Monday, May 30, 2005
Monday, May 23, 2005
Holy City and Hall of Mirrors
The Holy Land is the birthplace of three of the great world religions. Judaism, Christianity and Islam. Yet often we see it in the news as a war zone. Recently First Lady Laura Bush went to Jerusalem to speak on womens rights and to get great photo ops....I mean visit historic sights. Now I personly dont like deserts. Just read my blog about Illegal immigrants and Incorpreal. But for the people who read this psychotic blog I went. First class too! If you count being on a Greek oil tanker that smelled faintly of the last time I was in Little Rock Arkansas. You know the smell.
When I arrived at Jerusalem after weeks on the Greek tanker I was a bit hungry. They didnt exactly feed me. So I popped into a little cafe in the heart of Jerusalem. It was perfectly safe. Contrary to belief that every second car has a bomb in it Jerusalem is actually incredibly safe. So I took off some body armour and laid down my M-16 assualt rifle. But I kept my PPK! I wasnt afraid of terrorist bombings. I just had heard that Maroon 5 was in town.
After I had eaten some delicious ham on rye I decided to wander around the New City. Thats when I saw not just one famous person. Oh no. Thatd be easy. Besides it was more intresting. I saw Brendan Fraiser and Usama bin Landen. I know. It was wierd. What was a terrorist leader and a Canadian out-of-work actor doing in Jerusalem? For the good of all human life I had to find out.
Since his last movie Brendan followed the Shania Twain way of moving to another country and striving there. As for Usama, he makes LOVELY cappacinos. Usama had stumbled his way there back in April and had been living underground for quite some time. Literally. He was underground. He lived in a sewer. Anyhoo, I spoke with Brendan and Usama for quite some time. They were opening a acting studio toegether. It was to be called "Anarchist Actors Agency". Catchy no?
Well, as day turned to night I left my two famous friends and headed out in search of the Maltese Falcon. Unfortunatly I never found it so now Im back here. Completely forgetting what my trip had to do with the First Lady. So whats the point? There is none. Yes Im as shocked as you are. Maybe we all need to learn a little tolerance. There we go. I like that. Now to find me a tank so I can get home safely.
Adieu.
My knees are backwards.
When I arrived at Jerusalem after weeks on the Greek tanker I was a bit hungry. They didnt exactly feed me. So I popped into a little cafe in the heart of Jerusalem. It was perfectly safe. Contrary to belief that every second car has a bomb in it Jerusalem is actually incredibly safe. So I took off some body armour and laid down my M-16 assualt rifle. But I kept my PPK! I wasnt afraid of terrorist bombings. I just had heard that Maroon 5 was in town.
After I had eaten some delicious ham on rye I decided to wander around the New City. Thats when I saw not just one famous person. Oh no. Thatd be easy. Besides it was more intresting. I saw Brendan Fraiser and Usama bin Landen. I know. It was wierd. What was a terrorist leader and a Canadian out-of-work actor doing in Jerusalem? For the good of all human life I had to find out.
Since his last movie Brendan followed the Shania Twain way of moving to another country and striving there. As for Usama, he makes LOVELY cappacinos. Usama had stumbled his way there back in April and had been living underground for quite some time. Literally. He was underground. He lived in a sewer. Anyhoo, I spoke with Brendan and Usama for quite some time. They were opening a acting studio toegether. It was to be called "Anarchist Actors Agency". Catchy no?
Well, as day turned to night I left my two famous friends and headed out in search of the Maltese Falcon. Unfortunatly I never found it so now Im back here. Completely forgetting what my trip had to do with the First Lady. So whats the point? There is none. Yes Im as shocked as you are. Maybe we all need to learn a little tolerance. There we go. I like that. Now to find me a tank so I can get home safely.
Adieu.
My knees are backwards.
Sunday, May 22, 2005
Where's the Love? It's Just a Bit of Blood!
