The return of the Pink Wombat-squirrel
I have returnethed. May the great word spread before you like wildfire, and use mine name in reverence, for it is a killing word. And why is that? For I am the Cuisinart-Monkeysack!!!
Greetings, my droogs. It has been awhile. But recently it was mentioned that my random posts were missed, despite my complete non-understanding of why. I consider them radical non-sensical swill, but I suppose one man's crap is another man's zesty tortilla dip. I suppose I will start with recentness. I have now begun to look for my half-sister. Yes, there are actually other youths out there that share a partial genetic set with yours truly, his holiness, Pope Chodus of Still Thinking, High Priest of Hemephetep, the All Seeing, All knowing, All Destroying. In fact there are two. I have both a brother and a sister. But I have met my brother, even lived with him. My sister on the other hand is an enigma to me. I saw her once after she popped out, but that is about it. I know two thinks. Her father is my father, and she was born on or around Valentine's day. I always wanted to go forth and find the rest of my father's progeny, see if they too have such a warped mind as my own, perhaps combine brain power and use it to systematically take over the world, but I somehow see it instead becoming a debate on whether black or gold raisins taste better. I vote gold personally. They taste sweeter. But I digress. I have begun the search for this enigmatic girl. First is to discover whether she still lives with my father. This would be completely based on whether her mother and my father stayed together. Knowing his sex drive, he may have moved on. But let us first try the control group. The unaltered setting. If they are still together, then I can find one person with my last name amongst the 5,968 people with my last name listed on Ancestory.com. Yes, apparently we make up an enormously large group of people. Not to mention, the many sites from germany with same said name. Well, he's a dentist, so that made it easier. So I began the search. I found, amongst all these same-name-ites, only one with my father's name and is a dentist. Even so complete that I found his brother the lawyer. Finding a picture of this man, I find he looks rather similar to what I remember. A round bald man, yes bald, like my own receeding hairline. Testostrone is genetic. Yay! Gray beard, in the same cut my father had for my entire life thatI knew him. And of course the glasses. Now that I find I share a uncanny resembelance to bozo the clown, I began to look for references to children. Local School system notes one female and one male student with my same said last name. So eureeka, a possible candidate for world disaster. Ah, but how to speak to the siter without talking to the father. I am beginning to see no way. I may just have to talk to the old codger. *ring ring* "Yeah hi dad, your an ass, can I talk to my sister who I have never met, thanks, your a sweetheart. No, I swear, I am not some sicko from Idaho who wants to take neekid pics of your child. Sure you can trust me, just like my mother trusted your adulterous old ass." No, I'm not bitter. Heh. But in the end, there stands the in-ability to know exactly without divulging to my worry-wart madre that I am looking this info up. Why? Well, if my sister is out there, she is in highschool, or near to. And unless my father has spawned more of my retarded family into this world, much like an aboriginal tree frog, she is by herself with no one but parents out there. Didn't work well for me, and i think siblings should at least have some sort of relationship, even if it is, "Hey, I am one of your wierd older half brothers from across the country, I am here if you need a family member who isn't completely a nut job." I mean its not like I don't have cool stories or a few words on what beers are good for the future. And I am a philanthropist, or so says the small polydactyl man in a tuxedo that is sleeping at the foot of my chair. Yes, I bought my own circus midget. His name is Czar. He's a bit dirty, and pretty much just showed up on my porch one day and adopted us. He scares the other hobos away and urinates on our bushes. He's a genial sort but he tends to sit on the porch and yawl at the window till I bring him a bowl of food and some malted beverage to wash it down. He was small at first, but now he is getting that sheen in his eye again. He dusted off his coat and now acts like a small dog, chasing the riff-raff away from his steady food supply. We're bringing him in to get him his shots, and general physical before we let him stay inside permanetly with the other things we've dragged in off the street. He even comes when you call his name, shaking his shaggy little head, his little coat-tails waggling about like a happy retard with an ice cream cone. Now if this mini hobo can decide that he loves my left foot, and the stink of clove on my right hand, I am sure I can convince some person that probably doesn't even know my genetic code exists that I am an okay guy. And what if she doesn't know I exist. Does that make my father a good guy, for not letting her wonder about it, or does that make him an ass for keeping her in the dark about the crazy little child he left behind somewhere in Michigan. Its been a crazy trip since then, and I have moved and traveled all over the US. I have lived in California, Michigan, Florida, Wisconsin, etc. And if my search is correct, they are still in Michigan. I have lived in a house with no furniture, eating a 5lb block of government cheese (yum!), and manoschino cheeries. I have slept in a car. And have been dragged from work to leave the state I was in. As you all know I am a nutjob cheeseball, wrapped in a rocketbottle enigma, ready to launch to lala land. But small furless mole-rats need love too. The urge to divulge such things to someone I don't know runs through my veins like a pair of radioactive rubber pants. The pants command me! Do not deny the veins! Heh. Bah, enough of siblings and hobos. Next week I think I might knock of coporate america, or perhaps just stick to the wonderfull humour of Silver Paganwolf. Now I wander off to WoW, to lay on a bit of the ol' Ultra-Violence. Sleep tight my droogs.
Sincerely,
His royal pain in the higness,
Your humble Gulag guard,
PinkWombatSquirrel
P.S. Our Editing department is currently out to lunch, Proper spelling will re-commence when they return. Unfortunately that occurence is not looking to good. They went to lunch about three years ago, we've still heard no word.
