Archive - April 2008


 

Everybody Loves Raymond

 

     ‘Cept me.

     Oh, I don’t have a problem with the main character.  Or even the actor who portrays him.  Fact is, I know precious little about the subject.  I’ve never really watched the show much, so I’m not good judge.  But the scant few minutes of it I’ve seen didn’t seem appallingly bad.

     So, why don’t I love Raymond?  Let me paint a picture for you.

     Open on my bedroom, around 11 pm.  I climb into bed as my wife finishes her bedtime routine.  I turn on the television and begin to surf.  My wife climbs into bed and says something.  I stop surfing to pay attention (something I rarely do).  The channel is showing Everybody Loves Raymond.  Our brief conversation ends and we begin paying attention to the TV again.

     Raymond and his TV wife are also in bed, having a discussion.  The discussion is about whom the wife has picked out for Raymond to marry should something happen to her.

     I lunge for the remote and fumble with it, knowing it is already too late.

     Mrs. Grumpy: “I know who you should marry if I die.”

     Crap.

     She does know.  Which means, she has actually given it some thought.  Enough thought to come up with a well-reasoned answer.  Whereas for me, the mere mention of her passing leads only to this thought in my head:  Will I have to get a job?      

     Mrs. Grumpy: “You should marry _______.”

     I’ll not mention her name so she may maintain plausible deniability and a modicum of self-esteem.  She’ll know who she is in just a minute, though.  After I describe the many reasons it wouldn’t work.

 

1.      She lives in Minnesota.  Now, I’ve never been there, nor did I do a 4th grade Social Studies report on it.  (I chose Puerto Rico and got a “B” because it’s a protectorate, not a state.  I told the teacher she was being a nit-picky whore.  Sister Mary Margaret was not appreciative.)  Anyway, it just sounds cold.  And I’m not even sure it really exists.  For all I know, the state bird is a unicorn, the currency is dried fairy poop, and its flag depicts a centaur slipping a roofie to a mermaid.  Geography was not my best subject.

2.      She is unemployed, too.  Oh she’ll tell you she’s “freelance” but, please, we’re not stupid.  I could tell you that I’m a “freelance writer with a lascivious nature and a healthy disregard for societal norms.”  But in the end I’m still just a jobless, perverted dickhead.  And I intend to remain that way.

3.      She has 2 kids whom she home schools.  I have 2 kids who need to get out of my house.

4.      Did I mention I’m not getting a job?

 

     But the thing is, Mrs. Grumpy had actually given it some thought.

     Mrs. Grumpy: “Who would you pick for me?”

     I really don’t like Raymond.

     Grumpy: “Uh…I don’t want to play this game.”

     Mrs. Grumpy: “No, come on.  Who would you pick?”

     Grumpy: “I really don’t want to play.”

     Mrs. Grumpy: sigh

     I fucking hate Raymond

     I throw out a joke name, attempting to make light of the situation.  When it doesn’t fly, I say that I had assumed that I had ruined her for all other men.  (In the good way, not like what I did to Hillary Flinkman in high school.  But hey, she does look good in flannel.)  A few more minutes of half-assed jokes and hemming and hawing, and the discussion comes to a surprisingly peaceful end.  But I am quite aware it could have gone otherwise. 

     So, for the danger you put me in, I’d just like to give a warm and hearty “Fuck You” to Raymond.  I don’t need that kind of help.


 

Dear Grumpy,

Can you tell me where I might find a replacement battery for a Rudolph-the-red-nosed-reindeer watch?

Unsigned

 

Dear Unsigned,

Hmmm.  Not off the top of my head.  You may want to try the internet.  I can't make any promises though, because the internet I know revolves entirely around midgets and boobs.  Sometimes together, sometimes not.  But hey, give it a shot.

If that fails, let me know.  My inbox is stuffed (hee-hee) with emails about purchasing high quality replica watches.  Perhaps you could buy a replica of your beloved watch and steal the battery from it.  I also have a plethora of emails that can help if you happen to have a small or under-performing penis.

Hope that helps,

Grumpy Llama


HOROSCOPES

 

ARIES (March 21 - April 19):

     A squirrel will hate you.


TAURUS (April 20 - May 20):

     You will see at least one boob.


GEMINI (May 21 - June 21):

     It will burn when you pee.


CANCER (June 22- July 22):

     You will find a comfortable place to sit.


LEO (July 23 - August 22):

     Your Uncle Smitty will "come out" at Sunday dinner.


VIRGO (August 23 - September 22):

     That will NOT be the way the cookie crumbles.


LIBRA (September 23 - October 22):

     Blue makes you look fat.


SCORPIO (October 23 - November 21):

     Venus will reach its height.  Your penis will not.  (Hi-yo!!)


SAGITTARIUS ( November 22- December 21):

     Someone will mistake you for John Tesh.


CAPRICORN (December 22 - January 19):

     You will lie to a police officer.


AQUARIUS (January 20 - February 18):

     Black people will think you are funny.  Asians?  Not so much.


PISCES (February 19 - March 20):

     Your Mom will admit she never loved you.


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