So, I learned this Saturday morning that my car has a flat tire. Naturally I went to Canadian Tire to have it fixed. It was going to take about 2 hours, so I decided to get a caffeine fix and then walk around the neighborhood. Now you must all know that I am prone to random nose bleeds, and just my luck as I was walking along my nose began to bleed. So I stopped at the first shop I found. It was a dinjy little Figian shop with a sole owner/manager working there. Unfortunately his bathroom was not working, so he kindly gave me some paper towels and I went searching for a functioning bathroom. I thought I was saved when I found a Medical Clinic, but I was wrong. When I entered the receptionist stared wide eyed at me. When I told her my predicament she went to ask the doctor. After a few humiliating minutes infront of a lobby full of people I was curtly told that I could not use the bathroom to wash the blood off my face. I was too shocked to be indignant, but I shall return there and give them a piece of my mind. I eventually found an ABC that let me use the bathroom, so i was fine. But now, what kind of wretched society do we have when a Medical Clinic will not even allow a distressed person to use the bathroom. People need to treat others with basic respect, or anarchy shall ensue. There is no love in peoples' actions anymore. Gone are the days of the good samaritan apparently. I shall fight against this, I don't care if I disagree with your lifestyle, whether man, woman, young, old, gay, straight, socialist, democratic, Muslim, Sihk, Christian, Mormon, Buddhist, Atheist I will love you all. I may disagree, but love does not worry about that, it is concerned with careing for other first. Love is letting a person clean the blood from their face. It is an action, yet that action can be so much more. We are missing love and we desperately need it back. Seek love people, seek it!
Friday, May 20, 2005
I've had Enough of this Feminist Shit!
Webster's Dictionary's second meaning for the word Bitch is, "a malicious, spiteful, and domineering woman". I find that this term is not used often enough to describe women in politics and in the field of journalism. I admit that there are very many talented and good willed women in both fields, but I am so insensed by the vast majority of hard core bitches that I simple canot stay silent any longer. In particular I shall focus on one Daphne Bramham, a bitch who writes for the Vancouver Sun and often writes about "evil white guys". I find her most offensive and bigoted, so I shall not remain silent about my feelings for her.
In an article entitled "Stronach Definition brings out Sexist Knuckledraggers" she tears into the Conservative MP's who commented on Belinda Stronach's recent defection as "prostitution" and "whoreing". Although these comments may not have been leveled at a male MP I think that her sexuality does have a great deal to do wit h the situation. The fact that she was sleeping with Conservative MP Peter McKay is enough to bring it in. She obviously uses her sexuality to further her political cureer, and jumped ship when it looked like Paul Martin could give her a better cureer. I am not accusing her of any sexual activity with Paul Martin, but her treatment of McKay is reprehensible. the issue here is not about Stronach though, I can see the other side of the story where it is very offensive to call any woman a whore. I can see both sides in that situation. My problem is the "logical" conclusion to which Daphne Bramham takes the whole situation. After a rather large rant about how bigoted and masogenistic the conservative MP's were for their comments she ends with this (and this is the biggest irony of all feminism): "What would the WHITE GUYS do then? They'd target Indo-Canadians, Chinese-Canadians, First Nations people and anybody elsewho's not just like them." That comment is both malicious and spiteful, which means that my definition as her as a bitch is correct. Why is it accepted to be bigoted towards WHITE GUYS? Why are WHITE GUYS demonized in the media? These tirades against WHITE GUYS have to stop, I found three full length articles about the evils of white men in one edition of the Vancouver Sun. That just isn't good journalism and the comments of a number of female MP's decrying WHITE GUYS is just not good politics. Stop, stop, stop, stop , stop! To quote my friend Christine, "I am sick of all this feminist SHIT!" Women are not oppressed, or looked down on by the majority of men in Canada, so do not group all white men together in one group of bigots or you will be guilty of bigotry yourself. So, Daphne Brahman, that is why I used a dictionary definition to describe you, because the way yuo acted in your article is bitchy. You are obviously an intelligent and talented woman, just stop with this oppressed woman facade, because it just doesn't exist anymore. And that's the way it is...
