Hugo

Massage Freak

I am getting a massage today.

I’ve never had one before. I don’t think rubbing against the Criss Angel waxwork at Madame Tussaud counts. Although I did get my mind “freaked.”

crissangelMy last birthday my husband gave me a gift certificate to a swanky spa. It has heated foot pools, herbal-infused steam rooms, rich people and unicorn rides.

I made the appointment a couple of days ago because I have been feeling tense. We had a death in the family. I feel like I’m treading water in my professional life. My husband is running for political office. And like Demi Lovato, I am worried about Miley Cyrus’ twerking.

Of course, the spa phone call made me even more tense because I’m generally awkward when dealing in unfamiliar subjects. I ended up ordering the “Monet” massage, which I guess involves being kneaded with a rolled-up Water Lillies poster.

I was told to arrive early and bring my bathing suit so I can enjoy the other “amenities.” Jesus christ, I have to wear a bathing suit now? Maybe I can also rewatch that film strip about a girl’s changing body to feel the highest level of discomfort.

The whole spa idea makes me a bit anxious. I’m not much for pampering. I did get a manicure once before my wedding, and sweated through the whole process trying to make agonizing small talk with the manicurist.

Did you know that it looks like your nails grow after you die? That’s because your skin is receding and decaying. . . Oh, you just do one nail for a manicure? It looks good. Thanks.

My limited understanding of massages comes from playing the Justin Bieber Massage game.

justinbieber

I’m hoping my experience involves less hubris and trucker hats.

Maybe I would feel more comfortable if I took someone with me, someone who has gone through the experience and knows what to expect.

hugomassage

On second thought, maybe I’ll keep Hugo at home.

Is Gangnam Style Still Fresh?

You know, I never really thought about it until YouTube emailed me.

YouTube initially guilted me for forgetting Gangnam Style’s 1-year-old birthday and then posited that existential question:

youtube

I really wanted to answer: “Fuck yes, it is!” But before I did, I figured I should ask YouTube since that’s what the computer was telling me to do and you do not say no to your computer, amirite humans?

YouTube was surprisingly reticient. It wanted to show me parodies of the song, but didn’t–or wouldn’t–provide the answer.

This was a journey of discovery I had to make on my own.

I figured I should probably watch the video having never seen it, but jesus, who has that kind of time? Those candies aren’t going to crush themselves.

Apparently 1.7 billion people found the time. I am lazier than 1.7 billion people.

I decided to consult a trusted advisor.

hugoganghamHugo, I’m sorry to disturb you, but I need to know if Gangham Style is still fresh a year later.

hugogangham2True, but not very helpful.

Nowhere closer to an answer, I looked it up in the dictionary and realized I had been spelling it “gingham” all along.  Gangnam is something like the Korean version of the soul-killing phrase YOLO, which is an acronym for “Nearly as Annoying as You Go Girl”

What makes something fresh? Doesn’t everything–except radioactive isotopes and styrofoam lunch trays–have an expiration date? I would think anything Internet-based is fresh for about as long as it takes to pin The Towel Workout onto a Pinterest board.

Mathematical formula: Viral video + Today show - quinoa recipe - sharkando = freshness.

Mathematical formula: Viral video + Today show – quinoa recipe – sharkando = freshness.

I guess since YouTube is still talking about Gangnam Style a year later means it is still relatively fresh so I will stick by my original response because, after all, you only live once and you go girl.

Gallbladder Secession From the Union

I’m losing another vestigial structure today.

gallbladder

Little known fact in the history of Speaker7, but a week before my tonsillectomy I had a HIDA scan. I was crammed into a tube, filled with helium and then twisted into a horse balloon for a child’s birthday party. The scan showed not only a propensity for breakdancing, but a nonfunctioning gallbladder.

For awhile, I had been experiencing what I’ve medically termed as “shitkickers”–meaning I felt the shit was being kicked out of me. I would sit up, and it was as if the skin under my ribcage was going to rip apart. I figured I’d either had hernia or was about to give birth to an alien baby à la John Hurt.

Nope. It was just my gallbladder yearning to be free. I began to grow suspicious of a romantic relationship between my tonsils and my gallbladder.

tonsilgoneI postponed the surgery because it’s really out of style to have a breathing tube inserted twice in a season (source: “Who Wore the Breathing Tube Better?” US Weekly).

