Blogging Time Out

Hey, all, WC here. Sorry for the silence, but the Big Man has been put in Time Out over his recent string of posts. Oh sure, it was funny and all to belittle the good people of Indiana--I mean, damn, I love a good laugh at the simple ways of backward folk as much as the next guy--but then he started making fun of the fat chicks, and, well, The Wiz has a soft spot for the Plumpies. You see, sometimes the old star and moon robe doesn't wrap around my little ass during those chilly winter nights, and The Wiz needs him an ass to cozy up to in order to keep warm. I'm not ashamed. I'm a whore for a nice, warm, soft ass, despite Bel Biv Devoe warning me to never trust a big butt and a smile.

But then the Big Guy started knocking the Canadians, and that didn't sit too well with the Wiz. You see, I'm a closet acerfoliumophile, so if there's one thing I can't stand, it's insulting the good folks up north (although the Wiz does think your ketchup tastes a little funny--don't get upset, I'm just sayin'). I mean, just because a nation has a bit of a funny accent, screwed up football rules, various places named after moose body parts, and trees--lots and lots of trees--doesn't make them a bad place. I mean, they gave us the Barenaked Ladies and...uh...Avril Lavigne and...er...Alex Trebeck! Okay, so you guys can take that pompous assbag back. We'll keep the nekkid ladies. Wait, what? They're all guys? Horseshit.

Anyway...the other night, the boss kind of lost it. He stormed out of here, grabbed me by the scruff of the neck, and tossed me in the Jenksennium Falcon and sped off. I was frightened for a moment before I realized we were headed toward Sonic, where the Big Man got his usual. As for me, he forced me into asking for my dinner in the most degrading of ways. How many times do I have to tell him, I does not talk like dat? Dammit. Anyway, it was an eventful dinner as the Big Man kept muttering something about "what the fuck kind of Communist doesn't like tomatoes on their burgers?". Yeah, I don't know either. If any of you know what's going on, clue me in, alright? Also, he got the chili cheese tots and then preceded to eat the whole thing, not even offering me one! To top it off, after we went to bed, that bastard kept giving me the Dutch Oven all night long! I've already admitted to my love of ass-sleeping--it's a weakness, alright? There, I've said it. But then this bastard goes and ruins it by woofing me under the blankets all night. And then his knowing snicker--that sonuvabitch knew what he was doing and enjoying it. Ugh. The Wiz is disgusted just talking about it again.

So, between the Canuckophobia and chili-cheese-tot ass symphony, the Big Guy's in time out. I'm not letting him near the computer again until he sifts the turds out of my litterbox and buys a pair of those charcoal underpants with that patch that helps filter out the stink. In the mean time, to make sure Zibbs keeps coming back, I thought I'd bust out the mailbag and answer a few nagging questions that have been hanging around.

Way back in June, Frank asked "Are we allowed to ask questions for [Q&A] volume 2? Do you like ice cream? If so, what flavor?"

Well, Frank...easy ones first. Yes, ask all the questions you want and I'll try to get around to answering them quickly, or as quick as a guy without the benefit of opposable thumbs can be, mind. I'll also be quicker on the draw when I've not been rendered loopy by rolling clouds of gas trapped under a duvet.

As for ice cream, I'm not sure if you're directing that at me or the Big Guy. The short answer for both of us is "fuck yeah", and to follow up, the Big Man loves his Moose Tracks (curious, what with the Canada thing as all) and cherry cordial. Both are mighty nice, but on those nights when WC feels like spoiling himself, I usually whip up my own recipe of kipper and catnip. mmmmmm-MMM! My insides are atingle with the mere thought of it now.

Back in July, McGone commented something about Kevin Smith's anal fissures being on Smith's blog and was it in the book. While not a question, I feel as if I should just add that Smith's book "My Boring Ass Life" is just the entries from his blog, gathered together in book form. So, yes, the anal fissure story was there. And, also, yeeeesh! *shudder*

Finally, a couple of day ago, Lisa and her tastrophies asked about an autographed picture of the Wiz. If I could blush, I would. Nah, I'm just kidding. The Wiz loves him some stalkers. All that extra attention is fantastic. If I'm not whoring for warm asses, I'm whoring for attention. The Big Guy will be in contact with you shortly, when I allow him back on the computer. You know, after he sifts mah shit.

Well, that pretty much closes up the mail bag. Keep the questions coming. Also, because I know you're all dying to know, the Wiz is available for guestbloggery, if you're into that sort of thing. I'm a whore for warm asses, attention, and guestblogging. In the meantime, I feel a big one a-brewin'. I think after I'm done burying it, I'll go cozy up to the Boss and stretch my feet out in his face. It'll be our little joke.