the philosopher one
In an article entitled "Stronach Definition brings out Sexist Knuckledraggers" she tears into the Conservative MP's who commented on Belinda Stronach's recent defection as "prostitution" and "whoreing". Although these comments may not have been leveled at a male MP I think that her sexuality does have a great deal to do wit h the situation. The fact that she was sleeping with Conservative MP Peter McKay is enough to bring it in. She obviously uses her sexuality to further her political cureer, and jumped ship when it looked like Paul Martin could give her a better cureer. I am not accusing her of any sexual activity with Paul Martin, but her treatment of McKay is reprehensible. the issue here is not about Stronach though, I can see the other side of the story where it is very offensive to call any woman a whore. I can see both sides in that situation. My problem is the "logical" conclusion to which Daphne Bramham takes the whole situation. After a rather large rant about how bigoted and masogenistic the conservative MP's were for their comments she ends with this (and this is the biggest irony of all feminism): "What would the WHITE GUYS do then? They'd target Indo-Canadians, Chinese-Canadians, First Nations people and anybody elsewho's not just like them." That comment is both malicious and spiteful, which means that my definition as her as a bitch is correct. Why is it accepted to be bigoted towards WHITE GUYS? Why are WHITE GUYS demonized in the media? These tirades against WHITE GUYS have to stop, I found three full length articles about the evils of white men in one edition of the Vancouver Sun. That just isn't good journalism and the comments of a number of female MP's decrying WHITE GUYS is just not good politics. Stop, stop, stop, stop , stop! To quote my friend Christine, "I am sick of all this feminist SHIT!" Women are not oppressed, or looked down on by the majority of men in Canada, so do not group all white men together in one group of bigots or you will be guilty of bigotry yourself. So, Daphne Brahman, that is why I used a dictionary definition to describe you, because the way yuo acted in your article is bitchy. You are obviously an intelligent and talented woman, just stop with this oppressed woman facade, because it just doesn't exist anymore. And that's the way it is...
the philosopher one
Monday, May 16, 2005
Culture shock
It must be hard for those raised outside of North America to see through the veil of cultural difference, and understand he state of our fair continent.
In fact, I find it hard.
It just seems that we've so badly lost sight of what's important.
We live in a consumer driven society; without constant product turn over, industry shuts down. This means that our products MUST be disposed of after a short period of time, room MUST be made in the marketplace for new products. Therefore, what incentive is there for making a quality product. It's a recipe for bankrupcy.
Our entire lives are consumed with creating poor quality products, making a wage, and buying said poor quality products.
We are more and more being culturally conditioned through the media towards low self-esteem, and greater depths (or should I say shallows) of blind, rabid consumerism. Tying our self worth to what car we drive, what neighborhood we live in, how new our appliances are, and how our bodies stack up against the stars'.
Our fixation on shallow exterior things is mirrored by our fascination with hollywood's stars- we know them only as two dimensional images, spouting lines on a screen, but we adore them regardless.
One is more likely to read tabloid gossip about who Brad Pitt or Tom Cruise is dating (Angelina Jolie, and Katie Holmes, respectively...this gossip is everywhere, even I know it off-hand.)than the important news stories from off continent, or even outside of America. For an even more telling example, one must look only as far as Paris Hilton. Here is an empty-headed bimbo, who has lived a life of luxury, and comfort, who gains stardom simply because her face shows up on tv. Even the fickle and shallow world of fame has no exclusivity anymore, one needn't even have basic talent to enter it, simply show up on tv and voila, you're a star.
While we're on the supject of stars with no talent, lets have a look at the music scene. We live in a time of computers and synthesizers, and software that can make anyone sound good, that is a fact; but the way that producers have exploited this computer gear, in order that they might cheapen their own profession I might add, is appalling. Using synthesizers to make good singers sound even better than in past generations, unavoidable, but using them to launch multi-platinum careers of no talent bimbo's, criminal. (I'm looking at you Ashlee...)
All of this can be justified I'm sure simply by stating, as I did at the beginning of this article, that we are living in a society reliant on quantity, not quality, and that these new developments are simply that culture being taken to it's logical conclusion. And I suppose that is true, this IS a caricature of our past culture.
It's no wonder North America suffers from poor self-esteem, our women suffer through crippling depression on account of their physical selves, and a rediculous standard set up by the media (a standard which surpasses even the models posing for it, thanks to lighting tricks, and even computer editing) we work ourselves into heart attacks trying to provide the newest cars, homes and electronics, all of which will break down and need to be replaced in a matter of years.
The growth of intellectual relativism has even crushed our sense of togetherness and worth- nothing is permanent here.
We often wonder, what will the Archaeologistsof the far future think of us when they find out civilization?