But the shitkickery continued. I remember trying on shoes when the onset of an attack started, and hoped the shoppers would politely ignore me as I crouched and gasped on the floor for a few minutes. I explained I was a foot fetishist.

This past week, it became even more apparent that we could no longer live together and one of us had to move out. Every morsel of food became the equivalent of eating a Thanksgiving-style banquet of Big Macs encased in Doritos taco shells covered in KFC grease dribblings. My abdomen turned into its own flotation device, and I told my gallbladder to find new living quarters.

So yay! Another surgery. I can’t wait to see what will go next. I’m banking on the brain.

As to be expected, Hugo is thrilled.

hugopingpongOh–I’ll have a new post up at The Official How To Blog tomorrow about the Game of Thrones. I’m figuring I will be too hopped up on pain medication to promote it. 

A Peen on Fire

If you have read the latest issue of Us Weekly, you would be aware that I have taken on the duties as the first official A Clown On Fire Wrangler™.

If you haven’t read the latest issue of Us Weekly, then you will be wondering what the fuck that may be.

You are not alone. I’m still trying to figure out my title.

For one of my first official acts, I have landed a coveted interview with a part of his Magnificence™.

Please stop by.

Oh–and there’s also this incentive:

mysteryhugo

This is, like, stupid almost

Truer words have never been spoken.

Bland looks really red. He is getting ready or red-dy to meet his concubines’ families. Zing! I’m here all week.

AshLee, of the interestingly capitalized name, has been living for this moment or some such nonsense. Yes… “Hey mom and dad! Come meet this man who is also meeting three other sets of moms and dads and revel in the reality! The reality of it all!”

AsHleE thinks Bland is the man “to protect my heart.” I think I should be drunk. Why am I not drunk?

aShlEe’S been thinking about this day “since I was 3 years old.” What the fuck did she just say?

They eat a normal dinner with aShleE’s PaRenTs at a kitchen table stuck awkwardly on the back lawn.

“Bland is, like, making out with other girls and then he, like, makes out with me. And, like, mom, like, do you remember, when I was, like, 4, and you, like, read Peter Rabbit, and I was, like, do you think I’ll ever meet my Mr. MacGregor? And, like, I’m, like, here he is. Like?” ASHLee rambles on at the greatest luncheon she envisioned when she was 5.

AsHleE’s dad looks like a porcupined-version of Cliff Clavin.

We’re now in Seattle with Catherine and her “journey.” Bland catches a fish in the Seattle Fish Market and promptly makes out with it. It’s so spontaneous or incredibly staged.

Bland uses the word “always” a lot to describe how awesome his relationship is with Catherine. “We’re always really boring.” “We’re always suck.” “We’re always contributing to the decline of the universe.”

This is the greatest love story since that commercial I saw about Fiber One granola bars.

Catherine’s sisters exhibit brain function: “You seem like you’re trying to convince yourself that you like him.”

Some “tension.”

Next stop: Linddddsseeeyyy’s hometown in somewhere Missouri. Her dad’s a two-star general so this means something for The Bachelor that I find too boring to try to comprehend.

Bland puts on an army turtleneck while Lindddsseeyy vocal fries orders at him. It makes me wish that a meteor would crash into my face.

On Friday, I watched the movie The Sessions. I highly recommend it. It’s been so long since I’ve watched a movie that made me feel something and made me actually care for the people in the story.

This episode of The Bachelor is the opposite of that feeling.

Lindssseyy’s house has a gun/spice rack. Her mom also vocal fries.

America.

Bland asks for Lindsey’s father’s permission to penetrate his property and *yawn*…story about paratrooping and I’ve gone deaf and sure, here’s your blessing and my lack of caring is like that time I went paratrooping.

There’s an hour left.

Fuck.

I would like your blessing to not watch the second hour.

Thanks for nothing.

Now we’re in Desiree’s sweet hick hometown of LA.

They meet each other in spandex because. . . LA.

Time to meet the fam. An ex-boyfriend shows up instead. He declares his love. “I’ve texted you,” he facebooks. And it feels…LA. Not like this guy is trying to break into acting and shows up at an opportune moment to get his ass-face on TV or anything.

I think I’m going to bed.

But then I will miss why I titled this post the way I did.

Oh it’s a joke. And it’s funny?

No.

