|Five orders of LSD to table #12 please!|
Everybody in this world is always freaking out about stuff: "Where's my French Toast?" "Why doesn't he like me?" "My husband's gay." Oh my God, calm down. Everybody knows that good things come to those who don't give a shit -- which is precisely what Mad Men was trying to teach us this past weekend.
While Don and Megan and Peggy and Megan's parents were gettin' all stressed out about dumb stuff, Roger (who doesn't give a shit about shit) was in the back room getting a blowjer. Did it matter to him that his marriage just ended, that his job was being threatened by a tweedle-dick, that somewhere his secret love child was growing up without a father? No, he was getting a blowjer. Or maybe it did matter, but not enough from stopping him from getting a blowjer. Before this paragraph, I had never in my life called them "blowjers" before. Now I can't stop calling them "blowjers."
I try to tell my wife all the time, the key to life is to be emotionally distant. "My socks are on the floor? Really? Let's order a pizza and watch Star Wars." Take this blorg for instance. No one reads this thing. Seriously, NO ONE. It's pretty much just you and me here. Maybe, MAYBE there are a few other people out there reading too, but trust me, they're going to give up as soon as I start talking about dogs' dicks.
So why not talk about dogs' dicks!
|I once thought of an idea for a children's book called, "Big Dog, Little Dog."|
It'd just have pictures of dogs and say, "Big dog, little dog, big dog, little dog." Not bad, right?
Why should we worry about stuff like how many Twitter followers we have or who reads our blorgs? It's not like your dog and his giant dick is concerned with impressing his boss or getting his dad's approval. You know when you go to Thanksgiving dinner at your Cousin Earl's house? And your cousin is telling you some story about mutual funds or cream cheese and you're sort of paying attention, but you don't really care, and then all of a sudden his dog walks by and you see his dog's dick and you're like, "Wow, that dog has a giant dick." And then while your cousin keeps talking you just keep staring at that dog dick and start to come up with nicknames for it like "The Red Rocket" or "Sergeant Dog Boner." Well, no matter how many awards you win or how many books you publish or how frustrated your French Canadian wife is with your marriage, you're still going to have moments in this world where you're staring at a dog's dick and you can't stop yourself. So why not embrace it?
Don Drapes should be loving life. He's freed himself of all that Dick Whitman nonsense, he's got a beautiful and smart bride who's not afraid to get smacked around in the bedroom, he has healthy kids, a hairy chest, a beautiful home, but he's frustrated because some clients won't hire him because he bit the hand that feeds him? Oh who cares! Your wife likes to get kinky! Besides, just because they're scared of working with you now doesn't mean you can't re-earn their trust. People get second chances. Mike Tyson has a 2 million Twitter followers. He bit a guy's ear off. Actually, he bit a guy's ears off. You're gonna be fine, Don, stop moping.
Megan, daddy doesn't approve of your lifestyle? Tell him to shut up and eat a raw steak in his face. Mr. French Canadian Guy, those people didn't like your book? Go play some hockey and then bang a dude. Sally, you saw a guy getting a blowjer who was supposed to be getting you a Shirley Temp? Well maybe you should've given him the blowjer first.
Bottom line, Roger's always gonna be aight because he's a cool dude who likes getting drunk and cracking jokes. Joan's got big boobs, so she'll be fine too. If something's got you upset at work today and you're feeling overwhelmed, go get a milkshake and then talk to a guy who doesn't have ears.
That guy's got problems. You're doing great.
And how 'bout the return of Glen????????
That kid's stared at a couple of dog dicks in his day.
|That's a stronggggg V neck.|
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