I counter that there will be nothing for them to find. How long do you suppose our dvd's, wood frame houses, and tickle-me-elmo's will last under the weight and stress of time? And as for our great skyscrapers, we ourselves will take care of those, one must only look to Las Vegas to see the active destruction of our own steel and concrete monuments to satisfy the tides of change, and the whims of our new-born relative society.
Nothing physical is permanant, but failing that, we lack even stability, even the illusion of permanance. We look towards Europe, and see the great monuments of ages past; the great stone block pyramids of Egypt, the awe inspiring Colusseum of Ancient Rome, even the gothic spires of France's great Cathedrals.
Not permanent, but stable.
Many thousands of years of history were reconded with that stone, and we treasure them still. I suppose that had those great monuments been built in North America, we'd have torn the great Colusseum down every thirty years, and built an even larger Superdome, or Astrodome. We lose our Tangeable link to our past, and therefore we have none. We live a life of immediacy, a life in the present, all the while seeking for something to fill the void left by history and culture.
For that is what humanity seeks, permanence, a link to our past; and we try to find it- through heraldry, and exploring the highlights of our ancient roots. All because we were born and raised, in a culture that offered us nothing.
A family home, a place where generation after generation have a tangeable link, and yes, it's not the building that forces that link, it's the people and the memories, but humans think in a linear manner, we require a tangeable place that recalls those memories, a place that offers the illusion of permanence, and allows us to know truly who we are.
Permanence, stability, and purpose are what we all crave, and the tangeable reprisentations of those things; quality, craftsmanship, durability, are what we have abandoned piece-meal in our society, with tragic results. We have created a lost civilization; each person lost with-in themselves, and lost within the whole, and all this so we can replace our "out-dated" PS1, with a PS2, or our "out-dated" PS2 with a PSP......
In fact, I find it hard.
It just seems that we've so badly lost sight of what's important.
We live in a consumer driven society; without constant product turn over, industry shuts down. This means that our products MUST be disposed of after a short period of time, room MUST be made in the marketplace for new products. Therefore, what incentive is there for making a quality product. It's a recipe for bankrupcy.
Our entire lives are consumed with creating poor quality products, making a wage, and buying said poor quality products.
We are more and more being culturally conditioned through the media towards low self-esteem, and greater depths (or should I say shallows) of blind, rabid consumerism. Tying our self worth to what car we drive, what neighborhood we live in, how new our appliances are, and how our bodies stack up against the stars'.
Our fixation on shallow exterior things is mirrored by our fascination with hollywood's stars- we know them only as two dimensional images, spouting lines on a screen, but we adore them regardless.
One is more likely to read tabloid gossip about who Brad Pitt or Tom Cruise is dating (Angelina Jolie, and Katie Holmes, respectively...this gossip is everywhere, even I know it off-hand.)than the important news stories from off continent, or even outside of America. For an even more telling example, one must look only as far as Paris Hilton. Here is an empty-headed bimbo, who has lived a life of luxury, and comfort, who gains stardom simply because her face shows up on tv. Even the fickle and shallow world of fame has no exclusivity anymore, one needn't even have basic talent to enter it, simply show up on tv and voila, you're a star.
While we're on the supject of stars with no talent, lets have a look at the music scene. We live in a time of computers and synthesizers, and software that can make anyone sound good, that is a fact; but the way that producers have exploited this computer gear, in order that they might cheapen their own profession I might add, is appalling. Using synthesizers to make good singers sound even better than in past generations, unavoidable, but using them to launch multi-platinum careers of no talent bimbo's, criminal. (I'm looking at you Ashlee...)
All of this can be justified I'm sure simply by stating, as I did at the beginning of this article, that we are living in a society reliant on quantity, not quality, and that these new developments are simply that culture being taken to it's logical conclusion. And I suppose that is true, this IS a caricature of our past culture.
It's no wonder North America suffers from poor self-esteem, our women suffer through crippling depression on account of their physical selves, and a rediculous standard set up by the media (a standard which surpasses even the models posing for it, thanks to lighting tricks, and even computer editing) we work ourselves into heart attacks trying to provide the newest cars, homes and electronics, all of which will break down and need to be replaced in a matter of years.
The growth of intellectual relativism has even crushed our sense of togetherness and worth- nothing is permanent here.
We often wonder, what will the Archaeologistsof the far future think of us when they find out civilization?
