Thursday, November 02, 2006

Hide and go seek mutha fuckas

Where has Cornelius gone???


It's my new blog.

I have decided that y'all know a little too much about me, so I am gonna focus on a set topic from now on at my new blog.

It's fun, It's hip and/or with it.

Kate Moss snorts my new blog.

Please don't hate me, I will still post here occasionally, but all the cool kids are going to my post prom party at

Friday, October 13, 2006

Gay my face and Toilet Paper Fashion Shows...

- So real quick before i tell you the tale of Toilet Paper Fashion Show....Wednesday was national coming out day, I hope everyone and their fucking mothers are gay and shit, but the best thing is that the day before national coming out day, UMD had crazy christians on our campus, talking about how fags are bad and fags are evil and we all have AIDS and wear brown leather belts with black leather shoes ect ect. Well the crazy preacher got a dose of FAG POWER!!! the UMD pride alliance ALONG with the christian group on campus held a counter protest. God + Fags = Crazy chrisitan preacherman getting a whole lot of shade thrown his way. The wierd thing is, Is that he was all like, "Homosexualists (yes he called us Homosexualists, which is how I will now identify myself on census forms) are addicted to masturbation which is bad" UMMM the last time I checked, STRAIGHTS LOVE TO MASTURBATE TOO. There was some "Hey whaa happened" (A Mighty Wind reference) concerning UMD allowing this nut-job on campus, but I am all about free speach, bring on the crazies, if you have the balls to preach hate in front of fags, well more power to ya, but remember, I will cuss you out like a latino girl. Anyway, here is the link...

