Let’s have a mind and raise flowers.

1. [morality] Near the Applebees dumpster you find a stack of one thousand dollar bills. There is a cockroach sleeping on the stack. Do you keep the cockroach as a pet?
2. [super powers] Would you choose invisible teeth or having all your thoughts broadcast throughout Times Square?
3. [physics] Do you feel me?
4. [romance] If I lit your hair on fire, would you describe yourself as all hot and bothered?
5. [movies] Would you go down on me in a theater?
6. [war] If hotdogs replaced bullets and orgies replaced suicide bombings, how quickly would you sign up for the Armed Forces?
7. [economics] If I dropped a dime on your ass, would you respond with no quarter?
8. [sexuality] Lake Placid or Watery Grave?
9. [education] Teaching gorillas English-a) patriotic b) anglo-centric c) fun until they can file charges of sexual harassment.
10. [child rearing] infanticide via insectide or SIDS via SARS?
11. [12 step programs] Now that you are on your third step, do you feel a) holier than thou, b) like a schmuck, c) lonely for all the irresponsibility the second step afforded
12. [being] To be or not to be?

I work the early morning shift at the So Many Holes Donut Shop in Billings, Montana. I clock in at 4 A.M., brew a fresh pot of non-fair trade coffee (we ain’t got decaf), I wipe tables down, click on the neon “Open” sign”, fire up a stogie and wait for Mr. Milnes.

Better than clockwork, old Mr. Milnes arrives on crutches at precisely 4:45 A.M. He sits at a booth with yesterday’s USA Today newspaper — today’s hasn’t arrived yet. And, just like usual he begins announcing new stories and sports scores. Mr. Milnes, you see, is not quite on time — he’s always a day late.

This becomes philosophically difficult to relate to Mr. Milnes. I have considered flying around the world Eastwardly very speedily to meet him Yesterday, but I have been told by physicist friends that because I have mass, I’ll never reach light speed to do so.
It took me 14 years of horrible conversation with Mr. Milnes to figure out he was responding to yesterday’s questions and he thought me mad because I was talking in constant possibilities of non-existant hypothetical universes. It is hard when your best friend in the world thinks of you as Schrodinger’s ‘cat in a box’ paradox.

It will be really scary for Mr. Milnes to find out tomorrow that he got shot in an armed robbery today.

1. [urban planning] Better mode of transportation: catapult or waterslide?
2. [oceanography] If your legs fused together would you scream: “I’m a beautiful, beautiful mermaid”?
3. [anatomy] Boobs: love ‘em or leave ‘em?
4. [philosophy] So, what’s new?
5. [greater good] Should Eve have castrated Adam?
6. [jumping] Is Hip-Hop dead?
7. [hygiene] If the choice was your hand or sandpaper, how would you wipe your diarrhea?
8. [mechanic] What’s the deal with Axel Rose?
9. [fine dining] Twinkies do not biodegrade; how many have you consumed?
10. [romance] If you were a cow, would you let me squeeze your udders?

Money can’t buy you love, they say. But it sure bought my penis enlargement surgery, which in turn got me married to 1920s Bulgarian pop star Anka Hubchev, who unfortunately passed away a week later when she managed to wrap her lips around my Chevy Conversion Van’s exhaust pipe and got stuck. Her screams were muffled as I backed my van over her. Her spine instantly snapped like the kosher pickle she had ‘inside’ her.

There was media uproar until I purchased it with my new inheritance. Owning all media is awesome. I immediately axed Fox Searchlight Pictures and hired the Jar Jar Binks guy to redub all the voices on every movie ever made.

People say I married Anka for her money. Wrong. I married her because she was 94 years old and needed a caretaker. If I hadn’t really loved her, how do you explain the times I called the maid to come and mist her down with ammonia after she’d made a ‘boom-boom’?

Now that I have more money than you’d know what to do with, I’m planning to open Disney World Baghdad.  The attractions included at DWB will be:

• Space Mountain Is Satanic (rollercoaster)
• Thank You America For Bringing Us The Freedom We Once
  So Dearly Hated (gift shop)
• It’s A Shiite-y World Afterall (gentle ride and mosque)
• The Quagmire (haunted house)

It will be bigger than Euro Disney, I know it.