I counter that there will be nothing for them to find. How long do you suppose our dvd's, wood frame houses, and tickle-me-elmo's will last under the weight and stress of time? And as for our great skyscrapers, we ourselves will take care of those, one must only look to Las Vegas to see the active destruction of our own steel and concrete monuments to satisfy the tides of change, and the whims of our new-born relative society.
Nothing physical is permanant, but failing that, we lack even stability, even the illusion of permanance. We look towards Europe, and see the great monuments of ages past; the great stone block pyramids of Egypt, the awe inspiring Colusseum of Ancient Rome, even the gothic spires of France's great Cathedrals.
Not permanent, but stable.
Many thousands of years of history were reconded with that stone, and we treasure them still. I suppose that had those great monuments been built in North America, we'd have torn the great Colusseum down every thirty years, and built an even larger Superdome, or Astrodome. We lose our Tangeable link to our past, and therefore we have none. We live a life of immediacy, a life in the present, all the while seeking for something to fill the void left by history and culture.
For that is what humanity seeks, permanence, a link to our past; and we try to find it- through heraldry, and exploring the highlights of our ancient roots. All because we were born and raised, in a culture that offered us nothing.
A family home, a place where generation after generation have a tangeable link, and yes, it's not the building that forces that link, it's the people and the memories, but humans think in a linear manner, we require a tangeable place that recalls those memories, a place that offers the illusion of permanence, and allows us to know truly who we are.
Permanence, stability, and purpose are what we all crave, and the tangeable reprisentations of those things; quality, craftsmanship, durability, are what we have abandoned piece-meal in our society, with tragic results. We have created a lost civilization; each person lost with-in themselves, and lost within the whole, and all this so we can replace our "out-dated" PS1, with a PS2, or our "out-dated" PS2 with a PSP......
Survivor and Salvation
Some if not all of you have been wandering where the lovely cast of this blog have gone. Well, I cant speak for the group (actually I can but they'll just beat me) but I was taken hostage in North Korea. Amazing? Yes. Insane? Perhaps. Do you still have that rash?....tell you later. Now then onto my tale on how I escaped from Pyongyang, North Korea.
I was happily eating a yogurt stick near the border of Korea. What was I doing there? you monkey wrench throwing audience ask. Simple. There were free T-shirts of Kim Jong Il. I cant pass up a deal like that. So I wandered around the border being yelled at by both sides. Suddenly my yogurt stick flew out of my hand and landed in no mans land. Maybe it was fate, maybe it was an act of something more powerful, maybe I just threw it for fun, in any case it landed in between the two borders.
Thats when the North Korean guards come in. As I tried to retrieve my yogurt stick (which by the way are absolutly FABULOUS!) I was roughly taken across the North Korean border. Why didnt the South Koreans help me? Well maybe it had something to do with my being nude. But hey its a liberal world aint it?
I was quickly clothed in drab communist cloth clothing and hurled into a jeep. A sack that smelled slightly of a locker room was pulled over my head so I could see a thing. Not like I cared. For the reason I didnt care was because on loud speakers throughout North Korea was the average propaganda that seems so effective in sapping the will of the oppressed people. Now propaganda itself can somewhat dull you and make you a pawn of the governement but what really works is music. A certain type of music. I think you know what Im talking about.
Maroon 5. The skinny emo losers that play horrid ear bleeding music were played intersperced with the propaganda. It'd drive any sane person mad. Luckly Im not sane so it didnt effect me much. On and on we drove through Pyongyang with people throwing things at me. Why? Somehow I had gotten naked again. Quite a talent I must admit since I was in handcuffs. Anyhoo we drove until we stopped. What?
I was forced out of the jeep and hustled into a small cell. There the hood, thankfully, was taken off and I saw what was to be my cell, unthankfully. It was a wee little cell. Like being in a cubicle with more natural light. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light I saw a figure standing near the slit of a window. At first I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me (sneaky little devils) but no it was...
Tom Westman. Thats right. The recent winner of Survivor. Needless to say in my Forrest Gump-esque life I had never met a Survivor winner. He stared at me with his intense eyes then went back to staring out the window. Not wanting to disturb him I sat quietly in the corner. Thats when I noticed the cell door was open. Guess the NK guards arent very bright. Quickly I yelled for Tom and we both ran out of the prison complex.
