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Wednesday, September 15, 2010

I would have sex with Carrie Fisher right now.

Yes, *THIS* Carrie Fisher.

And no, before you ask, I *wouldn't* make her wear the Leia Slave girl outfit.   Asking her to do that would be like putting whipped cream on a turd sandwich.    It might change the appearance, but it's still gonna make you throw up.

SIDE NOTE:  please don't take my erection over this picture as an endorsement of slavery.

No, I'm talking about getting into Carrie Fisher's giant granny panties.  I know how disgusting that sounds.  I know how disgusting that looks.  And I imagine it smells like a combination of scotch, Summer's Eve, and shame.   

No, I'm not kidding, exaggerating, or saying it for shock value.
I. Would. Have. Sex. With. Carrie. Fisher.

The thought has occured to me as part of a larger series of thoughts, entitled "WHICH FORMER HOTTIES WOULD YOU SLEEP WITH NOW, NO MATTER WHAT THEY LOOK LIKE?"   

Here's the concept:  at the end of your life, on your death bed, how cool would it be to say you slept with Princess Leia?   (Or, immaturely, as I'd call her post-coitus, "Princess LAY-A")

I can picture it -- 50 years from now:

86-YEAR-OLD ME:       "You know, kids, I once had sex with Princess Leia."
GRANDDAUGHTER:  "Who's Princess Leia?"
GRANDSON:                  "Can I have a dollar, grampa?"
86-YEAR-OLD ME:         "You're awful children, and I'm leaving you both out of my will."  

<cough.  cough.   sputter.  fall over dead>


My theory is that no one will ask about "WHEN" you had sex with Princess Leia.   They'd just be impressed with the feat.    If an 85-year-old man tells you he once had sex with Elizabeth Taylor, you're gonna assume it was hot, young, 'Cleopatra' Liz Taylor.  Not 'liver spot' and 'has-to-pee-every-five-minutes' Liz Taylor.

And I'm sure there are dozens of women who were once in the spotlight who now need some lovin. And you probably couldn't get anywhere NEAR them in their prime.  But now, all it takes is a little effort.    I think it's a veritable gold mine of sexual greatness.    

I mean, is anyone really knocking down the door of the woman who played Julie the Cruise Director on the Love Boat?

i'd like to take her down to the poop deck.   they say love....won't hurt anymore.   come aboard, we're expecting you!

...or who's plowing Daisy Duke these days?

I imagine it's sort of like a riding lawnmower by now.  Loud, greasy, and with wide turns.

But I'd still take her for a spin around the yard -- cankles or not.

So, if I saw Carrie Fisher out somewhere, right now, in 2010, would I go home with her?


I'm a Star Wars geek.  Admittedly and unapologetically.    I was a 9-year-old boy in 1983 when Return of the Jedi hit theaters.

Find me a 9-year-old boy in 1983 that *wasn't* obsessed with Star Wars and I'll ask him how he likes being homeschooled and where he got those awesomely velcroed shoes.

Now, I'm not stupid.  I know Carrie Fisher's not attractive anymore.  We all know that.   In fact, if she were just some elderly woman reading a Danielle Steele novel on the bus, you might pity her and try real hard not to ask her about her grandkids.   

[To be fair, she's only 53.  But it's a hard 53.]

And I'd probably have to work fast, in this fictional courtship [which, in my head, takes place in a seedy bar.]   I'm well aware that Carrie and I would NOT have a whole lot to talk about.  I mean, I get the feeling she doesn't like talking about Star Wars, and I don't like talking about Vicodin or Paul Simon's penis.

[because no one wants to see paul simon's penis]

But having said that, Carrie can't possibly be getting hit on much these days, right?  I imagine all it would take is a few kind words and a joke or two about how people on coke are different from people on meth.   I can work with that.

Then I would spend the next hour drinking myself stupid, and the following 3 minutes and 20 seconds stabbing her in the dark with my porksaber.

[note:  'in the dark' is both literal and metaphorical in this case.]

You may say, "But wouldn't it just be disgusting?  Wouldn't it be nauseating?"
Yes.  Yes it would. 

But I'd have a hell of a story to tell.  

And 50 years from now, no one would bother doing the math.

So to Carrie Fisher, Catherine Bach, or Lauren Tewes, [on the off chance you're sitting around googling yourself]  know this:  

I will have sex with you.  Now, and forever.

Fuck Ovechkin,
The Emperor

Thursday, August 26, 2010

Do we REALLY need another Blogger?

I think Homer Simpson summed it up best:

[to Marge]  
"I saw you desperately trying to cram one more salty treat into America's already bloated snack hole."

After much consideration, kiddies, I have decided to start my own blog.
And this is it.

And while I can't promise that there will be anything earth-shattering, I can promise that there will be plenty of nods to the Simpsons and Cheers, and likely random bizarre references I don't expect you to get.

And maybe an 'Ovechkin's mom's a whore' joke.   Or two.

Here's one of my favorites:
Knock Knock.
Who's There?
Ovechkin who?
Ovechkin's mom is a whore.

See how this is gonna work?
Feel free to follow, comment, and pass it around like a sorority girl  Smurfette.

[side note:  only 1 girl, and 100's no wonder they were blue!]

I hope you'll have fun here.
I know I will.  

I also wanted to come up with a unique signature.  Something that identified me.

Carol Burnett tugged her ear.

Johnny Carson swung an imaginary golf club.

Ann Coulter is a hateful cunt.

All unique, memorable identifiers.

So I'll be closing out each blog post with the following signature: