Just Give me a Warm Rinse of Salt Water ‘fore I Diiie

If you are reading this it means I am already dead, having starved due to the incalculable pain caused by eating while afflicted with this canker sore, which by the way is not herpes.

In these, my last days in this world, I have been unable to enjoy simple pleasures such as whistling a tune or playing a trumpet without the reminding sting of agony emanating from this tiny ulcer on the inside of my bottom lip, which of course is in no way a “fever blister” or “cold sore” or “herp”.

Maybe I brought it upon myself.  Maybe it isn’t wise, after all, to get blind stinking drunk and try to wolf down a slice of pizza that’s been sitting in the box on the counter for 3 days, growing stiff and jagged.  Perhaps I bit myself in my mouth during a nightmare.  It’s hard to tell.  Doctors don’t know what causes canker sores, except to say that it isn’t herpes, which causes a whole other kind of sore which I don’t have.

I would like the world to remember that I loved life.  I enjoyed bold foods that harshly caused tiny traces of damage to the inside of my mouth.  I read great works of literature such as WebMD and trade jounals related to STD detection.  I would like the loves of my life to know that I do not have herpes, just a soft inner mouth which cuts easily.  Hence my demise.

Bury me with my Orajel.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Canker_sore

Dream Journal

No one likes to listen to the contents of other people’s dreams.  I know this.  Still, I had a whopper of a dream last night and I feel like writing it down so’s I don’t forget about it.

You’d probably infer this anyway, but this was inspired by Robitussin.

So I was dreaming some inocuous dream (I think Philip Seymour Hoffman had joined the Imps, my college improv group, and he wanted us to see “Doubt” in a digital theater).  For some reason we ended up in a big, big room standing under a loft-like overhang.  Some ambiguously gendered pale seer showed up and prohesied a horrible creature that is doomed to constantly be killed and then operated upon by its murderer.  Then it comes back to life bearing the terrible results of its posthumous operation.

Sure enough, this thing slithered down out of the loft overhead and the only weapon I had handy was a bit of stiff wire.  The thing had 5 womens’ heads, but not lined up on its shoulders like a hydra.  They were more sort of clumped together, protruding out of a huge fleshy mound on its neck like peanuts in a melty Mr. Goodbar.  It may have had a slug’s ass instead of legs.  I did battle with it and won, but for some reason I didn’t perform an operation on it.  I guess the cycle was broken.

Then I woke up and it was 4 AM.  I rolled over to go back to sleep but I didn’t want the monster to show up again so I thought of monkeys playing soccer.  Then I realized how easily that could turn into a nightmare, so I thought of something else.  Football, I think.

Robitussin is nightmare sauce.

Happy Birthday, Corey Haim

Today, film star(?) Corey Haim turns 37.  In his honor, here are spoonerisms of films from his canon:

• Ponsterthiece Meatre Volume 1
• Shart Ciky
• Vank Hoo: Crigh Toltage
• Malout Withice
• Highmolition Dem
• Onner Side the Shoot
• Lamponal Lastoon’s Rash Nesort
• Get Fastaway II
• The Double Kid O
• Boys of the Rollerprayer
• Le Bost Thoys
• Romy’s Murphance
• Admet Secrirer
• Birst Forn
• The Twidison Ens

Notes From My Brother’s Roast

Last Saturday I did something I normally don’t do, namely standup comedy.  My brother Josh (co-founder of T’welv-Step Records) threw himself a bash for his birthday and I got to host it and roast him.  It went pretty well.  Here are the notes from the second half of my act where I deconstructed his Facebook profile:

http://www.rexbaxter.com/joshfacebook.pdf

Yes, it’s a PDF.  Yes, this was the weaker half of my set.  Yes, I may post the notes from the better half at some point.

No, I do not normally do standup comedy. Stop telling me to put things in my act.

Big Day

Today I wallowed in the sublime pleasure of making my bed, then laying on it on top of the sheets.  I really highly recommend this.

My bandwidth quota at thephilwells.com is getting its ass kicked due to downloads of Radio Show.  I think that’s fine, and I hope my bandwidth quota distends and is hopelessly burst in an orgy of downloads.  Have at it, internet!

Today I still have to buy a newspaper for wrapping Christmas gifts, watch a movie for RexBaxter.com, and go on a hot date tonight with the woman.

Also, I’ve joined Facebook.

Radio Show is Online!

Radio Show – Episode 1

It’s here!  Have a listen to the completely improvised Radio Show starring myself, Ben Masten, Desiree Nash, Nate Starkey, and Steve Soroka.

Bandwidth, don’t fail me now!