The Unholy Spawn of Ben Affleck
OK, I went through hell just to post this blog. If anyone reads it, it'll be a miracle. Frankly, I just want to write and think that maybe somewhere, out there in tenuous cyberspace, someone will read it, and go ahead and make my day!
My original title for this blog was The Unholy Spawn of Ben Affleck. It scares me this man is procreating, although I recognize that's a cruel thing to say. Jennifer Garner seems very sweet, in a wholesome West Virginia kind of way, but he looks like he's going to end up playing "Eight ball with a bunch of hookers", as my erudite Irish Catholic cousin is known to say. Heh. It would be sad but hilarious, in a sad kind of way, if he ran off the day of the wedding and was discovered with said hookers in a sleazy bar somewhere, the jukebox playing something by Stevie Ray Vaughn. There would be a kind of demented justice there.
I went to Mass today with some very nice but very conservative friends, speaking of Catholics. Why are so many priests homosexuals? Can anyone tell me that? I half-expected the dude to start playing a Cher CD during the middle of the service. The woman who did the cantoring stuff had a very scary executioner type face, and for some reason during the Consecration of the Host bit (for you non-Catholics, this is basically the rite where the priest, acting as a conduit for God, kind of like a giant water slide in human form, turns the bread (host) into the body of Christ and the wine into the blood of Christ) he was ringed by four, count 'em four, altar boys. Now that I have reduced priests to theme park rides, I will conclude this paragraph.
Jesus, do I have issues!
I also have a very unrequited crush on Craig Ferguson. Being the fantasy-minded, escapist, highly delusional Pisces that I am, I spend happy moments picturing the two of us married, or at least happily partnered. I think it could work: I'm irreverent, only ten years younger than he is, and have a great sense of humor (I'd like to think). My childhood, being kind of Dickensian, might amuse him in the sad, pathetic way it amuses me at times. I just like the guy, what can I say: he is hunky and Scottish, but he's also literate, charming, sweet, and intelligent. I don't give a shit that he's an ex-alcoholic with two ex-wives (or should I say, recovering drunkard). Drunkard is a tad harsh, but we Irish people can be, even if it's only a drop in the bucket for yours truly.
Christ, do I have issues!
Anyway, I dispense with the repetitious stuff, and get back to the main point of this blog: Fucking Ben Affleck! Seriously, he's not the worst actor ever, although sometimes he seems to be reciting his lines from a great distance, kind of like his head hurts or something. Garner is the superior performer out of the two of them, even if her Alias character is simply a barbie doll who kicks ass brought to life and forced to change outfits ten times throughout every program. Can we say, "Male Fantasy Brought to Life"? I can, tee.
I would like to say I am available to write for your humorous magazine, or magazine seeking humor. I will write and eventually perform stand-up, which I am getting up the courage to do, and if you like, I will spend moments throughout my performance whole-heartedly, with a tear in each eye, endorsing your magazine! I'll even buy you a drink afterwards if you attend my gig.
This is before Craig Ferguson takes me into the proverbial horizon, the sun gently illuminating our hair.
God, do I have issues!
I lied. I am repetitious.
May the Unholy Spawn of Ben Affleck never darken your doorstep, may we discover the mysteries of repressed homosexual priests and oh yes, Craig Baby? Email me anytime.
Blessings.
My original title for this blog was The Unholy Spawn of Ben Affleck. It scares me this man is procreating, although I recognize that's a cruel thing to say. Jennifer Garner seems very sweet, in a wholesome West Virginia kind of way, but he looks like he's going to end up playing "Eight ball with a bunch of hookers", as my erudite Irish Catholic cousin is known to say. Heh. It would be sad but hilarious, in a sad kind of way, if he ran off the day of the wedding and was discovered with said hookers in a sleazy bar somewhere, the jukebox playing something by Stevie Ray Vaughn. There would be a kind of demented justice there.
I went to Mass today with some very nice but very conservative friends, speaking of Catholics. Why are so many priests homosexuals? Can anyone tell me that? I half-expected the dude to start playing a Cher CD during the middle of the service. The woman who did the cantoring stuff had a very scary executioner type face, and for some reason during the Consecration of the Host bit (for you non-Catholics, this is basically the rite where the priest, acting as a conduit for God, kind of like a giant water slide in human form, turns the bread (host) into the body of Christ and the wine into the blood of Christ) he was ringed by four, count 'em four, altar boys. Now that I have reduced priests to theme park rides, I will conclude this paragraph.
Jesus, do I have issues!
I also have a very unrequited crush on Craig Ferguson. Being the fantasy-minded, escapist, highly delusional Pisces that I am, I spend happy moments picturing the two of us married, or at least happily partnered. I think it could work: I'm irreverent, only ten years younger than he is, and have a great sense of humor (I'd like to think). My childhood, being kind of Dickensian, might amuse him in the sad, pathetic way it amuses me at times. I just like the guy, what can I say: he is hunky and Scottish, but he's also literate, charming, sweet, and intelligent. I don't give a shit that he's an ex-alcoholic with two ex-wives (or should I say, recovering drunkard). Drunkard is a tad harsh, but we Irish people can be, even if it's only a drop in the bucket for yours truly.
Christ, do I have issues!
Anyway, I dispense with the repetitious stuff, and get back to the main point of this blog: Fucking Ben Affleck! Seriously, he's not the worst actor ever, although sometimes he seems to be reciting his lines from a great distance, kind of like his head hurts or something. Garner is the superior performer out of the two of them, even if her Alias character is simply a barbie doll who kicks ass brought to life and forced to change outfits ten times throughout every program. Can we say, "Male Fantasy Brought to Life"? I can, tee.
I would like to say I am available to write for your humorous magazine, or magazine seeking humor. I will write and eventually perform stand-up, which I am getting up the courage to do, and if you like, I will spend moments throughout my performance whole-heartedly, with a tear in each eye, endorsing your magazine! I'll even buy you a drink afterwards if you attend my gig.
This is before Craig Ferguson takes me into the proverbial horizon, the sun gently illuminating our hair.
God, do I have issues!
I lied. I am repetitious.
May the Unholy Spawn of Ben Affleck never darken your doorstep, may we discover the mysteries of repressed homosexual priests and oh yes, Craig Baby? Email me anytime.
Blessings.
posted by lakeofthelongsun72 at 8:55 AM
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