Puntabulous

Well folks, I didn’t win a Gay Bloggie. Boo. But whatever, it was an honor just to have been nominated. Blah, blah, blah.

BryanBoy won Most Humorous and Towleroad won Best Personality.

Am I disappointed? Yes. Do I understand how BryanBoy is more funny than THIS or THIS (or THIS, THIS and THIS)? Not at all. But I digress.

We love our fans, and we’ll do our best to keep pumping out original humor that doesn’t rely on celebrity gossip for cheap laughs. I mean, how many times do you need to see a picture of Jake Gyllenhaal with white drawn around his mouth, or a celebrity baby with the caption “Sup Bitchez!” coming out of their mouth?

In conclusion, Olivia has a new kitten, and I’m working on a “Mr. Puntabulous’ Neighborhood” photo series, which will hopefully be finished next week. We hope you guys enjoy! Oh, and you can still vote Puntabulous for the Lone Star Verve awards!

Okay, last time we talked about me being a pansy-boy during my FIRST ten years of existence. Now it’s time to discuss the next ten years:

11 years - The big sixth grade social! This was our first dance growing up and slow dancing with girls was ridiculously scary. Sweaty palms and awkwardly stiff swaying back and forth. Oh goodness. Though nothing has really changed in the past 14 years. My dancing has just gotten taller and whiter.

15 years - This is the point in life where puberty was really taking it’s sweet ass time kicking in. I was a sophmore in high school and the incoming freshmen all had deeper voices than me. Now don’t think I was just being a teenager with low self-esteem who THOUGHT his voice hadn’t cracked yet. I specifically remember freshmen asking me: “Why is your voice so high?” How does one answer such a question?

Maybe: “My mommy says we all grow at our own special rates.”

Or perhaps: “Because my metabolism is different than everyone else’s. You’ll be jealous when we’re both 30 and you’ve got a beer gut and I’m still as svelt as ever.”

Or better yet: “Because I’m a homosexual and my voice won’t get much deeper than this when puberty decides to kick in anyway.”

16 years - Seeing “Event Horizon” at the movie theater. This movie scared the shit out ot me. Yes, I know it was directed by Paul W.S. Anderson of “Mortal Kombat” and “Resident Evil” fame, but it really was the scariest movie I’d ever seen. I revisited it when it was on TV when I was in college and still needed to shut it off, leave the room, eat an ice cream cone and imagine twenty puppies licking my face at the same time just to get over the trauma.

18 years - Coming out to my friend Robin. (Hi Robin!) That was pretty scary. She was the first friend I told. She should be pretty honored. Although I was pretty wasted at the time, so I probably would have told a bus full of nuns.

20 years - My first hook up. It was my junior year of college. You know how it gets harder to learn something when you learn it later on in life? Like swimming or new languages? Yeah, I had no idea what I was doing. But you see boys and girls? It’s okay to wait. Let people like you for who you are and not for how amazingly amazing you are in bed. Unless you want to be popular.

Just guess…

I got!

A kitten!

And she loves me! Can’t you see the love in that picture?! It practically jumps out!

Here’s how it happened:
So. I got off of work at two and went to buy some business attire for an upcoming conference that requires some business lady attire. I wasn’t having much luck (any luck) and was getting thoroughly pissed. I get mad when I shop a lot of times because everything is always too big, but that’s beside the point. We had just been to our third store and down the strip mall there’s a Petco (where the pets go). Outside the Petco (where the pets go) there was one of those weird old men (think Locke on Lost but with hair) with free kittens.

1-Hello?! FREE! You can’t pass up free things!
2-Hello!? Kittens! You can’t pass up kittens!

The kitten loves me, but really, who doesn’t? Callum Blue, that’s who. Damn that thirteen year age difference…anyway! The kitten enjoys activities such as jumping, sleeping, pooping, eating, drinking strong whiskey, beating me while she’s drunk, and watching TV. And running.

So what began as just petting some kittens for fun turned into me and my Mom deciding to take one. Seriously. We stole it. Not really, it was free. But since we decided to get a kitten that day’s shopping was done with.

Kittens: 1
Olivia’s search for fitting business attire: 0

Poll: What should we name our new kitten? (She’s a girl)
A. Olivia Junior
B. Inky
C. Brighty
D. Other

Evil Bunny makes me think that animal cruelty might not be so bad.

Just when you thought Evil Bunny couldn’t get any more evil, he only left the black jelly beans. Game over, man! Game over!

Today is the last day of voting for the Gay Bloggies!