Although I will have fun in the Muhammad’s Harem Beer Garden, it would have been better with Anka there.

1. Do you realize you are destroying the rain forest?
2. Should all stairs be escalators?
3. Do you hope that God is transgendered?
4. Does the dicotomy of greater then/less then govern our interactions?
5. Would you make out with me?
6. Should the dictionary be replaced by a quotationary?
7. Do dictionaries turn you on?
8. What word should be deleted from existence?
9. On a scale of -8 to 3, how great are these dictionary questions?
10. Trees are now houses, houses are now trees, which would you live in?
11. Would you make out with yourself?
12. Do you spend any time pondering what your parents think about?
13. Which member of your family would you prefer not to exist?
14. Would you eat panda meat if it looked really tasty?

I am a trucker and I live a useful life. I bring materialism to your community, from the tainted California vegetables you gleefully consume under pretenses of being “healthy” to the Chinese lead toy your child just licked into her bloodstream that will linger permanently like a stalker, waiting, watching, eventually causing mutated offspring with a third hand growing from her forehead. And this hand will give you, the grandparent, a ‘shocker‘.

My life’s work consists of driving and popping pills to keep driving. I have seven children and a wife at home, but my work is truly what is important to me, so I see the fam about three days a month. They annoy me to heck and back with their, “daddy, I love you so much, did you bring me any of that delish California spinach like you did last time?” and from my wife, “I’m so hot for you; I want you inside me now!” All so needy.

I think it’s destiny to meet you here at this sketchy bar on the far-side of the Sidewinder Motel. You sipping that PBR while I stare at your poignant tube-topped tits through the corner of my eye reminds me of the time I watched a cow drinking from the Yakima River. Moo moo, baby.

Let me tell you Sexy Lady, being a trucker means two things: I’m horny as hell and I have erectile dysfunction. But lest you think that I only like you for your 8 inch butt cleavage and your third trimester ‘lady lump’, I’ve got to tell you that you mean so much more.

You look like the kind of woman who’d buy me a drink after a long day’s drive. I drink Red Stripe and I drink it warm. Tell Mr. Barman to microwave my brew for two minutes, and better drop an olive in there or no tip.

Four hundred miles ago, I was passing through Topeka and my 18 wheeler hit an eldery man who was in the 9/11 Remembrance Parade. By the looks of the uniform that I later pulled out from my engine block he was a WWII veteran. May he rest in peace. Would you like to see his medal of honor? It is hanging you know where.

I can tell by the way that your water is breaking that you too remember 9/11. Yes, it is still upsetting. I remember where I was on 9/11. I was hopped up on meth and cranking out a 15,000 mile job hauling a trailer of Spam. Me and the loner hitchhiker that I later ended up disposing of in a ditch first heard the news on Fox Radio. We were so stunned, that we hardly noticed I had buried a switchblade in his eye.

So what would you and your newborn say to joining me on a trip to Anchorage? I’ve heard that the Northern Lights are beautiful up there.

Too many folks have been asking for me not to answer.
The average amount of ejaculate for a man is 2 cc’s.
(5 cc’s equals a teaspoon)
That’s it.
Go figure.
I was told this on good authority from the Sperm Bank nurse/sperm wrangler.
Let your heart be at rest.

Ryan McGivern

Yesterday I went to the Mall of America and was duly inspired. The heavenly MoA featured

• more elevators than I have teeth (27)
• three Orange Julius’s and six Cinnabons to provide unadulterated gluten and sugar coated dreams
• a Sears the size of eight giraffes taped side by side and four hyenas on top of them, just laughing at you
• a JC Penny bigger than the world’s largest breadbox (hot mannequinns too)
• 42 magazine stores that sell pornography with enough porn magazines to stack to the moon
• A full-time year-round Santa Claus! (good kisser, slow hand)
• and a plethora of arcades, including one filled to the flask’s brim with only Dance Dance Revolutions!

Before I wandered in the the DDR Arcade I swallowed a four leaf clover.

