Mucous is a state of mind

Mr. Morgan worked on Saturday, leaving me to pace the house and wonder what I could improve upon. There is never a lack of shit to make better, work faster, or be otherwise more efficient in service to my world.

Weeman walked into the room looking like an abondoned and rusting train wreck, yet happy to be such. He is very unpretentious. When he looks like shit, he's not aware of it and I admire that particular quality. He loves being sheared and takes off like a shiney new bullet, carrying the energy of William Wallace, "Freeeeeeedom" as he sprints.

Here he is before, chewing the balls on his Sonic Hedgehog, belly up no less. It's face or balls for this dog, I've come to think he is more aware of his size than I give him credit because he is keen on the money spots much akin to a rabid ferret.

Pickle after doesn't look so different but he is. Mr. Morgan came home and he was embarrassed for Simon. There isn't a better dog to take a haircut. Clippers don't exist to shear this animal, he is clipped slice by slice with scissors and it only took one fuck up years back to teach him that playing dead is the best course during this procedure. Ok sure, the scissors slipped line once, and it was in a place he suddenly thought "heeeey, last time I felt that you took me for a ride and shit was missing when I came home... deal off!"

Since then he doesn't so much as take a deep breath, carefully eyeing my wine glass and it's level. Lol, when I was a kid and my mother yelled it was bang-cutting time, we bolted like cheetahs for the same reason. Otherwise it was explaining that the crooked cut was all the rage overseas.

Here is Simon being a Meerkat.

And finally, Simon thanking god it's over.


"Will you come kick this dog?" I hear.
"Why would I do that? Which dog?"
"The bald one."
"I don't think I'll kick a dog, but what's wrong?"
"He's scooting."
"Ok"

/calls the little dog and explains I have to check the butt. This will not be detailed.

"He's gotta scoot."
"It's gross."
"It's anal glands and entertaining, plus if he doesn't he has to see the vet. He's working as a little coupon."

-DM

(ps - when asked of Mr. Morgan to name a Simon entry... that's what we got).

pps - I got my first Confession today. Can't tell, can't judge, but is thinking someone an asshole a judgement, or a statement, or fact?

Chernobyl

I had always thought there was an age a person reached when they have learned the most basic of lessons. As I am going on 30, I presumed I had passed this point, then I paused to remember who I was thinking about.

Today’s lesson was to avoid perfumed lotion on armpits suffering from razor burn. Seems blazingly obvious doesn’t it? Well it might not until you learn this lesson. To be honest, I hope you don’t learn from my mistakes since stupidity in numbers is comfort, and also what we call our government. Funny how a word can have so many meanings. /impish.

Firefly is my new watching of choice, or lack of, and mid episode I found I was pit-achy, even though I’d used a brand new razor. Unless Mr. Morgan used each of them on his groin and replaced the caps to be evil, they appeared new and quite certain to provide a smooth shave.

The chafe began and was interrupting my show so I reached over for lotion, believing the pits wanted moisture. At first it was cool and soothing, then came an odd smell of skin melting and the sound of an acid boil. Brain reacted, screamed THIS HURTS, then left me all to my own devices. Brain was tired of saying “You know uh…. That might not be the best…. Just saying it could uh…” so it sighed and walked away.

Without Brain to guide me I began running circles in the house, arms above my head screaming “What to do!!!!”

I rolled deodorant over it, since it said it had aloe. Now, two layers deep in product, the lotion and deodorant mingled into a fire and my skin smiled softly as it blushed with a sweet patting on the head. Flopping into the bathroom I found some real aloe and began layer three. The blush was spreading into a more deeply sincere shade of embarrassment and I grabbed shaving cream, lathered the screaming twins up as green aloe goop and chunks of white fluff dripped down in very large amounts while I read the various bottles of "what to do before you are forced medical care for being an idiot."

