Too Many Female Superheros (heroes?)

Chemically, the world has set up enough danger to mint a new bill.  If we were all heroes, there would have to be more than half women (lesbian shows,  duh!).  That brings me to my thingy:  Would we be able to make up that many female superhero names?  Help me as I try…

SuperWoman

WonderWoman

CatWoman

She-Ra

Murder Mermaid

Endless Menses

Bumpy Torso

Bitchinator

Hillary Clinton

Pink Devil

Scarbie

Rainbow Fright

Ninja Bitch

Perfumaniac

Bride of Damnation

Meat Hooker

June Cleaver!

Sister Sinister

Killy Ripa

Daughter Slaughter

Sister Dark Fang

Shiny Smells Nice Stabber

Hairdo Fire

Electric PMS

G-Spot A-Bomb

When I Said I’d Die For You, I Didn’t Mean You Could Kill Me…

When I was a kid. There are certain temporal tidbits that are designed to induce boredom and other unpleasantries amongst those who emote. I emote. The key is to keep the words close to the indicated line of fire by the super-duper title dangling like a male sexual organ over your whole scrot(yum) of an article. It truly does work like that.

Submissions to The Onion don’t work. They do if you’re keen. Are you keen? If so, I will reconsider…

I will read your blog and take off my final shred of clothing. My lizard tail anal prosthesis.

-naked eric

“Kiss Me Honey, Kiss Me Where It Smells Funny”

I want to make a commercial.  Man, woman, picnic, sun, dog, tag, you’re it, and all of the other parts of an idyllic Summer’s day.  Laughing.  Food being inserted into cranial orifice.  Chewing, rolling on green fluffy grass and not a stain or meadow muffin to dampen the glorious horizontal pirouette.  Now with woman a distance away from rolling with such zeal, he turns to the camera and says,

“This may look like a picnic.  But when my doctor told me I had Penile Excrement Evanescence , there were to be no more picnics.

I was always wondering, ‘can they see?’  ‘does my wife worry when I am at work?’ or “Does my Chad smell like a hammer?”  It was not easy.

That is until my doctor told me about a new pill called Peninoscos.  Peninoscos lets me live the life I’ve always missed due to PEE (Penile Excrement Evanescence).   Now, in a wide range of flavors and potencies, Peninoscos had redefined our sex life.  No longer will my wife vomit on my nipples and tell the dog to lick it off.  She will not have to dig up a doody from the toilet in order to kill the smell of my penis.  Neighbors will stop calling the police to report a dead body only to find me and my wife naked holding a shit with the dog licking vomit off my nipples.  That can be quite embarrassing.

(wife finds a pogo stick and pogos into the dirt beside them, getting it stuck, falling off, and falling on the bottle of wine, smashing it and slicing her face, filling a wine glass with blood from her eviscerated noggin.  Man turns his head back to face the scene and excuses himself from the “interview sequence”.

Couple Scene Resumes)

Man dabs at her bloody wound with the picnic blanket when the wife says:

“Mark, I smell it again.  Did you –

(man cuts her off)

“No honey, I did not take my peninoscos.”

“Well take it so our picnic can be magical again!”

(man takes the pill and passionately kisses his wife)

“Kiss me honey, Kiss me where it smells funny”

Now a chorus sings the tag line as the commercial ends.  A passionate chorus repeats:

“Kiss me Honey, Kiss me where it smells funny.”

(Fade Out)

Voiceover: “Use only as directed”

Kill me. Now.

singingbee1.jpgI am looking at my television. This is what I see:

Joey Fatone of the Boy Band era has just popped up on my screen, opened his bloated mouth and indicated that I was welcomed to his show, “The Singing Bee”! No insects were to be found anywhere. Then he announces that a special guest is here and had some Asian lady scream out “Here are THE VILLAGE PEOPLE!!!” Yeah, the damn YMCA folk.

Now camera pans to stage and the VP are dancing around doing YMCA as FATONE dances with the Asian Lady/Screamer in a way that makes ME look like Elvis. The first contestant comes out, starts dancing and falls down. FATONE laughs and explains that the rules are the game are to sing the missing line of a song played by the recently YMCA’d stage speakers. The fallen contestant gets up and stares at the camera. CROWD GOES WILD. They sing as in church to the VP. The scene is basically impossible to describe with any justice. It’s a bunch of bouncing, bloated fools with a neon bee on the wall. Joey Fatone is Satan in this particular ring of Hell. Take the worst thing you’ve ever watched and marinate. Then stab yourself. Then stab me. Kill me. Or kill the NBC Exec. who greenlighted this piece of fecal matter.

FATONE just corrected a contestant who sang the wrong lyrics to a Journey ballad. I really do think it’s time for the Aliens who left me here to come pick me up now.

Naked Eric. The story. The misused period. The use of the word “the”.

This is a blank page.  If you take away all of the words, it really looks blank.  I only say this because I feel guilty about wasting paper scribbling scrabbles on it.  I want to tell you about this page and its purpose.  The cool part about this goal is that it truly has no purpose.  I only seek to drizzle some smiles over this world that has come to resemble a poop crepe.  If I had a band or a clothing line I would call it “poop crepe”.  ::sidenote – my dog just farted and it smells really bad.  Poor dog.  Where’s my lighter?::  Poop crepe because (insert end of sentence here).

Naked Eric is me, just me.  It’s the name my parents gave me when they made me.  Naked is being used in a way that implies lacking shrouds of any type.  Your shroud is the pretty face genetics ripped into your flesh.  Mine disappeared the day I almost died in a car accident in New Jersey.  I couldn’t find it so I run naked like a retard child through this semi-adult life without the ability, capacity, or desire to hide truth from others and, in turn, the world itself.  Hence, “Naked Eric”.  I like diddling by myself with words and hummy tunes.  I think that it must be fun to be  writer.  Professionally it must be so very, oh so very super-duper!  I would like people to get a kick or a nut scrump from what I think about enough to drive several fingers into the requisite keys representing its component letters in order to make it appear on my screen until I CLICK “submit” and the thought went from my noggin to your noggin via several strange steps that merit better description than a wretched run-on sentence and words like wretched and redundancy and self loathing and verbal Fibonnaci sequencing and big words used just to sound smart, not to convey anything valuable or meritorious to be absorbed by the text block as a whole and munched by your comprehension.  The joy (or “yoy” in Espanish) of writing is that i can push a button with a letter on it and it pops up on my screen.  I just keep doing that.  It’s my only tip for aspiring writers.  Aspire, teddy.  It is a silly oopsie nomenclature when we find ourselves engaged in the same wondertastic convo in New York City with the proximate yuppie actor wannabe.  The yup says he is an aspiring actor.  It is not okay to call yourself a verb.  I think many people are aspiring.  Imagine:  Hey, I’m an aspiring Administrative Assistant.  She want to move up in the company, so in that case I guess it is more like an adjective.  Are YOU like an adjective?  See, one truly can’t say that they’re an aspiring anything.  I believe this because there is no contrasting voice.  Is there a non-aspiring actor?  Okay, one who “makes it” is a professional actor.  Others below them are amateur or “aspiring”.  Wait!  There it is.  Say you’re an amateur actor.  I fixed your problem with verbage you punk lily  so keep aspiring.  I have an amateur blog to desecrate!

I am in love with your pets and home they come over to visit.  I live in Jersey.  I am Eric.  This is my Naked Blog….

E