- Now onto better things... Namely my TOILET PAPER FASHION SHOW!!!!
In my family, my maternal grandmother, "Memaw" is queen bee. Bitch gots da monies, Bitch gots da powers. She is a proper southern debutante from Savannah that was moved to Southern Maryland by my grandfather, and she hated it. There was no real social scene outside of the Naval Academy balls and she lived in a crumbling plantation house in the middle of a 500 acre farm with no neighbors for miles. My grandfather traveled overseas 10 months a year for his job as an executive with Phillip-Morris (no lie: he was the guy that was in charge of crossbreeding tobacco so that it would become more addictive) So when he would get back from overseas, he would usually have gifts for my grandmother, one time it was a lacquered chinese armoir that he bought from some herion addict, another time it was stuffed front half of a tiger he killed himself (that classy bitch lived in my Memaw's dining room until he house keeper "accidently" left it outside during a storm). This sets up the environment she was surrounded by, a huge house full of glamourous shit and no interaction with people besides Lillian, her crazy housekeeper. This drove my Memaw a little Koo-Koo for Cocoa puffs if you get my drift. Bitch has been on quaaludes and mescline since JFK was in office. She had a fucking shitload of children to keep her company, Charles, my uncle who is incapable of love and ad a pechant for belting his dockers up 'round his titties, Marlena, my crazy southern baptist aunt who is incredibly racist, yet has an adopted mexican child and latino husband that "Speaka berry livval angles", Then we have my mother, Princess Di Doppleganger, Feminist Lawyer extroidinaire that let me pick out her power suits for court, and finally, Melvin, my no lie, mentally unstable uncle that lives in an old guest house on my grandmother's property with no electricity (he also takes great joy in shooting animals with a paintball gun, whomever got him that fucking gun was smoking crack).
My family always got together at my Memaw's for sunday night dinners before all the grandkids headed off to college. This was the time that the little project runway in me got to flourish. My grandmother has 5 bathrooms in her house, each one with a different theme, One is the swan bathroom with fucking hideous white birds all over the place, one is the bordello bathroom that has blood red peeling damask on its walls and an overhead light that has fringe on it like the lights at old Pizza Huts, one is the "helps bathroom" which is where Lillian takes dumps, the really cool art deco one with an andular toilet that makes it feel like you are tafing a dump while sitting on an anvil and then we have my grandmother's personal bathroom, the Pink Palace bathroom. While she was isolated on the farm, she comined TWO FUCKING BEDROOMS into one ginormous bathroom, it has a huge pepto bismol pink claw foot tub, pink marble counters and shower stall and pink tiles and pink towels and pink porcealin kitty cat figureines all over the fucking place, you sit down to take a shit, a fucking pink kitty is staring at you. Now if you had to take a guess, which bathroom would be my favorite...the pink one of course. Memaw is very particular about who sees or uses her pink pussy bathroom, as the gay grandson, and naturally a neat and tiddy pisser and pooper, i am the only grandchild that is allowed access to this room. My mom isn't even allowed in there, which is fucking awsome cause she gets so fucking pissed off.
I like to go to the bathroom a good 5 minutes before i actually have to use the bathroom so i can soak in the atmosphere. Pink soaps, pink lotions and pink mutha fuckin toilet paper. Now as a young- clueless - about - my - sexuality child i would see this toilet paper and the words "DIVA FASHION SHOW" would pulse through my head. I would make sashes cause i would be the first Ms. America with a dingdong, so i needed a sash, I would make turbans, haltertops, really slutty short skirts, and wedding veils (for my impending nuptuals with Mr. Hulk Hogan). I needed no thread, I would just tuck the ends into my undies or twist the ends together to make shit stick. This was my little secret, well mine and my crazy uncle's, cause he walked in on me one time, but no one would believe him anyway because he's a functional retard. But one time, my Memaw was wondering what was taking her little gay grandson so long in the bathroom, so she came upstairs and walked in on me prancing around with a powder scented - pink crop top with matching flapper-esqe skirt. I was such a flaming mo when i was young. Well to my shock, she wasn't pissed off, she was so excited...she immediately grabbed one of her hair pieces and clipped it onto my head and marched me downstairs to show me off the the family. As i was thrust into the dining room where my family was eating, i could see the looks of "holy fuck" spread across my family's faces. My grandma made me prance around the table and told me to stand up in her giant bay window like a fucking christmas tree so she could see me better. She thought i was Oleg Cassini, my other family members thought i was a pre pubescent tranny.
Well it was about 3 weeks since the dining room fiasco, and my mom got a call from my Memaw, she wanted to know if I wanted to compete in her "Crazy rich white lady talent show" at her "Crazy rich white lady methodist church". I guess my mom was still steamed at me because she couldn't take dumps in the pink bathroom so she said "Sure, Cornelius would love to". Oh my god. Not only was i going to my tranny freak show flag fly in front of a bunch of Richoldwhiteladies, but i was going to let my tranny freak flag fly in the house of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. The talent show / tard-fest was only two weeks away so my grandmother commanded me to be all underaged indian sweatshop child and make a fucking ballgown out of pink, blue, and white toilet paper. I was going to be modeling a very queer patriotic evening gown. Of course i secretly loved the idea but i was taught to hide this joy because normal boys don't make evening gowns out of toilet paper, suck in their cheeks, and strut their stuff down the middle of a methodist church. Well guess what bitches, that's what this boy did.
I was third in line for the show, sandwiched between the 5 year old flautist grandson of some old bitch and the tap dancin' fag grandson of another old dowager slut. I am convinced that church talent shows are like church choirs...finishing schools for burgeoning homosexualists. Seriously, when was the last time you went to a talent show and someone's talent was hitting a baseball or fingering a girl. It's all tapdancing, baton twirling and "Ace of Base" songs (I sang "I Saw the Sign" at another church talent show, but that's another story). So after little "Frankie the Flute Playing Fag" got shuffled off stage, it was DIVA'S turn. The church organist pumped out from what I could discern was a "very jazzy version of His Eye is on the Sparrow" and i marched my shit down the isle. It took me to the end of the runway before the gasps were replaced but confused applause. I was a heretical success. My memaw met me when I came off stage and she gave me the biggest hug. She loved it, and she loved me. That is why she is my favorite person, it was that day that I knew no matter what, she would always love me. I could skull fuck a kitten then kill it and serve it to an autistic child and Memaw would be all "How thoughtful of you". Bitch loves her some Cornelius, and Cornelius loves him some Bitch. I found out many years later that she entered me in the fashion show as a big "fuck you" to the other Oldrichwhiteladies because they didn't allow her on some committee cause she is a fucking loony bat. My gown was a big middle finger (made of toilet paper). Many years later, when i finally came out to her, she was not suprised, she could care less, and thats why i love her, bitch is all about me crapping out some kids though.


