Remember this blog?
Well guess what! My Mad magazine came today (for all of you thinking it, YES THEY STILL PRINT THAT AND NO, I HAVE NEVER GROWN UP).
No, I don't read it with my feet. It's just a happy accident that my toes are in the shot. I flipped it open a few pages and there before my eyes was Vegas's shit.
For those of you that don't subscribe or "prescribe" as my old boss used to say, I will show a close up so you can read my letter and their response.
I get good prizes this time, see. What do I mean "this time"? You will see later.
Well, Vegas's shit is enjoying whole heartedly it's 15 minutes of fame. Trust me, there is NO talking to his shit right now. Unless of course you have your people contact his people and set up a meeting. All his shit wants to do all day is hang out by the pool with a cocktail.
I find this odd since we all know what usually happens when turds get near water.
Hopefully, once all of these "black tie affairs" die down, the pooparazzi will quit bugging him and life can get back to normal.
Until then, I figured "why should Vegas's shit reap all of the rewards? I did all of the work! It just had to lie there." So, I will be selling it for $5 a piece or I will arrange shit into personal sentiments for a $1 a letter. Who wouldn't want to surprise their sweetheart on their anniversary with an "I Love You" spelled out in animal fecal?
Of course, this isn't the first time that I have been published in Mad. I got our coconut monkey evaluated in "Antiques Freakshow" a few years ago. Just think, Dane Cook and Jim Gaffigan have probably looked at Cal, Lukah, and my coconut monkey. To them I say, "Hey you, quit looking at my monkey". Oh for a nickel every time I've had to say that.
Here it is a little closer so you can read it.
Funny stuff, huh? My prize for getting this letter in absolutely sucked. It seemed like every month of that year BUT the one I got published in they were giving away cars, houses, boats, and prostitutes. I got. . .
ZZZZZZZZZZZZ! Right in the rummage sale with that one. What will I buy with that nickel? That's not even enough to buy a piece of my own dog's shit.
Lastly, way before these and in a much less funny publication (although that "drama in real life" is hysterical), a picture I took of Mikah and my nephew Bradley was sent in by my mom and published in Reader's Digest.
Too bad I had to freeze my nads off (I'm not too sure that's not what they're rolling around in that picture) to dig the fort and take the picture.