My ingredients combined appear to be the recipe for pipe bombs, as it looks and feels like one exploded under each arm. I look a fool and wear two lasting giant circles of ruby skin to prove that I cannot take care of myself. Then it occurred to me. THE WET SOCK! How had I overlooked the wet sock? I was desprate, crazed and on fire, I feel bad now for naysaying the wet sock. All bow to wet sock and it's comforting goodness. Never be shy to whop one of those babies on anything ailing, it's mystical powers are infinite. I have one under each arm, cuffed atop each shoulder, with a spray bottle to rejuivinate them as needed. Mr. Morgan is late tonight, and I hope when he walks in and sees the socks, he'll give a silent nod - knowing their ability and ask no questions.

I suppose I could have skipped all those steps and just squirted bleach on them from the get go, maybe a little paint thinner..... Feel free to tell me your fuck ups. Here have a video.



-DM

ps – I hear tell some come here just for photos. No reading. I’m not talking to myself (presently) so don’t do that. You read. Then you bring hats. Then you avert eyes at living twister – left hand RED!

Wild West

Many of my Army are from the local area, but my Army streches far and wide. Mr. Morgan suggested we take little ride to Virginia City over the weekend. We dont' require it more than once every few years, but I thought it might be nice to favor my long distance readers with a pho-tog of it. VC is pretty interesting history wise, and old enough that it's paths are wooden, uneven, and just waiting for bone toe. 4 slams total, the last one resulting in a FUCK that lended an impressive echo.

It's a great vintage treat, and not far to travel to for an afternoon get away. The novelty shops abound with more shit to buy than should ever have been created. I draw to them like a fly. Shit to have, stuff to get! This is main street. Deceptively looking longer than it is. Unless you are limping from a lack of walking ability. It becomes super long after an injury. (can click any photos for a larger view, recommended!)


I spotted this fellow and turned increasingly curious. After chasing him to get a photo for five minutes, Mr. Morgan passed me some cash and said "Why don't you just go ask him for a photo?"
I said "That's insulting!"
"Did you see the sign on the donkey? The donkey wants the photo for a fee."
"No shit?"
"No shit."

Here I am wearing the "Oh my god, it's a donkey, right here.. a real live donkey, face"

Donkey's name is Mary. Mary liked to slap me in the boobs with her snout. Like, a bunch.

But we were kindred. She works for money, I work for money.... we both eat.... how much more in common were we going to get? Props to Miner Sam for the treat, we love you! How much more classic can you get? I keep telling you all how awesome my area is. Street donkeys!

Something. Don'y remember what, but it smelled super good passing it.

Dead house. Mr. Morgan stoped to tie his shoes and I got bored so... ya know.

Alas the point of our trip. I have begged for one of those old time photos for 5 years. Mr. Morgan has always been reluctant. They aren't entirely cheap, but VC is not about discounts. I had my own pin money and said I'd pay for it, but that I had waited long enough to play dress up.


Meow!And the final product.... Tell me he isn't smoldering! I did well myself, it can't be helped, we are sexy bitches.
For fun. We've since drained the pool, but Morgan Pool '07 was fun while it lasted. Delilah melts in water... so we gave her a lift.


This one was dunked. Laughing as the dunking went no less. We never tire of how small and offended he gets.

-DM

Speak about destruction....

Admit it, you are grateful to hear this song. For.....

A: Knowing it's totally true.
B: Liking an english band throwing in a rapper.
C: Hearing a song you've missed since the 80's
D: Understanding the shit fuck world we've made for ourselves.
E: All of the above



I vote E.

-DM

North Pole

I have been terribly tempermental lately because of temperature. I get really fucking nuts when cold and god dammit all I am is cold lately. Bosslady rolls the thermostat low enough to produce snow, and I come home to Mr. Morgan insisting it's nothing less than Hades if it's 75. Seems trite, but I've slept with a heating pad, and four blankets for a week... I am fucking FREEZING! Can't I have one portion of my day warm?

I have crazy finger warping with arthritis, it jutts to the side and more. Enough that I'm hiding my right hand. I get stiff, I need heat that is seemingly unreasonable. Grandmaster likes to set my shit at 65 at work. Don't. It makes me hurt. I wish I could tell Bosslady the same but she relates any pain I have to pain she also has. If she can do it, why can't I. Because I don't suck it up for the sake of it. I appreciate being comfortable, I'm not a fan of hurting so I can prove that I can take it.

