The whole magilla

There are some important details I did not disclose in the previously posted Epcot fountain video.

Firstly, the video was competently shot by Sister of Goat, pictured below with her husband before they were crushed by the Giant Epcot Ball:


Sister of Goat obliged my request to get the Giant Epcot Ball in the background of the video and position the frame such that the fountain was spewing out of my head (in order to emulate Mouse Ears).

I later edited the film, rotating it to a proper orientation. When I uploaded it, however, the Internet Gods did not recognize the rotation. And when you're sitting in front of your computer trying to rotate a video of yourself with water mouse ears in Epcot, you realize that you have amassed about as much stupid as one person can, which is why I left the vid alone and titled the post, "The way my life is." After all, it seemed like an appropriate (and I daresay accurate) conclusion to the experience.

But there is more.

My brother in law, (pictured again left) was the first to notice that I was having an inordinate amount of difficulty getting into my rain poncho before all of the video trauma began on that fateful day at Epcot.

In fact, I had pushed my head through the armhole instead of the headhole.


My other Team Members, led by brother-in-law, answered my distressed calls of "Shit. Shit, shit, shit."


They worked together in order to get me straight with the confounding rain poncho. I was sure happy to have such a competent Team!


This, people, is who you are dealing with.

The way my life is

If I were single

I'd sleep with one of these.

Link courtesy of a smiling Irish bastard.

That is all.

Disney photo round-up

Man that's a big turkey leg! Save me a good part.

Step on it man, the cops are after us!

Aw go on and wash my towel, Jiminy. Why dontcha turn down the AC that's blasting out of all the open gift shop doors instead?

Gay pride Disney? Not sure. There's no purple.

Hey stone building guy in Epcot, you cool?

The Epcot ball sorta looked dirty to me if you used your imagination.

Y'all mighta made the bed, but you sure didn't get the milk sticky out of the bottom of the glass that was a-supposed to be clean. Shame on you, Mickey!

Hey dino-fella! Don't eat my Goat!

Big guy with a big Jesus belt. Praise the Lord!

Ying-yang Mickey and that's good Karma.

Spooky Baobab tree in SafariLand Disney and I love it.

Traffic malfunction. OOPS!

Traveler's Inn may have blessed the US of A, but I don't think they washed the sheets in our room. Sure hope the peeps in here before us were clean.

Stop for lunch at the side of the road. Man-o-man, I'm hungry! It's a long way between FLA and OH.

Thank you George W. Bush

Dear President Bush,

On behalf of myself, my husband, my daughter, my sister-in-law, my brother-in-law and my nephew, I would like to offer sincere thanks to you and your darling administration for making our trip to dyed-in-the-red-white-and-blue DisneyWorld better than it might have been without your laborious country-leading efforts.

Due to the incredible shrinking dollar, that nasty business in Iraq and a host of other situations you've gotten us into, our vacation landed smack dab in the middle of the George W. Bush Recession--soon to be worldwide if it isn't already. Hence, although we used the money that you so kindly printed for us in order to go on vacation, other good Americans have more pressing needs for their freshly inked cash--such as a $100 tank of gas (sort of important when you're living out of your car after your George W. Bush-encouraged piece-of-shit high-risk home loan went into foreclosure), a $3 loaf of bread, a $2 roll of toilet paper, etc.

Whatever the reason, many of the good Americans that might have been standing in line to ride Disney's Aerosmith Rock-n-Rollercoaster, enjoy the Jungle Safari or tour the famous Haunted Mansion just plain weren't there and the resulting wait times for rides in The Happiest Place on Earth were rarely longer than 30 minutes. So thanks for that, Bushie. It made our trip super swell!

Other than this unexpected windfall, I pretty much think you're a cocksucker of the highest order.

Love,

Erin O'Brien

Same time next year

Every year it's the same thing: on June 21, the days cease to get longer and begin getting shorter. It is a completely fair half-n-half system. Nonetheless, I always feel cheated on this day, as if I've missed something, wasn't given what was due to me, or that someone somewhere is enjoying a few more hours of daylight at my expense.

Perhaps today is a good day for change. I've just gotten some news.

erf, erf, erf.

erf.

The horror, the horror

Uh-oh

Is it just me?

Is it normal to want to want to procure a firearm and walk down the street with it, blowing every traffic light to pieces?

Is it bad when you want a drink at 8:30 a.m.?

Does anybody else ever want to stand on a public mailbox and scream "You asshole!" at the top of their lungs for no particular reason?

I want to throw out all my underwear, eat four garlic pizzas and drink a lot of really cold shitty beer.

