Saturday, December 06, 2008

BABY JESUS wants me to celebrate Christmas, so says my Toaster Oven

I like to save electricity because I can't afford to pay for it. I live in squalor because my house leaks even though this is Arizona and it never rains here. I bring up how I never plug stuff in to let you know that I experienced a real life miracle this morning.

My toaster oven wants me to celebrate Christmas.

I know because it told me so.

"You should be a Christmas Tree." Whenever my toaster oven talks the door swings open like a cheap special effect from 1960's TV. It's not so much that my toaster oven talks to me. Toaster ovens have always talked to me. The only unnerving thing is what the toaster oven demands. It wants me to get a Christmas tree.

"I don't celebrate Christmas." I tell the talking appliance.

"You sure liked that spider man you got when you were 8." The toaster oven reminds me.

"Sure." I interrupt the toaster, "But I was 8. And anyways I just liked toys back then. I didn't care about baby jesus or anything."

"You should still get a tree."

The toaster oven sounded a bit disappointed. I think the toaster over might be depressed, because I don't cook at home a lot. I eat out too much and the oven just sits at home. It would probably cheer the oven up to look at a cheery holiday display instead of the bare walls that cover the house now. The condo has not been painted in 20 years, and you can see yellow stains on the roof where water is trying to leak inside the apartment.

"I'll think about getting a tree." I tell the toaster oven. I think the toaster oven is happy now.


KELSO'S NUTS said...


Poker-related story reflecting my deepy-held suspicion and opinion that the Dalai Lama is a douchebag.

Some well known players had gone to Newport Beach for a big home game. Ivey was one of them, but I can't mention the others, because it was told in confidence and Ivey's not germane to the story, anyway.

There are four players, one with his wife, and they get to the Ritz-Carlton and get their suites. There's construction on the floor and it's noisy so they complain and ask for different rooms. All the suites are taken, but the guy at the desk says there is a penthouse floor that had four large apartments and there were two adjoining ones which could fit all 5 of them very comfortably.

The problem, the guy explained, was that there was a visiting dignitary and his bodyguards in the other two apartments and their comings and goings might also disturb the players. Somebody said "no problem, we're more or less night people anyway."

So, they settle in to the penthouse apartments, go to the home game, play for five or six hours come back to the hotel around 3 am.

The guy who brought his wife had ordered room service when they got back, had fallen asleep right after eating and woke up around 10AM. They are in their bathrobes and hers is slightly open showing some cleavage and she's pretty but not one of these trophy wife silicone types. The wheel the room service trolley out to the door, open it, get the Register and the Times, and just then a platoon of like 6 little Tibeten guys in Robert Hall suits goose-step by.

The Dalai Lama, in full regalia, follows, stops at my friends' open door. The Lama proceed to leeringly stare at my friend's wife's tits. She gets very uncomfortble, tightens up her robe and scoots back into the apartment.

My friend who's a pretty big guy and pretty tough says to the Lama: "Why don't you get the fuck out of here, asshole?" He had no idea not that it mattered who the Lama was until later!

The Lama starts walking away and one of the trailing bodyguard stops at his door and whispers to him "I'm sorry, sir, His HOLINESS does that a lot. Please don't take it personally."

Romius T. said...

I never trusted that guy. I dont trust any of that eastern mythos stuff though.

I am just glad my comment section has become the secret blog of kelso's nutty memoirs!

It's like getting 2 blogs for the price of one@

Freida of the Bees said...

Uh-oh. You shouldn't trust Baby Jesus, the lying stink. He told me to give you the Splotchy Story Virus.

KELSO'S NUTS said...

Romius T. said...
write the book buddy. I'd read it. Your memoirs are what is supposed to be going down on this blog only I have no cool shit going on in my life.

I did get to have anal sex with a girl on the first date once."


OK, by the numbers the normal American price for either picking up a girl randomly or hitting either or both of the regular stations of the holy trinity on the first date are 9/1 against.

To assfuck a girl on the first date is an out-price. It's 200/1 against even if you're straight-fucking on the first date. It's 2500/1 against for a normal first date, unless you have some prior knowledge that she rolls that way. Let me put into perspective what you accomplished.

If I guaranteed that you fuck the next 200 first dates, you'd only be a -170 favorite to ASSFUCK any of those girls!

Romius T. said...


Straight up motherfucka. YOu are right, that was pretty slick ass of me to get the anal on the first date!

I will have to think about the splotchy thingy.