Did I Mention That I Type All Of My Blog Entries with a Prosthetic Hand Fashioned From Hillshire Farm Lit'l Smokies?

I say, have you tasted Quilts, the all-natural Triscuits, available at your local co-op or natural grocery? They taste like new pressboard furniture from Sears circa 1978. They come in two flavors: original and salt. Try them with a slice of stilton and a fresh sprig of retching uncontrollably.

Just kidding, of course. They're excellent.

I just want everyone to be happy.

Boo Hoo

This is what it looks like outside:



Dudes, I was majorly bummed out about all this snow until I remembered that one guy from my high school yearbook. Maybe he didn't "participate" in any "official extracurricular activities," but his take on life was spot on, as evidenced by his senior yearbook quotation:



See? Although I don't think he considered the socioeconomic implications of his viewpoint, i.e., not all of us have a snowmobile or four-wheeler.

I've Been Interviewed By the Jones Jones Jones-Chronicle

I haven't blogged for a while because I've been busy answering the emails I received after being interviewed by The Jones Jones Jones-Chronicle, a newspaper that, according to the Newspaper Association of America, "does not exist" and has a circulation of "no circulation." I'd link to the article but it doesn't seem to be online yet. During the interview I spoke mainly of cat diseases and peculiar diets. Most of the emails regarding the interview were angry, though some were boring as well. Here are some of my favorites:

Dear Esther,
I remember you from high school. You were the one with all that hilarious acne! Ha ha! It still cracks me up.
Call me.
Bill Blackwell

Dear Esther,
Where do you buy pants? I can't find pants that fit. Do you pray? You better start praying, because as soon as I find a decent pair of pants, I'm going to put them on and come over and steal your mailbox. Let's see you accept home delivery of the New York Times then! Specifically, I'm looking for navy corduroys in size 18.
Jackie

Dear EWP,
I loved reading your interview. I think you are stupid. The Raw Food diet is the most excellent diet on planet earth and every other planet as well as us. Are you delusional? I bet you are judging by the way you talk in interviews. You don't need to cook food, what does fire add to carrots? Jack shit that's what!
Ron

Esther,
I read your interview. Never before have I wasted five minutes on such fluff. Please refrain from telling us how to behave. I have had ear mites (contracted from my cat) since the age of 39. I am 41 now and I have never felt better in my life. I am at the age where my priorities are set in stone: I sleep 8 hours every night, I phone mother every other day, and I've stopped worrying about what may or may not be living in my ears.
Will Jacobsen

Friend,
Are you in the market for a humidor? If so, check out the humidors I make from real tree wood. I will mail you information about this exciting product if you will send me your address. All humidors guaranteed to exist from actual tree wood, none of that fake wood from factories in other countries such as Canada or Holland. The best part about my homemade humidors is that they come with a guarantee.
Denny

The Wall Street Journal Says

The Wall Street Journal says that gold futures are closing in on $500 an ounce. I have twelve gold futures and they aren’t labeled. They are the 5” x 12” lavender and ylang-ylang aromatherapy gold futures. I bought them at Pier 1. Should I sell them? I can’t return them to Pier 1 because I threw out the receipt, and I don’t want store credit because Pier 1 doesn’t offer the sort of merchandise I want. I want a stethoscope so I can listen through walls.

The Wall Street Journal says that Deere says its fourth-quarter earnings dropped 35%, as revenue edged lower and production cutbacks weighed on results. But Darcy says that Heather has a staph infection and won’t be at the party. But you know who WILL be at the party? Heather’s boyfriend! We’ll see who has the last laugh, bitch!


UPDATE: The Wall Street Journal says that internet firms including AOL and IAC/InterActiveCorp are helping to fund Brightcove, a start-up developing Internet-TV technology. But that’s not why I stopped eating ramen soup. I stopped eating ramen because I noticed a gradual though marked deterioration of noodle quality.

What's All This?

Listen everybody, shut up for a minute. Here is a photo from my refrigerator. Ignore the womanly salad dressing for a moment.


People often say to me, "How do you stay so calm in the face of terror and natural disaster? Are you prepared for the inevitable onslaught?" I lead them to my refrigerator and point out my cup of Starbucks tap water. "More prepared than you'll ever be," I say.

While I do not know how this cup of water came to roost in my fridge, I do know that it has been there for several months. The salad dressings appeared circa 2001 CE. I'm saving them for the end times. When it comes to Rapture foods, there are few things I enjoy more than a good fat-free salad.

What Day Is It?