If I were a bit more computer savvy that picture would be a link to the voting website, but you know how it is. So it will instead remain the linkless seizure-inducing picture that it is. GO HERE TO VOTE!

So I almost died Thursday night. We had a gun threat at that there Quiznos. Some guy called and asked for another guy that works there then when I put him on the phone told him that he was going to come up there and shoot him. So I totally freaked out, there was crying and planning my escape and yelling at the dumbass who was getting shot and then there were these people here that were somehow involved in it and they were there and the manager wasn’t but we called her and she said to call the po po if the guy came, but really, then it’s too late! Anyway, I don’t think he came.

Then I was scared I was going to die Friday night. I hit my head Thursday at school in the library and it didn’t hurt for very long (five minutes, tops) but then it started hurting Friday night at work and I felt super woozy and everything. So then the chick I work with goes “well, don’t go to sleep tonight, you might have a concussion.” So I ask what will happen if I do. I’ll die, she says. Well, that’s no good, because I’m tired when I get home. My mom says I don’t have a concussion or cancer (I probably do have cancer, it’s totally in my genes). I figure I won’t die, but I’m really worried that if I do die, people won’t do my funeral right.

I was mostly worried that a crappy song would be played and that people would talk about God and stuff. And that’s no good, because I don’t believe in God, and I want a good song played at my funeral. While I was lying there thinking about it, I decided that I wanted that Bright Eyes song where it’s like “I know that it is freezing but I think we’ll have to walk. I keep waving at the taxis they keep turning their lights on…” because I really love that song. And there was this one Jason Mraz one that I liked on his live album. I forgot how it goes but I think it says something about either brown eyes, brown hair, or both, and I have those, so that’s good.

Also, I wouldn’t want any yoohoos going on about how I’d be in a better place, because that’s not true, I’d probably be either underground or burned up, one being probably really cold and one being really hot, and I’m not a fan of either. Or I’d be in a box rotting, and that’s no good because rotting is gross. If I was in a virtual Candy Land then that’s another story.

Also, I was worried that I wouldn’t look good in my little casket thing. I’d want to look super hot, not hooker boots hot, just cute. I was worried that they’d put me in something stupid, like some frilly dress. Also, I have a few “facial blemishes” right now and I wouldn’t want to have those while people were grieving over my sexy dead body.

I had a lot of time to think while I was trying to see if I felt myself dying as I fell asleep. I don’t particularly want to die for a good long while, so of course I would have called the proper authorities if I had felt death coming to get me. But I’m seriously concerned that whenever I die, hopefully not anytime soon, someone will screw up my funeral or commit a serious fashion don’t or something. That’s why I’ll never be suicidal, I’m just worried about someone fucking up my funeral, so I guess that’s good. I do hope there’s a streaker there though, that’d be HILARIOUS!

Well folks, today I turn the big two five. 25. XXV. Veinte Cinco. Quarter of a Century. Entytwe Ivefe. Oh, you get the idea.

To be honest, I’m pretty excited about being 25. I think it’s a good age. I’m actually enjoying getting older. Yeah, graduating college a few years back blew a big one, and getting a grown-up job was even worse, but I find something very appealling about being a mature and sophisticated adult.

And granted, I haven’t done all the things I planned on doing by the ripe old age of 25, it’s still okay. For instance, I was supposed to have had a book published by now. But so far, I just have a notebook full of rejection letters, which I keep in the hope of one day being a hugely famous author and looking through them and laugh and laugh and laugh. Or more likely, years from now, I still won’t be a hugely famous author, but I’ll still be able to laugh as I read over the old rejection letters having long accepted the fact that stories about elves isn’t really my strong point.

This is not to say that I think lightly of my other accomplishments. I got nominated for some Gay Bloggies! (Did you vote yet?). I have the best friends anyone could ask for (also see my Blogroll!). I went skydiving. I received a hickey from a pig (How many people do you know that can say that?). I have a black belt in karate and an MBA. I also hold the current land speed record for running in Kenya (slowest).

My previous plan for life was to be “married”, own a home, and well on my way to adopting an army of Asian babies by the age of 27. That doesn’t look so good these days, but that’s okay. It has since been pushed back to 30 (likely 35, but let’s play pretend). You have 5 years to find me boys! Less time if you actually want to get to know me before jumping into the whole “deciding who’s family we’ll be spending Thanksgiving with” thing. Or I could always take a cue from Sabila’s parents and get arranged. That would be a total weight off my shoulders. Or maybe not.

Oh well.

I expect this year to be a good one. I may not do anything world-changing, but I’ll continue to do my best at being a good person. And I’ll continue to believe that a person can smile for no reason whatsoever without being considered crazy or up to no good.

