Make an A-S-S Out of U and M-E
Published: March 15, 2010
I entered the reception area of the medical clinic, a tinny doorbell announcing my arrival to the lady behind the frosted glass. A sign written in faded ink asked me to PLEASE DONT TAP ON THE GLASS THANKS. I waited a few moments, and then tapped anyways. I’m a rebel, and it’s what they got for lack of punctuation. The anamorphic, blobish image behind the glass slid the partition open, revealing a clearer, still blobish receptionist; she looked over the rim of her glasses as she handed me a clipboard.
Welcome to the jungle.
I’m no stranger to tears. Crying and I go back awhile, more years than I can remember. Lots of things make me cry, notwithstanding the almost comical amount of sorrow I feel everyday recently. Luckily for you I’m not here to bore your undies off with my regularly-punctuated-by-weeping life bubbles. No. I’m here to ask what song makes you cry, and why. My tearmaker is a song called “Tender”, by popular British beat-combo “Blur”.
Most humans think of dust bunnies as harmless little bits of fluff that lurk under the couches and beds of their homes. They seldom think about these seemingly harmless little creatures, but dust bunnies have been around for centuries and are so integral to the lives of the humans they share a home with that without them most homes would be destroyed.

If you watch MSNBC or follow DailyKos founder Markos Moulitsas (Markos) on 
The death of Corey Haim has brought back a rush of emotions and childhood crushes, so naturally I went to Facebook straight away to make sure I was feeling the right emotions. I was. But then a strange course of events took place. A dear friend and I followed the logical path from Haim to Feldman and starting discussing how sad it was that the “hot” Corey was dead. However, Feldman is the one that had the super hot wife! WTF?! This women at some point and time said to herself, “I want to have sex with Corey Feldman for the rest of my life.” YIKES! I can’t wrap my head around that and neither could my friend, so we are turning to the wise people of Wordsmoker for this.
Like sex, the Oscars only happen once a year. Like sex, it involves a lot of forced smiling, awkward toilet breaks and hurried speeches. Like sex, it begins with a big number and promises untold, only for it to end with everyone involved dying to get home to change their underwear. Like sex, I have to watch it on the internet.