I despair for this neighborhood. Everyone's constantly and brazenly drunk except for the schoolchildren - and even they drink alone in their rooms. I want to move to a different neighborhood, a neighborhood that is simple, benign, flowing with a kind of human milk. Specifically, I'm thinking of the Amish with their quilts and their poliomyelitis and their refusal to golf. Is that what I want for myself? Maybe, but do the quilts have to be so colorful? I can't sleep under a quilt that has more that five colors - it keeps me awake.

Top Psychic Nearly Dies; Another Top Psychic to Die Soon

So, what are you doing? I saw a headline that read "Ralph Edwards Dies" and I panicked. I thought they meant John Edward. I'm ok now. Whew. I don't even care about Ralph Edwards, I only care about John Edward. What would I do if John Edward died? It's sad when a psychic dies, but it's not the end of the world. I'd still have James Van Praagh, I suppose, though my mentor Sylvia Brown tells me that he'll die this year, too - just like Ralph:

Sylvia: I'm getting a 'J' name coming through.

Me: J? Do you mean James Van Praagh?

Sylvia: Yes! He's going to die, or be very hurt, or maybe just feel off for a day or two.

Me: James Van Praagh will die?

Sylvia: Yes, and I see a man... holding his neck... I feel that something will happen with his neck, maybe he'll break his neck, or have a brain tumor, or colon cancer...

Me: Will he be squished by an elephant?

Sylvia: Yes. I think so.

Me: Does he have a message for me?

Sylvia: He says your grandmother is looking down at you from heaven. She's very proud of you.

Me: Even though I did time for all those forged checks?

Sylvia: Yes.

Me: It's weird, because both of my grandmothers are alive.

Sylvia: You'll move to a place near water... or you'll travel over water...

Me: I get very thirsty in the office.

Sylvia: Yes. Your grandmother wants you to drink more water.


I have another appointment with Sylvia next Tuesday. I'm hoping she can settle a bet for me. I bet Rafe that Jimmy Stewart had a horn growing out of his left temple and that he kept it filed down and hidden under his hair. Rafe says Jimmy Stewart had a horn growing out of his right temple and that it was made of graham cracker, so all he had to do to hide the horn was break it off and eat it. I'm worried that I'm going to lose this bet.

No Socks In My Peripherals

I saw a boy on Oprah. He was running his mouth, as you do when you’re on Oprah. He said that if he happens to notice an object in his peripheral vision while he’s watching TV, he has to move the object into another room or he can’t concentrate on his program. "Me too," I thought. "I hate objects in my peripheral vision," I said, and shook my fist at the television. Then I noticed a package of new tube socks in my peripherals. I grabbed that package of socks and hurled it into the kitchen. I was furious! No socks in my peripherals! “NO SOCKS IN MY PERIPHERALS!” I bellowed as I flew into the bookcase, drop-kicked a spider plant and whisked all the rabbit figurines off the hutch. Then I collapsed on the floor in a paroxysm of sobs and shrieks.

Anyway, the boy had obsessive-compulsive disorder or something. I wasn’t really paying attention.

I Won't Rest Until I Know What It's Called

What is this thing I'm thinking of? I don't know what it's called, so I can't google it. It has a metal thing, and a thing that rolls on that thing forever with a magnet. The thing that rolls on the thing goes all the way one way, them all the way the other way. You're supposed to just stand there, hold the thing handle (which is part of the thing but lower) and watch the thing that rolls go from one end to the other. It's a toy. It's not even fun.

Hold on, I'll try to draw it.

















Well, what is it? I won't rest until I know what it's called.

And since we're in the neighborhood, what it this?



Just kidding, I made this one up.
The idea is, if you eat what's in the jar, you can fly. And no, they're not drugs - they're olives. And they're delicious.










Coming Next Week: If you eat what's in the buffet, you die. And no, it's not drugs - it's chicken kiev that's been kept at room temperature for 36 hours.

I Don't Really Want to Get Into the Particulars

Who likes to read books? Not me. But I found this book that I'm not going to read, and I wanted to share it with you. It's called The Year of Waiting by Jane Beech. Judging from the cover, it's about a lady named Rat Lady. Her doctor, Doctor Jon Train, thinks she has this terrible disease, but really it's only alcoholism and a little gingivitis. Never mind that. The important thing to remember is that Doctor Jon Train isn't even a real doctor, he's just a dialysis patient who lost his insurance card, stole some scrubs and never leaves the hospital. You're probably wondering: what does Doctor Jon Train eat? Answer: He eats what others leave behind. If you're waiting for your sister to have a baby and you buy a sandwich from Subway and you only eat half because you're sad, Doctor Jon Train would finish your sandwich.

