My Mom

My mom has done nothing but ask me to post in this weblog for literally months (a googleplex lengths of an average unicorn's life.) Therefore, I am dedicating this post to moms. Here are some ways to wish your mom happy mother's day!

(If your mom is nice) "Happy mother's day! Your hair is like four rainbows."

(If your mom is short) "I hate you."

(If your mom is Picasso's mom) "Happy mother's day! My name is Picasso."

(If your mom is ashamed of being a mom) "Happy Tuesday!"

(If your mom is dyslexic) "Ask me to read this out loud to you"

(If your mom is a fish) "Glug glug glug twitter glug"

(If your mom is my mom) "Happy Tuesday!"

Autism is no joke.

But autism can be used in a joke. For example:

Q. What do you call vehement hatred for otters?

A. Otterism!

Stupidity

My brain is so dumb sometimes. I was watch the youtube yesterdays and saw a video. I thought hey VIDEO? What's that? I was so dumb because I was watching it on my VCR. I had put youtubes on the VCR to watch the videos! How dumb is that! I should have put them on an 8-track!!

Memories

I have quite a few memories from the old days. It would be something if I had memories from the new days, or even from the future days! It would quite something. But I do not. I have a handful of memories. About three. I remember a field, a cow. I remember I walked right into the cow. Klunk. As though I hadn't even seen it there. Had I seen it? I don't know, and I don't remember. Memories, huh?

NUMBERS

What is a number but a letter turned on its side and painted differently? What is a number but a numb letter?

NEW STAND UP JOK

Most people think I don't use the internet because I'm afraid of new technology. But it's really because I don't have any hands!!!!

Sore throats

I have a confession to make, my dear Id-giblets. I have a sore throat. I've had a throat my whole life, but it just recently became sore. I've tried everything I can possibly do to make it better - band-aids, Hello Kitty band-aids, listening to Nelly (the rapper with the band-aid) - but my throat is still sore. I am signing up for a throatectomy from the finest Inuit doctor. Wish me luck.

UPDATE: Appointment fell through, due to there are no Inuits left.

BABY GOT BACK

HELLO DEEREST ID READERS! Yes, that is "deerest" - The Unctuous Id is now only open to readers who are deers. Deers are SO in this season, am I right? I am right, because it's deer season. Things that are fashionable about deers:

1. The antlers. They're slimming. Big antlers make your waist/hips/small antlers look smaller.
2. The coat. Different markings on a deer's coat can say things like "Hello, lady deers, I would like to mate with you, mate with you hard!" and "I am a tiger."
3. The hooves. A deer's hooves allow them to run to speeds up to and exceeding 50 miles per hour. Never below 50 miles per hour, though (or the bomb explodes).

Well, there you go - please kindly never read this blog again if you're not a deer! Here at the Id we have an honor system, but I'll know by your comments if you're a deer or not. If they're in English, you're a fraud. Everyone knows deers only speak Danish.

I THINK YOU MIGHT BE MY DADDY, MICHAEL LOHAN

Dear Michael,

Let’s get down to business. I think you might be my daddy.

You know, daddy, it was the little things that tipped me off – the way our eyes have a similar little twinkle, the way my mom said that you were 100% my biological father. You remember my mother, right? She told me all about that fateful night – she was young and naïve; you were going through your obligatory “short Jewish chick” phase.

“Who does your birth certificate state as your father?” you may ask. Actually, I imagine you might sound more like, “BirbCerbllificateEverclearMakesThePainGoAwayWasThatHookerAMan?” Anyway, my birth certificate is signed in illegible blue Crayola. It looks like someone tried to drunkenly fight it. And, while I’m not positive about the mechanics of fighting a piece of paper, it looks like the birth certificate may have won. All signs point to you, daddy.

The way my life is going, I don’t think anyone could deny that we’re related, daddy. I’ve been to rehab twenty-eight times. It’s not so bad, though: they do validate parking. I also definitely inherited the Lohan musical skills: I was voted my juvenile hall’s Most Talented Singer/Larcenist/Songwriter eight years in a row! You would have been so proud, daddy.

I promise I’m not doing this for the fame, though it would be cool to make People’s “Top Ten Lohan Bastards” issue. I truly want to get to know you and the other members of the Lohan family. I can see it now: Lindsay and I would compare ankle monitor tans. Dina would teach me how to bedazzle a Xanax. It could be so great, daddy.

In conclusion, I’ll expect my first child support check within the next couple of days, daddy. If you’re ever short on cash, don’t worry – you can always pay me in fatherly love! Or “Fatherly Love,” my favorite type of Burmese heroin.

Love,
Your Daughter,
Megan