50 Books.

i totally padded my 50 Books tally by reading an anthology of romance novels. after reading the books i feel like my brain has turned to goo. so i immediately went to the library and checked out some nonfiction in hopes that my brain firms back to it’s regular consistency.

while at the library i overheard two women talking:
w1: well, here’s an Anne Potter.
w2: no, no. Harry Potter.
w1: i don’t see any Harry Potter. are you sure that they have his books? what did he write?
w2: …

yesterday i found a PRIZE on my doorstep!
Tami Sparks left a GIANT stack of CDs for me. because she is full of pink hearts and yellow moons and awesomeness. THANK YOU, TAMI SPARKS FOR MY AWESOME SECRET SURPRISE!!
unfortunately, none of the discs worked because my computer is obviously a retard.
hopefully they will work in the car though.


today we worked outside. it was a beautiful day. i was attacked by giant dive-bombing bumble bees all afternoon. i think they think my hair is a giant dandelion, and they want to have the Magic Bee-Flower Sex with it. promises to be an interesting spring.


mr. fleegan and i ate at my parent’s house this evening because
A. free food and
B. dad was making calzones (spanish?) (hee, italian) (also hee, totally dago)

while waiting for the food to cook (because my parents eat dinner at 8pm because…because…i have no idea why) i turned the tv on and kablam! PBS is on and it’s Pledge Week, again, (i want to make sweet love to Pledge Week. they show the best stuff on that week.) and there’s a concert with all these random old singers. and of course i love that shit. so i forced the rest of the fam to watch.

mom comes in and is all, “what concert is this?”
mr. fleegan replies with, “it’s the You Thought They Were Dead concert.”

the audience shots were hilarious and we ripped them all apart.
says mr. fleegan, “she’s singing along and she looks so happy.”
“she lost her virginity to this song” i say. “in the back of a giant Ford…”
“a Ford Ukelele?”
“hee. a 1954-”
“Ford Tuba.”
“hee! i love old cars!”

so there’s an orchestra playing all the songs and this one guy playing a trumpet looks like David Crosby. and mr. fleegan points this out. and i say, “oh my gosh! you’re right! it does look like David Crosby!”
“i know. right now he thinks he’s playing guitar.”
“they told him the trumpet was a bong.”
jimmy was on a roll with the jokes and making fun of the singers. i was totally singing all the songs. and then…then Debbie Fucking Reynolds comes out and i fall apart. “oh my god! she’s going to sing Tammy! weeeeeeeeeeeee!” sure enough she starts to sing Tammy and i say to jimmy, “i need my microphone!” and he makes a fist with the thumb sticking up and i grab it and start belting out Tammy right along with Debbie Fucking Reynolds. and dad is all, “how the hell do you know this song?”
“um, well. you know. dad, we listen to the oldies channel all the time.”
“they don’t play this stuff.”
“um. yes they do.”
“and didn’t you see the movie?”
“what movie?”
Tammy? with Debbie Fucking Reynolds and Leslie Neilson? and she’s like, from the bayou? and he’s from the city and has a girlfriend but Tammy loves him?”
“oh! and her dad is like, Walter Brennan or someone like that, and he’s always in jail ‘cos he’s a bootlegger?”

and then everyone is looking at me like i’ve grown dreadlocks and i’m smoking a joint the size of a hot dog.

man, i love PBS.

reefer log:
mental illness feces
oh good.
must not eat
sap jokes
show me the square feet of a house
and i’ll show you a happy housewife! *rim shot*
godfather tattoos
diana ross daughter
art and hate
yes and yes
sexy bites
how to send resumes by e-mail
just click ‘Send’!
peeps in a jeep
*gasp* this one is better than “totally dago”!
how to have a dirty conversation
how to give your dog a haircut
www crazy people
dirty daughter

new weekly this week’s guest star: foil

reefer log of joy and stinky farts:
japanese dog
baby will not eat
will you marry me
are you rich?
can you put hair color over highlights
of course! you should try purple or blue.
www. dork phone number.com
can we lie with our eyes
yes, but it’s easier with the mouth
sexy sexy sexy gay
michael corleone and the godfather
cock harness
this is some kind of livestock farming thing, right?
johnny fontane
i cannot tell you how excited i am that someone searched for johnny fontane and ended up here. it’s the little things, people.

