Fuck George Clooney! Seriously, just fuck George Clooney!

from February 7, 2008

I had the dumbest dream the other night. I was at my parents house and we were having this huge pig roast. There were like 200 people in our backyard. Mom was worried that there'd be too many people for just the one pig, so I'd put a suckling pig in another pit alongside the larger pig. Oh, and George Clooney was there, in a tuxedo (natch), helping me roast the pigs.

So, for some reason I hadn't put a rub on the pigs before they started roasting and I went into the house to put one together now. I got two tupperware bowls, one large and one small for the suckling pig and started looking for the spices. But my parents had moved everything in the kitchen when they remodeled and shit wasn't where it had been for my whole life. For some reason I remember being in the closet in my bedroom, yelling, "Where the fuck is the paprika!?!"

So, anyway I end up outside with my bowls of pig rub, only to see that George Clooney is brushing the pigs with some store-bought, cheap-ass barbecue sauce, like KC Masterpiece or some shit! And I just lost it.

"What the fuck is George Clooney doing?" I screamed.

My mom tries to explain, "Well, you were in the house so long and everybody was getting hungry..."

"So you just let fucking George Clooney put some shitty-ass store-brand barbecue sauce on my roast pigs? Who the fuck does he think he is?" My mom shrugs. "I've been up since five this morning roasting those pigs and you're just going to let George Clooney fuck them up with his bullshit barbecue sauce?!?" I turn to my dad, looking for support, but he just shrugs too. "I woke up at five this morning, and ... Jesus fuck! I slaved all day... I know what this pig's last words were, and you're just going to..."

My dad gets a surprised look on his face, "What were the pig's last words?"

" 'Knife?' But that's not the point. Just because George Clooney parks his RV in our driveway, and bangs supermodels, doesn't give him any right to put that bullshit barbecue sauce on my roasted pig! First you let that one guy, you know the one with the mustache..."

"Burt Reynolds?"

"Yeah, you let fucking Burt Reynolds park his RV here, then George Clooney, and he just stays in there all day banging supermodels, and then you let him fuck up the roast pig I'd been working on all day!?!?? What the fuck?"

George Clooney tried to come over and make his peace, but I wouldn't have any of it and pushed him away. I noticed as he got close though, that he had wine stains on his tuxedo shirt and I thought with little satisfaction, "What a fucking scumbag."

My mom put on her conciliatory tight-lipped smile. "Why don't you eat before it gets cold, honey?"

You know how in a nightmare there gets a point where you're so scared you can't take it anymore you wake up? This time I woke up because I was so mad I couldn't take it anymore. And then I'm awake, and trying to figure out why I'm so pissed off, and then I remember the dream, and couldn't stop laughing. I laughed like a complete fucking loon for at least half an hour at four in the morning. Fuck George Clooney. Fuck him and his RV full of supermodels. But mostly fuck George Clooney and his weak-ass store-brand barbecue sauce. I'm never inviting that fucker to one of my pig roasts.

The End.