Showing posts with label Corey Comedy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Corey Comedy. Show all posts

Friday, January 28, 2011

Is Bigger Really Better?

All I have to say is that Mother Nature plays no games. That must be why I don't see any squirrels anywhere in this picture; they are scared silly.

Monday, January 10, 2011

THE DMV IS NOT FOR ME



The Department of Motor Vehicles (DMV) should be renamed with a more appropriate title: The Dysfunctional Ministry of Vexation.

There is not a singular time when I can just walk in and then out with the desired task completed. One would cognize that in this modern era that a sophisticated system of fecundity would supplant their archaic system of deceleration and absolute time obstruction. How many times have you arrived at a DMV facility only to be gifted with a simplex numbered receipt that makes the cliche' "Get your place in line" all the more exuberant?

I had the unfortunate chance to partake in this monotonous and sluggish experience days ago. However, it would be the shortest time I've ever spent in the automotive Doldrum.

After a dreary mind-numbing  half hour of sitting in a neon orange chair, something that belonged in a day-care center, my "number" was summoned by a large electronic analog screen.

When I arrived at the shielded counter, I spoke through an enlarged grating device bespangled with encrusted holes just like an over sized salt shaker top. I discovered that this was a powerful micrphone and my only way to communicate with the DMV being on the other side.

I discussed my seemingly simple situation of renewing licensure. Moreover, I explained to her that the birth certificate that I ordered from the state was in fact wrong as they spelled my name with two "r's" instead of one.

The enlarged cardinal that sat perched across from me said not one word. Because of her response, I thought she comprehended everything and that this would be a simple process.

Wrong.

She lifted up her talons and slid a renewal form to me through a sunken crevice under the shielded counter.

I filled out the form and slid it back through the identical crevice. She snatched it with her claw once it reached her side and put the legal size paper up to her face.

After several minutes of examination, she lowered the paper from her face and revealed a particularly nasty smug expression on her radish feathered face.

"You have to place your birth name on the form, not a nickname" she squawked

"I did place my birth name on the paper." I said

"No, you placed another name on the paper. Your birth name is the name on your birth certificate"

"The name on my duplicate birth certificate is spelled incorrectly, a faulty typo on the part of the state. Didn't I explain this in intricate detail to you?"

"Write your proper birth name down on the paper."

And so I did.

I pushed my pen into the grooves of the paper and wrote my birth name with spectacular looping detail.

She snatched the paper once again with her bird claw after it reached the surface on the other side of the counter.

She dropped the paper from her claws.

"What is that?" she said

"THAT is a duality. That is my natural birth name and something you'll never be Clawdine!"

When I stalked away, an elder woman asked what I wrote on the paper.

I lowered my YEROC sunglasses and said "Fabulous."

Thursday, January 6, 2011

Sungl-ass is


One thing I cannot and will not stand are artificial, passive aggressively induced people. The tandem of the two is sickening.

I am notoriously known for wearing sunglasses inside, I don't know exactly what is notorious about it, but that is exactly what people tell me. Notorious. Infamous. Yet, even after over thousands of verbal exchanges on the subject, the sunglasses still adorn my face-inside and out. No one can convince me to be ME, so pause bitch, rewind, and take out your interactive DVD. Many have tried to psychoanalyze me and even furnish me diagnostic explanations for my eccentric sunglass wearing behavior. It is hilarious. You just have to laugh at people's idiocy.

Despite this, people still incessantly ask me why I wear sunglasses inside. Usually, I don't respond. There is no need to validate yourself for anyone. But this time, this particular pugnacious woman approached me in SUCH a way, and I just had to.

I stepped up to the visitor's desk at this middle school.

"Excuse me sir, there are no sunglasses permitted or allowed in the school. After all, there is no sun in here anyway."

"You see I was going to follow school protocol. However, it is not your prerogative to inform me of the weather nor is it your prerogative to tell me what should be adorning my face in any time or weather condition," I said.

"I was just saying that it is ridi-"

"No, you were saying nothing. There is no igloo anywhere beside you, yet you are dressed like an indigenous Eskimo on the coast of the Artic. Did I ask you why you wearing THAT inside?" I said

"No" she said

"Exactly. That is my point."

"It is just a safety precaution for the student. There was no need to be a bastard to me. You are disrespectful" she barked

"Correction. You are beyond disrespectful; you are blasphemous and awe less in every visual and cognitive realm. And don't give me that nonsense about student safety...Do I look like Cyclops, bitch!"

She was speechless. (They always are)

 I walked away in absolute revulsion. At that very moment, I cherished that I was wearing sunglasses inside. Why?

Echolocation. That damn she-squatch would of blinded me into batdom, leaving me with nothing but supersonic screech abilities and bleary mammalian vision.

Monday, January 3, 2011

The Birds, the Bees, and the Beserk.

Having an open web platform can attract massive spammers AND the insane. Some deranged soul sent this through my Junglethief.com customer contact terminal. He wanted us to sell it for "no less than $976.53."

Here is what he wanted us to sell:

A nice custom handcrafted bird house that has been occupied by a few different tenants over the seasons, not currently an avairy residence but an apiary one; which leads to the second item offered, a fully functioning bee hive, queen and drones included along with undoubtedly fresh straight from the comb honey.
These items are not offered seprately but as a package.
Want just the hive? Get a free birdhouse.
The two should not beE difficult to remove from their current location for any experienced or daring individuals. These bees have not shown any agressive tendancies; they seem approachable for observation or photography, and do not mind yard work that happens close by. The birdhouse (beehouse?) is located in the corner of my yard about five feet from the ground attached to a telephone pole with two ordinary phillips head screws (included of course!).


Here is the "ad" he sent:

Friday, December 31, 2010

Mario Market Kart



The next big reality show should be broadcasted from supermarkets across America. The craziest occurrences are born in these aisles. I had a particularly nasty experience in aisle 1.

I rarely participate in grocery shopping activities so when I do, it is such a novelty for me. Pushing four-wheeled aluminum carts is just so much damn fun. Especially when you jump on the suspended lever of the undercart basket with no hands. Weeeeeeeeeeeee.

I strolled down the produce aisle, seeking fresh fiery clementines. Just when I was about to adjust the rims of my new golden glazed GUCCI sunglasses, another cart rammed into the side of mine. Befuddled, I looked up, while taming the reflexive Yeroc attacks. (It could've been a blind old lady for all I knew). Instead, I observed a shoddy over sized sasquatch smiling at me.

"You should watch where you are going asshole" He sped away, ramming the other side of my cart. I had no idea that shopping cart road rage existed until this point.

Not wanting to cause a scene, I hastily texted a few of my friends for advice. After all, a trove of large lemons stood nestled beside the clementines. I could easily go sidearm pitcher on the bastard and chuck em'.

One of my very good friends, Colette, suggested that I use the rotund cantaloupes as road goal posts. This way, I can construct my own instant bumper kart emporium.

But this was a territory conflict. The sasquatch clearly crossed my boundary. I did what was only natural.

I strode over to him, tapped him on the shoulder. I knew what was going to happen next. A guttural rumbling formed in the pits of my larynx. It was happening. Again. An eruption of ear-splitting sound escaped my throat. I had roared!

It was something out of a movie; one of those perfectly timed pauses. Everyone stopped to glare. But I'm used to it. Statues are there for this purpose and fortunately I'm thankful that I'm such a masterpiece.

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