Thursday, November 29, 2012

He loves the cat, really.

"Stop sitting on the cookies!"

(Akhim, cuddling with him, flicks his tail across Dorian's arm. Dorian stops snoring, flinches.)
"You are worse than seven Hitlers, cat."

Saturday, November 24, 2012


I don't know what Dorian was dreaming about last night, but he spent fifteen minutes yelling in Russian at some guy named Lars.

Friday, November 23, 2012

Mashed Potatoes and Unicorn Kisses

As we lay in bed Thanksgiving night, Dorian fell asleep midconversation...

Me: "I love you."
Dorian: "I love you."
Me: "You smell like turkey."
Dorian: "You smell like mashed potatoes...and unicorns."
Me: "What?"
Dorian: "Unicorns..." (He opens his mouth wide and rests his upper lip on my nose, with his lower lip on my lower lip, like a muzzle.)
Me, into his mouth: "...What the hell."
Dorian (mouth still open): "Oonihurns." (He closes his mouth.) "That's how they kiss. It keeps the horn out of the way."

Thursday, November 22, 2012

Box of Wisconsin

"Tell the flamingo dance party to shut up. Shut up. Gonna eat them for Thanksgiving...too stringy...I got you the thing. Adom, I got you the thing."
"Oh, thank you. What is it?"
"It's the Box of Wisconsin. You need it 'cause you're special."
"Thank you, sweetie."
"I wasn't too far. Take the box. I got you the box."
"Thanks, love. You did a good job. But it's time to wake up, we've got to start cooking."
"No, I am awake. I got you the Box of Wisconsin. Feel special."
"You're dreaming, love."
"Awake. Got you the box. Was hard."
"I know, and you did a fantastic job. I really love it. Like I love you. But you gotta wake up."
"Am awake. Eating the turkey."
"Sweetie--" (I realize at this point that I need to sneeze. I roll to the side and release what is possibly the loudest sneeze I've ever had.) "ACHOOO!"
(Dorian wakes up.) "What in the hell just happened?"

He determined that the Box of Wisconsin is, apparently, coated in pepper.

Happy Thanksgiving to all of you, from me and Dorian!

Sunday, November 11, 2012


It's worth mentioning this post is unusually unsafe for work. Once again, Dorian gives the ok before anything gets published here.

Our group makes up food-related holidays and then throws parties. Yesterday, we celebrated Bacoween (in which everyone makes something involving bacon and then we have a big dinner. For the vegetarians, we also celebrate All Hummus Eve.).

Mort brought over some kind of bacon maple donut ale. I didn't taste it, because I don't like beer in general, and the idea of combining the flavors maple, bacon, donut, and sour liquid bread did not appeal to me at all.
Nor did the wheat beer Mort brought.

Not so with Dorian. He had some. And some schnapps.

"I always do just the tip. It's funny, 'cause it's a Nascar joke."

"So the Jews walk into a bar and just buy the joint. 'Cause we own the world, yo!...Seriously, I've never seen a dime of that money."

"I hate Justin Beiber. He's like the antichrist wrapped up in Ramero."

(Tater had a piece of duct tape stuck to his shirt.)
"What the hell is with this nipple tape? I'm taking it!"

(To Tater)
"Did you catch that? I said your penis must be quantifiably quantifiable to be verified! That means it's very small, smaller than quarks! I'm thinking thatTater's penis is like god, if it's there, it's insignificant!"

(After saying ow, and being asked if he's okay)
"Martin Luther King Day, when is it?"
"Okay, I'm good, then. It's all good."

"Picture me in Link's costume, except instead of the top, it has a bikini, and instead of a bikini top, it's pasties."

Me: "Do you really want to have a conversation with my parents about getting your fist stuck in your ex-girlfriend's...whatever?"
Dorian: "No, I'm saying, that's what makes it awkward."
Tater: "His Christmas present: Lube."
Dorian: "Lube, fuck that, you'd need axel grease, and a...a...(makes a confusing, completely indecipherable gesture with both hands)...uh...tow truck."

Dorian: "Alexander the Great conquered Macedonia and Asia Minor by the time he was twenty-seven. What are you doing with your life?"
Tater: "Sam knows where the weather machine is."
Dorian: "A billows attached to a heat lamp does not make a weather machine."

And then he fell asleep on the couch.

"Your face is gullible like the Indian Ocean."

"I'm going to set you all ON FIRE!"

"There's a Wockit in My's the Fifty Shades of Grey of Doctor Seuss."

"Fuck 'em, fuck 'em, fuck 'em, fuck 'em, shut up, Tater...the llama said that peace is in the heart of every man...fuckin', fuckin', fuckin' shit fuck."

Saturday, November 10, 2012

He was Hungary

"Tell Beowulf to put the waffles back on the table. Damn, I'm hungry. He thinks just because he's a Dane he can have my Danish."
"Beowulf's not a Dane."
"Hamlet, then, whatever. Mm. Omelet."

Cool Whip

"Did you talk to him about it? You two should talk. Then, maybe we can get this issue resolved. And then we can all share the brownies. Hmm. Brownies. Do we have Cool Whip? We do? Mmmm."

Friday, November 9, 2012

Reverse Infared

"What? No, stoppit. Put it back...I don't have any...I love you, Adom, stay black...Your pillows are colder!"
(Rolls over, seizes my pillows.)
"I'm like a backwards snake. I use reverse infared to find cold spots, and then, I'm all 'Sssss...mine.'"
(Moments pass as I scribble in the notebook.)
"...It's rude of me to take your pillows..."
(Rolls back, relinquishing my half of the bed.)
"Stop writing so loud, it's making me dream of camels...alpaca took all our yogurt."