I'll quickly some up what happend. Stolen AK-47s, Dead guards, stolen MiG fighter, diplomatic problems, WWIII almost happened AND I found a dime. So what the point my Alfs? I beilive that Tom Westman of truck 108 of New York was trying to stop the nuclear program of North Korea. Why? he won survivor folks. He can do anyhting. I think I saw him fly once.
So go out on this monday and try not to think of your own suffering rather the suffering of others. And if you find yourself naked on the border. Grab yourself a yogurt stick. They're grrrrrrrrrrrrrreat! Stupid Tony.
Adieu.
My legs wish to foxtrot.
I was happily eating a yogurt stick near the border of Korea. What was I doing there? you monkey wrench throwing audience ask. Simple. There were free T-shirts of Kim Jong Il. I cant pass up a deal like that. So I wandered around the border being yelled at by both sides. Suddenly my yogurt stick flew out of my hand and landed in no mans land. Maybe it was fate, maybe it was an act of something more powerful, maybe I just threw it for fun, in any case it landed in between the two borders.
Thats when the North Korean guards come in. As I tried to retrieve my yogurt stick (which by the way are absolutly FABULOUS!) I was roughly taken across the North Korean border. Why didnt the South Koreans help me? Well maybe it had something to do with my being nude. But hey its a liberal world aint it?
I was quickly clothed in drab communist cloth clothing and hurled into a jeep. A sack that smelled slightly of a locker room was pulled over my head so I could see a thing. Not like I cared. For the reason I didnt care was because on loud speakers throughout North Korea was the average propaganda that seems so effective in sapping the will of the oppressed people. Now propaganda itself can somewhat dull you and make you a pawn of the governement but what really works is music. A certain type of music. I think you know what Im talking about.
Maroon 5. The skinny emo losers that play horrid ear bleeding music were played intersperced with the propaganda. It'd drive any sane person mad. Luckly Im not sane so it didnt effect me much. On and on we drove through Pyongyang with people throwing things at me. Why? Somehow I had gotten naked again. Quite a talent I must admit since I was in handcuffs. Anyhoo we drove until we stopped. What?
I was forced out of the jeep and hustled into a small cell. There the hood, thankfully, was taken off and I saw what was to be my cell, unthankfully. It was a wee little cell. Like being in a cubicle with more natural light. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light I saw a figure standing near the slit of a window. At first I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me (sneaky little devils) but no it was...
Tom Westman. Thats right. The recent winner of Survivor. Needless to say in my Forrest Gump-esque life I had never met a Survivor winner. He stared at me with his intense eyes then went back to staring out the window. Not wanting to disturb him I sat quietly in the corner. Thats when I noticed the cell door was open. Guess the NK guards arent very bright. Quickly I yelled for Tom and we both ran out of the prison complex.
I'll quickly some up what happend. Stolen AK-47s, Dead guards, stolen MiG fighter, diplomatic problems, WWIII almost happened AND I found a dime. So what the point my Alfs? I beilive that Tom Westman of truck 108 of New York was trying to stop the nuclear program of North Korea. Why? he won survivor folks. He can do anyhting. I think I saw him fly once.
So go out on this monday and try not to think of your own suffering rather the suffering of others. And if you find yourself naked on the border. Grab yourself a yogurt stick. They're grrrrrrrrrrrrrreat! Stupid Tony.
Adieu.
My legs wish to foxtrot.
Friday, May 06, 2005
Arms and Anesthesia
I know a guy, who knows a chick, that knows an uncle, whos cousin friends brother is an illgeal arms dealer to Third World countries. Some say these people are criminals. And they are. But thats beside the point. How did I get involved? you sausage eating audience ask. I shall spin you a yarn. Or maybe knit a sweater. Its cold outside.
I was riding a llama through the jungles of Peru a few years back. I was on a quest to find a lost Incan city. Unknown to me at the time it had been found and know about for roughly 56 years. Anyhoo, my sherpa guide who I named Scarface (his real name was Pedro or something I didnt pay much heed) was leading me to a certain spot where I thought the city was. If only I could read maps properly. Turns out that where I though the city was, was actually the Amazon river. Live and learn I guess.
