From my many email addresses, but mostly my Google one, I get lots and lots of fun emails from women who "supposedly" want me to sleep with them... SO I decided to write back to a few. Let's see who responds back...
Email Subject: You got a PERSONAL EMAIL from Rosemary Castille
> ***You got a PERSONAL MESSAGE from Rosemary Castille<URL DELETED>
Hi Rosemary: You have goals and dreams too? How awesome. I would like to be a unicorn. Do you know why I want to be a unicorn? It's because they are always horny. Get it? Horn-y? I got a million of them. Secretly between you and me, I often dream of dressing in diapers and riding the subway while a beautiful woman applies Elmer's Glue to my nipples... and then eats it off while everyone watches. It's non toxic. That means it's safe to eat. I mean the glue. Not my nipples. Well, actually I am pretty sure my nipples are non-toxic too.... it's just when I try to taste them I usually hurt my neck. I hurt my neck one time while I was looking up at the sky to see a meteor shower. It turned out it wasn't even the sky I was looking at. It was just the glow-in-the-dark stars I have on my ceiling over my bed. If you shake your head really fast, they look like flying meteors. I threw up too. I love you. Brian
Email Subject: I lost my pussy. Can you help me?
Hi Audrey: Sorry for the late reply. I was out of town. It seems like I contracted a rare disease and had to be hospitalized. I am better now but I had to have my penis rebuilt. It is now bionic and has 3 different speed switches as well as "pleasure-fingers." Is there a good number to call you? I want you to be the first to take my new toy for a "ride." Bri
Email Subject: Danelle Tolle ADDED YOU to her Private Wish List
Hi Danelle! Silky Lips??? Which ones? Hahaha. I am too funny. So when you say date without obligations, do you mean that I wouldn't have to do laundry or empty the dishwasher when I stayed over your house? Bri
4) Lincoln wore no mustache in honor of the fact that Martha Washington did.
3) Washington never really chopped down a cherry tree but Lincoln did "mangleth thy crap" out of a rose bush that snagged his best pants.
2) Both owned every Lady Gaga album available at the times of their death.
1) An anagram of "Washington and Lincoln" is "Huge Appliance Sale."
Ever go into a bar about 4:30 in the afternoon and there's that one guy sitting at the end of the bar staring at the TVv?
I always sit next to him... even if the place is empty.
After a few minutes of silence, he will almost without a doubt go "Fuckin' Obama is going to take our guns."
And I always say "No!!! Really? Yours too? Because when I walked in here, I immediately saw you and thought 'Now that's the one guy I want with a gun!'"
Isn't that always the case?
The pro-gun crazies are always the people we least likely want to have a weapon.
After the guy says something about the Constitution, militias and the New World Order, they invariably always say " Plus, I have a right to hunt for my own food."
Then, I say "Hey. Did you hear they invented supermarkets? They're open all the time and climate controlled.
"That way you don't have be freezing your ass off in a tree stand for hours while you are coming to uncomfortable conclusions about Brokeback Mountain."
He'll say "Yeah, but you can't buy venison there. "
And I'll say "I have had it and it kinda sucks. We have bacon."
Then I'll pay for his drink and say "I hope those 22 tax hikes related to Obamacare don't hit you too hard."
Okay, I thought, there is a reason I did that. My journey changed so life could present me with something I needed to learn. Yep. Some sort of mystical, universe shaking, shit was going on this Friday morning, a mere 29 minutes into my day.
About three streets down, from the entrance of one of those McMansion subdivisions, where all the kids are over-scheduled and look strangely Aryan, a Cadillac SUV of some kind, sporting Romney stickers, didn't even slow at a stop sign, and turned right in front of me. Being the kind-hearted Liberal that I am, I gently set down my latte and proceeded to tailgate this fucker.
Horn blaring. Finger flailing. "North Face Jacket Vest and Dress Shirt" mocking. I did it all.
I was mad.
I was so mad that I said aloud "I need to start killing these annoying mother fuckers! Goddamned White Republican, elitist, shits! I will kill them all! Go ahead pull-out in front of me with your tiny penis compensating gas sucking tank of faux royalty and bailout money."
Whoa! Suddenly, I was considering becoming a Serial Killer.
Yes. Let's kill all the boring white males with their MBAs and penchant for trying to own women's wombs and minorities!
I would stalk them. Pounce. And kill.... every last one.
I would terrorize their community and their world. Every few months another one would go missing and I would wait quietly until I struck again...
I'd write a manifesto!
Actually I wouldn't. I'd kill one and want to hear applause from my adoring public. I love attention. I couldn't hide. I am so self-centered, I need instantaneous gratification. I'd get all pouty if the authorities didn't figure out it was me right away and put me on the news.
Strike one against being a Serial Killer.
Even if I was able to hold out and not tell everyone how I awesomely killed that puke, I doubt that I would get around to killing them all and waiting for the law to track me down 20 years later...
You see, I get too easily bored with my work. In the last few years I've worked as a web producer, writer, photographer, comic.... let's face it. Two dead bodies and YAWN! I'd be off considering a career in Archeology or trying to become a chef or the Head of Gynecology...
Not good. I have ADD when it comes to finding a career direction... let alone finding the career path of being a psychopath.
And then there's the actual killing... I am not one who likes to get dirty. My day is ruined if I get chocolate on my pants. I'm too neat.
And I am a bit of a complainer. A good serial killer has to butcher, cut-up, or stab someone over a 100 times. (Seriously. It's in the manual.)
