Juicy Juice: Drink Of The Sleep Deprived
Or
Did She Just Say Anus?

Maybe I take my dead Presidents’ birthdays seriously, ok?
I cut down a cherry tree Monday. I didn’t even have to use an axe, I just flashed my pearly, bloody, Crest-y whites at the tree and it cut itself down, baby. What? I don’t know.
The latest Deathstrips symptoms include, but are not limited to, itchy toes, an incomprehensible admiration for Aaron Neville’s mole, loss of sense of smell and taste, and random profuse bleeding. Of the mouth. And ANUS. No, I kid. But really I’m not in the position to rule anything out yet, especially since I have not slept in days and today I broke down in tears when I couldn’t find a parking spot outside Starbucks, which had I actually found would have been pointless anyway since I am unable to drink coffee or any fluid other than my own (or David Schwimmer’s) saliva since my stomach swallowed itself after Day 3 of Crest’s 7 Day Plan to Rid Me of My Pesky Internal Organs. Help me.
No, don’t bother. I’m sure this is one of those Character Building Experiences I will look back on later fondly and did I mention the cherry tree cutting?

Anyway. While we’re on the subject of bodily fluids, you should know my family is breeding like rabid bunnies who heard Glenn Close was coming to town, and I feel the need to warn you because this can only mean they will run out of space in HELL soon and some of you might end up doomed to roam the floors of Target with Oprah Winfrey, Daisy Fuentes, and the cast of Saved By The Bell for all eternity. Yes. It is that bad.
Brothers #1 and #3 have both knocked up their wives, and brother #2 probably would have knocked up all of the ladies in his How Not To Drive Drunk class by now if not for the tragic accident involving brother #1 hitting him in the “berries” with his little league bat so many years ago, rendering him sterile (Seriously. You can’t make this stuff up). Hello? We are not a family that should be spreading our crazy seed.
Last weekend was my nephew’s 4th Birthday party and none of his little preschool friends showed up. After countless “Where my friends are?” and my brother and sister-in-law’s pathetic attempts to hide the truth by saying they were all sick (Ha! Like that time your prom date was “sick” and didn’t show up to pick you up and later when you convinced your mom to be your date you saw him slow dancing with that slut Mindy to “Open Arms” by Journey), I knew I had to tell my nephew the truth, that his little friends’ parents feared our family would teach their innocent children about Juicy Juice enemas and have them snorting lines of coke off the Buzz Lightyear paper tablecloth before playing a rousing game of Pin the Tail on Jonbenet Ramsey. Which is exactly what we did at my 4th birthday party! Or no, we didn't. But still. The truth is out there. And it hurts.

Yeah, not sleeping is bad, bad, bad.

For A Quarter A Day You, Too,
Can Help Buy Me A New Pancreas And True Love

Someone really needs to tell Crest to add to their list of things you can do while wearing their White Deathstrips. "Shower/get ready in the morning?" Pshhaw. Watch The Bad News Bears Go to Japan at 3 a.m. because you have almost completely phased out the need for sleep thanks to the searing pain in your teeth and the sliver of pancreas you have that hasn't already disintegrated from the bleach? Check. (A love story, a little boy killing Godzilla with his baseball bat, and "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" sung in Japanese all in one glorious movie, people! I can die now. No, really. I can. Everything else in life is bound to be a monumental disappointment in comparison).
And speaking of Valentine's Day, in honor of all the people everywhere getting Kissing Bears/Blushing Bears/Huggin' Bears/gonorrhea today, I give you an entry from the diary of a true romantic. Anna Nicole Smith. Yeah, no. A fourteen year old me.



I guess this answers the whole "Were you born this way or was it the alien abduction and subsequent anal probing that made you this way" question.
I love my fourteen year old reasoning though. I was convinced having a quarter would have changed my life because he would have "had" to pay me back and then he would have "had" to talk to me again. And declare his undying love. And ask me to go steady. And had hot unprotected sex with me in his Mazda Miata. Sigh. I'm going to try this tactic out on my mechanic and/or mailman tomorrow. Yeah. If you see a crazy woman running down the street chasing a man in uniform/overalls yelling “I know you NEED a quarter and I have one, I have a quarter for you! TAKE MY QUARTER” it’s just me. Do not be afraid.
And let this be a lesson to you. Always keep an extra quarter on you, and if you're going to use two exclamation marks be sure to turn the two dots into a smiley face. OR you could not and instead you could really enjoy lying awake at night staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling wondering what might have been if you had just had a goddamn quarter/if your parents had not made you eat kielbasa and sealed your fate in hell. The choice is yours, Daniel-san.
Go forth and be brave, pound puppies.

They Also Told Me To Drink The Special Kool-Aid,
A.K.A.
How To Win God's Smile Of Approval

So. I have decided to obey my voices. Sort of like Obeying My Thirst, only with less thirst and more voices screaming "Buy Crest Whitestrips, buy Crest Whitestrips! So what if they cause you to digest your own stomach lining, at least you will have the whitest teeth this side of Tullamore and then your mechanic/mailman/friendly neighborhood grocer who bears no resemblance to Anthony Edwards whatsoever will want to give you the John Cougar Mellencamp hurt-so-good bad touch and it won't matter that you put regular dish soap in the dishwasher instead of dishwasher detergent and flooded your kitchen with bubbles or that your toaster burst into flames when you were trying to make english muffin pizzas in it because the whiteness of your teeth will blind everyone to everything but your good qualities, which let's be frank, consist of your ASS, your keen fashion sense when it comes to socks, oh and your ASS."
What? Yeah. You know how it is.
Hopefully I don't end up looking like this, and hopefully the intestinal organ failure warning on the box is just a precaution and hopefully I don't end up vomiting my own (or David Schwimmer's) blood, because that would probably stain my teeth and gee, I'd really hate to have to do it twice. Hey, maybe Crest will ask me to do a testimonial for them!

We have secretly replaced Belle's spleen with a spleen made entirely out of Swedish Fish, let's see if anyone notices!
"Wow, your teeth are like, totally white! I think something gummi just oozed out of your belly button... So it really only took 7 days to get your teeth that white?"

Excuse me, I have to go write out my last will and testament.