i had a dream that i could heal people. but. it was like, if i healed a person i would get their “sickness” or whatever and then i’d throw it up. but it wasn’t regular vomit. it was black and really sticky. like tar. it was hard to throw up because it was so slow and thick and sticky, like black honey or something. and then when i knew someone was sick and could be healed i kinda didn’t want to do it because it was so hard and gross. but i’d do it out of guilt. i’m thinking guilt shouldn’t be a motivation to heal. but what does Dream Jaimie know anyway?

when i woke up i remembered that i used to dream that i was coughing up aluminum foil. and it would hurt so bad. i’d wake up with a sore throat. it seemed like once a week i would dream that back when we lived in bad ol’ apt 711.


nibbler is fine. i saw it this evening and gave it some food. because i’m a sucker. a sap. a mushybrained bowl of mushiness. but i put the food on their door step and not mine so the damn thing wouldn’t associate my door with food. take that, cat.


my fluourescent yellow hair was a hit at the Holy House today. there were about 8 biddies in the lobby when i walked in and all of a sudden it was, “SQUAWK! SQUAWK! SQUAWK!” you’d have thought Tom Jones had walked in or something. one lady said that no matter what color my hair was i was still a pretty girl. i repied with a smile and thank you. one lady told me i had ruined my hair. i replied with a smile and a thank you. an old man told me he knew a guy who had pink hair and was a wrestler and that he would wrestle for five dollars. “really?” i asked.
“yeah. he just likes to wrestle.”

old people and kids. you just never know what the hell they’re gonna say.


i was Vomitus Maximus in the wee hours of the morning (gee, wonder why i dreamed about puking.). not my favorite way to start (or end, in this case) the day. i dunno if it was something i ate or if it’s a virus or what. even so, i went to work. popsicle was in worse shape than i was. but he was hungover. “for shame,” i said, “getting drunk on the day we celebrate the resurrection of our Lord and Savior.”
“that’s the thing! i didn’t have that many beers! i didn’t get drunk!”
“then why are you hungover?”
“i don’t know! i can’t figure it out.”
“all you had was beer?”
“yeah, but it feels like i drank a ton of wine.”
“it’s a miracle! he turned the beer into wine!”
“you’re going to hell.”
“what a pair we are. i’m sick. you’re drunk. let’s go get some ladders and paint something.”

reefer log:
tina meth
lovely ladies
totally dago
my new favorite phrase.
teen ask why do we have to go to church
the godfather characters
totally dago.
racial slurs

easter fleegan!

updated 50 Books of Peril.

tonight the wood’s stolen cat, nibbler, is on the roof. and it’s meowing like it’s on fire. toonces is confused and pissed because
A. she hears the meowing but Can’t Find The Kitty.
B. she looks at me like, “WTF? are you hiding a kitty from me? did you honestly think it would work? am i gonna have to steal your breath while you sleep?”

jimmy was all, “should we get it down?”
and i was all, “nah, it got up there. it can get back down.”
“are you sure?”
“yes, that’s what cats do.”
“but, i think it’s scared.”
“lemme get the ladder.” see? i’m not completely cold hearted.

but then the cat didn’t trust us to get it down even though jimmy was awfully sexy impersonating a firefighter trying to get a cat down from a high place. my hero. even though the cat wasn’t having any part of it.

finally jimmy was all, “dammit. it got up there. it can get back down.”
“that’s what i’m sayin’.”

i’ll check again before i go to sleep.