Her family shows up. Her mother seems high. Desiree’s brother Nate is the one who sayeth: “This is, like, stupid almost.”

Wrong, bro. It’s, like, all stupid.

This Blog is Sponsored by the Letter…

We’ll get to that later.

Today is le day of le birth of Le Clown. If it had fallen on a Monday, we would have likely gotten a day off from work.

Something to live for next year, I guess.

The Ringmistress (Le Ringmistress if you are Quebecian) has planned a special birthday surprise for his magnificence™ that I can only assume involves a clown car and monkeys. I am a pawn in this surprise. This post will give Le Birthday Boy™ a letter of le alphabet and a nudged to the next stop on le Scavenger Hunt.

This is why I’ve called in the big guns.

hugobirth

Hugo, are those my tonsils?

hugobirth2

That looks like something a serial killer drew.

hugobirth3

So what is the super cryptic clue you came up with that will leave Le Clown puzzling for hours?

hugobirth4

You’re a regular Sphinx, you know that. So where does he head now?

hugobirth5

Fulk if I know too. I am also a Sphinx.

Happy Birthday, dear friend. Although you are older, thankfully you are not wiser.

Everything’s Coming Up Roses

I have been asked to participate in a local variety show that will have its premiere in April.

This is kind of great especially since I made one of my New Year’s resolution: “Be like super famous and shit.”

Nearly there, reader, nearly there.

I have three months to figure out just what the fuck I’m going to do. This is where you come in.

It’s difficult because I have so many talents, I’m not sure which one I should highlight. #humblebrag

This actually is not true, but it is very similar to something a college boyfriend once said to me after I confided my fear in never finding a career post-college because I couldn’t do anything. He commiserated by confiding he was so good at so many things, he didn’t know what he should do. #horribleproblems

That’s almost as good as when my post-college boyfriend told me I’d “be so cute, if (I) just ate salads.” #luckilyIdidn’tmarryeither

So I am a bit apprehensive about this upcoming show. I do have some theater experience. In ninth grade, I played the pivotal role in a high school production of Romeo and Juliet–Peter, the nurse’s page. I wore a tunic that made me resemble a potato, said “Anon” like nobody’s business and stood really still except for those times I was directed to sit. I sit really well. #braggartpotato

Here are some of my ideas. I’m hoping you can give me some direction in the comments.

  • Reenact the dance I did to Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’ in the sixth grade talent show.
  • Ventriloquist bit with Hugo. Hugo will not move his lips while I speak.

hugoactOh. What are you doing?

hugoact2Okay. So I guess that’s out.

  • Watch TV
  • Wow people with my ability to be the only person who doesn’t know what the fuck “gangnam style” is.
  • Eat slices of provolone cheese at 10 at night.

 What do you think? #everyvarietyshowhasoneterribleact

“Celebrity” Apprentice

I think I need an assistant.

I’m finding it difficult to juggle the demands of writing this sentence with watching Adam Richman scarf down an entire family of four on Man v. Food.

I want to be able to explore the craters my tonsils left in the back of my throat. For instance maybe I can top my marbles-in-the-mouth record of 47.

And I need all my brain storage to come up with the perfect name for Kanye West and Kim Kardashian’s baby. So far, I’m stuck on Kool-Aid.

But am I big enough to warrant an assistant?

When I lived in Los Angeles for three seconds, I nearly interned with a fledgling Second City outfit. I was looking for some comedic writing experience and a chance to get out of my routine of crying in my apartment. The random guy only wanted someone to tally up his personal frequent flyer miles. Even though he was the only employee with no future prospects, he still needed an assistant.

Hugo, the half-man puppet, has five assistants solely to shine his bald head.

And Le Clown’s getting one.

I recognize I’m not as one-ab’d or clown-like as his Magnificence™, but I am scheduled to interview Le Clown’s peen so that must count for something.

Still, would anyone be willing to work for me for the lowly salary of nothing and the 100% probability of recaping the latest season of Honey Boo Boo?

Well, holy shitballs, it turned out there was!

I recently received this email:

“Excellent beat ! I would like to apprentice whilst you amend your web site, how can i subscribe for a blog web site? The account aided me a applicable deal. I had been a little bit acquainted of this your broadcast offered brilliant clear idea”

How soon can you start?

Now, granted, I wasn’t planning to amend my “web site” and I don’t really broadcast anything, but I think this person knows what the Speaker7 brand® is all about.

