Enough!

I'm about as tired of it as I could possibly be.

[Audience I carry in my head: "Tired of WHAT, Jim?"]

Thanks for asking. I'm tired of receiving awards. I've been the recipient of so many of them, and, of course, I've deserved every one, but...

["You're a pompous ass, Jim."]

That'll be enough out of you.

I've been given 36 of these suckers. It was 35 before Michelle gave me this one:




***Ponderously Heavy Sigh***

You've been coming here long enough to know what I usually do when I get one of these travesties foisted upon me, right? I attack both the giver and the gift. I spew venom and vitriol. I release my inner Godzilla upon Internet Tokyo. In other words, I become a total asshat. And now, it's expected of me. When people see that I've been given an award, they react with wholly uncalled for sadistic glee, as though I'm Gallagher and the award giver will be playing the part of the watermelon.

And I'm tired of it. I just don't want to do it anymore. Can't someone else be the asshole for a while? Why do I always have to play that role?

["Because you're perfect for the part, Jim."]

Hey! I told you to shut up over a hundred words ago!

Anyway, I could call Michelle a first cousin to a blob of snot, or a sword-swallowing buzzard-faced nincompoop, or even a jelly stain on the duvet cover of life, but where would that get us? Certainly not any closer to world peace, or even Syracuse.

Michelle calls herself The Surly Writer. But she's not, really. She's sweet, and generous, and lovely, and a nice person, and...

See? I'm going soft. I just don't have the heart to call her a big crust of, um... what DO you call that stuff that forms in the corner of a dog's eye? Whatever it is, I see no good reason to call her that. She's never done anything even remotely nasty to me, so...

Well, except for the fact that she gave me this award when she knew full well the sort of festering pile of seagull guts I was likely to become when I wrote about it. I suppose that counts for something.

So, since I don't really feel like insulting anyone anymore, but since she's obviously expecting it of me, here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to go back through some of my previous awards posts, take random insults from each one, and insert Michelle's name as need be. Michelle can pretend that I'm really saying every one of them specifically about her. I won't be, though, and to prove it, each insult will have a link back to the original post so that you can find out just who I was saying them about. For instance, let's pretend I said this to Michelle:

I'm giving you the "3 Is For What Finger I'm Holding Up And Aiming At You Right At This Very Moment And What Are You Going To Do About It, Bitch?" award, OK? So there, smarty! How do you like them apples?

If you click onto it, you'll see that I actually said that to Crazy Cath, not Michelle.

(Not that Crazy Cath deserved it any more than Michelle does. And now, Crazy Cath has vanished. The awesome force of my vituperation seems to have obliterated any trace of her previous existence from the face of the blogosphere. I am truly a reprehensible human being. Pretend I'm making a really sad face to show you I'm sorry about it.)

So, back to the transparent conceit previously fabricated, I'm NOT saying these things to Michelle:

For a dimwit, Michelle shows great perspicacity. Despite how my agreeing with her will lower the estimation of my IQ in the eyes of the intelligentsia (that is, non-Canadians) I find that I must concur with her on one thought: What in hell does a woman in an apron have to do with being over the top?

Well, OK, some of them seem a bit weird out of context, but if you click onto the link, you'll get to see some titties!

Here are some better insults (but not better titties!)

... being a blogger deemed worthy of note by Michelle is similar to being a food item declared healthy by a sack full of Twinkies.

She looks as though she just discovered there's a wombat in her panties.

I suppose Michelle is creative, in the same way that a vicious dog leaving a cat only three legs to hobble around on is creative, but that does little to swell the dog’s reputation and leaves you with somewhat less of a cat. In certain circles, that might qualify as art.

Next up on this edition of World's Dumbest Criminals is Michelle Hickman. Michelle hails from Pittsburgh, and her hobbies include pretending she's Queen Elizabeth and fondling herself.

I'm wracking my brain trying to come up with just exactly what type of gift Michelle might have, other than the ability to induce type-2 diabetes, but I think the idea is to just acknowledge that such gifts exist in all of us, even if when we put on a jumper and sandals we become the stuff of a bad STP trip.

To be singled out, in her estimation, as funny myself, is certainly an honor that ranks up there with, say, being named starting first baseman for the 1963 Washington Senators.

Well, that's a pretty fair bunch of insults. How about one more for good measure and then we'll break for lunch?

Values? I'm displaying values? I suppose I am, but I wouldn't brag about them. If Michelle wants to be recognized as being associated with my values, so be it, but it shows tremendously poor taste on her part. However, de gustibus non est disputadum, as my grandfather said that time he was arrested for tattooing Mussolini's face on the neighbor lady's butt.

Hey! Wait a minute! The only one getting insulted there is me, I think. And that post actually was about Michelle. She gave me PD, the dusky minx! And now, you have to hit the link to find out just what it was, so there! Nobody's getting out of here alive, Bucko.

I hope the above has fulfilled my contractual obligation to be nasty. If you feel I haven't lived up to my usual standards, give me another frickin' award and I'll see what I can do.

Soon, with...

Oh, hell, one more for the road.

I think lemonade sucks. It’s the most over-rated drink in the history of the universe. It doesn’t satisfy your thirst, and even though it has enough sugar in it to send your average diabetic into a coma, it still puckers up your kisser and makes the phlegm clog your throat. And... Oh, Hell, I don’t know where I’m headed with this, but you’re still a freakin’ FROG. There was a reason God made tons of them fall from the sky on the Egyptians, you know. It’s because people think they’re slimy and gross. The Egyptians weren’t standing in the middle of the street going, "Aw, look at the cute little frogs!" They were running away, screaming, "Shit! Frogs! Quick, Amenotep! Close all the windows!"

... more better...

Too easy a target. I mean, sure, I could sit around all day bashing Michelle, but where's the sport in that? I'd have her skewered before she could wipe the tobacco drool off of her chin. It would be like... well, like making fun of Texans or lesbians. All they have to do is show up and it's funny. I don't have to say a damn thing.

... stuff.



(No Michelles were harmed during the making of this blog.)