The Internet is like a gerbil in the anus of the human race. It burrows deep down into our collective colons, finding all of that information which we, in previous generations, would have had the necessary self-consciousness to keep ourselves from revealing, because we, as humans, used to know that this information was not intended to be known by either God or man. In previous generations, as just one example, Paris Hilton would have been dragged through the streets and stoned. In today’s politically-correct society, she is dragged through the tabloids and…
NO! I’m sorry, but I just can’t keep writing like this. Not with what I have been informed of today at school, by a person whose name musn’t be mentioned but who I will refer to as “Paul” anyway because I laugh in the face of danger. He has informed me that, in three of my last four blog postings, I have mentioned men sticking things into their anuses, such as dry ice and gerbils. I also referred to Carlsbad Caverns as “the anus of New Mexico”, referred to Mega Bloks’ pirate minifigures as “ass-pirates”, and said that the LEGO company’s character Danju, a knight with a purple suit and a wolf on his shield, was gay. He has therefore asked me whether or not I am gay.
In case you are wondering, yes, Paul is a weinerface. So, Paul, who I will now refer to as “the weinerface”, has suggested that I might be gay, and, Hawley-Smoot tarrifs and Kaycee Posts notwithstanding, this will simply not work. The word “anus” cannot be used to such extremes on this blog, especially if it makes it seem as if I prefer the company of other men (I don’t! Really!! Honest!!!). So I find it necessary to post this, the Anus-Free version of The Luigiian. It is factual and correct, in which I write a page-long essay about my bellybutton, because it is dry right now and I fear for it. I aim to please.
My bellybutton is an important part of me. It is a part that penetrates deep into me. It is fleshy and surrounded by large mounds of fat. The area around my bellybutton is hairy; this allows sweat and debris to accumulate inside it, and this, naturally, makes my bellybutton somewhat smelly and fetid, not unlike Paul, the weinerface. It is, in short, a part of my body which God gave me to remind me that, no matter how “civilized” and “X-TREME” and “intelligent” the human race becomes, there will always be a part of every one of us human beings where the unmistakeable smell of hooman will continue to linger.
To attempt to recreate this smell without using actual smell: hoooooooooooooooommmmannnnnn…
And so, as I listen to Invisible Touch by Genesis and sit writing this, I think of my bellybutton, for it has become dry. I fear for my bellybutton. Bellybuttons are supposed to be moist, are they not, moist like a baby’s bottom? This fear–the fear that my bellybutton is too dry–haunts me.
And so I go on with my everyday life, living with only the knowledge that my bellybutton is dry and troubling, and that something terrible may happen because of it. Hell, I may even write a terrible blog post about it that Paul the Weinerface will use to make fun of me at school.
ATTENTION NOW I WILL WRITE ABOUT MY MATH CLASS, WHICH IS GAY. PLEASE TO BE ADVISED.
Speaking of school, my math class is becoming quite a pain, as my grade goes deeper and deeper into the depths of sadness and pain. Nearly every person in my math class is currently “in the hole”, so to speak. People are becoming concerned for their grades, which continue to penetrate deeper and deeper into the bowels of depression. It is, in short, really, really, gay, what is going on in my math class. Gayer even–this will shock you, you should know, before I reveal this to you–gayer than Michael Jackson or (God forbid) Richard Simmons.
And so, like so many times in the history of this site, I am left without a magical fairy wand with which to solve my deep, dark problems. Oh, yes, they are dark. They are as dark as dark chocolate inside of a mine shaft, unpenetrated by light of any kind. And they are indeed deep, as deep as the Carlsbad Caverns which so adorns our southern New Mexico with its glance deep into the bowels of the Earth.
May I see you next week. And may your bellybutton continue to be moist and fetid.
…And so finally, is the Internet like the squirrel, for it can hold many acorns in its plump, accomodating cheeks. Huh? Oh, yeah, I’m done with that. Yeah, sorry for all that. I hope you liked today’s article. If not, you have Paul to thank.
…And I still have yet to see our history teacher’s Hawley Smoots, Paul.