...Great Success?

Last week, the boys in one of my classes fulfilled the beautiful and majestic male right of passage into maturity, responsibility, and integrity by talking about their favorite pornos. 

Loudly. In detail. 

Needless to say, both myself and Mr. Bunions were a bit disgruntled; for different reasons, of course. I was annoyed because my studious note-taking was interrupted. Mr. Bunions was 'annoyed' because in his day, there were no catty harlots lounging in the street or on the boob-tube. You had to hunt them down in the forest, and even then, you were lucky to see a little ankle. But most of the time, Mr. Bunions had to settle for watching the Grizzly Bears rut. But don't ask me about that. 

As an unworldly and rather shy teenager, I was somewhat out of my depth. But Mr. Bunions wasn't. So in this case, I was perfectly content to cede control to Mr. Bunions. And Mr. Bunions was perfectly content to assume it.

Mr. Bunions: Now, youngster, if you don't shut those salami slices you call lips, I'll be forced to play hackey-sack with your scrotum. 

Jock #1: Whut?

Mr. Bunions: Fair warning. *taps his steel-toed boots*

Jock #2: What are you talking about?

Mr. Bunions: In my day, there were no 'Porno-Tubes' or 'Astro-Slides'! I would have been damn grateful if I had that! I would've loved a tube of porn! I didn't even have a tube of cheese! You know what I had?! National Geographic! The Sears and Roebuck Catalogue! Do you know what those women wore? Do you? They wore gender-neutral onesies! And the Grizzly Bears! Goddamn those bears!

Jock #1: You're sick!

Mr. Bunions: Touché, motherfucker! *BURRRP*

A round of applause for Mr. Bunions, please.

- mr. bunions demands applesauce and porno tube. 

Hitler-stache-TASTIC

The other day, I happened upon some of those people hate mongering about Obama. You know the ones. They even photoshopped a nifty little Hitler-stache onto a poster of Obama; they obviously took their time, because they matched his hair texture and even added dignified grey strands, too. It was a slick operation. 

While I was admiring the dedication to their smear craft, Mr. Bunions hijacked my mouth to yell at them. 

Mr. Bunions: Hey, you little LaDouchies! 

Me: Mr. Bunions! I am appalled by you! You know very well their organization is headed by LaRouche, not LaDouche!

Mr. Bunions: Settle down, buttmunch, I'm working! Have some respect for your elders!

Mr. Bunions: Hey, LaDouchie, that's a very flattering comparison you're making.

LaDouchie: Yeah, because --

Mr. Bunions: Because you know what else Hitler did?

LaDouchie: What?

Mr. Bunions: He fixed the ECONOMY!

Me: Mr. Bunions! That's politically incorrect and offensive! You're going to time-out!

LaDouchie: Ppppfft!

Mr. Bunions: Hah, suck on that, youngster!

LaDouchie: Hey, genocide isn't a stable business model, BLAHBLAHBLAH.

And then I walked to my bus stop, hot and flustered, Mr. Bunions cackling maliciously in my head. 

- mr. bunions takes no prisoners.

A Slice of Bunion for All.

Given the name of this blog, introductions are in order. Let me introduce you to the singularly peculiar man who crouches inside my head, Mr. Bunions. 

Now, I know most of you chalky, yuppy, degenerate, spiritually constipated assholes like to coo about your inner children, and generally feed said children a healthy diet of beer and porn. 

Not me. 

Instead, I have an Inner Bunions. He's a crusty curmudgeon that longs for the Good Ol' Days and paisley bow ties. He don't need your respect, neither; he don't pay no man no mind. In fact, you can shove it up your puckered ass, because he's blowing this popsicle stand, bitch. 

Did I mention he's also a doctor? He's got a nasty habit of inspecting beautiful boys of eighteen. Mothers, hide your sons, Dr. Bunions is coming to town. 

Other than that, he's a jolly old man. Like Santa. Except without the good humor, presents, nifty costume, and wife. Actually, he's not like Santa at all. He's too angry and geriatric for all that Christmas bullshit, so don't expect a present. 

- mr. bunions be pimpin'.