Thursday, October 12, 2006

LIVE RETARDS: Caught on Film!!!

- So here are some pics from my past weekend in NYC with Miss Christy and our lover Anna...Someone call the Special Olympics...we have 3 new contenders.

Tuesday, October 10, 2006

Update, Homowait, Foley-gate, Nip / Tuck Great

- Sorry , I have been all MIA recently, I have really been all busy and shit trying to get my boss elected so he could help rid our great land of are some breaking news in the land of Corneliuston...

- Nip / Tuck is my mutha fuckin show jammy jam jammmmm. The homoerotic undertones coupled with unneccesary plastic surgery makes me want to prance around my room in a pair of high heels to The Cure demanding that my cat "put the lotion on it's skin before she gets the hose again". One of my exes, was a plastic surgeon, and the life that he and his little small dicked posse of fellow surgeons led really mimics the show. Bitches got fucked left and right for operations, it was kinda the reason we seperated, that and the fact he canceled a dinner date with me to have sex with an underage escort when I totally would give it up for a vodka tonic and metro fare home from his place. fuckin hoe.

- Holy Foley! Big fag, guess who else is...Hastert. Everyone fucking knows that. Notice how all the people are not denying they knew the whole Foley thing a while back, but they are just trying to pass's because the hill is covered with Souffle-baking, Dusty Springfield singing, mo mo a go gos. You couldn't drop kick a hairless asian twink with a ballgag on this hill without hitting a pole smoker. Wanna hear some other fun your research and see which Chief of staff not only is the highest paid, yet least qualified and also lives with the Congressman they work for?? I'll give you a clue...his boss' last name rhymes with Bastert. EVERYONE KNOWS!!!!

- Worker bees on the hill get to go to receptions all the time. These receptions are open bar, full food spread, and usually only attended by us poor ass staffers, it is a rare sight to see a representative, Senator or their man-child love-slave there. A certain number of these receptions are notorious for getting a lil rowdy with all us young hill staffers getting a little too drunk and trying to hide Coronas in their briefcases for the metro ride home. Well suprise mutha fuckin suprise, which member of congress has a reputation of showing up for these drunken shenanigans???? It rhymes with Perv-oley. Bitch had crazy "man huntin" eyes. All I have to say is that shit is about to hit the fan, the GOP now stands for "Gagging On Penis".

- I got to go to to NYC this past weekend with Miss Christy to visit our great friend Anna. While on the bus ride (we be classy bitches and travel in style) we played a great game called "If you were a stripper, and the DJ at your strip club hated you, what song would he play to make you depressed and cry when it was your turn to go to the pole and rub your twat in Japanese businessmen's faces?" It's a great game...we played it loudly, our current winner is "Lady in Red" and "Michael Row Your Boat Ashore". Nothing like a rousing game of "Sad Stripper Songs" to make daddy thirsty. As soon as we got off the subway at Anna's place we were all up in a liquor store. Wine, vodka, beer, vodka, more wine, hobo urine, god knows what else was ingested by me. I am truly suprised i didn't fall off of a roof. Anna took us to a great Tapas restaurant called Sol y Sombra where we pigged out and I had the best quail EVER. I am such an asshole, I eat quail at every chance, give me a small harmless fucking bird, I'll fucking chomp on that bitch. If you are ever up on the upper west side GO TO SOL Y SOMBRA!!!! We hung out in the park, went to a party where i fell down repeatedly, and then i decided to call my ex boyfriend while retardedly drunk which is fast becoming a disturbing pattern.

- Ok that is it for right now, if you behave yourselves, i will post a story shortly involving me, different colored scented toilet paper, my dowager maternal grandmother, and a church fashion show involving all of the above.

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

Another Childhood Story....

- So I have been feeling pretty shitty the past weeks, hence me not posting regularly, hell I post about as regularly as a 90 year old's bowel movements. So once again, I lay prostrate, at your feet, begging for forgiveness, and offer another glimpse into my fucked up childhood. Sit back and enjoy...Shenanigan: My Retarded Puppy.

