steveurkelbowling-blog
Your Impetigo Is Looking Much Better. Champagne?
Steve Urkel Bowling: when someone is taking too long in their preparations to perform an action. You know, like when Steve Urkel was about to bowl, he always cracked his knuckles, then stretched, then adjusted his high-waisted trousers, then blew on his fingers…and finally everyone would yell “Steve!!!” and then the audience chuckled. Ah, good times. ex: “Aw, come on Steve Urkel Bowling, how hard is it to tie your goddamn shoelaces?!”
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“I don’t care! I’m my own person!”
“Fine, Joseph! Do what you want!”
Joseph ate the balloon. Then he turned blue. Then he looked like he was going to pull through because he started eating spaghetti. Then he died.
“Damn it! Now how am I going to sing that doo wop medley? By myself?! As if. Who do I look like, Bryce Springsfeld?!”
Terrence will always remember that as the day he said goodbye to being a famous singer and hello to alcohol abuse and menial janitorial work. Oh, and to a ruptured spleen, because later he got curious and ate a balloon, too. Terrence has the IQ of a popsicle stick. Literally. One time, he and a popsicle stick both guessed wrong during a game of Clue, that’s how he knows.
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I popped this balloon at my cousin’s Ant Burning party last spring, and now I can’t get it to inflate again. I’ve tried surprising the balloon with air while it’s looking the other way. I’ve gotten the balloon drunk and tried to inflate it when it got the spins. I’ve even bought the balloon its own cat and when it’s busy changing the litter box I jab at it with an air pump. No luck. If someone has any ideas or suggestions, I’d really appreciate it. Glue your phone number in rhinestones on a peppermint and throw it over the fence on 6th Ave. if you think you have any relevant advice. Thank you.
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“Dew drops glinted in the burgeoning morning sunlight. Flower petals swayed in the breeze in an incandescent display of spring’s arrival. Deer lapped at crystal clear water a few meters away, and birds chirped as if singing songs just for me. Then I was all, ‘Uh oh, diarrhea’”
-Excerpt from the book “Pastoral Epiphanies”
Could also be the prologue to a book called “Puerile Jokes I Laughed At Pretty Hard Even Though I’m A Grown Ass Adult Who Should Be Collating Documents Or Checking My Blood Pressure Not Laughing At Humor For Toddlers”
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Dinner idea!
How to make a bologna sandwich
1. Grab your loaf of bread. White bread, obviously, because remember how embarrassing it was when that Ku Klux Klan leader found your stash of rye last Easter? God, never again.
2. Take a knife from the drawer. Put the knife back because of how it’s a steak knife. Grab a butter knife and get a grip, yikes, sheeeeesh, come on.
3. Pull open the meat drawer in your refrigerator (because, you know, meat drawer). Rifle through it, searching for the package of bologna. Realize you used the last two pieces when you invented that game, Meat Thermometer. Wince at the memory. Off to the store it is, I guess.
4. Prepare yourself mentally to leave the house. The outside world will not hurt you! It’s not going to be anything like that movie Multiplicity, there will not be one of you roaming around who’s a scientist!
5. Drive to Safeway. Buy animal crackers and what you think is oregano but is actually basil. You need glasses. From a complete stranger to an incompetent asshole friend to a friend, seriously, you need glasses.
6. Start driving home. Spend five minutes waiting for the light on La Cienega to turn green. It turns out it’s actually a mailbox and not a stoplight (refer to step 5). Eat three lions and a seal out of grief. Oh, and a monkey because he fell out of the box onto your car seat by accident, he was asking for it.
7. Enter your apartment, grab a jar of peanut butter and the entire loaf of bread, and dip the pieces straight into the jar, dragging them crudely like a caveman. Your tired eyes begin to droop, but you still have more peanut butter left, so you soldier through.
8. Wake up the next morning and look around. Oh my god, did you sleep on the couch? Ha, you totally did! And you didn’t even buy bologna last night! There’s peanut butter everywhere. Awww, and now you have ants! You’re gross.