I use the word "imbue" too much.

I don't care about that candy-ass designer coffee.

I like Pez dispensers, but I don't like Pez candy.

Shit.

Why don't the people who protest the killing of deer protest Wal-Mart for selling rat poison?

Why can't I go topless in the summer?

I have a cavity in nearly every tooth in my head.

Hello. This post is done.

Miles away

Native Clevelander and NYT cocktail columnist Jonny Miles will be reading from his novel Dear American Airlines at Joseph Beth Booksellers at 7 p.m. next Tuesday, June 17.

Need more info? No problem, I wrote about Jonny and his first novel for this week's Free Times. Or you can read Richard Russo's review.

Still not enough? Oh alrighty then. Here are two short excerpts I liked, perhaps because I have entirely too much experience with the respective subject matters:

Dear American Airlines, since when did you start canceling flights in midair? The plane from New York to Chicago was one of those "streamlined" contraptions roughly the size and shape of an econo-model dildo.

* * *

The morning might have felt cleansing had I ever ceased drinking, but I hadn't, and when the sunlight hit me on the sidewalk it felt like falling glass shards.

ooh!

Am I the only one who jumps about ten feet in the air whenever my cell phone (set to vibrate) goes off in my front pocket?

Return of the wet kid

So you tell the bevy of tweens to amuse themselves by playing in the sprinkler (you are old-school that way). They run screaming for towels and swimsuits. Satisfied that you've solved the "We're bored" problem for the time being, you go and pick your nose in front of the computer for about a half-hour while squeals of delight rise up from the backyard.

You go to dole out Nutty Buddy bars only to find the tweenies soaking wet and covered in mud from head to toe next to a new mud crater in the middle of your lawn that was not there 45 minutes ago.

After you deliver the mandatory the-party's-over-you-will-
have-to-plant-new-grass-blah-blah-blah tirade and send everyone home and tell your kid to weed the front bed by the tree, you study the mud crater and marvel at how they got from the innocuous kids-with-sprinkler square to the excavating-mud-devil square in less time than it takes for a banana twin-pop to melt. You stick your toe in the cool wet earth.

A woman in her bedroom on the second floor of a house on the street next to yours gasps in the throes of climax. Seven miles due north, a man lying upon a hospital bed exhales his last breath. Somewhere between where you are and the end of space--call it a zillion miles up--a star explodes.

The Siberian equator

Here in Cleveland, it hovered in the forties throughout May. We didn't turn the effing heat off until the end of the month. Now a week later, it's in the 90s. We do not have AC.

The house had it when we moved in, but it was an antiquated system that I refused to replace since I am a hissing serpent-headed shrew. (NO ONE living in Northeast Ohio should have AC. Air conditioning is for CANDY-ASSES!)

Besides, we can't afford it if I'm going to purchase important items such as one of these beautiful objects, which I've been fascinated with ever since DogsDon'tPurr left a comment about them here--scroll down, DDP's is the second one.

For the record, I never turn the AC on in the Mini Cooper either.

erf.

Despite these sweaty conditions, watch out for cool blogging coming this week. Topics will include a boob-shadow, Madonna, recession-buster posts and at least one good read.

Go ahead and guess what today's completely unrelated graphic is. I just posted it here to eff with everyone.

Two items

1. Effective immediately, the main directive for all operations is this: don't be a fuck-up.

2. Although I find the "reverse cowgirl" position completely unsatisfying, I may have found a much taller kindred spirit.

Photobooth in bed

Even the losers

In a perfect world, Danica Patrick and Hillary Clinton would be sitting next to each other in a dark, shitty bar. They'd spend hour after hour ordering rounds, shaking their heads and muttering about what went wrong.

25 important items direct from my statcounter

I am behind the eight ball on a couple of deadlines, so here is something to titillate courtesy of my statcounter. Plus, I sort of dig the way that reads as a list without any embellishment.

Users used the following keywords to find your website:

1. erin o'brien

2. how cheese satisfies human

3. venus cleft

4. youporn eran sex

5. erin big boobs

6. days of wine and roses@score

7. liquid love clip youporn

8. last photoshop

9. tension spots female

10. original hamburger helper flavor

11. female masturbation joke

12. meatloaf sandwich, cold

13. men silicone doll gallery

14. armenian pussy

15. i want my hair to be long down to my ass

16. cleft of venus

17. erin ohio psychic

18. rasa von werder

19. erin coors

20. hamburger helper potato stroganoff milk water cups

21. stories about ben wa balls

22. erin-obrien.blogspot.com

23. real doll alternative

24. swan genitalia

25. 60s nude.