Thursday, January 8, 2015

Happy birthday Elvis! Woo hoo!

You know when you don’t feel well how everything you do tends to get REALLY FUCKED UP? That sentence just described my Wednesday PERFECTLY. If you’ll review my last post for reference, I was expecting our Schwan’s delivery doofus this morning at 11:15 because he’s been dropping off our biweekly order of frozen whatnots at 11:15 for more than three years and never varied from this schedule EVEN ONCE. Until today, of course! Today, because I was so goddamn exhausted from zero sleep I could barely stand on my own two crappy feet, GARY WAS AN HOUR AND A HALF LATE. Not only did I have to shelve my nap, I also had to postpone lunch due to not being able to inject insulin if there was a chance the doorbell would ring and I wouldn’t have time to eat, so my soup turned into a pot full of pasty cold sludge, my blood sugar got low (again) and I had a splitting headache from PRACTICALLY STARVING TO DEATH.
Gary immediately sensed something was seriously amiss when he saw the expression of abject misery on my face, so he asked if he could help with anything around the house due to me being such a fucking mess. I assured him I’d be okay after I sat down and ate a bowl of the cold-concrete-that-used-to-be-soup followed by a nap. [Note to self: Maybe I should stop calling Gary a doofus.]

The upshot? I finally ate lunch, I finally had a nap — FOUR GLORIOUS HOURS — and I finally think I’m feeling a little better. It’s amazing what sleep can do, isn’t it?

And now, boys and girls, it’s time to shout HAPPY BIRTHDAY ELVIS PRESLEY, since today would have been his 80th birthday if he hadn’t died on the toilet in 1977. Holy crap, right? EIGHTY YEARS OLD.

For those of you who don’t know much about him, Elvis was a 1950s rockabilly phenomenon whose affinity for “colored music” made white people and radio stations have nervous breakdowns, not to mention dancing like a slut on national television. If he were still alive today Elvis might look like the Photoshopped old dude in the teeny picture above.

Eventually Elvis went “mainstream” with more acceptable non-colored hit records, a string of painfully corny movies — Girls, Girls Girls; Kissin’ Cousins; Girl Happy; Fun in Acapulco — and lots of live performances at the Las Vegas Hilton in crazy rhinestone costumes that made him look like a sweaty (non-gay) Liberace. Also Elvis did karate.
Today thousands of weird and talentless people still make a damn good living as Elvis impersonators although I have no idea why anybody would actually pay to see this. A sampling of assholes appears below for your possible interest.
And now, in keeping with our Elvis theme, here are a few more “impersonators” in case you haven’t accidentally peed in your pants lately. (The Howdygram strongly recommends emptying your bladder before continuing.)
Thank you, as always, for reading this.

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