reefer log:
her ass
rebel flag checks
for the distinguished check writer
alien killing people
square bagels
annie lennox tori
or was she a whig? labour?
granny is a whore
you leave granny outta this!
annie lennox death
*gasp* what?!
man boobs feeding
see previous reaction
how to get hair highlights out
with scissors
mama said knock you out
i love this picture and yeah

i am way tired of being so angry and hateful. this whole month has seemed to be the worst, and i am sick of my attitude. and if i’m sick of it imagine how you must feel about it. “i’ll check out jaimie’s blog. oh, i see she’s bitching again. le sigh.”

and since you are curious, i managed to pull a miracle out of my Miracle Hat and finished the painting. a ginormous rock has been removed from my shoulders. i feel weightless. although i hope the people who comissioned the painting still want it and think that it’s good enough to pay $250.
what if they hate it?
what if they want to like it, but it sucks too much?
what if they look at it and think, “that’s supposed to be our son?”
what if they laugh?
what if they love it?
what if they show it to all their rich friends and then those rich friends want portraits of their kids?
what if, oh my god, what if one of the rich friends doesn’t have any kids, but instead wants a portrait of their weirdly groomed japanese dog?
or a cat?

my dad showed my self portrait to one of his friends today. dad loves that picture and would fold it up and put it in his wallet if he could, and then he’d pull it out to show anyone who happened to be in screaming distance, “you wanna see a picture my kid made?!” it’s thrilling that i’ve made something that makes my parents go, “wow. that’s amazing.”
so i asked dad, “well, could he see what the painting was?”
“yeah, it took him a minute though.”
“hm, i was wondering if people who had never seen me before or that much or without blue hair would be able to see the picture.”
“yeah, it took him a bit, but then he said, “that’s her eye!” he was excited.”
“and then i told him that you had blue hair and he was all, “a ha!””
“well, that’s very cool.”
“he wants to join your art class.

“what? it’s not that kind of class. i don’t teach them anything. i just assign them things.”
“yeah, well the painting blew him away, and he wants to know how you did it.”
“did you tell him it’s basically a glorified color-by-number?”
“i tried to explain it.”
“he thinks you’re a genius.”
“huh. if he only knew.”
“that’s what i said.”


laura told me a hilarious story today. she said that she and a co-worker went to the court house and they were standing around talking to…i dunno, some people…and this lady (who i’m pretty sure is Sugarlips Muldoon) says, “hey, aren’t you jaimie’s friend?”

why that is funny i cannot say, it just has a funniness about it. laura said, “see, you’re famous.”
“yes, but you are highly recognizable.”

i am turning into a cantankerous old person.
“what’s new?” you ask.
“go to hell,” i reply.

i was waiting my turn at the Cheap Hair Cut Place (i’ll not call it a salon because it doesn’t deserve a nice professional title like that) and this teen girl was also waiting with her mom. this girl talked down to her mom like a dog. i came this close (scrinch pointer finger and thumb together real close like) to losing it. “you talk to your mama like that one more time and i’m gonna introduce this chair to your rectum, and they ain’t gonna be friends, you immature, ungrateful child-person.”
i am really having an angry week.

bleached me hair out. dad says i look like slim shady.
damn. it.
i think i’ll put some color on it next week. annie lennox orange. i think it will be fun.


i worked on the painting today. we’ll see if i manage to pull a miracle out of my hat and have it finished tomorrow night. while working on it i’m listening to my iPod. specifically Word by Word, a seminar on writing by Anne Lamott. do audiobooks count as reading a book? may i add it to the 50 Books? i mean afterall, it is nonfiction. nerd.


i should work on a Weekly. i just don’t have anything right now. i mean, the latest thing at work has been dad and i quoting everything in an Old Lady From the Deep South voice. we branched out.
they-ah’s no place lahk home.


i think i’ve figured out my cat problem. the problem is she hates to be out outside. another problem is she can read my mind. so when i look at her she runs and hides under the bathtub or behind the t.v. and it takes hours to get her outside. most of the time she stays inside ‘cos i don’t have time to play Wait on the Kitty. so then she sleeps ALL DAY LONG, and by the time i lay down for bed she’s wide open and won’t let me sleep.
so my plan is to break one of her legs.

reefer log of spazdom:
tina turner jokes
how do i find the square feet of my room
what do you mean? like the floor? or the walls? be specific.
i hate cullman
you’re not alone, i am sure.

