For some reason that mystifies even the greatest intellectual minds, I have mentioned Common Wombat here on my blog somewhere around 24,765 times. Why? Why, when there are so many more noteworthy people, places and events in the world at any minute, do I waste even a second of my time on this bozo? The answer is simple: He tickles me. It's a vice I'm not proud of, and yet there it is. I hope it doesn't lower your opinion of me. I will attempt to explain it to you thusly: Sometimes even deeply wise and profound people like to snicker at what we intellectual types like to call "retard humor." I bet if he were alive today, even Albert Einstein would have to admit that South Park is kinda funny. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying Common Wom-boob is anywhere near as clever as the writers of South Park--he's not. But I have two kids and two jobs and two intravenous drug habits; I don't have time to watch a lot of TV. Common Wombat's blog was a way for me to get a quick fix of retard humor without having to take the time to sit on the couch for a whole TV program.
Then the lazy bastard quit blogging. Not formally--he made no grand announcement. Rather, his blog sat and rotted away as the months and years went by, with no one but me checking back from time to time to see if he'd puked up a few new wisecracks yet.
Why, then, did I continue to link to him, post after post here on Karlababble, when I knew those links were only sending my readers to a black hole in the web? Because, goddammit, there is no one on earth more suited to be the punchline to my jokes than Wombat. In this one area of life, he excels! When I set up a small penis joke, no name fits so perfectly as the punchline as his. Try it! Say something like, "Blah blah blah de blah blah small penis? Blah de blah blah de blah Common Wombat!" See? He's perfect!
And he's versatile. Tired of penis jokes? Okay, I'll switch to herpes stricken, homeless crackhead jokes. Again, he's perfect! Porn-addicted, sexually ambiguous welfare recipient jokes? He's perfect! Serial-killer-living-with-his-mom jokes? PERFECT! Believe me, I've tried others. When it became evident that Wombat's blog was as dead as Don Henley's career, I tried using a variety of seemingly equally repulsive characters as punchlines for my jokes. I tried tfg, Mighty Dyckerson, Anonymous Coworker, and a couple of others. Yeah, sure, they were passable. But still, they lacked something. They weren't quite vile and grotesque enough. I needed Wombat.
So I begged him to return to blogging. I threatened. I pleaded. I talked you guys into pleading. All of it fell on deaf ears. Not that he didn't want to blog, I don't think. I think it's just that he's so slovenly, so lazy, so utterly inert, that he wasn't able to physically move his fingers across the keyboard.
But suddenly, things have changed. That lazy, shiftless cretin has recently announced a return to blogging! Don't get your hopes up--I have no doubts that this is only temporary, and as soon as the sugar rush from his Twinkie binge ends, he will go back to nodding off in front of reruns of I Love Lucy. But for now, you may check him out--not at his former blog, but at his new place, which is fresh and clean and as-yet unlittered with the feces and empty Malted Milk Ball boxes which will appear soon enough. Far more importantly, you will find my jokes pack a far greater punch with him reinstated as my comic foible.
That's the up side to his return to blogging. The down side is that I now have 24,765 links in my past blog posts that officially go nowhere. That prick did it to me again.
18 comments:
YOU PREGNANT BABBLER! You can say what you want about me and Common Dingbat, but I'll be DAMNED if I'll stand by and let you insult the finest singer/drummer/songwriter this world has ever known: DONALD HUGH HENLEY!!!
Wait, are those Malted Milk Balls? Can I have one??
What can I say? I've never been a good stand-in for semi-retarded butt-plug models. It's Wombat's niche, and no one can take it from him.
I had to cut a guy from my hit list because his ast post was to say his girlfriend had just started contractions....and he never came back again! Two years later I was still pestering him for an update.
that was just cruel and I finally drew the line at stalking him. I think he was mourning the loss of his singleness.
(I did manage to force an email from him to let me know the baby was born safe, but he never updated his blog with the info)
You're not pregnant again are you??
Thanks for the heads up. I'll check him out.
I'm just glad you're not making "Tiny Tim" jokes at my expense.
On the one hand, one blogger has a scapegoat.
On the other hand, the rest of the internet gets the wombat.
Awesome.
Tired of penis jokes? As if.
I DO love malted milk balls.
I don't know what to say to all of this...
I am happy he's returned to blogging because he GOES THERE. He goes exactly where the rest of us secretly go in our heads, and then instead of saying to himself, "Oh no, that's terrible, I can't think that," turning around and returning to some sanctimonious life, he totally GOES THERE and keeps on going beyond what the whole rest of the world considers appropriate.
Then it's satisfying to read his posts because you secretly wanted to go there too. Like a travel blog for wannabe assholes.
Shaken Mama:
"Like a travel blog for wannabe assholes."
I'm totally using that quote on my blog. Expect no compensation.
Thank god. Just...yeah. phew.
You go far too long without blogging lately :(
Yay to returns.
And if you ever need extra fodder this slacker may be thrown in front of the buss anytime ;O)
yea the wombat is back.. I'm off to stalk.. thanks for the update..
You should never trust marsupials! That's what my daddy used to say . . .
Found this blog after Googling,
"puked up malted milk balls."
Why? Tonight, one of the security images on my banking site was a Boston Terrier and it reminded me of my grandparents terrier "Tippy." How, regardless that they all look the same? Grandpa would feed malted milk balls to Tippy inspite of the vocal protest of my grandmother. "Ray, now don't do that you know they'll make him sick
!" "Ah, the hell they will, he'll eat'em right up."
In the time it took the dog to walk through the living room and back around through the bedroom he would stop and stand in the middle of the dinning room, and start herken. "Now see Ray, he just got sick on the floor again!" "Well goddamnit Katie, clean it up!"
Sigh...if my grandmother didn't move fast enough, Tippy would get a few licks into the pile.
Those were the days. Michael
...But I have two kids and two jobs and two intravenous drug habits...OMG...you have me in stitches!!!
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