Ginger is not a food item.

I love the shit out of sushi. With my discovery of the joys of those little fish and rice and vegetable rolls, came the discovery of ginger, which I was astonished to realize people actually eat. People put that shit in their mouth, chew it and swallow it. And they enjoy doing so.

BARF.

Ginger looks like someone took a potato peeler to a vagina and started carving off slivers in near little rows, and tastes like someone then went ahead and soaked it in Lysol for flavor. Ginger tastes exactly like something you shouldn't be eating unless you want to spend your night bonding with the call center rep over at poison control.

LYSOL SOAKED VAGINA SLIVERS. DELICIOUS.

In other news, I found the next photo when I did a google image search for "ginger," and it made me laugh out loud:

IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU!

I'm the worst blogger ever, also a sometimes (or most times) troll with worn out underpants.

I started this blog in what, April? Made two posts and promptly forgot about it for months.

Its not that I had nothing to write about either, I just kept telling myself OH YEAH, I'll get on that shit tomorrow.  I even had a couple of stupid drawings lying around in my sketchbook that I never scanned. So I'm scanning them now. If they gave out Olympic medals for procrastination, I would have so much gold I would be a king.

The drawing below illustrates an issue I've been having with my underwear lately that I find really annoying. I have about a million pairs of underpants, but I never throw any away unless they really start getting holey. It just feels like such a waste to spend a bunch of money on cloth I'm just going to fart into. However, there are other ways underpants can degrade over time, such as losing elastic in the waistband. The resulting effect is that I'm walking around in broad daylight, in public, with my underpants completely off my butt, but my pants still properly in place. This is really a joyful experience because you get all the discomfort and feelings of total butt exposure without actually suffering the social stigmas of plumbers crack.

On the left is how my butt actually looks, completely clothed. On the right is how my butt feels, completely exposed.

What ends up happening is that I finally have to find a quiet spot to hide in, be it behind a parked car or the toothpaste aisle of Walmart, dig my hand down the back of my pants and hoist up my drawers. I often get caught doing this, because I am not stealthy.

I don't know where I was really going with that. Its midnight and I should be in bed.

Here's another drawing I made of how I normally look during the week, when I am doing things other than socializing with friends... such as going to work, doing laundry, taking a dump, cleaning, staring at walls, chasing the kitten away from my dinner, and doing basically everything except going out at night:

Hobo troll. Unkempt and dumpy.

This is what I look like before I go out with friends (cue angelic music):

I am radiant, I am groomed, I am a shining beacon of dazzling beauty. Okay, not really, but I'm at least cleaned up and presentable.

My question to you is, WHICH ONE IS MY TRUE FACE?! Is it the face I show the world when I will actually allow people to photograph me? Or is it the face I have on the other 90% of the time? If I'm an ugly disgruntled troll most of the time, isn't that who I really am? Isn't the dashing, debonair version of me really just a farce?!

A FARCE!!!!!!!!!!

Bedtime.

Most things were cooler when you were a kid.

Growing up is boring.

The Boner Phallacy

I feel the need to confess something to the readers I don’t actually have yet. I can’t draw a dick to save my life.

I’m laying that out on the table because you’re probably going to be seeing a lot of dick drawings here, and its important that you recognize them as actual dicks. It may seem that I have an unhealthy obsession with cock, but its not that I’m a sex-craved pervert, I just retain the humor level of an 11 year old boy. Boners are funny.

My inability to draw dicks spawns mostly from my inability to draw anything at all, but also from laziness. I draw dicks in one fell swoop of the pen -- starting from the left side of the shaft, spouting out a quick, malformed head, continuing on quickly down the other side of the shaft (in the process making the right side of the head blend with the shaft) and further down to sketch out two truly grotesque looking testicles that appear to be engorged. There is no detail, no veins or ball hair… just something that looks a lot like a drawing of a dog bone. My drawings are impulsive and lazy, just like me.

I live with Beard. Along with having the ability to grow luxurious facial hair at superhuman speeds, Beard can draw quite well, and often becomes incensed when he sees my terrible drawings of schlongs. If there’s one thing that Beard can draw beautifully, it’s a large, veiny cock.

One night we were out at a bar, and I proceeded to draw a dick on the doodle app on my cell phone. Beard couldn’t believe how fucking terrible it was. “That is ridiculous,” said Beard. “You always start with the head first, then draw the rest.” I hung my head in shame, loathing my ignorance of the precise and delicate art that goes into drawing a glorious phallus.

Beard proceeded to sketch out a dick on the only paper available, a one dollar bill. It was a true masterpiece.

I spent that boner dollar by accident in Las Vegas, and I’m still mourning the loss. I hope whoever is currently carrying that shit in their wallet appreciates the beauty of it.

While I am fairly certain that with practice I could learn to draw a better-formed cock, I have a certain fondness for my mutant genitalia. I find it lends my drawings a subtle charm when someone has to crane their neck and look at my boner sketch and say “What the hell is that? Is it supposed to be a penis?”