Popsicle and i have been quoting from the Godfather trilogy (and this is different from the last two weeks, how?) only now we say them with an Old Lady From The Deep South accent. think Godfather meets Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.
whah do you come tah me on tha day of mah dahtah’s weddin’?

ah hope they-ah fuhst chile is a masculine chile.

…and a man in mah position cain’t afford to look ridiculous!

ah’m ya oldah bruthah, Mikey, and ah was stepped ovah!

thay-ats mah family, kay. it’s not me.

ah’ll make him an offah he cain’t refuse.

Johnny Fontane will nevuh get that movie. ah don’t care how many dago guinea wop greaseball goombahs come out o’ the woodwork.


have you noticed how many racial slurs there are for Italians?


dad broke a window today. and i gave him hell for it all day long. i know that sounds mean and heartless, but he expected no less.

reeefer loog:
darth vader takes a shit
hex a pictures of brain
crazy looking people
acetone poisoning
granny gets it
square feet does

so i sort of had a bad day yesterday. i ended up eating some chocolate which made me feel a TON better, however i did break my lenten fast of no sugar. which, really doesn’t bother me, but jimmy says that i made the baby jesus cry.

this evening we went to the grocery store and the cashier guy gets points for saying to me, “wow, you’re back.” because i had been there that afternoon with my pops. he gets points because when i was there with pops i was wearing my Painting Costume w/ Dirty Baseball cap, and this evening i was wearing Street Clothes w/ Clean Hair and he recognized me.
he also got points for telling me he liked my hair.
he then got no points but lost no points for telling me i should get highlights.
he then got points for being all excited when i told him i was going to bleach it out white blonde.
he then lost all points for telling me that it would make me look younger.


Dear Medium,

Please don’t ever do that again.


Jaimie Pickle

Toonces Whorecat and i are currently not speaking to each other. we’ve been fighting all week. she’s lucky i’m even feeding her.
it took me 4 hours to get her out of the house.
she is staying outside until dark. i don’t care if it starts to rain. i don’t care if it starts to rain rocks. she’s been inside all week. she needs the air. and i need her ass out.

in other news: updated 50 books

i am so sick of this painting. i hate art. i hate painting. i hate portraits. i hate the cat. i hate oil paint. i hate squares. i hate it all. i hate wasting time to paint. i hate that i need to go to the grocery store.
hate hate hate.

as of today i think i’m going to screw the painting and screw the art show.
fuck you all and apparently i have PMS.
also, screw PMS.

something must be the matter because today my lovely friends came and knocked on my door and asked me to go to lunch with them and my first thought was, “i’d rather carve out my heart with a pencil eraser than go to lunch with you happy lot.” which of course, i did not say aloud because even to my sick brain i realized how horrible and wrong that thought was. then i thought, “maybe i should go out with them. maybe they will make me laugh and then i’ll feel awesome and not think about that stupid painting. i do need a break.” but the thought that won out was, “jaimie, you are mean and way too sarcastic today. there’s no need for you to go and verbally vomit on your friends. now get back in there and paint.”
fucking Voice of Reason is no fun. and neither is PMS with it’s irrational anger/attitude problem.

go to hell, PMS.

rayfer lawg:
things to do at a 15 year class reunion
dad whore

there’s going to be an art show next saturday.
kristie asked me if i was entering a piece.
i told her no.
she said something like, “you suck.”