Lucky little me, it just so happened that the St. Agnes School for Gout Ridden Girls’ cheerleading squad inhabited all but one of the DDR spots — and I got the last spot! Oh my god, it was like winning sixth place at the National Spelling Bee! I have to admit that I am a pretty bad mother on DDR, especially when they play country western or showtunes. I was nervous as hell — I couldn’t let those diabetic diabolical bitch-snatches beat me this time and what if they played rap, or worse yet post 1993 Madonna?

But thank you Virgin Mary, the stars aligned in my favor with the opening twang of John Denver’s “Please, Daddy, Don’t Get Drunk on Christmas” blasting throughout the arcade! I had first danced to this song when I was 6 during the Christmas that my dad switched over to barbituates and weed. The DDR machine was pretty well oiled up from the sweat of the adolescent she-beast before me so I powdered it up with talc, wheat flour and Gold Bond. I danced until 8 inches of colo-rectal came unfolding out of me.

I didn’t win, but I felt like I had won 6th place in a RuPaul “tuck off”.

The Mall of America is surely the best thing to ever happen to Minnesota. Before it, the only thing they had going for themselves was that they weren’t South Dakota.

The French call orgasms ‘little deaths’ which means I’m committing a mass murder each time I spill my seed. But the accompanying shame and guilt have been overridden by the prospect of making some quick cash off my DNA ranch dressing. My most recent visit to the sperm donation clinic was met with the necessary physical.

“Pee in this cup.”
“That’s it? Just pee?”
“Just pee in this one.”
“Okay.”
…
“Now we’ll have to draw some blood.”
“The ‘fun way’?”
“What does that mean?”
“Uhhh, I dunno.”

While I was being leeched of my precious lifeblood to be tested for HIV and madcow, I nearly passed out. This was not a little embarrassing and I hoped it didn’t hurt my image.

“I feel like I’m gonna pass out.”
“Put your head between your knees. You’ll be fine.”
“I’m potent.”
“Yes, Ryan. I know.”
“Seriously. I’m a man…. And I’m tough.”
“The blood has left your head, Ryan. Put it between your knees.”
“Braagh thraath uriiian prrrrrrr.”
“Yes, Ryan. I know.”

I was made to lie down in one of the collection rooms.
“Just rest here for a minute. I’ll get you a juice.”

Almost dying from blood loss is kinda erotic. So is quickly looking through pornographic magazines on the sly when you’re supposed to be ‘resting’.

Ryan McGivern

Okay, I did yell at your mom last night, but I promise by the Statue of Liberty’s right foot that it is not what you think. The evening started well enough, meeting your parents for a candlelight dinner. It was perfectly kind of them to give me that twelve foot cactus; I’ll put it in the dining room next to my Audubon Society “pelican” plate collection. I didn’t realize your dad was so drop dead good looking. I don’t think I’ve seen a man that handsome this side of Mexican telenovellas!

Given my dietary needs, I was thankful that three of the four courses were served in tin foil and contained only organic saffron, and I have to say I’ve never had free range Welsh rabbit before. Those curried floppy ears were delish! On all accounts, this would be the best dinner since Jesus’ last one.

I should have known that reanimating a corpse would come back to haunt me. I just never thought that it would occur during dinner. Now, grant me this: I stayed calm during the forced anal penetration. And to think I had planned the whole evening to propose a hetero-normative marriage to you in front of your made-to-order sexpot Mom and lustfully huggable Dad.

It had seemed so romantic when I got the idea from an episode of “Charles In Charge”. I don’t blame you for saying no. I would probably have done the same if my boyfriend of 2 months was calling my Mother an “idiot’s wetdream” and a “cumdumpster” while my Dad was in fisticuffs with a Zombie Corpse and my cactus.

I think the only mature thing to consider is a polygamous relationships between your dad, yourself, and I. We could try threesomes if you are game wherein we both give fellatio to your father while your mom breaks plates behind us to provide emotional support, or perhaps we should save some face and start slow with you and I getting all sexy like on Monday evenings with the rest of the week reserved for your hot pop and I to try out puppy love, 69 at the aquarium, and, of course, tied up inside your grandparents’ sarcophagus.