Petty perhaps, but, I cannot tolerate cold. Yes, it is hot in Nevada at the moment, but 65 fucking degrees is not ok. I have sweaters, socks... all that shit, take the menopause elsewhere, I've been in meno for years and don't need to cool a place like a meat locker. I try hard to bring a winter wardrobe because I know most like it cold, but someone give me a fucking break.

/end bitch rant. Just make it god damned reasonable, I will act out soon if shit doesn't change.

-DM

Treats!

For anyone who ever thought Mr. Morgan was a snore, and I have on occasion… I came home today from work, to the stereo pumping a song that I know to be from Lord of the Dance. how he found that cd.. no clue, but extremely thinky to have done so, he knows I love that show. Adding to it was my delicious husband doing his very best to Riverdance as I walked in, and telling the dogs “hey, like we practiced!”

Mr. Morgan pulls a mean Riverdance for all his height, heels kickin’ arms on hips and a wiggle I couldn’t decribe. I immediately joined in, kicking legs and hopping about and prancing, we ruled all that could rule. In our clumsy leg flopping way. We got our jig on, my purse and what nots bobbing along because who resists walking into a dance?

I then found drinks poured and it seemed a party was hot to get on before I’d even sluffed my bag off my shoulder. Earlier, he had dialed my office promising a treat. I suspected it would be a Soprano, as I’ve cried, begged and swore off sex until I got the next season. As he did his Irish jig into the kitchen…. He’d hidden my treat in the microwave.

Much thought had gone into his treat!

Soprano’s.

He continued to jig right through the glee on my face. I took off fast holding them tight and willing to kick any dog who got in my way.

It’s almost 9pm… early for most but my brain doesn’t understand the Soprano addiction. Must… have… more! Mr. Morgan never fails to take care of his Salad Fork, even served my supper, and cleaned the kitchen while I tried to chase him away, sack off he's way mine. We should all come home to a walk in dance! Too fun.

-DM

The Reverend DMorgan

Guess who is a newly legally ordained minister? Nope, not fucking around, your resident demon blogger is officially a Reverend, deemed permissible to perform a great many tasks in any state, granted I follow protocol. Forever with protocol, sucks the fun out of everything fun-ish. (Prada, little miss jesus need not know, last thing I want is a conversation or confessions from that loon). Not to worry, it’s not a churchy practice, this Minister thumps not a bible, and the church that ordained me gives two shits about color, orientation, religious affiliation etc. They drop that saddle at the door, we will officiate damn near anything because it's bullshit to judge.

I can’t tell you why I chose to pursue it. Perhaps I just wanted to see if I could pull it off.

I don’t care that it’s probably laughable to most readers, I am a smart ass for entertainment, but once I received my official papers I went very serious, and smiled thinking “No shit?”. Who woulda thought it?

I told the Grandmaster first and he asked what the credential meant. I said it meant I could legally sign Rev. DMorgan (massive perk) and officiate many things, except for circumcision. That stipulation was rather disappointing because that was the sole purpose of my application and studies, I almost tossed the papers when I saw I couldn’t slice up a pener at will. /brow raise. Lol, my oh my, we all know there must be a REASON they needed to make that clear, but scary all the same.

When I mentioned I could perform a funeral or last rights we jested in very poor taste.

“What, are you going to roam the hospital?”
“Naw, I’ll just ask the staff who seems next, and pass out a business card saying I’m on call.”

Believe it or not, one can obtain a PhD in religion, and it is my next step. Silly or not, it is. I always said I’d be a fucking doctor didn’t I, and I intend to, one way or another. /laughs quietly. It takes a good deal of study, not just a hand out, but not as hard as it should be to carry the after name initials.

Besides, what cooler of a clergyman could you find than me? Confessions?

“I fucked up.”
“Well knock it off. Are you sorry?”
“No.”
“Then GET sorry.”