After three or four stabbings, I'd start to complain about my arm getting tired and sore... or I'd go and see if I could hire someone to finish up the job.
100 times? 100 times??? Even if I need to stroke more than 20 times to rub one out, I'll give up; blame old age and prescription side-effects... and move onto to something easier.
Yeah. The Cadillac Driving chump lived to tell about it. Sigh.
I guess I learned my lesson for the day.
Tomorrow: Why I'd Make an Awful Drone Pilot.
Ichthys. Ichthys. Ichthys.
There. I've said it.
Ichthys is the name of that little symbol you see on cars that you and I usually refer to as the "Jesus Fish."
Lousy name but good symbol. Branding agencies would die for something so pure and simple. It's Marketing Gold.
Which got me thinking.... What would have Christians done if in the Bible, Jesus weren't so into fish?
What if it was the "Miracle of the Loaves and the Gummy Bears"?
You wouldn't be able to tell if someone was a Christian or a Deadhead.
"Miracle of the Loaves and the Breasts"?
Christians or Target employees?
"Miracle of the Loaves and Gluten-Free Bread, for Those Who Need Such to Aid in Digestion"?
What if Jesus and his Apostles weren't "fishers of men"?
What if they were "hunters of men"? Would that Icthys be a Shotgunthys?
I love that the fish is all encompassing and includes all Christians... not broken down by denominations. Although, I am pretty sure the Calvinists have that little peeing kid decal.
I also love that it was so easy to parody by putting little feet on it and adding "Darwin."
I especially love that if you turn it 90 Degress it says "Hot Easy Woman on Board."
Uh... yeah. But then again I have the mental capacity of a 4th Grader.
I figured I should start blogging again (a statement which I have uttered more times than Mitt Romney has lied about Jeep). So instead of settling down, putting on my special blogging underwear, and creating something magical for your reading purposes...
I have decided to decry Halloween. God. I hate this fucking holiday.
If you need a day every year to dress up and act immature, then you probably aren't friends with me. I am immature everyday and sometimes I am wearing my Cat Woman outfit. Although as I get rounder, Cat Woman looks like she is going to have kittens.
Maybe I should switch over to a Chris Christie costume. Those are some mighty big... everything to fill. (Are people in NJ pissed at MTV? When they said this was the last season of Jersey Shore, they really meant it. Too soon?)
I should be fair and admit there is one thing I really enjoy about Halloween. It's all the little kids that come out early... the first or second timers. Just being so tiny gettings me gushing. Ohhhh! And they are all dressed up as kittens or Buzz Lightyear or anything else that they will make look like an un-dead hooker when they are older.
They look even cuter when I hand out watermelons like I do every year. It's so adorable to see them staggering about and then getting toppled over by the girth of our most useless fruit.
I know that seems mean but they have it coming. Kids are nothing but trouble. I hate 'em.
Want to know why?
Last year I was online chatting up an FBI Agent who I was totally hitting on.... and it turned out to be a 15 year old girl pretending to be an FBI Agent.
Just added a few more locations where you can see and purchase my work this year:
Yep. I am going to set-up my work out in the yard (weather permitting.). Come on over to 87A Hull St. in Beverly anytime after 10 A.M. I'll have some beers etc and you can see the amazing property I live on.
In case you missed or are about to miss my show at Marino's Cafe, a version of that show will be showing from October 8 and onward. There will be a reception in Gloucester on Wednesday the 10th from 5:30 - 7:30 pm. Bring friends!
Here's a satellite view of the property we live on/in.... notice the many wings and additions. The land area used to be greater but was sold off over the generations. Local streets are Kennel Hill Drive (named from the kennels) and Driscoll (named after an old caretaker).
The nipple-y looking thing is a 400 year old Parisian Bordello tower. Just to the NorthEast of that is our Schoolhouse. Across the pool is a chapel, which is attached to the former sleeping wing. The skylighted area is the Great Hall. Them main house (from 1690) is on the left with a servants' wing and summer kitchen attached.
It's been a while since I have had any updates on the Schoolhouse and the property on which we reside in Beverly, MA... so here goes...
While trolling the internet, I came across these photos of the first Afghan Hounds to breed in America. They were brought to the United States by Zeppo Marx and his wife and were bred on the Corning Property in the area that was known as Prides Hill Kennels. Q.A. Shaw McKean was the owner of the kennels and the house at the time.
This is the female, Asra of Ghazni
And the male, Westmill Omar.
Sorry but I do not have any photos of the dogs actually breeding... but you could print out the photos, cut out the dogs, and simulate it yourself.
Photos courtesy of the themarxbrotherssource.
Here's my last little diatribe on this Individual Mandate nonsense that has some of my brethern in a tizzy. (Then after this post, I am done chatting about it. I am sure later in life we will look back at this SCOTUS moment and wonder why we were so politically divided.... this is the case with most major changes. Time heals all wounds/crankiness. Societal changes sometimes take more than a generation.)
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© Brian Gerard - B.G. Lewandowski - Art. Comedy. Photography.
Recent PostsWriting Back to the Women Who Lust Me Top 5 Facts about Lincoln and Washington This Will Make Excellent Stand-Up When I Shorten It I'd Make a Sucky Serial Killer This Post is Ichthys Time to Blog Again... by Hating New Places to See the Goods! Looking Down on Creation The First Afghan Hounds in America Some Health and Some Politics and Then I Am Done