Wednesday, June 28, 2006

The Way to Survival in These Troubled Times

Someone much cooler than I am emailed and enlightened me to this fine and invigorating video.

Monday, June 26, 2006

Live Gary Coleman Cam Coming Soon!

I had to delete the preceding post's pic of Gary Coleman in Jail. While I thought it was one of the more curious artifacts of popular culture "gone wild", there was something hauntingly sad about it which put a crimp in my being able to eat ice cream and enjoy it. You cannot cry and eat and maintain proper spiritual balance.

Meanwhile, I hope this image of a pony will somehow make up for the damage.

contemplating sinful deeds

Thursday, June 22, 2006

This Month's Complimentary Screen-Saver

[image of gary coleman in jail removed
because of guilt pangs... ]

(GC paid his dues many times over, so be nice to the li'l feller. --BTW,this could be
a bloggy-blog exclusive. I don't think even The Smoking Gun has this image.
Although they do have THIS fantastic one.)

Wednesday, June 21, 2006

Let's Argue

During the Swivel War when Colonel Harlan Lee Harvey Booth sashayed down the runway with his beaming headlights pregnant with tassels, there were unspeakable rumors of brothers smiting brothers down at Ye Ol' Political Woodshed. And who was pulling the strings again? None other than that clown-head-buried-deep-in-the-collective-mammaries -- "Jejune Jacques de Mountebank"!

He's the one to watch this Season on ABC, D, E, & Effin'-G.

Indeed, many a bearded wannabe fell to the charms the musket's yawn that fateful morning. Another wispy prat never to see the glories of a steaming donut stuffed with shaving cream. It was a bitter shite. You could stack the carcasses end-to-end and sideways, but what for? For it would have been better to have gone surfing that day. All this waste, simply because the TV broke down once again. In these days, Indian test pattern brought in pestilence and lawsuits late from the cleaners.

When Dad read this, he took his newspaper and rolled it into a mighty tree trunk, then smoked it gingerly at the dovetails. His quest for the perfect carton of milk had, once again, been thwarted. With deep furrows in his plantation cornrow, he marshaled his five daughters to pick up arms, legs, and vacuum Europe spotless before the health inspector arrived. But when the white-gloved Pekingese armada arrived by sea, taking Dad unawares, they discovered wagon wheels and arrow heads scattered in an untidy manner among the prairies.

Enter stage left: a strutting moose wearing an 11-gallon hat bellowed unto these lost pickles-for-brains saying, "Verily, for we must argue and not know why, until another generation has passed wind and packed my verbal payload into holy cannons".

This is why the electric President and his cabinet full of animators will pour latex over their skeletons everyday at noon for the kids. With sinews of steel and pumping cylinders, they know precisely which toes you need massaged. If there wasn't a sensual kink in their days of waning prowess, wigwams would still stand. You could even park your car there and order a rootbeer. But no.

Tuesday, June 20, 2006

The Freeze Bell: Help or Hindrance?

Once, in the 4th grade, I was idly folding construction paper into various objects. I quickly mastered the traditional pointy hat and the little alligator figure. Still, I wanted something better, something cool to lend me a bit more street cred with the ladies (I was, after all, in need of repairing my public image which had taken a nose-dive ever since I wore maroon corduroys to class the previous week). So, with a little perseverance, I managed to take an old Fudgesicle wrapper and fold it into a functioning time machine! I set the controls to 6/20/2006.

Presenting my time-regression Blog, from a time when there were no Blogs and no time to make 'em:

Recently the suits at my school instituted the "Freeze Bell" to signal the end of recess. Upon hearing the bell, everyone in the playground must immediately hold motionless until the second bell signals us to walk back to class in an "orderly" fashion. So no matter if you're kicking a ball, playing in the sand, or moving upwards on the swing... you MUST freeze in place or the yard monitor with the German accent will drop a boulder on your head --at least that's the word going 'round and no one's had the nerve to test it.

I find the freeze bell to be slightly demoralizing. It's on par with Pavlov's dog. Some kids get confused upon hearing its stimuli and drool all over themselves. The ritual reduces me and my esteemed classmates to the states of adolescent mannequin figures, silent sufferers in need of restroom facilities.

Yesterday, when the bell went off, a pitbull ran up and began tearing at my arm. All I could do was stand there will a stupid grin while he made a meal of me. I think I may need some legal council.