Another bonus, I can open my own cult, I mean church. Congregation cometh! Collection plates are at the entrance, and all emergency exits for your convenience, sermons are held Wednesday at 6pm in my backyard (other nights are my TV programming).

Ok I do joke, I take this seriously, and hope it lends me a level of perspective that I lack, even if I am an unemployed Rev. That was never the purpose. I suppose I’m sniffing something out, to see where it takes me. I enjoy being a person who does such a variety of things, but I think I am a bit too far of a "ball of me" which is easy to get wrapped into, I imagine we all do sometimes. I want to dip my fingers into things that don't evolve around worry and self pity, this is just the newest affair in the direction. Better than standing still, it’s more than yesterday, and who knows what it’ll bring. Beats sitting around doing nothing, I'll never stop exploring, no good. Next month I may take up knitting and make Prada a sister sweater for her prize cashmere. Point is, there is no reason to ever stop trying to be a better person, taste new adventures, experiencing things both humbles and excites, there is no better thing.

If you still think it’s lame, I can absolve you of your blasphemy. For a fee. Cash only.

-DM

ps - As my first sermon, I would like everyone to open mindedly watch An Inconvenient Truth, and Sicko for homework.

Walk it Out

Been a liar of a day. My anxiety woke me at 2am, then at 4am, then one last fuck you at 6am up just to say "hey, it's going to be THAT sort of day, buckle up."

I am not going to say what hurts, how much, or why I think I should be concerned because lends acknowledgement. As Mr. Morgan says "people have pain everyday." Yeah, not for 2 years.

So.... because I'm making myself more mental than usual, I am forced to share the love. Below are the Walk it Out videos. Clever how well timed. I've seen what they were originally taped to, music wise, so it's all rather a giggle and quite catchy. For me and my pain, and my silly ass nerves... I'm gonna walk it out!

-DM

-ps I'm waiting on some hats, I was promised from several vendors. Also, I have some news on a front most of you wouldn't think, but I'm waiting for a piece of mail first.

Signs signs everywhere....

Meanwhile, can you fucking believe I’m on the Halloween hunt already? I just blew 70 bucks (thank you Bosslady for my bonus, it helped) on new props and they are guaranteed to help out my house’s chances at winning best haunt. I remember last year being so proud of my efforts, then passing some others houses and thinking what the fuck, that they’d clearly up’d anything I had in mind.

Well this year I ordered a fogger, I have of course, The Edmond, and purchased a talking head. That’s just so far. In July.

Any ideas on what I should dress as? You all think it’s early. It’s not. Way not. I draw up blueprints of where shit should go, how best to represent my wares, plus the annual inventory of what has finally coughed and died, no longer able to participate and sent to the retirement bin.

As for costume, how can I top the pimp? I still feel pimpish. Possibly because the cost of it rivals a street blow job, and I didn’t get one.

I missed some photos and shit in my vaca video. SIGNS.

Love it. Hahaha, stop fucking up the plumbing assholes! They were nice enough not to say what we are all thinking..... TAMPONS DONT FLUSH BITCHES! Great shit, "we will forever make you piss in the street if you don't knock it the fuck off" Well put.

Fucking facists! No running? No horseplay? No skipping or jumping or FUN! And no alcohol or drugs, well.... how was I supposed to go swimming? Sober? On purpose? Hm, that's demanding.

Also no getting in with passable diseases, what if the doctor hadn't called yet? /laughing at the sign in general.

Awww! We stopped a beach walker for this one as my hands began to shake seeing my camera in the palm of a potential runner, but it was Ore-gin after all, so clearly trusty of a fellow. Mr. Morgan ... just look at him! Flip flops and shit. I've never seen him own a pair but he is quite proud of those, even though they produced a handy wound that to me two weeks later even... looks infected as fuck. I'd neosporin him but you all know his fix all is the wet sock.

Hope everyone had a great 4th. I have some crap to post on that, but later, it's after my bedtime which rivals when nursing homes hit the sheets.

-DM