The New Year seemed like a good time to scratch another item off my bucket list. I do everything ass-backwards, so when an opportunity presents itself, I add it to my very weird list. That’s how I ended up zip lining on Fremont Street in Vegas. The zip line was there and so was I, so I added it to the list. See how that works?
It’s not like I can accomplish any of the actual items on my list without money, and until you people start buying my books, I’ll never get to travel to Florence, Italy to gaze upon Michelangelo’s David. For all you pervs out there, it’s the knees, not the penis. I’m into great works of art, not epic porn fails.
Without your help I might never get to San Francisco to have a cup of coffee with bestselling author Christopher Moore.
Chris has reluctantly agreed to keep this date, which means only 10,000 more Kindle sales and I’m there! I still won’t be able to afford the cup of coffee though. I’m afraid Chris will be buying. I’m fairly certain he can afford it, but visit his website and check out his books anyway. He may act the fool, but he’s the Albert Einstein of satire.
I need more book sales in order to purchase a ticket to Mars. Did you people actually fall for that one? I can barely catch a glimpse of a TSA agent without peeing all over myself. Fuck Mars.
This weekend, my cousin Bambi discovered a Renaissance Faire being held nearby and asked if I wanted to go. Finally! Something attainable from my actual bucket list.
Note to potential purchasers of my books. If I hit my goal of 10,000 Kindle sales from this blog entry, I’ll hook you up with Bambi. She has all her original teeth, loves to go on cruises, can two-step without leading and her boobs are on the largish side. Further note to potential purchasers of my books. You’re not in the running if you live in your mother’s basement, you think bathing once a week is an option, you make minimum wage, Porn Hub is bookmarked on your computer and/or you’re an actual serial killer.
I admire the passion of those who consistently attend Renfaires. I personally don’t have the energy to put on makeup, arrange my saggy tits into a push-up bra and leave the house. If I ever go to another Faire, I’m going to cosplay the shit out of it by bringing my pet ermine.
I don’t have a pet ermine or even a pet ferret, but I promise to get one. You can rent them by the hour, right?
Even though not in costume, we still had a jolly good time at the Faire. Huzzah!
The Great Rondini entertained the hell out of us. At the end of his amazing escape act he refused to accept any money from those currently in the military or who had ever served. Apparently he served in the Navy and I’d like to thank him for his service. If you’re attending a Renaissance Faire and he’s there, don’t miss him. I laughed so hard at one of his sly jokes that I got a painful muscle spasm below my left tit. Yeah, he’s that good.
What’s not to love about Marty the Juggler’s anti-Renaissance football helmet? I commend him for keeping his balance when the attractive volunteer tried to spot him from the front instead of the back. Everyone in the crowd over the age of 14 immediately and silently inserted their own blow job joke into that portion of the act.
As we left the Faire, I heard someone shouting PICKLES OVER HERE! For some reason I found this to be hilarious, probably because of approaching dementia. Pickle Man might be the most adorable human being I have ever bothered. I bet he was thrilled getting one of my bookmarks instead of money for a pickle.
In conclusion, I’ve scratched another item off my bucket list and next up is to meet Kim Kardashian. You guys are so gullible. I don’t even know who she? he? is.