The End



1. How did the preceding story make you feel?

a. ecstatic
b. like you wanted to shout 'hallelujah' when it was over
c. afraid
d. numb
e. all of the above

2. When the bell goes off, you must:

a. check both ways and then run into an on-coming car
b. return the human skull to your friend with the trenchcoat
c. make enough roquefort dressing to feed the planet
d. freeze
e. think of sex

3. The Yard Lady with the German accent is:

a. your first lesbian encounter
b. very nice and nobly suffering an unfortunate stigma
c. a talent scout looking to represent the next great tap dancer
d. into eating paste along with the kids
e. a devout hamster enthusiast and mason

4. A Time Machine can be made from a simple Fudgesicle wrapper and:

a. a little love
b. the sweat of your brow
c. elbow grease
d. wishful thinking
e. 10 pratfalls and an exploding cigar

5. A 4th grade classroom typically smells like:

a. petunia and rosemary
b. mucous and crayon wax
c. rancid debris from a can of spaghetti-o's
d. stale milk
e. shit or "poo"

Monday, June 19, 2006

Good Night & Good Luck

Apparently Kim Jong-il will be launching a ballistic missle into my front lawn within the next 24 hrs. That should help to rid my flower bed of those pesky snails once and for all. If you don't hear from me again, I just want everyone to know that I am sorry but I won't be making it to the next "Anthrocon".

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

Things that annoy pt. XLVII

gag-reflex guarantee

Apple is running a very stupid ad campaign on their site exploiting the time-honored divide between computer platforms. A dunderhead duo introduce themselves: "I'm a PC" and "I'm a Mac" -- the respective ersatz twins of Gates and Jobs. While I have been a Mac user forever, the spot is so cloying about how hip (and unshaven, like me) you are to own a Mac that I felt compelled to drown my machine in the toilet.

There's a better life in the next world for my underdog Mac.

Now that I've gone there, I might as well finish. I've encountered people who take the PC vs. Mac thing quite seriously, like willing foot soldiers on a consumerist Jihad. It's yet another American "culture war" -this one premised on silicone. It's not difficult to see that both sides of the contest, so deeply invested, are losers.

I, on the other hand, am perfect. I never go there. I never proclaim anything so ridiculous. My hands are clean. I just plug in my Ipod ear-buds and stay neutral, cool, un-shaven. OK, everyone look at me now.


Ahh, Blogging. A safe womb for my cardboard fiefdom.

Thank you for reading. Please leave your generous donations and gifts with the drunken rabbit (see below).

Saturday, June 10, 2006

Friday, June 02, 2006

Nostalgic for Quicksand

A friend recently pointed out that there aren't enough movies featuring quicksand these days. "What ever happened to quicksand?", he pleaded. Indeed, this is an insightful question if ever there was one --one that points to some sort of corrupting cultural shift. Have we all become too cynical for quicksand?

Quoting now from data stolen from another blog: "According to some new studies, instead of slowly sinking to your death, quicksand victims will actually float once they get about waist deep. Quicksand is a mixture of fine sand, clay and saltwater. Once agitated, the mixture transforms from a loose packing of sand on top of water into a dense, liquid soup. Moving around just makes things worse so the advice is: Stay calm and eventually you'll float your way to safety. Stretch out on your back and just wait for your legs to pop free."

As you can see, we live in a very smug world where quicksand has been reduced to something that can be out-smarted by rational thought. But one has to wonder, where has the romance gone? What about the eroticism of seeing the female form being pulled from quicksand? This is the real agenda behind why I'm very pro-quicksand. Let's hear it for quicksand!

Yeah Quicksand!!!

Thursday, June 01, 2006

Raw text without the cheap supplementary visuals

Here's the full alphabet as far as I understand it: a b c d e f g h i j k lm n o p q r s t u v w x y z. It's still just a work-in-progress kinda' thing and I'm not certain that all the letters are in the right order. If anyone knows of any additional letters of the alphabet to add to the series, please send them in. Speaking of: I've eaten alphabet soup and Alphabet cereal. The I's don't have it and the X's are X'cellent. There's something so very Dada-esque about eating vowels and consonants, wouldn't you agree? I've also sent letters through the mail and those I've had to lick, but we won't get into that.

This is all a grand way of procrastinating my writing music to one of the "songs" in the lyric contest, posted May 16th. I obviously have many important things vying for my attention.