so i thought about it. i’ve one painting that i’ve been “working” on since june, i think. it’s a portrait of a friend’s son. and i desparately don’t want to work on it. but then i thought of how douche baggedy it would be of me to not enter the art show when in fact i’m encouraging my two art minions (students, whatever) to enter their projects. so now i’m killing myself to finish this bastard painting. feh.

another 50 books. and laura has requested that i put the new ones at the top. i guess that makes sense. laura is usually right about these kinds of things. i trust her mad website skillz.

reefum loggum:
i need to have a shit
darth vader helmet
what song is hello is it me
you’re looking for????!?!!?!? lionel damn richie. wow, takes you back doesn’t it? do you remember the video? there was a blind girl who made a weird looking sculpture of lionel richie’s head? ‘member?
should we put away people with mental illness
only the violent ones. the rest we keep around to work at the Huddle House. hello? crazy people make the best breakfast.
peeps torturing peeps
a marshmallow nightmare to be sure
how many bons in horses

last week my father, popsicle, decided we would take thursday off. however, as to not get in trouble with everyone else (you know, have to hear all the “gah. who do you think you are?” “what?! you’re not working today?!” and “well, it must be nice.” talk.) we decided not to tell anybody. if we were asked what we were doing on thursday we completely lied and said we were working at the Holy House.

not only are we lawbreakers, but also, we lie. to our loved ones.

what did we do on our day off? did we sleep in, you ask?
did we lay around and eat bon bons?

we watched The Godfather trilogy. well, parts I and II anyway. we watched part III on saturday.

needless to say, but i’ll say it anyway, we’ve been talking like the characters ever since. especially the frank pentangeli character. and you’re probably asking, “who?” at this point, because you’re normal and you probably haven’t seen it quite as many times as we have. if you have seen the movie (part II) i’ll refresh your memory.
remember when michael corleone gets back from cuba and he’s got to report to that senate committee thing? and that obnoxious old italian guy is gonna rat him out because he thought michael tried to have him killed, but he sees his older brother sitting next to michael so he knows that the whole thing was a set up and now he doesn’t want to rat mikey out because now he knows the truth? with the mustache? and he goes, “ehhhhhhhhhhhhhh yeah! yeah!” a lot. and also the line, “so i said, “michael corleone did this…..ehhhhhhhhh michael corleone did that….”
and we’ve been saying that all day at work.
because we’re lying liars and doofuses.

three best reefer logs:
i want to know all about food poisoning
stupid fucking people

just another manic monday. whoa. oh. oh.
50 Books update.

we worked at the Holy House today. there’s a gentleman who lives there and we will call him “bill”. “bill” is crazier than a shithouse rat. certifiable. he’s got papers, yo.
so i’m in the lobby waiting for dad to come in and “bill” walks up and gives me a hug (which is so very strange, he’s usually very pissed about something) and he says, “where’s your old man?” and i say, “he’ll be here in a second.” and he says, “he ain’t dead?” and i say, “no.”
so dad comes in and says, “hi “bill”, how are you?” and “bill” says, “well, i see you aren’t dead yet.” dad looks at me and i just shrug. dad says, “no. not yet.” and bill, oops, i mean “bill” says, “well, you’re at least 61.” and dad says, “what? no. i’m about 10 years younger.” and “bill” says, “then you’re 75.” and dad says, “no “bill”, i’m 10 less than 60.” and “bill” says, “so you’re 73.” and dad says,””bill”, you’re not making any friends today.”

i say that it’s weird for “bill” to hug me, but also there’s more to that story. y’see, “bill” thought i was a boy. when dad finally got it through “bill’s” head that i was a girl, “bill” became a lot more polite and talkative to me. yeah, feh. and it wasn’t that dad was all eager to let “bill” know i was a female, it was more that he got tired of this conversation:
“b”: where’s your son today?
d: he’s in Tennessee, why?
“b”: well, i thought i saw him on the elevator…
d: no, “bill”, that’s my daughter.
“b”: daughter?

it happened a lot, until finally dad was all, “”bill”, i swear to god if you mistake her for a boy one more time i’m gonna knock you down.” which is in fact the proper way to deal with mental illness.

anyway, more and more of the old people are starting to realize that i’m indeed a girl, and now…now they think that dad and i are married. gag, i know. when someone asks we’re all like, “NO! no. jesus god no. and also, could you tell all of your friends that we’re father and daughter? thanks.”

i do lead a charmed life.

