a few quotes from The Song Between Her Legs (part 1 of 5)

(from the book The Song Between Her Legs)

While I appreciate the fact that the folks at Hallmark Cards went to the trouble of exhuming the two ladies working at the checkout, and will no doubt return them to their graves after the holiday rush is over, there to wait until next season’s shopping frenzy again summons them from the cold confines of their caskets, I do wish they could move the storeroom, where they apparently keep the boxes in which every little ceramic figurine comes in, a little closer to the front counter. And by closer, I mean not at the other end of the store. And while they’re at it perhaps even shrink the size of the storage area down from the four football fields it appears to occupy so when the old corpses drag themselves back there for each and every customer that has had the misfortune of walking through the Hallmark doors and decided to purchase something they could be gone for less than an hour.

Last night, looking out my window and seeing a neighbor’s light on through a small wooded area in the development next to mine, and then looking up and seeing the light from a star hundreds of billions of miles away, and noticing that they look almost identical, I could not help but feel that my neighbor’s light just wasn’t trying. There was also a metaphor about celebrity in our culture in there somewhere but I just couldn’t be bothered to sort it out. That’s how disappointed I was in my neighbor’s light.

I don’t enjoy watching people dance well. I don’t dislike people who dance well; I just find their dancing tedious to watch. I like to watch bad dancers. I could watch a bad dancer all night.

Can you imagine the violence that would ensue if truth serum was somehow introduced into the water supply over a holiday weekend?

So what did we learn from the latest David Blaine special? That the easiest way to make celebrities look like dolts is to film them watching magic.

I remember when LEGO was just a bucket with a bunch of little building blocks in it. Now kids are given detailed instructions on exactly what to build with no pieces left over. What a great metaphor for childhood these days.

People ask me “Lance, do you ever run out of ideas for stories?” and I answer “Nope, just good ones.”

As my dog lay sleeping with her head in my lap she slowly transformed from a trusted and loyal friend to a dumb, oblivious animal as I gave myself permission to fart.

Ever have those turds that are too big? You sit there sweating and pushing like you’re giving birth. I call them “prison turds” because they remind me how thankful I am I’m not in prison.

I always meant to ask my last girlfriend what it was she thought about during sex that stopped her from coming too quickly. Whatever it was, it worked great.

There are people who are born to leave you. There are people wired to stay. To blame either for being how they are is to be mad at the sky for being blue. (Feel free to explore this observation further by noting that what we call the sky is just a vague region of the atmosphere and the color is only because air molecules scatter blue light from the sun more than they do red. You could easily replace sky with space and black for blue. Would that change how you feel about the first two lines?)

You know what would make a great holiday special? Having little people dressed as elves drag everyone involved in the decision to make a sequel to A Christmas Story in front of a Santa who will then chainsaw their heads off.

Hope springs eternal. It’s annoying like that. Cynicism, on the other hand, just sits there.

When you understand just how many things go on in order to pee it makes you want to at least say “Release the urine!” every time you’re standing in front of the toilet.

While on hold yesterday the message I was hearing made two things clear: 1. I may be being recorded. 2. I was free to press 0 at any time. Speaking in a strong firm voice I let the message know that I was free to press ANY number at any time. I wanted to let it know exactly who it was dealing with. I hope that it was recorded.

If you talk to any old person, all of their conversations can be distilled down to one simple thought: getting older blows.

If a woman didn’t have nipples I bet we’d be ok with them walking around topless.

“Cough… cough,” he coughed.

Sometimes I think that I’m nothing more than a machine to turn onion rings into odd smelling farts.

Listening to a Barry White tune today I was able to improvise an entire song’s worth of lyrics. Granted at least 50% of the time I was singing “Put your hands on my penis.” (Note: This is not as funny if one is not listening to a Barry White song)

Listening to the stranger next to me. Her breathing is a lullaby. A lullaby that doesn’t rhyme and causes me to lose my boner.

Had to delete a story today. Entitled “Hope is a Cruel Mistress,” it was tale of a married man who was dating a girl on the side named Hope who was cruel. It was so choked with metaphors that the Word program kept freezing.

It appears impossible to leave Jiffy Lube without spending over $100 on a $40 oil change. I had no idea my car had so many fluids and belts that needed replacing. Finally I was forced to pull the greasy man over the counter and explain that I didn’t care if they found human remains in my air filter I wasn’t interested in replacing it.

Justt wantedd too seee howw cooll myy writingg wouldd bee withh aa littlee reverbb.

A mayfly lives for only one day. When it rains that entire day you know that they must look skyward and think to themselves “Well that sucks.” When one of them gets eaten after only a few hours the rest must be thinking to themselves “What a shame. He was so young.” They don’t have mouths, so that why they have to think everything to themselves.

The news never reports the things I want to know, i.e. was the jumper wearing Life Is Good apparel?

I always give mock advice as a way to make fun of people who feel so self-important that they give advice but today I’d like to give some actual advice: give mock advice as a way to make fun of people who feel so self-important that they give advice.

Living without regret is a ridiculous expectation. If you come to the end of your life with no regrets all that shows is an astounding lack of imagination.

I read that only 30% of woman can achieve an orgasm through intercourse. Here’s hoping that the other 70% will make it their New Year’s resolution to get their vaginas fixed.