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^WANT. I could convince a dude to have sex with me in this room, yes? You'd totally do me in there, don't pretend your standards are too high. Don't play the Mister McINeverMadeOutWithAnElliottGouldCheeseStatue card because yea, you did. You know how many times I've enjoyed a cube of sharp cheddar since I witnessed that incident? Noneillion zerousand nopety nope times. I miss nachos. And glitter pens.
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Adulthood, where are you going? Come back, let's be friends!
Earlier I tried logging in to my account at my local CC to sign up for a class, but I couldn't remember my pin #. So, I have to answer the security question I apparently made up myself when I first signed up. Security Question: who smells like cheese?
Um, what? Fuck, I'm an idiot. That question means nothing to me. Answers I've tried with absolutely no success:
-Gary Coleman
-Me
-Tony Danza
-You know who
-You do!
-Cheddar McGouda
-Rusty's paws
Argh, why is Three-Years-Ago-Me such a fucktard?! I'm going to have to call over there, and it's either going to be the bestest or most awkward thing I'll do all week day hour. Maybe my future boyfriend will answer and he'll find my self-destructive childish idiocy endearing. Or maybe an old lady answers, treating me with barely disguised disdain complete with condescending sighs and eyerolls so exaggerated I can hear them. My track record suggests the latter, but who knows? They don't call them Makes-You-Glad-To-Be-Alive Mondays for nothing!
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Wherein I apparently tried to be Tom Oatmeal
“Oh my god, I love the way your sweater feels! If someone were to Rumpelstiltsken a blanket out of leprechaun beard hair, I imagine it would feel like this!”
Anthony knew he was nailing the interview. But, perched on the manager’s desk, stroking her sweater sleeve, he thought he felt her tense with apprehension. Maybe she’s hungry and just now remembered she has three licorice whips in a Ziploc bag waiting for her somewhere.
Damn Twizzlers, he thought. I need to say something punchy, fast.
“One time, a rhinoceros sneezed into my cousin’s mouth! And I know what you’re thinking, but don’t think that. She didn’t even smell like lemons or anything, no one could understand it!”
Even as he was wrestled to the ground by security guards after stealing a stapler off that one guy’s desk and trying to microwave it, Anthony was awash with feelings of unabashed joy.
Wow, he smiled. Being employed is the greatest feeling in the world.
(so, I wrote this and, upon re-reading, realized I was just attempting to do a poor man's Tom Oatmeal. OOPSIES MY BAD APOLOGIES COOKIE? If you don't know who Tom Oatmeal is, educate yourself. And while we're on the subject of educating yourself, I've been meaning to tell you I can see straight into your bathroom from my veranda. I wasn't sure how to bring it up, but my two nieces are coming over on Saturday and their mother is already mad at me because of a Tonka truck/whale caviar incident, so... I mean, you know how it is, when you find yourself at Toys 'R' Us after being at a yacht party. Things happen)
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Ugh, I'm so criminally unfocused as it is, I didn't need to stumble onto another thing that brutally beats my productivity into a coma with a sock full of nickels. This fucking website, you're my new timesuck. That means you've been replaced www.nuremberg-eyedrops.blogspot.gif/fredmeyer , get your sweaty ass outta here
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I need to cut up 25 sheets of Spongebob Squarepants stationery immediately, for reasons which will remain confidential. However, the only pair of scissors I have are now glued shut because of a disagreement at a rap battle last weekend, so I’m in need of a cutting device. Someone who has scissors instead of a left hand would be preferable, but anyone who owns pruning shears or even eight razor blades taped together will do. If you can help out, send your address in the talons of a hunter owl to 615 Adrenal Gladiator Lane. Please note that I will need to be reimbursed for feeding the owl. Thank you.
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Ha, is this real? Amazeballs. Way to go hiring Jack Handey to do your juice blurbs.
"I went fishing in the Alaskan wilderness once. My brother-in-law came with me, but when his hat fell off some pieces of straw became exposed, leading me to believe he was merely a stylish broom. But I bought the broom a drink because what am I, a monster?" - blurb on the back of Goldfish crackers. Put me on your payroll, Pepperidge Farm, I'm ready when you are.