Oh how the pants burn...
Greetings, my droogs. It has been awhile. But recently it was mentioned that my random posts were missed, despite my complete non-understanding of why. I consider them radical non-sensical swill, but I suppose one man's crap is another man's zesty tortilla dip. I suppose I will start with recentness. I have now begun to look for my half-sister. Yes, there are actually other youths out there that share a partial genetic set with yours truly, his holiness, Pope Chodus of Still Thinking, High Priest of Hemephetep, the All Seeing, All knowing, All Destroying. In fact there are two. I have both a brother and a sister. But I have met my brother, even lived with him. My sister on the other hand is an enigma to me. I saw her once after she popped out, but that is about it. I know two thinks. Her father is my father, and she was born on or around Valentine's day. I always wanted to go forth and find the rest of my father's progeny, see if they too have such a warped mind as my own, perhaps combine brain power and use it to systematically take over the world, but I somehow see it instead becoming a debate on whether black or gold raisins taste better. I vote gold personally. They taste sweeter. But I digress. I have begun the search for this enigmatic girl. First is to discover whether she still lives with my father. This would be completely based on whether her mother and my father stayed together. Knowing his sex drive, he may have moved on. But let us first try the control group. The unaltered setting. If they are still together, then I can find one person with my last name amongst the 5,968 people with my last name listed on Ancestory.com. Yes, apparently we make up an enormously large group of people. Not to mention, the many sites from germany with same said name. Well, he's a dentist, so that made it easier. So I began the search. I found, amongst all these same-name-ites, only one with my father's name and is a dentist. Even so complete that I found his brother the lawyer. Finding a picture of this man, I find he looks rather similar to what I remember. A round bald man, yes bald, like my own receeding hairline. Testostrone is genetic. Yay! Gray beard, in the same cut my father had for my entire life thatI knew him. And of course the glasses. Now that I find I share a uncanny resembelance to bozo the clown, I began to look for references to children. Local School system notes one female and one male student with my same said last name. So eureeka, a possible candidate for world disaster. Ah, but how to speak to the siter without talking to the father. I am beginning to see no way. I may just have to talk to the old codger. *ring ring* "Yeah hi dad, your an ass, can I talk to my sister who I have never met, thanks, your a sweetheart. No, I swear, I am not some sicko from Idaho who wants to take neekid pics of your child. Sure you can trust me, just like my mother trusted your adulterous old ass." No, I'm not bitter. Heh. But in the end, there stands the in-ability to know exactly without divulging to my worry-wart madre that I am looking this info up. Why? Well, if my sister is out there, she is in highschool, or near to. And unless my father has spawned more of my retarded family into this world, much like an aboriginal tree frog, she is by herself with no one but parents out there. Didn't work well for me, and i think siblings should at least have some sort of relationship, even if it is, "Hey, I am one of your wierd older half brothers from across the country, I am here if you need a family member who isn't completely a nut job." I mean its not like I don't have cool stories or a few words on what beers are good for the future. And I am a philanthropist, or so says the small polydactyl man in a tuxedo that is sleeping at the foot of my chair. Yes, I bought my own circus midget. His name is Czar. He's a bit dirty, and pretty much just showed up on my porch one day and adopted us. He scares the other hobos away and urinates on our bushes. He's a genial sort but he tends to sit on the porch and yawl at the window till I bring him a bowl of food and some malted beverage to wash it down. He was small at first, but now he is getting that sheen in his eye again. He dusted off his coat and now acts like a small dog, chasing the riff-raff away from his steady food supply. We're bringing him in to get him his shots, and general physical before we let him stay inside permanetly with the other things we've dragged in off the street. He even comes when you call his name, shaking his shaggy little head, his little coat-tails waggling about like a happy retard with an ice cream cone. Now if this mini hobo can decide that he loves my left foot, and the stink of clove on my right hand, I am sure I can convince some person that probably doesn't even know my genetic code exists that I am an okay guy. And what if she doesn't know I exist. Does that make my father a good guy, for not letting her wonder about it, or does that make him an ass for keeping her in the dark about the crazy little child he left behind somewhere in Michigan. Its been a crazy trip since then, and I have moved and traveled all over the US. I have lived in California, Michigan, Florida, Wisconsin, etc. And if my search is correct, they are still in Michigan. I have lived in a house with no furniture, eating a 5lb block of government cheese (yum!), and manoschino cheeries. I have slept in a car. And have been dragged from work to leave the state I was in. As you all know I am a nutjob cheeseball, wrapped in a rocketbottle enigma, ready to launch to lala land. But small furless mole-rats need love too. The urge to divulge such things to someone I don't know runs through my veins like a pair of radioactive rubber pants. The pants command me! Do not deny the veins! Heh. Bah, enough of siblings and hobos. Next week I think I might knock of coporate america, or perhaps just stick to the wonderfull humour of Silver Paganwolf. Now I wander off to WoW, to lay on a bit of the ol' Ultra-Violence. Sleep tight my droogs.
Sincerely,
His royal pain in the higness,
Your humble Gulag guard,
PinkWombatSquirrel
P.S. Our Editing department is currently out to lunch, Proper spelling will re-commence when they return. Unfortunately that occurence is not looking to good. They went to lunch about three years ago, we've still heard no word.
Oh how the pants burn...