I found myself wondering the other day if you could make a person float like a balloon by plugging up all their holes but one and jamming that last hole up with the nozzle from a helium tank. Then I wondered which hole would get the nozzle, a thought which lasted about two seconds before deciding emphatically that for a man the last hole would be the asshole. Intestines are miles long and have plenty of experience with gas already. A plan comes together, thank you Hannibal.
Plus, if you are a human balloon, you definitely want the string tied to your back end and not up by your head. If the string is around your neck you would hang upside down all day and look a right stupid cunt as you pissed in your own face.
For a woman, well, it's gotta be the ol' gopher den. Yes, that is quite a pretty terrible euphemism, even for me. I don't mean that it's all big and cavernous and the gopher from Caddyshack lives in it. Although if it can house a baby, then a gopher's abode is not completely out of the question. I will concede that even though I believe a gopher may be able to live there, no gophers come from there originally and none are living there currently that I know of. Gophers only come from gopher holes.
Man. I just thought of a way to make Groundhog Day super awesome. Punxsutawney Phil could emerge from the crotch of a wax figure of Kim Kardashian. Then he could throw up and shit on her, that means an early spring.
And the term foxhole just took on a whole new meaning for me. A gross one. Although you could put a spin on it, foxy lady walks by, she must have quite the foxhole.
Scratch that, it's completely fucking horrible.
Let me just say that I have never nor will I ever expect a gopher to come out of a lady's special lady area, certainly not one coughing through clouds of smoke after it escaped from an exploding squirrel. The Kenny Loggins music is a possibility. Somewhere in the world a woman is stripping to Danger Zone.
I don't believe that, but I will hope for it because I love Kenny Loggins and I once knew a guy who changed his bedpan.
If I had just escaped an explosion by emerging from a giant smoky vagina, I might dance a little myself. A Safety Dance, because I was safe. Perhaps gophers dig and live in holes because it reminds them of other holes they like. I have a lot of stupid theories about why animals do the things they do, but answer me this, who doesn't like a good hole?
There has to be a human vagina somewhere on this earth that looks exactly like or even worse than a hole a gopher dug. Just savage looking. Ransacked. Shattered, like a jittery meth addict robbed the place and set it on fire on the way out. Shit, just watch an episode of Cops, you will see some world class rotten slopbox on there. If you can't be bothered to run a comb through your hair or brush your teeth then it's pretty safe to assume that you are sporting a straight up fucking junkyard.
Have you ever wanted to see a tampon ignite on impact? Neither have I.
There should be a Worst Hole trophy. We as a society love to make losers feel like winners. God forbid someone should have hurt feelings and as a result develop resilience and character and drive. Applaud the mediocre so no one tries harder and everyone feels good about themselves. Have you seen people lately? No one should be feeling all that good about themselves.
If you get a trophy for trying your best, why not get one for not trying at all. It's more of an accomplishment to be the absolute worst than the middle of the pack. It's a distinction. Worst Hole ever trophy could be given the singer of the band Hole. You could probably surmise the entire history of Courtney Love's liver lipped flytrap by reading the bumps. That shit is probably like some knobby ass braille heaven, or you might just think you stuck your hand in a dented can of olives.
Man, do I ever get sidetracked. Started off simple. Human Balloon. Somehow ended up ponderin' about the most horrible snatch on the planet. Brains are great and horrible at the same time, like accidentally hearing your Mom have diarrhea. It's the best kind of trauma. Trust me, your Mom has all kinds of fucking loud hot ass burnin' diarrhea and accidentally hearing it happen is both hilarious and terrifying, like my brain.
Your Mom has a hot ass. From all the diarrhea.
Anyway, the only way I could get human ballooning to work would be to hollow myself out and then I would be dead so what's the point. I guess my friends and relatives could do that after I die. Hollow me out, seal me up and fill me with helium. It would make the whole funeral business a lot more festive, everyone could take a turn holding my string. I am certain at some point someone would untie the balloon knot and let the air out so I would fly around the room all farty noisy and such.
Once is never enough for that either, it never is, who doesn't like watching some fast movin' fart action. But if you are going to be a dick and keep doing it over and over I will make sure that the only way you can blow air into my body is through my asshole. I would have said cockhole, but then I thought about it and I didn't want my funeral to degenerate to me farting out of my dead cockhole as my balls flapped about while people ran around in fear and panic and fainted on the floor.
I would love to see someone explaining that awesome spectacle of degeneration on Cops.
Maybe I do need psychotherapy. Maybe I have already had some. Maybe fuck yourself.
Hellwagon.
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