DEJENNERATE.COM BLOG

An announcement to all the women who wear their baseball caps bobby pinned on the top of their head so it doesn't mess up their hair: The purpose of a hat is to cover your head. If your hair was that beautiful, you wouldn't need a hat in the first place. If you are really that vain, at least give us some entertainment and bobby pin a 250 pound dumbell to your head. The plastic surgeon will be sure to comment on your lack of split ends when he tries to pry your head from your lower intestine.

posted by Jenn @ 9:33 AM  

Sorry for not blogging, but, man, have I been sick. There is one thing I noticed about being sick. I get really, really irritable. I realize this is the same with anything that could potentially take you gingerly by the hand and thrust you into a rather compact 6 foot hole in the ground, but this side effect is a cataclysmic with me as I am an irritable person by nature. Therefore, if you throw in a well-placed virus into my primordial ooze, all the items currently on my Pet Peeve List jumps onto my Legitimate Reasons to Drop a Large, Cumbersome Object on Someone's Cranium List (which is a list everyone should have, by the way).

All I wanted to accomplish was to get in my car, drive down to the drug store, and get some high potency cold medicine that will put me in a state of euphoria usually reserved for those rare instances you find yourself locked in a vacuum tube being pumped with nitrous oxide, helium, and Herbal Essence fragrances. The first thing I noticed was a large number of miniature human beings (anthropologists call them "children") standing in front of my car. Now, I am not a big fan of the child population, despite the fact that I was one at some point in time. They proceeded to watch me get into my car, turn it on, and put my brake lights on as if I was to back up. Apparently, their bus passes were reserved for seats on the special ed school bus, because they didn't seem to take the hint. I honked my horn, just on the oft chance that they were having a collective out of body experience, to which they responded "We're trading Pokemon cards!" Apparently, the trading process has been updated since I was a child, because I do not recall it requiring obstruction of a borderline-operational four wheeled vehicle. Being already a few levels up on my Irritability Scale, I merely pointed out the monster truck qualities of my automobile over their respective Power Wheels. I'm sure they'll be fine after therapy.

I live in a large complex, which is nice for security, but  poor for traveling as  we have a more intricate road system than The Underground Railroad. Today, the traffic to the main road was backed up to the very last condo complex, which is located somewhere in central Kansas. Normally, this would be slightly irritating, however seeing as my nasal dripage was causing intercabin flooding in my car, I proceeded to break in my car's new shocks as I thrashed about in a rage not seen since SPICEWORLD was released. Three hours later (when the mucous in my car caused Steve McQueen to tear off my car's roof in attempt to stop The Blob from engulfing me), I finally made it to the main road. As soon as I got on the main road, I saw the neon Mecca in front of me flashing "DRUGS 24 HOURS". This was good because after the 3 hour trip down a 1 mile road, I was in great need of a 24 hour IV of every controlled substance on the planet. But, alas, my ordeal wasn't over because the stoplight to get to the drug store was currently inoperational, and traffic was being directed by a 110-year old cross-eyed crossing guard. So, instead of being directed into the parking lot of the drug store, I was told to get in through the "back way" which entailed several dark alleys, crossing several state borders, and passing through Jimmy Hoffa's final resting place. 6 hours later, I entered the drug store.

Having only 3 minutes to live before my lungs imploded by the sheer weight of phlegm, I was only able to conduct a game of Charades with the high school dropout behind the counter as to my current medical situation. After being brought a mishmash of every medication from Listerine to douche, I finally got my liquid cold syrup, and retreated back to my car. I collapsed in my bucket seat and pounded half the bottle of medication, and collapsed in a short lived state of ecstasy. Short lived, because I noticed a warning that said "TAKING THIS MEDICATION PAST ITS EXPIRATION DATE CAN BE HAZARDOUS TO YOUR HEALTH"

Curiosity got the best of me, and I wish it hadn't. The medication expired a month ago.

Now, I had to figure out how to gesture, "What is the best medicine to take to prevent my trachea from solidifying status post a myocardial infarction?"

posted by Jenn @ 12:48 PM  

John Ritter Dead
Really? You sure? Did you poke him really hard? He just might have been napping. Or perhaps meditating. Those Hollywood types are weird that way.

My that sucks. I always loved John. He had a great screen personality. He had acting depth (a rarity for a comedy actor). Most importantly, he had eyes that could make any woman wonder if it got cold in the room.

RIP John. Gone, not forgotten.