- Growing up on a farm, I had the opportunity to have a whole shitload of pets, from a horse with an eating disorder, to a really gay goose that attacked women and tried to hump all the men it saw, Cornelius was a modern day Noah, minus the beard and ability to talk to God and stuff. Of course, being an American family we had our requisite family dog. First we had Toto, which my brothers and I called "Toto Mandingo" because he looked like Toto from the Wizard of Oz, but had a red rocket that could make a Clydesdale blush, it's a wonder he didn't fall down more often. We have also had Smokey, my older brother's dog that lived with us. Smokey tried to commit suicide on numerous occasions by forgetting that she didn't know how to swim but she still insisted on jumping into large bodies of water to fetch what I can only guess were imaginary sticks that the angels were throwing, my dad chalked her Kurt Cobain-ish zest for life to the fact that my older brother kept her on an exclusive diet of lite beer and cat food. After Smoky succeeded in making it to that doghouse in the sky, my dad brought home Shenanigan. My father had gone to a fundraiser for a "Save the Chesapeake Bay" foundation and bid on a baby black lab in a raffle, he won. Apparently, the puppy is like the fucking Prince William of the Black Lab community and his father was like Brad Pitt and his mom was like Princess fucking Grace or some shit. So the dog being all purebred and pedigreed, had a name that was like Well we shortened that shit to Shenanigan, or Shana. Little did we know that the precious little ball of black fur that laid curled on my mom's lap would turn out to be the Corky from "Life Goes On" of our family. Symptoms of her retarded skull being occupied by nothing but an even more retarded dusty rag surfaced when we took her for a checkup at the vet's and he told us she had the equivalent of doggy mental retardation, he went even further saying that Shenanigan should have been put to sleep when she was born. Should the fact that all four of her legs were totally different lengths or the fact that she never got larger than the size of a small dufflebag have been a red flag??? Well, being total animal lovers, my family was like "Hell to the No", we took Shenanigan home and treated her just like our very own Rose Kennedy. We let Shenanigan have full run of the farm, she would go and visit the horses, eat their oats and straw, go off and sunbathe on the highway that was 2 miles from our house, only to be returned by someone thinking that she had already been hit by a car because she acted so strange. It wasn't a well spent day until she had run at least 20 times into the electrical fence near the horse barn that could kill a small child. I always thought it was the doggy equivalent of sniffing permanent markers. This was in my "Cornelius thinks he's a witch" period, so sadly, I would watch her get electrocuted and "pretend I had put a safety charm over her so she wouldn't die", which I thought was actually working, little did I know that because of her fucked up body and nervous system, she had no sense of touch in her front part of her body, hence her repeated tangos with the fence. One of her favorite past times was licking her reflection. Anywhere, it didn't matter if it was a glass door, a puddle of antifreeze on the garage floor, or the shiny fender of a car whizzing by at 50 miles per hour, bitch needed a lick of some vitamin Shenanigan. (Sidenote: because she was retarded and never seemed to get hurt or anything, my brothers and I used to encourage her to eat everything. One time, my older brother fed her like $3 in quarters and let her chug a liter of Mountain Dew, Bitch was crazy) This licking game started to become slightly more dangerous though when she started to go blind and her 4 uneven legs got doggy arthritis. She got hit by cars more often, not seriously but more like she chased a car, the driver saw her in their rear view mirror, they slam to a stop, Shenanigan would slam her little Helen Keller ass into the rear bumper because her "Spidey Sense" was a tiddle bit off. Methinks she needs that girl's helmet in my previous post. Her blindness really started to affect her one autumn, and one day, when my younger brother went to her usually haunts to try to find her, he noticed she was nowhere to be found. Shenanigan was gone. My parent's tried to console us but we were all emotional wrecks, just the image of a little retarded blind dog with 4 uneven little retarded legs all alone in the world made us sob like little bitches. Shenanigan body was found later that winter partly frozen into the bank of the Patuxent River behind our house by a neighbor. Apparently she must have been walking (retardedly, of course) along the bank and died and the high tide had sort of preserved her. We went and ice-picked her body from nature's cruel grasp and decided to give her a proper burial. The only thing was, is that it was in January, and the ground was frozen solid, so she was only 2 feet under instead of 6. Our new dog Bella (who wasn't retarded) dug her up the following spring and left her in the driveway, right where she had used to love to lick her reflection, Shenanigan had come full circle.