This book is about how Rat Lady falls in love with Doctor Jon Train. I don't really want to get into the particulars. I will sell you this book for $900, minimum. Don't try to haggle with me. 900 dollars, firm.

Practice Hams: Weakening the Fabric of Society

Tueday. Been drawing some hams. None of them was particularly satisfying, so I ended up with a bunch of practice hams.



Look at my crappy hams. Why are all my hams failures? Maybe I set the bar too high.

"A life spent drawing practice hams is not only more honorable but more useful than a life spent drawing no hams at all."
-George Bernard Shaw

Let's Talk About Death - POSITIVELY RIDDLED WITH VIRUS

I want to talk about the bird flu. Do you think that boxes of Froot Loops are contaminated? Maybe not, yet. But they will be. It is just a matter of time. That toucan is positively riddled with virus. There is nothing you can do about it! But it is coming, mark my words. Inevitable. The important thing to do is THINK ABOUT IT ALL THE TIME - CONSTANT, IMPOTENT VIGILANCE. I've never really liked Froot Loops, myself. AS FAR AS CEREALS GO, I TEND TO SKEW TOWARDS YOUR FROSTED VARIETIES, YOUR OATMEALS, AND YOUR GOLDEN GRAHAMS.

UPDATE! The more I think about it, the more I'm not worried about the toucan. He isn't real. He can only transmit fake avian flu to other fake animals, like Captain Crunch's parrot, or - if we're lucky, and if the virus mutates properly - to that infuriating leprechaun with the marshmallow stars and clovers, or even to the rabbit who sells Trix from the back of his van. I hope the virus doesn't mutate to the point where non-cereal spokesrabbits are in danger, however. I like the Nestle Quik rabbit. He's good people.

UPDATE! The more I think about it, the more I'm not sure if Captain Crunch has a parrot. He's not a pirate, after all - he's a captain. Maybe he keeps some canaries in his cabin, though. I would. If I were a captain, I'd want the canaries around in case Tennille started pestering me to play the piano. I'd train my canaries to peck her scalp.

There's Something Wrong With Places

There's Something Wrong With South America

There's something wrong with South America. When people crash into South American mountains, they get eaten by other people on the plane. South Americans are burning down their jungles, too. What a bad idea! Stop burning things, you dummies. Open up some banks and some Wendy's franchises and you'll be surprised how nice your life can be. Goodbye, guerrillas! Goodbye, poverty! Hello, The Gap! Hello, PetSmart! Goodbye, chewing coca leaves! Hello, Fresca in 2 new flavors! Stupid South America, give it up! Just stop being so boring. All your seasons are backward, too.

There's Something Wrong With Canada

There's something wrong with Canada. I can't remember what it is, but I hate it. Canada never says anything. They just sit up there, drinking Labatts and playing Uno. Canada should rip it up. Canada needs to learn how to party. Here's how: buy those pointy hats with elastic chin bands. Get a cake that says, "Happy Birthday, Jim," or whatever. Then light all the candles and have cake and ice cream on paper plates with plastic forks. WAIT, NO! The ice cream juice is getting on the cake! NO NO NO! Get a separate paper plate for the ice cream!! I hate when the ice cream touches the cake! Now my cake is soggy! I can't eat ice cream with a fork! Fucking hell, all I wanted to do was teach Canada how to party.

There's Something Wrong With Washington State

There's something wrong with Washington state: Seattle. When I get my army, I will not attack Seattle, because my army will be nice. But if my army ever snaps and suddenly starts shooting, I will sort of aim them at Seattle. I like coffee just as much as the next guy, but there is no excuse for Seattle. I've never been to Seattle.

There is Something Wrong With Mexico

There's something wrong with Mexico. When I was little, my third favorite Loony Toons character was Slowpoke Rodriguez. It turns out that you're not supposed to like Slowpoke Rodriguez because he portrays a negative stereotype. But I didn't like him because of his negative stereotype! I liked him because he was awesome! My first and second favorites were the Extremely Polite Gophers, but I'm not sure they were Mexican. They were all, "After YOU," "No no no, after YOU!" "Oh, I insist, after YOU!" "Oh dear me, YOU! After YOU!" Christ, can you get enough of that stuff? No, you cannot.

Stop Trying to Touch My Base!

Haven’t been able to log in to Blogger for several days. Blogger seemed to be working fine, so the problem must have been my poor attitude. Instead of blogging, I wrote each of you a private letter on freesia-scented stationery. The letters included the usual niceties and accusations, including but not limited to “How are you? I am fine,” and “I burned your hope chest - it smelled like mice.”

I had to intuit your mailing addresses, of course. Well, did you get your letters?