You positive he's not on an extended out of body experience? I'd hate to think he was buried alive because he forgot to leave a note.

posted by Jenn @ 10:23 AM  

Well, here we are. Another September 11th. The patriotism is beaming, the memorial tributes have been beautiful, and Osama Bin Laden is still hiding behind the stalagmites in the caves of Afganistan with a bullseye on his turban. His latest video postcard (which he has to send, just in case we forgot his emaciated mugshot complete with facial hair inspired by the Makeup Department for ZZ Top) is commending Iraq for killing American soldiers. Which, of course, you would have no problem saying if your neighbors are Afghany Doozers and your mail comes via The Fraggle Rock Post Office. However, I bet if he was hiding in Brooklyn trash barrel right outside VINNIE'S GOURMET ITALIAN RESTAURANT which has the slogan "Our food will blow you away, if we don't fucking do it first", he wouldn't be sending such ballsy "Thinking of You" videocards. Instead, not only would he have been found by now, but he would be stored in Vinnie's freezer until next September 11th where he'd be boiled alive and served as the day's dinner special, Fettuccine al-Qaeda served with Antipasto with fresh vegetables, olives, and the meat of the day: Isalami.

posted by Jenn @ 8:06 PM  

Sorry for not blogging, but I've been recuperating. You see, my best enemy decided to take a vacation, and asked me to manage the hospital cafeteria which is coincidentally mentioned in great length in my upcoming book, Public Health Disturbance. This is something I will never do again unless I am bludgeoned by a Number 10 can of fruit cocktail and undergo a terminal bout of amnesia. You see, we have an employee who works in the cafeteria who is old enough to have had a whooly mammoth as a childhood pet. Being the only known homo sapien who has been on Willard Scott's "Over 100 years old" birthday segment twice, she isn't exactly "bubbly" (unless your measurement for bubbly is a calderon filled with a boiling voodoo hex, stirred by three malodorous women wearing large pointy hats.) So, this lady, whom I will call Seaturtle as they also live over 200 years, has several problems with customer service:
1) To say she moves slow is an insult to the switching of the poles. In the time it takes her to get to the storeroom and back for bread, North America and Asia have drifted halfway around the globe and collided, forming a second Pangea.
2) She daily utters the words, "Why are these customers bothering me?" Mind you, she serves the food. And, at this moment, OSHA tends to frown on customers reaching over a 360 degree steam table to serve themselves. Which is slightly ridiculous as third degree burns can be a character builder.
3) She has some undiagnosed form of schizophrenia/multiple personality disorder. She will be in the ladies room having a fully audible argument with her immediate supervisor. In the bathroom stall. And, he's a guy. The scariest thing is, sometimes he wins the fight.
4) Out of the 16 or so hours she is awake, approximately 12 of those hours she spends urinating. Obviously, in deep need of some Kiegal exercises, or adding a canister of Iodinized salt to her daily nutrition intake.

After 4 days of dealing with this woman, I was prepared to hang myself in the meat cooler with cheese cloth. My best enemy will have some serious retrubution to pay for leaving her with me. I already started. You see, we get a change order (rolled coins, ones, etc.) from the bank every week and it comes with a bank slip. Now, this bank slip, if one happens to lose it, is more difficult to replace than, say, the original copy of the Dead Sea Scrolls. So when my best enemy asked me where it was, I gave him my best George W. Bush "gone fishing" face and told him I didn't know what he was talking about. I could almost see him plotting what organs he was going to sell on Ebay in order to get enough petty cash to hire an unemployed hitman to leave a horse head in my bed, and then beat me repeatedly with it. As I let him stew for a bit, I "found" it. So, Opie, yes that was planned. And you deserved it for leaving her with me, mo fo.

Til next time, faifhful readers.....

posted by Jenn @ 11:07 PM  

Apocalypse Not Quite Now
Well I am quite ecstatic that the John Candy sized meteor is not going to hit earth at all in 2014.The Apocalypse would have put a large wrench in my already busy schedule as I would have to:
1) Choose a religion, preferably the one that is the most accurate about the Afterlife. That would take a lot of asking around, reference checks, interviews (which could be quite in depth, especially as most Scientologists' speech is often impaired by narcotics.)
2) As this meteor was estimated to have the effect of 20 million nuclear bombs, I assume I would have to make funeral and burial arrangements, and then teach my last requests to the cockroaches in my apartment. This could take some time as cockroaches, despite being the only life forms capable of surviving a nuclear bomb, are not particularly bright. Of course, it could be worse. They could be Republicans.
3) Memorize the Ten Commandments. I'm sure that will be on the final exam at the big Pearly Gates.
4) Memorize the lyrics to Whoop There it Is. Just in case Jesus really is black.
5) Go to Disneyland. I'll be with the rest of the people who are enlightened about the sure painful and flaming death forth coming from a rather mammoth rock coming from the sky. You'll notice us because we'll be the only ones on The Big Thunder Mountain Railroad.

posted by Jenn @ 4:07 PM