyes, mannequins, stuffed animals, Cameron Diaz, trap doors, train set trees and people, pearls, diamonds, wine…You get the idea.
As you can see, plans - large in nature - are on the horizon. When they say “Changing the world, one world at a time” as their motto or whatever, they aren’t kidding! These changes and more are going to revolutionize how people live, work, and play.
In fact, speaking of revolutions, they even have a plan to revolutionize revolutions. Wow.
Take that, Pseudobook CEO! Raining on your parade! Dousing your flames of anticipation! Stealing your thunder! Telling people about The Huge Plan before you can! Ha ha! Hee hee! Pee paw! Pee paw!
I just wanted to make fun of one of the Pseudobook CEOs. I hope I don’t get fired.
What would they do without me? Find a new mascot, for one. I bet that Corn Dog thinks he’s got a leg up on the competition. Just cuz he did that stupid movie review, and ruined their podcasts. What’s he got that I don’t?
Sorry. I’m feeling a little underappreciated lately. I think my bottom lid is deteriorating, and that’s where I get much of my pride from. I also get pride from a group of friends that I have.
They’re all lions.
Albert’s Barrel