Which Skills from the following list best match your abilities?

If you said yes to any of these things you too could have a career with Crotchmail. We’re looking for talented writers with one or more of the above listed skills/hobbies. So even if you sit at home in a dark cave crying on a record player set to repeat the theme song from “Friends” over and over again. We could probably use your skills, or at least your blood.

We are looking for writers. write to Dick@crotchmail.com And have your brain probed.

Jesus Monkey Flavored Christ

I woke up today with a hangover that gave me super powers. Power that allow me to feel pain and misery unlike any person before. Like Daredevil, I could hear the slightest whisper of every sound. I could hear my skin sliding across the soft material of the pillow as I slowly turned my 1000 pound head. I could hear my brain literally adjusting itself in my skull. I knew there was something terribly wrong, when what sounded like a drum solo turned out to be the feet of the toddler that lives two doors down attempting to walk.

Despite my super hearing, I was unable to form coherent thoughts or sentences. This is a hangover of the ages. A hangover SO bad, that you don’t actually realize it’s bad, until you come out of it slightly and realize that you’re not supposed to contemplate suicide 15 times a second for 89 minutes straight. Then it occurs to you, yes, something might be wrong.

I took 4 ibuprofen and my hangover literally laughed and tossed them back out of my throat with a girlish giggle. Pure bottled water tasted like motor oil that’s been sieved through the hands of glass coated giants who also hate me and love to play giant cymbals. At some point a full 32 piece orchestra broke into full song with a screaming tibetan monk as a solo, that turned out to be my cellphone ringing. Luckily i’ve mastered the art of moving only my hand while not disturbing the delicate balance of my head on top of a thousand needles coated in pain.

At some point the hangover reached a dreamlike fever pitch, where the colors of the rainbow literally wrote the 150 ways they would like me to die, while chanting and parading every single drink from the night before in front of me. It was like a grotesque chorus line designed to break my spirit. My spirit, not to be outdone, decided it would not only break, but make an awful keening sound for about 8 minutes, which turned out to be me, crying softly into my pillow because i’d been laying on my left testicle rather painfully for about 10 minutes and not noticing. The pins and needles that my dangling buddy was indeed still capable of pumping shoved stupid blood to brain, that only served to remind me more and more. That I should never drink that much again, which is, what I say, EVERY time this happens.

So here’s to the hangover that actually went out, got a job, paid rent and moved into my room so it could make everything smell like sweat, booze, blood and failure. Which I rinse off in a shower that sounds like 80,000 watts of waterfall going off inside my grimacing face.

I apologize in advance to myself, when I’m able to actually read this and punch myself in the dick for being an idiot.

- I bid you, Ow my fucking head hurts and I hate everything, farewell

You’re probably wondering why I’ve banana. See? That doesn’t make sense, the key to good nonsense is for it to ALMOST look like it makes sense. Let me give you an example:

Jill went to the moon, and brought back ketchup filled with satan’s hair. This caused the flux-capacitor to engage in marriage to most of Iowa.

This is pretty standard nonsense, but I think we can tweak it a little.

Jill’s lunar landing was upset by devilish ketchup mishaps and she ended up time-traveleling to mormonism.

I think we can all agree that the second one is much more banana.

But it’s not all lost keys and migraines. No. There’s a downside to this to angle of upward thinking. That downside? Republicans.

I think that by abandoning formatting and lightly touching back onto the topic of what utter real good confusing nonsense is, makes a fine daiquiri. Besides if it were literally just strings of words that don’t quite go together, would you actually read it? Gibberish has it’s place but like the old man from the famous Charles Dickens novel used to say “The internet is a whore and you’re a slut for feeding her”

You might be thinking to yourself, sure sure *nodding* but can it chop my sentences into tiny pieces? Yes. It. Can.

And, this line is just a ton of one syl – a – ble – words that can be the best line if it will try to be more than it is.

A little derring-do, a little wordplay for you, it’s the equivalent of doing a handstand in the middle of an important business speech on why stocks are down and there’s koala’s in the lobby. I write my articles like I have sex with fruit. In the dark recesses of a building in the run-down part of town, and I NEVER talk about it.

But enough about you! You attention starved probate! Let’s move on to why I am the single most important thing to happen to the united states and the other countries since bread was invented. There’s one simple reason that I am what amounts to Jesus in this day and age, and that’s banana.

Gibberish is the act of creating a word that doesn’t exist, like Hakana-maristy-roo-roo (say it out loud, SAY IT) But Nonsense, that’s ill-fitting words that don’t go together but they are WORDS, legit words. And I put forth that simply stringing together as many random words as you can, will eventually lead to a point, because your subconcious will guide you toward saying what’s actually on your mind. Let’s see if it works.

I cat fish dog once spoon tree indian swallowed blue green yellow an entire fred george ginger hornet pornography mapmaking judo and I have bronze apple canon nightmares sand cougar shittake to this day blonde angry fist about japanese fern dancers having compact scorpion shiner bee lawsuit glasses font babies qwerty anonymous prank in my apartment grandma adapter stomach.

now this may look like utter nonsense but I say there’s a point. Look CLOSELY

I cat fish dog once spoon tree indian swallowed blue green yellow an entire fred george ginger hornet pornography mapmaking judo and I have bronze apple canon nightmares sand cougar shittake to this day blonde angry fist about japanese fern dancers having compact scorpion shiner bee lawsuit glasses font babies qwerty anonymous prank in my apartment grandma adapter stomach.

My work here is Done.

Banana

I dug through “PixelGirl Presents” to find these, my favorite three iphone wallpapers, you can tell me which one you like best

Click each photo to see full-size