But I didn't. Here I am. And the worst part is, I'm pretty sure more people will read this thing than I care to realize. O dear navigators of content-thin website, how you deserve more!

I am drinking my second cup of coffee, the very cup that blasted away my inhibitions about writing a blog while uninspired. I am drinking this coffee out of a red metal travel mug with the handle missing. On the side of the mug, there is white print, surrounded on either side by little white maple leaves: "Banff - Jasper - Lake Louise, Canadian Rockies." Above this, there is the head of an antelope that appears to be screaming. It looks like either the antelope is calling after its young, or perhaps being shot by a hunter, or both. I've never been to the Canadian Rockies, and I can't remember who got this for me. Whoever it is is a sick twisted fuck.

As I sit at my desk, waiting for my next proofreading assignment, I wonder about a lot of things. Right now, I'm wondering about the opening montage of Roseanne. The theme song. To me , it's always sounded like the kind of music you'd hear in an old-timey strip club or maybe a lascivious candy bar commercial. I wonder how many people see what I see when I hear that lead tenor sax start playing: A heavy mascaraed, extra slutty early 90's Roseanne standing on a smokey stage, clad in a burlesque outfit, gargantuan hips swaying to the beat, wearing dirty fishnets stretched so far that they just barely conceal her swollen overhanging labia. Tonight, instead of dancing, "Miss Roseanne", provoked by something in the music, has decided to take a five gallon bucket of butterscotch fudge and pour it all over her mammoth, stretchmark-laiden, torpedo-shaped breasts. The beat plods along, her huge hips continue to sway, the gooey fudge makes its way down, infiltrating every fold and crease of Roseanne's bloated body.

I can't be the only one who's pictured this.

This entry was posted by Matt, on Tuesday, August 15, 2006. You can leave your response.