It's Time for Tom From Kn@ppster...

Tom with Kn@ppster is not a R@ppster. He's not a R@p St@r either. He's a politcal blogger, and an excellent one at that. Have a look for yourself. After you read him here, of course.

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How does someone like me write a guest post for a blog sub-titled "fortified with sarcasm and gratuitous foul language?" Such a departure from the dignified, nay, stately tone of Kn@ppster, I know. But I can do this. I am, after all, a professional.

We should probably get a couple of things straight up front, starting with the fact that I am not Zube Girl. When in doubt, check the asses. Mine is the one that's all hairy and stuff. It would be difficult for me to successfully impersonate her unless we were both watching a horror movie, in which case the lumps under dual afghans might look similar ... at a distance. Mine would be the one with a pile of empty Old Crow bottles on the floor in front of it and a large-caliber pistol muzzle poking out the front.

Nor am I Zube Boy, more's the pity. He's the one vacationing with Zube Girl and Zube Girl's ass while I hold the fort here at the blog. Bastard.

Now that we've identified the dramatis personnae I guess it's time for content, which is a problem since I don't really have any. I've tried referring to Zube Girl's own writings for inspiration, but it just doesn't work out.

For example, I've tried to recreate the Zube Boy/Zube Girl dialogues here at home, with little success:

K-Boy: Hey, honey, would you blow me while I read Zube Girl's latest out loud?

K-Girl: Piss off. I'm reading Zube Girl silently all by myself. With one hand in my pocket.

Just doesn't pack the same kinda punch.

I might be able to copy the "pictures of exploding stuff in my house" style if my digital camera didn't resolutely refuse to cooperate with Linux. Exploding stuff is cool. Especially exploding Linux boxes.

Even with a working digicam, I wouldn't be able to replicate the cat monologues. My cat is usually silent, and even when he talks, he mostly just bitches about my refusal to match his 401k contributions.

So, anyway, I guess I'm pretty much screwed. Which means you are, too. At least until Zube Girl gets back.

Have a good time, Zube Girl. But hurry.

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PS- Zube Boy, sadly, is not on this vacation 'o mine. He's still at home feeding three hungry felines, and a pissed off canine who is on a diet even though he is okay with being overweight. However, I do relish the thought that he'd be lucky to be hanging with his in-laws. 'Cause they're cool as shit if you ask me.