3 best reefer log searches:
granny boobs
evil in the anus
who moved my cheese hate

i’ve this day planner notebook thing. and at the bottom of each page it has very small calendars of last month, present month, and next month. and i was scanning the march calendar looking for how long until the art show which is on the 26th. and this calendar shows that the 26th in on a Friday and i thought, “no it isn’t. it’s a saturday.” so i’m puzzled. and then i look at the days of the week and i’ll be damned, it starts with Monday! WHAT?!
can they do that? well, obviously, but…but why?! is this supposed to be the new cool thing? did i accidentally pick up the nonconformist atheist calendar? “fuck sunday! put it at the end.”
do you know how foriegn it is to see M T W T F S S? it’s really weird.

and yes i know i sound like an old person, but honestly, who moved my cheese? and why did they get it all over my calendar?! arg! i don’t want to be mean and old! but after reading yesterday’s entry i feel so mean and old! i want to be caring and kind and nice. but it is impossible! the only way i could be those things is if the world changed and people stopped being stupid.
arg! but i’m supposed to love the stupid people too!
oy, and consider that to other people i’m probably their stupid person.
it is all meaningless, meaningless…

laura ruined my day. she tells you
am i mean, evil, wicked, and nasty that i don’t want to have anything to do with a high school class reunion? and, and, AND IT’S NEXT YEAR FOR THE LOVE OF LOVE. do you see? do you see why i don’t want to have anything to do with it? people are getting together to start planning it NOW? who has time for that shit? i’d rather eat lava than spend time with 10 other people trying to plan something like this. what is there to plan? rent a hall. BYOB. provide snacks. end.


so laura gets roped into this stupid meeting (and supposedly i should be involved ‘cos i was in SGA? wha? no sense.) shit. no way i’m going. but ARG! you never leave a man behind. shit shit shitter shit. and it’s on a precious saturday! c’mon, i’m not that fucking noble. dammit!

i told laura that there was no way i was going to the reunion. wild horses and all that. but i did say that if OT would go i would go. that’s the ONLY way i’d go. of course, i still probably wouldn’t go.

this hurts my anus.

i really have nothing to say about today.
well, except, i saw the most glorious thing at walsmart. ’tis a holy thing, a thing i want, a thing i need, and i had to force myself to walk away from it, not purchase it, not walk out of the store wearing it.

it was a full-sized Darth Vader helmet that CHANGES YOUR VOICE INTO DARTH VADER’S VOICE AND CAN YOU BELIEVE I DIDN’T BUY ONE?! because honestly, i can’t believe i didn’t buy one. in fact, i am so pissed that i didn’t buy one. but also, i know that if i had bought it i would never take it off. ever. well, maybe to bathe, right? and it would probably hinder my driving, but other than those two senarios…i can’t find a reason to take the mask off. and honestly, i don’t want to be the only person at church wearing a Darth Vader helmet.

