Monthly Archives: February 2012
Otto and the Robot
| 02.21.2012 | Posted by Dan Burt under Humor, Photos |
Otto and the robot holding hands.
Otto found a new friend.
The robot petting Otto.
I think the robot likes him!
The robot still petting Otto.
The robot pets the right spot, making Otto’s arms fly in the air!
Otto standing in front of the robot.
The two bestest friends in the world!
Otto does not want to leave.
Otto tightly embraces his new friend after we tell Otto we must go.
The robot says goodbye.
The robot encourages Otto to leave by ever so gently electrically choking him.
The robot still saying goodbye.
The robot’s goodbye and Otto’s spasms last for well over a minute.
Otto wants to stay with the robot.
Otto is acting up and refusing to leave.
The robot asks, “WTF?”
Twenty minutes later, Otto still won’t leave. The robot made it clear he was tired of the brat’s shit. I had to drag him to the car like a sack of sand. You can bet he was punished when we got home.
My Muse Harland
| 02.14.2012 | Posted by Dan Burt under Humor, The Yellow Ham |
A new installment of Heckling Myself is up at The Yellow Ham.
My Muse Harland: My drunk, cross-dressing muse Harland is in rehab.
Monkey Bread
| 02.05.2012 | Posted by Dan Burt under Humor |
I frightened my pet monkey when I said something about making monkey bread. After I found him shivering underneath my bed, I lured him out with some delicious Purina Monkey Chow. I sat him down and explained I wasn’t going to use real monkeys to make the bread, but, instead, use some ingredients I’d ordered online. I told him I’d bake him some fresh bread when the 50 pounds of Sea-Monkeys arrived. He’s happy now.
Snuff Film
| 02.03.2012 | Posted by Dan Burt under Humor |
I’ve seen a snuff film before and I don’t know why anybody would get a thrill from it. The movie I watched just showed three old ladies standing in the kitchen washing laundry in tubs. They gossiped incessantly and dipped snuff sloppily. They got that shit everywhere. Snuff juice was dripping from their chins and into the laundry tubs. The table was slimed with snuff spit.
Every now and then you’d hear anguished screams emanating from off camera. Then this huge, mask-wearing, leather-clad person would lumber in laden with wet, stained clothes. He would grunt and shove the bloody bundle at the old ladies. They would divide the garments up, drop them in their tubs, and start scrubbing. By the end, I got so sick of listening to those snuff-smeared women gossip, I was hoping they’d disappear off camera, too, but they didn’t. They eventually moved to the front porch where they sat rocking in their rocking chairs, shelling peas, and, of course, dipping snuff. Now that I think about it, I may have been watching a home movie because those old women looked familiar and the film didn’t really have a plot.
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