While drawing well-endowed anthropomorphic unicorns in the rumpus room of my 6th floor walk up on 14th street, I remember how Ren and Stimpy occasionally crept into my subconscious, and I'd start ranting at my love quartet of Toaster Strudels, "Quick, man! Cling tenaciously to my buttocks!" Happily, now every time my eye starts blinking involuntarily, I am easily sedated by hitting my scrotum with my fists and humming: "It's Xanadu... The neon lights will shine for you. For you, Xanadu." And then my business partner and imaginary friend, Mr. Lorenzo the Albanian Super, hides Mecamylamine in my baloney sandwich, and everything becomes as right as a gun!
Now, it has come to my attention that some trolls out there are upset with my usage of the words Fluff, Flarf and Floon. While I admit that I have taken liberties with Flarf, I have never Flooned. As for Fluff, well, Fluff pays the rent. That's not mine. I think it's from Double Indemnity. While I'm not entirely aloof to my exposure to cultural vernacular, I'm not always cognizant of the source of a particular gaff either. So. like, if I didn't make something up or lift it from Barbara Stanwyck, chances are I heard it from Sockets, who heard it from Pumkin, who heard it from Horsey, who heard it from Wheelchair Barbie, who heard it from Chuck Norris.
It might interest you to know that the President and CEO of fragrance giant Ebola For Men had this to say about my blog:
While Dane is obviously out to lunch with lunchmeat, you just have to ride the emotional roller coaster with him, and watch out for divergent geese on a collision course with Fabio's Mug.
Let me leave you with this thought. Hitler. Was that guy a dick, or what?
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