The Brian Kirwan Papers (not really everything)
I call the following “The Brian Kirwan Papers (not really everything)” because it is basically a collection of the papers that I, Brian Kirwan, wrote for the entertainment of generations yet to be born, but it is not the complete collection of said papers. The complete collection began when I was in High School. None of the material from the first few papers appears in this collection. There’s a very good reason for that. It’s crude, lewd, and only occasionally shrewd (just to continue the rhyming thing I started). Just know that, if you’re offended by something that appears below, I took out the worst parts already. In other words, go be offended by something else, you little girl. Who needs you! Take your wimpy self down the street. I end this paragraph out of protest.
Read the papers and know that you are reading them for a reason. (Insert reason here.) As I say in the very last words of one of the papers, “I don’t think a candy cane would be shaped like that if it were meant to be put there, Santa.” I think that gives you an idea of where I’m coming from and where I’m going. Come with me and enjoy the word stylings of one Brian Kirwan – because he may not be here tomorrow. You never know. It could happen. (Directions: Begin at the bolded section and continue until you get tired of reading what isn’t there.)
Stuff that has no real category, but here it is anyway:
If you’re normal then I’d rather be me.
Insanity is my favorite pastime next to sitting by myself in the corner, waiting for the walls to quit calling out the phrase, “Pimple lipped pile of simple chimp!”
I have ducks that can do the hand-puppet version of that one.
Bill, have you tried on the skirt I gave you?
Of course not, skirts are for girls. I’m a man! I need a dress!
-what the hunk of human saccharated fat did you mean by that?
-that is the question my odor eaters keep asking my little pink bunny rabbit slippers. I’ve got bologna sticks and I’m scarcely afraid to use them.
Does anyone else wonder what cruel and graphic things they had to do to Mr. Ed to get him to talk?
I don’t sleep, I just put off waking up.
A man walks into a bar with two women on one arm and a pig on the other.
So, what’s so special about that?
Well, I’m getting to that.
Good, ’cause I’ve got a date with a pig in an hour.
Oh, are you having pig for dinner?
No, why do you ask?
I hope this clears up that toe jam thing.
ITS HARD TO TELL, BUT I EAT BREAD. I say this in capital letters, of course, because I like yelling at people who talk to each other on the internet. I also like to yell at my hamster. He’s deaf and doesn’t really hear what I’m saying, but that’s okay. It makes me smile to see him suffer.
For several hours every night, I wonder why I don’t get enough sleep.
If I were 600 pounds overweight and 500 years old, would I look like I was only 100 years old?
Would one have won if one won before one won the right to win when one should win the winning right to have won?
Questions are for people who don’t have all the answers. I’m glad I don’t have to worry about the questions of life. All the answers are in the questions I ask.
Yes, you have our guarantee. If any waist material is found in our product, we will refund the cost of the stamp it takes you to send it back to us in the mail. If your refund IOU doesn’t arrive promptly within two years, we will personally deliver an autographed picture of a guy who was in one of the episodes of Sanford and Son to your door C.O.D.
It’s not really funny, but it does think and stop you make.
Don’t despair, the meaning comes later. It will make more sense in the finale! Make ’em think for it, that’s what I always say. There’s a point to everything that takes two hours to find if you’re lucky. (No, really. It will make sense later.)
And now, a series of unrelated statements! If we were truly meant to fly, we would have been born with co-pilots. Not to be negative, but aren’t negative five and one negative four? It’s 4:02 and life blows . . . oops, it’s 4:03 and life’s good again.
I’m sorry, I was wrong. They are related statements.
Poems from the Beginning of Poetry:
As I sat on this stool,
I felt like a fool.
While trying to seem cool,
I sat in your drool.
The oracle can sing
The oracle can prance
If you introduce a spring
My turtle can dance
Part of the mystery of life
If that of having a wife.
And the mystery of death’s door
Is explaining the incomplete chore.