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I found a small mitten next to a jalopy on 4th St. last week. It’s so tiny that it fits on my pinky finger, so I suspect it probably belonged to a warlock whose wand short circuited during a shrinking spell. I want to make more tiny mittens for my other fingers so I can act out scenes from The Brady Bunch, but I don’t know how to knit. If you can teach me how, or if there is a tiny magical man in your town who speaks either English or Farsi, please contact me at 555-8555. I will pick up the phone on the ninth ring, so your patience is appreciated in advance.
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Oh my god, you are ruining my life! You are becoming the Childhood Obesity Epidemic to my Cookie Monster!
You are. It needed to be said. Is this insensitive? Well, crayon time is over and now it's apple juice confessionals hour, deal with it
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Does this straight jacket come in green? Because I'm an Autumn
The other day I was at work e-mailing my co-workers (b/c actual workplace productivity only ends in the tears of orphans), and I made a joke about Wheat Thins’ cousin, Barley Fats, and started cracking up at myself. Seriously, I had to leave the room I was laughing so hard. That is a joke even Highlights Magazine would burn in effigy, and yet I had to remove myself physically because my comedic genius was just so overwhelming. I’m laughing at it again right now. There is clearly a point at which you begin to entertain yourself too much, like it becomes certifiable or criminal eventually, yes? Well, if that’s true, I have officially been a roaming psychopath/fugitive for many years now. Oopsies/suck it.
#you know who's also an autumn? Greg Kinnear#does anyone else smell a soul mate connection? Soul mates kind of smells like pennies. Oh that’s a brain tumor? Hmm inconvenient
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Dental Hygiene P.S.A.
Y: You know, I honestly truly did miss you today. I was sitting there eating a muffin and I was like, “I wish Trevor was here so I wouldn’t have to finish this alone.” Because we’re Muffin Splitters. Oh my god, cancel cancel, I don’t want to be a muffin splitter with you! That sounds like a gross rapist’s wrestling name. I don’t want to share any food with you whose name is a euphemism for vagina. Cake? No, pastries are a dangerous pervy group, we’ll stay away from them. Oranges? Hmm, that might work. Orange Splitters. Yea, that sounds innocuous enough. From now on we’ll split oranges, you’ll get five slices and I’ll get six. I need the extra vitamin C because I have more brain cells to feed, also because I’m more prone to scurvy on account of my wooden leg and the fact that I’m a maritime prostitute
Z: Oh my god, I want to take everything you just said and eat it like a cookie
Y: Fatass weirdo
Z: Sailor whore
Y: Future involuntary celibacy enthusiast
Z: Greatest thing that ever happened to me
Y: Oh, that’s a good boy, yes you are, such a good boy
Z: *one tooth falls out*
#now that i think about it an orange cut in half kind of looks like a puckered asshole#is there any food that can't be pervified?#yams! fuck should've gone with yams
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I have never not laughed at this. I love how supportive the narwhal is. This is the kind of movie scene that turns you into an overestrogenated monster and makes you want to call your boyfriend to yell at him for acting disinterested in your very solid thesis on sea monkeys. Fuck you Glendon, why can't you be more like Narwhal?!
#true#true stories#very factual#glendon is real#so is my narwhal-induced vagina anger#chocolate! right ladies?
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“Um, listen, I’m not sure what they told you about me, but I’m a really good person. I didn’t stab any hobos with a sharpened tire iron today, plus I remembered the detergent pouring step when I did my laundry four Saturdays ago. In summation, I smell faintly like Springtime Meadows, and am in no way covered in the blood of a forgotten street vagrant. Do you want some drinking water? I don’t have any cups, but I have a fair amount of Barbie doll shoes, so I’m sure we can customize this situation to suit our needs, probably.”
Kevin didn’t end up being my roommate. Probably because I was wearing footsy pajamas in the hotel lobby after spending the night sleeping on the conference room floor, and Kevin was a traveling Asian businessman who may or may not have only spoken Crazy-Jibber-Non-English. At least, I think his name was Kevin, but he gave me eye stares that suggested he may have been a Thomas, or a Karen Fangle. It was the corneas specifically, he had very Karen Fangle-y corneas.
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