BUT WHY DIDN’T I BUY ONE!? OH! OH SADNESS NOW THAT I’VE SEEN ONE AND DO NOT PRESENTLY OWN ONE! ‘cos what i want to do is video Darth Vader being interviewed or drinking tea or painting a house or cleaning toilets or SOMETHING THAT DARTH VADER WOULD NEVER DO!
raking leaves!
smoking a cigarette!
reading a newspaper!

can you imagine?! picture this:
a red jeep with the hood up. two people with their heads in the engine. one looks up, it’s DARTH VADER and he says, “hey can you gimmie the 5/8 hex?” and the other guy is all, “get it yourself, Darth. use the force.” and the Darth force chokes him! AWESOME!


well, i don’t really need one. i mean, where would i put it while i’m not wearing it (read: while i’m sleeping)? and really, i know that i’ll only use it to torture the cat. i can see me chasing poor Toonces Whorecat around the house saying, “simba! you deliberately disobeyed me!”

yeah, i don’t need stupid crap like that.
but you totally know i’m gonna go buy one tomorrow, right?

had a horrible nightmare last night. woke up trying to scream. i hate that. however, a couple of hours later my alarm went off and it was set to the AM oldies station and they played better be good to me by Tina Turner. which, oddly enough, set the tone for the day. an awesome tone, i might add. because
1. hello? Tina Turner. and
2. the house we painted did not have shit on the walls.


i was talking to mr. fleegan and laura today and i told them about how i missed a Tina Turner concert on PBS last week and that i was pretty bummed about it. when i went to my parents house this evening to do laundry (i know, mooch.) dad was flipping channels, hit PBS and BLAM there was Tina Turner in concert. it was one of those moments where i sit in awe and it hits me: god loves me. god loves the whole world.
(why do i capitalize Tina Turner and not god?)

and it’s not that he loves me because he let me watch the Tina Turner concert. although hey, bonus! he loves me (and the world) because he gave us Tina Turner. he has blessed us all with Tina. she is a treasure. and liz (and pretty much everyone else), i know you are rolling your eyes, but it’s true. she’s a fighter and a survivor and an incredibly awesome person. and? if you don’t own any Tina you’re a sad person, and you should really think about getting some Tina.
because you need it.

Tina Turner is my hero, and i’ll never say anything bad about her. although i am having trouble wrapping my brain around this. but if she wants to sing country then by god, she can. yes, it seems strange that she sings stand by your man, but i say just go with it. why? because she’s Tina Turner. do not question the Tina.

today we painted in the nastiest apartment. no one had cleaned in years. shit on the walls. no, i don’t mean she had junk all over the walls. i mean there was shit, excrement, feces, kaka, poop, shit shit shitter shit on the walls. sometimes this job is fuct up. i’m a housepainter! not a…a…whatever has to deal with shit walls.

i can’t believe dad and i haven’t keeled over from some sort of mold spore alien virus yet. i tell you, people are nasty.

ps, next time you visit granny, check for shit on the walls, m’kay? ‘cos when she bites it someone’s gonna come in and paint her room and they’re gonna know that you let granny smear shit and boogers on the wall. and do you know who they’re gonna blame?
i’ll give you a hint…not granny.

aw crap. according to
this site my popstrological alignment whatever is all about debbie damn boone. i mean, could “my song” be any more lame? hee, maybe if i were laura. what’s worse? debbie damn boone or the bee gees?
justin’s is diana ross, lucky!


my e-mail has been wonky this week. i can receive it but it seems that when i send it it never gets there. so i’ve sent e-mails to:

if you lovely ladies haven’t received my replies i am very sorry. if you have received them please, let me know so that i can stop being paranoid about my e-mail. stoopid e-mail bollocks.

wisconsin wendy pointed out that today is 3.4.05. a magic day to be sure.

new weekly.

today i called my brother on the phone. it went like this:

me: hey!
j: hey!
m: how are you feeling?
j: fine.
m: hey that’s great!
j: yeah.
m: so you’re not puking anymore?
j: …no.
m: great! and you’re holding down water then?
j: …yeah. so how are you?
m: oh, i’m fine.
j: that’s good.
m: hey, you kinda sound funny. are you sure you feel okay?
j: um, well, you do know this is chris, don’t you?
m: uhhhh, heh. no. sorry chris. bahahahahahahaha! i hit the wrong speed dial number.
c: ah. so who’s sick?
m: justin. he ate Captain Disease and got food poisoning.
c: oh man, i hope he gets better.
m: yeah. well, i’m glad that you’re holding down your water.
c: heh. yeah.

