Dammit, I thought the box said “spermicidal,” not “homicidal.” Now I have to go all the way back to 7-Eleven . . .

Forget it, I’m not in the mood anymore. Let’s just watch a movie.

This gentleman’s cowboy sperm threatens to be either in me or on me. And yet, the only place it will ever actually be is on him. The irony is not lost on me. Or in me.

Hmm. This is not what I had in mind when I asked for a tattoo of a horny blonde having a bite of my sausage.

Oh, please. A Blanche Devereaux dragon that breathes rainbows, candy, and bunnies is just ridiculous. We all know that a Blanche Devereaux dragon would breathe low-cut sequin tops, KY jelly, and champagne with a little Metamucil stirred in.

Really, people? Do I REALLY have to add a tag for genitalia with wings? Do you understand the kind of position this puts me in? When I go home and weep quietly into a pillow to happy hour and everyone with a normal job is complaining about the commute and the faulty Xerox machine, I’ll have nothing else to chime in with but “I had to round up a bunch of flying dicks.” It’s a real conversation ender.

I don’t want to know what dark corner of the Internet I’ll end up in by Googling “crucified Gumby,” so I’m not even going to try to find out why this is a thing. Anyway, I know that you meme-savvy people love to hop into a psychedelic cargo van and help a strange man find his puppy solve a good mystery, so I’ll leave the footwork (and unsavory browsing history) up to you. I’ll be the one hiding behind a lamppost eating Scoobie Snacks.

Hey guys! It’s been a while since we’ve checked in on Werewolf Tranny Polio Jesus, so I thought you might like to know what’s been going on in his life. Looks like he’s been busy tending to his rose garden, and he got another cat!

Other than that, just the usual stuff! Meeting with his book club, obsessing over Mad Men, haunting your nightmares, and lovin’ life!

When Ceiling Cat says that his vengeance will rain down upon us with great force, he wasn’t kidding.

Uh oh. Was there some sort of law passed requiring people to get a tattoo commemorating their most awkward date? Because I really don’t want to have to relive the incident with the Streisand impersonator and Alex, his pet canary (nothing against you, Alex—you were cool). I don’t think I’m even supposed to talk about it until my pending litigation against Match.com is settled.

Sad. I really hate to see horn-on-horn crime. The worst part is that a narwhal or unicorn who’s been the victim of a violent attack is ten times more likely to later perpetrate violence against a rhinoceros, water buffalo, or Hagar the Horrible.