Happy Birthday to me.

So I’m taking some classes for my job, and the one I’m taking this semester is especially excruciating. This is how my notes proceeded to look throughout the class this week:

Before:

During:

After:

It’s amazing what an amazingly amazing artist I am. Amazing.

Once again, Puntabulous goes head-to-head regarding some serious issues!

In today’s edition, we decide which Disney Princess is the biggest Hoochie Mama.

Craig: Although it is painfully obvious, I would like to declare what everyone around the world already knows: Princess Ariel from The Little Mermaid is the biggest cartoon hoochie mama to have ever been drawn.

Olivia: As if, Craig. As…if. Painfully obvious my bum, the only thing painful about it is how wrong you are. The biggest hoochie mama among the Disney Princesses is, of course, Cinderella from Cinderella.

Craig: Pa-sha! Right! Cinderella is a southern belle compared to Ariel! (hey that rhymes!) At least Cinderella has the decency to wear clothes. Ariel is all hooched out in those purple clams that hardly cover up those ghetto jubblies of hers. Oh and memo to Ariel: a fish tale does NOT constitute pants. She should be ashamed of herself!

Olivia: Uh, Hello?! Let me crack an egg of knowlege over your head; Cinderella is obviously a prostitute, and her “step-mother” is obviously her pimp. That’s why she wouldn’t let her go to the ball, because she already had two (the “step-sisters”) hookers workin’ the ball! Cinderella was the pretty whore, and would detract business from the other two.

Craig: At least Cinderella was hanging out with other women! Ariel didn’t want any part of that homoerotic burlesque show King Triton passed off as his daughters performing! This Ariel hoochie wanted a show of her own, so she insisted on surrounding herself with guys, or as I like to call them (flavas of the sea). Let’s see: Flounder: Guy; Sebastian: Guy; Scuttle: Guy. Sensing a pattern here?

Olivia: Fine, let’s see if you can wrap your mind around this one: Glass Slipper=sex. Cinderella is easy, she puts out on the first date. The Prince got her glass slipper, and it was so good he had to find her.

Craig: Not only has my mind been wrapped by this, but it has also been bored and put to sleep by this. You know what’s more interesting than far-fetched sexual metaphors? Bestiality. That’s right. Bestiality. Ariel duped Prince Eric into having sex with a half human half fish. Half fish still equals whole bestiality!

Olivia: Far-fetched my ass, your face is far-fetched! Ariel was being totally forced to get all up on Prince Eric, duh. Ursula was going to take her soul if she couldn’t get him to fall in love with her! What would you do in a situation like that!? Cinderella just had to be back by midnight, her curfew, obviously. But that skank couldn’t even do that, she was busy getting hot and heavy with Prince Charming. And he was “charming” her dress right off, but she’s easy, so it wasn’t that hard for him.

Craig: I think you mean to say that my face is fetching. But I’ll let that slight miscommunication slide this time. What I can’t let slide is your slandering of poor, sweet, gentle, Cinderella. We all know that Cinderella was the poor unsuspecting victim of a rufie, slipped to her by Prince “Charming”. Ariel is anything but a victim. She stanks of fish and is in a constant state of moistness. I can only imaging the diseases that awaited Prince Eric on their wedding night.

Olivia: Dear sir, I cannot believe YOUR slander of MY slander of that whore, Cinderella. First of all, she lives in an attic and is friends with mice, mice carry loads of diseases, ie, bubonic plague? Exactly. Ariel is half fish, and hangs out with sea creatures, nothing weird there! And wedding night disease? If she’s such a skank then there’d be some pre-wedding night Dermocystidium (a fish disease that leaves lesions on fish).

Craig: Don’t try and confuse matters with your slanderous slander of my counter slander! The facts remain, Ariel is the biggest hoochie mama going. Let’s go down the facts: 1) She hardly fits her clams into her clams. 2) She duped Prince Eric into peforming Bestiality. We all know one thing leads to another! What next? Duping him into gay marriage!? 3) Her constant smell of the sea. Something smells fishy in the house of Disney! And it’s coming from between Ariel’s fins!

Olivia: You hooligan, you have got to be taking crazy pills. Let’s review: Cinderella lets her glass slipper just fall off for anyone, Cinderella is a hooker, Cinderella has mice for friends because she has so many diseases those are the only friends she can get. Ariel was a forced whore, therefore, ruling her out of the whoriness. Cinderella conquers the hoochie mama battle.

This may very well be the pinnacle of my immaturity. Or stupidity. You decide! Actually, don’t. I’m pretty sure I can figure it out myself.

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