But as we were carry my llama across (llamas are deathly afraid of water) a group of hairy men lept out and shot Scarface. Oh how I wept. Because the llama was heavy and it fell on me. It was heavy. Anyway, a group of mean lookin men came over, dragged the llama off me and pointed their Kolishnikov AK-47 assualt rifles in my direction. Now I had gotten out of worst scraps before. Just ask me how I escaped from Nazi Germany AND Stalinistic Russia in one day. Man that was a bad day.
So the group of pseudo-military milita men blindfolded me and lead me to what I assumed was to be their base camp. After almost killing myself and three guards at numerous occaisions they decided to relieve me of the blindfold. After what seemed 25 minutes we reached their shabby little camp. Guns, Stinger misslies and other weaponry lay about the site. Also a LOVELY little basket of fruit.
The guards whom I named Larry, Curly, Moe and Darrin shoved me into the largest, and smelliest tent. I blinked a few times because of the lack of light. Then as they began to focus I saw a figure sleeping on the bed. It was the numa numa guy! Amazing. Lying there doing his danc to Maroon 5. One annoying band deserves another. Before he could wake up I slipped out and ran. I wont bore you with the details. Lets just say I owe the Peruvian government a new helicopter.
The point. Yes, we've reached it. The Numa Numa man (AKA Gary Brolsma) is selling illegal arms. Why? To fund an entire website to prolong his 13 and a half seconds of fame. I know. I was surprised too. I did steal some intresting papers outta that tent while I was there. And thats what they said. Either that or I fell asleep watching CNN again. So go out and enjoy this May day. MAY DAY!
Adieu.
My glass eye has fallen out.
I was riding a llama through the jungles of Peru a few years back. I was on a quest to find a lost Incan city. Unknown to me at the time it had been found and know about for roughly 56 years. Anyhoo, my sherpa guide who I named Scarface (his real name was Pedro or something I didnt pay much heed) was leading me to a certain spot where I thought the city was. If only I could read maps properly. Turns out that where I though the city was, was actually the Amazon river. Live and learn I guess.
But as we were carry my llama across (llamas are deathly afraid of water) a group of hairy men lept out and shot Scarface. Oh how I wept. Because the llama was heavy and it fell on me. It was heavy. Anyway, a group of mean lookin men came over, dragged the llama off me and pointed their Kolishnikov AK-47 assualt rifles in my direction. Now I had gotten out of worst scraps before. Just ask me how I escaped from Nazi Germany AND Stalinistic Russia in one day. Man that was a bad day.
So the group of pseudo-military milita men blindfolded me and lead me to what I assumed was to be their base camp. After almost killing myself and three guards at numerous occaisions they decided to relieve me of the blindfold. After what seemed 25 minutes we reached their shabby little camp. Guns, Stinger misslies and other weaponry lay about the site. Also a LOVELY little basket of fruit.
The guards whom I named Larry, Curly, Moe and Darrin shoved me into the largest, and smelliest tent. I blinked a few times because of the lack of light. Then as they began to focus I saw a figure sleeping on the bed. It was the numa numa guy! Amazing. Lying there doing his danc to Maroon 5. One annoying band deserves another. Before he could wake up I slipped out and ran. I wont bore you with the details. Lets just say I owe the Peruvian government a new helicopter.
The point. Yes, we've reached it. The Numa Numa man (AKA Gary Brolsma) is selling illegal arms. Why? To fund an entire website to prolong his 13 and a half seconds of fame. I know. I was surprised too. I did steal some intresting papers outta that tent while I was there. And thats what they said. Either that or I fell asleep watching CNN again. So go out and enjoy this May day. MAY DAY!
Adieu.
My glass eye has fallen out.
Monday, May 02, 2005
Peanuts and a Punk Rock Song
Peanuts are destroying society as we know it. I know what youre thinking my little Sith warriors, peanuts cant do anything, whys he talking about peanuts? Well my friends I shall tell you. It began a long time ag....nevermind it happened a month ago last tuesday.
I was lying on the floor trying to yell at the Mole People to stop thier attacks on North Korea when all of a sudden, I died. Thats right. I, The Pretty One, died on that day. How? I dont know. Perhaps I shouldve not pounded the ground near that antique Zulu spear I have hanging precariously above me. But hindsight is 20/20. Now then, what was i going on about? Oh yeah I dead.
