Group Therapy and the Scandinavian

Since Mrs. T is watching Grey's Anatomy on the DVR (why the hell she eats this shit up, I have no damn clue) and I am backed up from Applebee's (Zambrano-ing may ensue), so I'm writing this as a race against time before I shart myself. Speaking of which, here is some random shit in my head.


Now that I own a house the only time I go out is when with other couples since single people can't stand to hang out with my kind anymore. And honestly I can't blame them, because we are an uninteresting folk.

However going out with other couples has shown me that I'm not alone in my lameness. It pretty much ends up being "Couple's Therapy" where I can find solace in mediocrity and comfort in knowing my life is just as uninteresting as the rest. There I can see these guys become shadows of their former selves as their minds become numb to the same vaginally-altered logic I endure. Don't get me started on my 3 year long argument about the proper pronunciation of the word "ruined."

Anyways we had one of these therapy sessions at Applebee's tonight and here is the result of said therapy:


A mother turtle and a baby turtle are about to cross a road. The mother turtle told her son that she would cross the road first, then wag her tail when she deemed it ok for her son to cross. So the mother turtle starts to cross the street and gets halfway across before she gets trucked by a Semi. Her son is distraught and after a short time decides to walk along the side of the road.

At the same time, a mother skunk and her son are about to cross the same road. The mother skunk told her son the same thing as the mother turtle told her son and she began to cross the road. The mother skunk got halfway when the same Semi blasted through her in the same fashion as the mother turtle. The son skunk mourns his mothers untimely death and walks along the side of the road as well.

The two newly ordained orphans meet along the same road, each of which is crying. The skunk asks the turtle, "Why are you crying?" The turtle replies, "My mother just died and I don't even know who I am." The skunk says, "Well you're timid, green and have a hard shell, so you must be a turtle. " The turtle replies, "Wow...I must be a turtle." The skunk then says, "I'm sad as well because the same thing happened to my mother and I'm young and I don't even know who I am." The turtle then says, "Well you're black and you're white and you stink like shit, so you must be Puerto Rican."



Yeah this was the highlight of my evening...I really need a mancation.



On that homoerotic note, which of the following things should I feel most gay about?

1) I can't get the new Miley Cyrus song out of my head. "Party in the USA" really strikes a chord with me.
2) This past week I had a shitty day at work and in order to cheer myself up, I bought Guitar Hero: World Tour so that I could play "Beat It" by Michael Jackson. Greatest. Song. Ever.
3) I allowed myself to wear tight spandex and strap into a harness with a large Scandinavian named Henrik as shown in this video here:
http://www.lifepursuitvideo.com/asppublic/Video22153.aspx?CLIENT=22153&VF=cathywarner_091909-1757.flv
I'm the one who looks like a 4th of July themed contraceptive.


Aight I'm done. Now I'm off to throw out the first pitch into the toilet.

Oh Suburbia, How You Drain Me

You may be thinking to yourself, "Is Higgy filled with empty promises?" The answer is yes. I've promised new material time and time again but funny shit just isn't popping in my head anymore. You may follow up with, "Why are you even writing this now?" Well actually my dog licked my foot to awaken me from my suburbian slumber to let me know she needed to park a Welfare Baby amongst its cousin out in my yard. You'll probably come back with, "That was a shitty euphemism" and I'll say "Exactly."

Pretty much I'm milk toast. Lame. Consistent with feminine hygiene products. But I know you are yearning for proof that my penis is slowly being eclipsed by my overnourished gut. So I'll open the door to my day today all of the way until the moment prior to my dog beckoning me to open the door as if I'm the Jeffrey to her Fresh Prince. Damn the dog has me trained well.

Typical Day in the Newfound Suburban Higgy:

-I showed up to work at 9 to find people still had not replied to my emails asking them to copy and paste the shit they were already working on.

- I left at 1:30 to perform my most recent effort in Heebery. I went to the local Gamestop to trade in another neglected video game that I spent the entirety of my Labor Day Weekend completing so I could earn $9.57 towards the purchase of a future $59.99 video game which will end up getting traded in a similar Heebish fashion. Oh that's right, Jews actually realize that math is pretty fucked up.

- I made a pitstop at the MovieStop to pick up Season 5 of The Office in Blu Ray. This was procured based on the aforementioned Moench method.

- I worked at home for about 3 hours still awaiting replies from people who bitch about the work we do but don't feel the need to confirm we've addressed their issues.

- I went to a free class on greening up my lawn at the fucking library. Please don't make me repeat myself. Before this, I had not stepped into a library since college and I sure as hell have never attended an optional class in one. I was the youngest student in this class by at least 20 years.

- I came home after having McDonald's for dinner and wearing a polo that has become too tight due to the fact that maybe I just ate fucking McDonald's and decided, "Shit, I may want to do some Wii-Fitness." So I beat the computer in a Jackknife competition against the computer by completing 10 Jackknife situps half-assed. Being that this extraordinary act didn't fully strain the sinew underneath the lard, I kicked it up a notch and completed 20 more which earned me a new Yoga pose. Ego boosted.

- After my 30 powerhouse situps, Mrs. T and I watched the best show on television hands down. For those in the know, it is referred to as ABDC or America's Best Dance Crew. Host Mario Lopez from "Saved by the Bell" fame kept it "fresh" as dance crews proved their prowess in competition. Mrs. T and I quickly identified the tranny participating amongst the crews. Go us.

- Once the tranny group was eliminated, Mrs. T fell asleep and I watched an episode from Season 2 of Dexter. Wow my life is riveting.

- As I was about to pass out I thought to myself that in 10 days I'm jumping out of a damn plane. Thinking about that brought up a few issues in my mind:

1) Will one pair of Depends brand adult diapers be enough?
2) Is my life adequately insured so that in the case I go KERRRRSPLAAAT on the ground, Mrs. T might benefit from my demise and have a chance in hell of paying off this house?
3) Who will tend to my lawn after learning the great techniques from Cindy, the master gardener intern, if I do end up being liquified?
4) If for some reason we have a close call but we do land safely on the ground, will I hold it over Mrs. T's head forever and be able to demand makeup sex whenever I damn well feel like it?

It was at this moment the dog licked my foot and I realized the following:

Who the fuck am I kidding? On demand sex is never going to happen. The only thing jumping out of this damn plane proves is that I'm more her bitch than I ever thought.

And friends, this is why you should never own a dog.