see, the woodlayson’s are nombre cinco on my cell. justin is nombre cuatro. and i always misdial, but so far i’ve managed to catch myself from actually placing the call. until today. oops.
but man, i have laughed about it all day long.
and, justin is doing much better today.

reefer log:
how do i know if i am a psychic
i believe i’ve touched on this recently. i must have, that could be the only explanation for why the reefer log has been bombarded with stuff about “am i psychic”, “how to tell if i’m psychic”, and “pictures of psychic gay smokers”. so anyway, e-mail me and tell me why you think you’re psychic and i’ll tell you if you’re psychic or not. also, you’re not psychic.
hold your own boobs
rag on moth
when was the pickle invented
invented? i was born, baby!
baseball pickle


today was an interesting day. i’ve written a weekly about it; just as soon as LBC does her graphic magic i’ll post it.

the new Tori album, The Beekeeper, is very boring and sounds just like her last album but even more “easy listening”. feh. i realize that she’s older and a mom and all, but i mean, there’s no edge at all. none. even billie holiday had edge. nina simone? edge. Tori “give me peace, love, and a hard cock” Amos, where is your edge?!

:gol refeer
funny bitch names
meth whore
bless you tonight
smoking gay dudes
do you mean gay dudes who smoke? or killing people? because we here at fleegan.com do not endorse killing people. or smoking them. however you want to word it. the fleegan is a lover not a fighter. although the fleegan does ‘smoke a fag’ sometimes. hee.
donald h rumsfeld kids names
where did tina turner go to college
dirty meat in 18 hundreds
liz’s place
commercial dork
why were homeruns invented
nicknames for a screwdriver
where’s your happy face this is my happy face
torturing peeps
cheeseburger paragraph
i hate your f*cking guts
a paper on dante’s the inferno
michael landon


poor jimmy had to work late today (so i did not get to see him. i hate when that happens.) in a town far, far away called Cullman. then he had to drive back in a van that does not have heat. the poor fleegan was frozen and quite pissed when he got back to town.


today my international student conversation partner mysteriously dropped out of the conversation program.

was it something i said?

i now have a new conversation partner (conpart), and i will meet her next week. she is a korean girl named jemma. Korean Jemma. sounds like a band. or international spy.


i am having the worst luck with breakfast. i eat it and then it feels like i’ve eaten nails. but i haven’t eaten nails. i’ve eaten an english muffin with cream cheese.
so then i switched to butter thinking that it was a lactose thing.
then i got some Lactaid so i could eat the cream cheese since the butter didn’t make my stomach not hurt.
then i switched to bagels thinking that maybe the sourdoughness had something to do with the undigestable rock nails that becomes my breakfast every day.
then i tried taking two Lactaids.
what is up, food?

i can’t not eat breakfast because i’ll fall out by 10am.
anyone have any ideas?

but enough about me and my day, you’re here for the reefer aren’t you?
rebel flag cellular phone
dork pictures
what can be killed by a silver bullet
pretty much anything that can be killed with a regular bullet.
cat in the hat cakes
laura ingles wilder homepage
um, i think she’s dead. but here’s a cute page for kids!
bong and oil painting
so shy jokes
white people jokes
what? there’s white people jokes? are they funny? send me one! pickle@fleegan.com
baby buddy harness
rubber baby buddy harness
will you marry me alabama
are you rich?
goldmine expenses
crystal moth drug
hee, moth.
eddie george pickle
rag balls baseball
medical reasons for acetone
i can’t think of any offhand
tmobile easypay
will probably just cause me to bounce checks
condom names
i came to bring the pain hardcore to the brain
what is this? i love it.
how much paint for walls
cans of paint will usually tell you how many square feet one gallon will cover.
proof i am psychic
if you need proof, you aren’t psychic.
smokers death adds
loose stomach

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