I felt myself floating above my skewerd body and drifting up towards heaven. Then i stopped, hovered for a moment and plumetted like a Vanilla Ice record. Through the ground I fell, continuing down past the mole people until I reached Heck. Not hell, heck. It's like hell but less hot and evil. More like spending a day in New Jersey. Anywho, as I sat there trying to get my bearings who should walk up to me but, Chris Farley.
I know. I was amazed too. What was a comedian who died of an O.D doing in heck? Immediatly Mr. Farley went into one of his classic freak out bits. Physical humour plus his incredbly nimbleness that had captured audiences for over ten years on SNL. But quickly I grew bored and edged my way towards a lage door marked private. Of course I went in. Its the little rebel in me.
Inside at a large and forboding desk sat the most hideous and derranged creature I had ever laid my beautiful eyes on. It was Yasser Arafat. Strange as it was he looked almost human. He asked me what I was doing in Heck. I said I came to discover what I was doing there myself. So we chatted for a while over Mountain Dew and Krispy Cremes. Finally, after a lot of laughs, tears and opening on our love of all things punk, he decided to share with me the secret of why our society is so very wrong.
He looked aaround to make sure no one was looking then placed a CD in the player which sat beside him. It blared out Bad Religions 'Punk Rock Song'. THe reason for societies decline, he said, was peanuts. Now he didnt have time to eleaborate before a large demon wearing a Maroon 5 t-shirt(I guess demonic minions like that music)came in and dragged me away. Not saying a word he hurled me back up through a large hole. I went soaring through the earth until I reached my body.
So thats my story as you see. Learned my lesson and so did she. Well, actually no. niether I nor her learned our lessons. The point you ask? I dont know. Yasser (or Y-Dog as he's known to friends) didnt get to explain to me why peanuts are ruining our society. So....work it out on your own. Go out and dance around a maypole this day. I must go back at yelling at the Mole people so I can stop WW3 or the next Maroon 5 tour.
Adieu.
My tongue has gone astray.
I was lying on the floor trying to yell at the Mole People to stop thier attacks on North Korea when all of a sudden, I died. Thats right. I, The Pretty One, died on that day. How? I dont know. Perhaps I shouldve not pounded the ground near that antique Zulu spear I have hanging precariously above me. But hindsight is 20/20. Now then, what was i going on about? Oh yeah I dead.
I felt myself floating above my skewerd body and drifting up towards heaven. Then i stopped, hovered for a moment and plumetted like a Vanilla Ice record. Through the ground I fell, continuing down past the mole people until I reached Heck. Not hell, heck. It's like hell but less hot and evil. More like spending a day in New Jersey. Anywho, as I sat there trying to get my bearings who should walk up to me but, Chris Farley.
I know. I was amazed too. What was a comedian who died of an O.D doing in heck? Immediatly Mr. Farley went into one of his classic freak out bits. Physical humour plus his incredbly nimbleness that had captured audiences for over ten years on SNL. But quickly I grew bored and edged my way towards a lage door marked private. Of course I went in. Its the little rebel in me.
Inside at a large and forboding desk sat the most hideous and derranged creature I had ever laid my beautiful eyes on. It was Yasser Arafat. Strange as it was he looked almost human. He asked me what I was doing in Heck. I said I came to discover what I was doing there myself. So we chatted for a while over Mountain Dew and Krispy Cremes. Finally, after a lot of laughs, tears and opening on our love of all things punk, he decided to share with me the secret of why our society is so very wrong.
He looked aaround to make sure no one was looking then placed a CD in the player which sat beside him. It blared out Bad Religions 'Punk Rock Song'. THe reason for societies decline, he said, was peanuts. Now he didnt have time to eleaborate before a large demon wearing a Maroon 5 t-shirt(I guess demonic minions like that music)came in and dragged me away. Not saying a word he hurled me back up through a large hole. I went soaring through the earth until I reached my body.
So thats my story as you see. Learned my lesson and so did she. Well, actually no. niether I nor her learned our lessons. The point you ask? I dont know. Yasser (or Y-Dog as he's known to friends) didnt get to explain to me why peanuts are ruining our society. So....work it out on your own. Go out and dance around a maypole this day. I must go back at yelling at the Mole people so I can stop WW3 or the next Maroon 5 tour.
Adieu.
My tongue has gone astray.
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