Comically Large Things

Man, I’m thirsty right now. So very thirsty … wish it was Friday, because then I could get my drink on, but it’s only Thursday …

Hey … wait a minute … “thirsty Thursday!” Get it? It kinda rhymes, and it’s kinda alliterative? THIRSTY THURSDAY! That’s a new one! Man, I’m clever.

Also: Helllllooooo ladies!

Ah, it’s the most wonderful time of the year! Sing along with me, won’t you, the good old holiday favorite “Frosty the Snowman”!

Frosty the snowman was a jolly happy soul,
With a corn-cob pipe and a button nose
and two eyes made out of coal.

Frosty the snowman, oh the kiddies loved him so
until that one time when drunk Mr. Howard from down the street knocked him over and he started rolling down hill, and before you know it he knocked a hole about three feet across in Miss Purdy’s living room wall. You think that old woman had a face like a dropped meat pie before that, you shoulda seen the look she gave all of us that day, I’ll tell you what.

There must have been some magic in that old silk hat they found …

According to the photographer of this beauty, Albert here is the world’s largest bull. He has, and I quote, “baby blue eyes and giant concrete gonads.” Which means he has a lot in common with me.

Here we have a silly person, seen in his native habitat: the wild, attempting to eat a foodstuff that is obviously too damn big for him. The foodstuff in question is a giant mango, which is in fact so large that the farmer evidently needed to use bits of green metal to prop it up.

But here’s the silliest thing about this whole endeavor: Look at the green at the top. It’s not ready to eat yet! Clearly, it’s going to be another 70 or 80 years before this mango is ripe enough to attempt to bite into.

Here you have two guys, holding a giant dog biscuit. AND THEY’RE JUST STANDING THERE! Don’t you fools realize that if there is a dog anywhere nearby that is able to eat such a biscuit, you would become nothing more than a pair of doggy toothpicks? DROP THE DAMN THING AND RUN FOR THE HILLS!

All of that said, I think it’s a nice looking biscuit. I bet if I were around, I would find it hard not to indulge in a little nibble. You can be damn sure, though, that I’d do it quickly, then make a run for it. Giant dogs scare the bejeezus out of me.

Here’s a new song I wrote. Sing it to the tune of “Fire Burning” by Sean Kingston:

“Somebody call 911, there’s a giant golden idol head of Bast, driven mad by centuries of bloodlust, getting ready to devour a young lady foolish enough to pause for a moment in her wake …

“um, on the dance floor.”

American tastes have done nothing but escalate over the past five decades; since the first highway was laid down, it has been a one-way societal trip to ever bigger portions, desires, needs, wants. The seeds that Ray Kroc planted have grown into a super-sized tree of gluttony, excess and insatiable desires.

Oh sure, it’s all fun and games to go sitting inside one of these giant shoes and saying “Hey, take a picture of me! Look at me! I’m sitting in a giant shoe!” Congratulations. Good for you. But somewhere, probably not far away, there’s a morbidly large Dutch boy who can’t play on the baseball team because of his size, and he sheds a tear, not just for the jerk you are but for the fact that he can’t find his giant yellow curly-toed shoe.