Who is this person?

Why the Lap Dance Factory, of course!

I went to Lap Dance Factory’s “web site” and I really believe my account “aided (it) a applicable deal.”

Lap Dance Factory left an address that specifically directed me to this:

anal

Could this object help the Speaker7 brand®?

analexplorer

I think this is the beginning of a beautiful apprenticeship.

Speaker7 Moves to Canada

Not really, but I do have a new post up today at Canadica. I’m hoping this is the correct link. If that didn’t work, just click on Canadica and it will take you there.

Just so you know and won’t succumb to any weeping, it will take me some time to respond to any comments because:

  1. I just moved
  2. My Internet connection has not been hooked up yet
  3. My tonsils are being removed today by salad tongs
  4. I may possibly dribble popsicle juice onto my laptop

The good news, I will have plenty of time to catch up on my blog reading (when my #@&!&^$ Internet is hooked up and if I’m not vomiting blood). I have been remiss in reading all of your wonderful posts and wittily replying with comments like “turd nugget.” I know you have missed that.

I also recall promising a reader giveaway thingy, and telling a few of you that I would be sending interview questions. Didn’t happen because moving is a giant suckfest of suckitude suckness. It will happen.

Here are the people who responded with a reason why Hugo should interview them and will see their name in lights in 2013. If I missed you or you don’t want this great distinction of Hugo adding your picture to his “People-to-lurk-at” wall, please let me know.

Le Clown, H.E. Ellis, Ned’s Blog, Jules of Go Jules Go, Dutifully Broken, Alice at Wonderland, Madame Weebles, Adam S., Vyvacious, Mollie and Alfie, Artsifrtsy, Jen and Tonic, 1pointperspective, shapelle, merbear264, GiggsMcGill Jill, Wendy Reid, jdanryan, Rule of Stupid, Emily at the Waiting, Lynette d’Arty-Cross, Twindaddy, Nancy of Not Quite Old, Lyssapants, iRuniBreathe, She’s a Maineiac, Michelle Stodden, and my BBFF Angie Z of Childhood Relived even though she said she was exempt.

Speaker7 Attempts Some Type of Reader Giveaway Thingy

Some jerk said it is always better to give than receive.

That jerk obviously was never the recipient of a lamp with the Serenity Prayer etched into the glass. I received one of those as a high school graduation present from a boy I dated for two months, and it was not at all awkward.

People do seem to be in the giving mood. Every blog I click on seems to be giving something away to its loyal readership.

The Byronic Man and Jules of Go Jules Go have created a Christmas misery contest where the lucky recipient wins a custom-designed sheet set.

Madame Weebles gave her readers the gift of viewing her face as well as her marvelous middle finger.

Le Clown gave away his magnificent™ facial hair.

I feel I should be giving away something too, but what do have to offer?

My facial hair is paltry although I do have a single hair that grows out of my neck and possesses the wirey resilience of a pube.  Is that something people want?

goat

Okay. I can’t really make anything although I did draw the turd picture for my Turd of the Week™ segment.

Just to be clear, I am a full-grown adult.

Just to be clear, I am a full-grown adult.

I suppose I could glue this image onto a roll of toilet paper for some lucky reader.

childangel

I really have little else. I am getting my tonsils removed in a few days, but Hugo has already staked claim to them for some nefarious purposes.

Hugo…hmmm. People seem to love them some Hugo. I’ve got it!

Okay, I’m pretty famous or I create the illusion of fame by sending myself fan letters. How would you, dear reader, like to appear in this blog space in an interview conducted by me and Hugo?

hugointerview

Fantastic.

All you have to do is give a reason why you think you are worthy of a Hugo interview in the comments.

Hugodna

Hugo, no. Please don’t do that. That is completely unnecessary. Just a simple comment is fine. I will attempt to interview everyone who responds, not in the same blog post because that can get kind of lengthy, but over the course of 2013.

Remember, I used to work as a journalist so I’m pretty good. I once was assigned to cover the local Memorial Day parade and I asked such questions like “So…why did you come to the parade?”

Expect that level of professionalism.

Your interview along with a write up and link to your blog will appear on Speaker7 to the delight of the human and puppet world.

Hugo, anything to add?

hugodomination

Fun!

The deadline to respond is Dec. 17.