He's making a list...

- Remember children, Christmas is only a few months away. What are you asking Santa for?

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

Trim Food Poisoning Spa Baby!!!

- Went to the beach house this past weekend. SUCKED MY DONG. Little did i know that my so called weekend of relaxation was to be marred by the presence of my fucking satanic evil devil cousins. They aren't really my cousins, they are the 3 sons of my cousin, but here in the south we call everyone cousin, that or auntie. Anygay, these little shitstains proceed to not only break a sliding glass door, but also decided to play a fun game called "Bite Cousin Cornelius When He is Passed Out Due To Overconsumption of Vodka". I have bite marks all over my body, it's rather disgusting. It looked like i lost a sexually charged game of twister with Marv Albet, Mike Tyson and Saly Struthers (She's a biter too, y'know). God help me if I decide to have sexual contact with anyone before these things heal...I saw them in the mirror and i was definatley the lead in a Lifetime movie co-starring Tyne Daily and Judith Light. But to top me getting cannibalized this weekend, CoCo got himself some food poisoning. Bad News: I vomited in my hair and into my cupped hands and then threw it out of my window onto ecologically sensitive seashore...Good News: I lost 8 pounds, and my neck and shoulder muscles have never looked more toned. My Mom warned me I shouldn't have eaten that Sushi from the Truck Stop in Virgina...but it looked so good, and $2.50 for 2 California rolls??? I had to have it. Ohhhh and it being bitten and having mouth abortions all weekend wasn't as lollypops and rainbows as everyone may imagine, My car (actually my brother's which i am now driving for cas conservation of course) decided to die on me, at aforementioned truck stop of sushi death. I had to whore it up to a lady with a grand total teeth count matched her IQ so she would find someone to put in a new battery for me. Fuck this weekend, Fuck redneck sushi, FUCK MY COUSINS (waste of sperm) and Fuck You!!

Here are some funny French and Saunders sketches.....

Friday, September 08, 2006

Shit in one hand...cock in another.

- I think that's how the "olde timey" saying goes, but anyway it is an apt description of the way i feel and the dilemma i am faced with. While minding my own business, sipping some tea this past Wednesday, my cell being the total finger counter, didn't screen the call and picked it up. It was my ex...the old one...that bought me a puppy...and stole it back...and killed a baby (just kidding, i think).

The ex with his baby doll "Chevrolet".

He was very cordial and asked me how life was going, blah blah blah. Bitch must have been on some Bolivian marching powder cause "coo coo for crack rocks" did not shut up. He basically said he called because he was finishing unpacking his photos and pictures into his new condo (which is glass bottle chucking distance from Lady Benjamina's apartment) and stumbled (more like used as an erotic aide) upon a picture of me and MY puppy that he had taken by a professional photographer many months ago. He said it warmed the cancerous lump in his chest he calls a "heart' and wanted to know if I was interested in "Still being friends with him". Erm...B'scuse me?? "Friends"?? "Friends"?? If by friends he means, would i be interested in tricking him into trusting me and then throwing all his suits into a bathtub and lighting it on fire a la "Waiting to Exhale" while he is out purchasing me a new nose and chin...then yes. If he means, would i be willing to sit on the phone all night with him gabbing about his latest 12 year old hairless Slovenian conquest and having "Girl Parties" watching muther fucking Bridget Jones and eating fucking brownies...then he can take his dick, numb it with an icecube, snip it off, bend over, and shove it up his ass, he can go fuck himself. Gabbing about sex is reserved for Miss Christy and Lady Benjamina, and this blog. I did however agree to meet up with him next weekend at Zengo's (which is my favorite place) to get drinks, his treat of course, and then head to JR's where a sauced up Lady Ben will be waiting to steal his keys so we can go liberate my puppy. Who's up for joining us???