I don’t want to be lazy,
But work becomes hazy
When life as a man
Is the only plan.
Titles of Papers I’ve Written:
People Figure Light Bulbs are Cheap. They’re Not!
It’s Those Little Boxes They Come In.
“Hairballs and Furballs
are Fraternal Twins”
Stealing is an Offense
(when done properly)
Enough with the Stomach Acids
Sectioned Off for Your Entertainment!
Put Aside for Your Jollies!
Resting Within Because You Had Oysters Last Night!
With This Sheet of Paper, I Thee Wed
Gross (read this paragraph if you haven’t killed your inner-child):
Who says you don’t have a brain? There’s half of it sitting right there in the salad bowl.
Family traditions are great. Around our house, we don’t just chew on the hamsters, we feed them to the cats and then chew on the cats. That way, nobody gets hurt feelings. That is, unless the cats ribs are made out of feelings.
Please, put the knife back in your chest. The blood’s squirting all over the place!
Is there a song entitled “As he burped, he noticed what he had slurped?” (Reba)
When does it end? When your toilet starts flowing and those diapers quite showing. (I don’t really know what the last two sentences meant, but I do know that a plastic diaper can be used over if you only feed your child water. A helpful tip for all you parents out there.)
Little cars for little people. Big cars for little people with big egos. Are they sick? Purging? Removing? Extricating? Dislodging? Ejecting? Blasting? Releasing? Excreting? Chucking? Hurling? Tossing? Emitting? Ousting?
-tune in, turn on, and throw up (cue next sentence):
I think all the pigs have “experienced their stomach acids” long enough. Can we eat now? You never knew orange juice and vegetable soup could be mixed in a blender and shot through your mouth did you?
Well, pinch my nose and shove a brick up my nostril! (That’s not really a saying as much as it is a way of life.)
I’ll never be able to
watch Bambi with the same bizarre
(Wasn’t that neat how I twisted the words to make them look like Bambi’s intestines?)
If your head was a toilet, what would be the handle to flush your face?
Let dead dogs gather stones with their moss!
Why ask why? Kill yourself. – It’s a commercial. It’s a breath mint. It’s a condiment. It’s Fred. He bounces very little because he’s made from spittle. I could swim if you spit a river for me to wade in.
Why do I say these things?
It could be the cyst on my eyeball,
or the shoe I ate last week.
Leather was not made for constipation.
Constipation was not made for bad weather.
I just thought I’d mention that. Well good! At least someone did.
Kind of the only joke I ever wrote:
I bought a dog a few weeks ago and the pet shop where I bought it gave me a book called How to Raise Dogs. The other day, I saw a flea on the dog’s back so I looked up what to do in the book. It said, “The best thing to do when your dog has a flea is just to kill it by taking it between your hands and crushing it.” I took the dog back to the store in a paper sack the next day and said, “I want a refund.”
Controversial (Don’t read these unless pain gives you pleasure):
Give me the maroon colored baby, he matches our carpet in the den.
People say I can be cruel. I’m not. I’m just excessively kind to ugly people. By “kind,” I, of course, mean honest.
Are you ugly and have no future? Do your friends ever suggest that you go into business as a professional “before” photograph? Then try our new wonder product, “gun.” It won’t make you more attractive or give you a better life, but it can take away the thing that worries about such things.
Oh, I’m sorry, does this offend you. At least you’re finally getting it.
We were put on earth to destroy it and we keep screwing it up. Someday we’ll get it right.
There’s room for us all if you kill everyone!
Painting is my dream. Painting is my life. Put her in some steam and I could kill my wife. Don’t worry, I don’t have a wife . . . anymore.
If people were perfect, they would marry one another without the troublesome imperfections of love. Perfection is as the mind fantasizes it to be. People are as perfection dictates them to stand on the fence of accuracy and smile. Those who think themselves perfect are doomed to repeat themselves. Please mail me a new life. I would like one preferably with an interchangeable ethical chip.