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.
Friday, April 29, 2005
Illegal Immigrants and Incoporeal
I was driving my 1976, two tone, two cynlinder, Gremlin down near the border betweeen Arizona and Mexico the other day. Happily whistling "Vacation Holiday" by the Gogos....I mean singing along to "Incoporeal" by (find out and win a prize). Anyway, all of a sudden I saw something incredibly odd. Four or five people darted out from underneath a fence right in my way. Well, if I hadnt stopped a good 25 feet from them we all couldve died.
So I carefully opened the passenger side door and crawled out fo my Gremlin. Then I saw them close up. It was John Bolton and some illegal immigrants. Needless to say I was startled. What was a UN diplomat canidate doing crawling under a fence near Tombstone Arizona? Mr. Bolton quickly ran up to me. Punched me in the head. And stole my Gremlin.
Several hours later I woke up with only a burlap sack covering my body. It was cold in the desert a fact I didnt realize til right then. So I began wandering alone. Coyote howls mixed with the roar of a T-Rex I thought I saw. Turned out later to be a cactus. Hey, Im a city boy. What do you suspect, Grizzly Adams?
Anywho, I walked alone for about 3 hours in the chill of the night. When as I came over a hill, almost dying from dehydration I saw a flash of metal. Running towards it a Gordon Campbell-esque drunk run I quickly found a metal locker buried in the desert. On finding no key I pick up a rock smashed it open. Inside laid what I never expected to find. Social Security checks. Hundreds of millions of them.
So I started a fire with them. Hey, I was cold. Besides I dont think any of them were yours. Unless your names started or ended with an 'A', then Im afraid its going to be a long winter. Anywhatthecrap, after I was toasty warm I promptly fell asleep.
Thats when the horror of horrors reached me. I woke up happy. Then began to get my bearings. I was hit by a realization. I had woken up, in the middle of a Maroon 5 concert. My mind was going to explode from the noise of the air-raid, off tune, annoying and lame sounds of the band. Their entire fan base was there. All 12 of them. I took off faster then Bush when he hears the word oil.
Now I wont bore you people on how I made it out of the desert. Needless to say it involves some RANGERS who have POWER. The point my friends is this. If you can find a kiwi youll survive in the desert. And if you ever find yourself in a Maroon 5 concert, run like your feet are going out of style. Now I must go and find my Gremlin.
Adieu.
My thumbs are marching to Krakow.
So I carefully opened the passenger side door and crawled out fo my Gremlin. Then I saw them close up. It was John Bolton and some illegal immigrants. Needless to say I was startled. What was a UN diplomat canidate doing crawling under a fence near Tombstone Arizona? Mr. Bolton quickly ran up to me. Punched me in the head. And stole my Gremlin.
Several hours later I woke up with only a burlap sack covering my body. It was cold in the desert a fact I didnt realize til right then. So I began wandering alone. Coyote howls mixed with the roar of a T-Rex I thought I saw. Turned out later to be a cactus. Hey, Im a city boy. What do you suspect, Grizzly Adams?
Anywho, I walked alone for about 3 hours in the chill of the night. When as I came over a hill, almost dying from dehydration I saw a flash of metal. Running towards it a Gordon Campbell-esque drunk run I quickly found a metal locker buried in the desert. On finding no key I pick up a rock smashed it open. Inside laid what I never expected to find. Social Security checks. Hundreds of millions of them.
So I started a fire with them. Hey, I was cold. Besides I dont think any of them were yours. Unless your names started or ended with an 'A', then Im afraid its going to be a long winter. Anywhatthecrap, after I was toasty warm I promptly fell asleep.
Thats when the horror of horrors reached me. I woke up happy. Then began to get my bearings. I was hit by a realization. I had woken up, in the middle of a Maroon 5 concert. My mind was going to explode from the noise of the air-raid, off tune, annoying and lame sounds of the band. Their entire fan base was there. All 12 of them. I took off faster then Bush when he hears the word oil.
Now I wont bore you people on how I made it out of the desert. Needless to say it involves some RANGERS who have POWER. The point my friends is this. If you can find a kiwi youll survive in the desert. And if you ever find yourself in a Maroon 5 concert, run like your feet are going out of style. Now I must go and find my Gremlin.
Adieu.
My thumbs are marching to Krakow.
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
Warning labels
Cigarettes have warning labels.
These often graphic depictions of blackened lungs, gummed up aortas, or even amusing little limp cigarretes to show how smoking increases erectile dysfunction; are supposed to stem the tide of new smokers, and help convince habitual smokers to quit. As far as I can tell, these graphic pictures have not had the desired effect; they have not halted smoking, they have not stopped new smokers form starting, and often, smokers collect the boxes, in an attempt to collect the whole set.
Now, I digress. The purpose of my little rant is to ask, why smoking?
Why has smoking alone been targeted for this campaign of graphic deterrant images?
I maintain that as long as one social issue is being targetted (smoking and the concurrent health issues) why not others?
Every bottle of Jack Daniels should have a picture of a wife with a black eye, every pack of beer should have a picture of a puddle of vomit and urine in a sleazy bar's mens-room, and every bottle of sambuca should have a picture of a drunken italian knife fight. (ps. This does not constitute an attack on any of the above mentioned brands of products...we LOVE them all.)
But fair is fair.
Liver damage, domestic abuse, fatal car accidents, and splitting headaches all link to alcohol use; why then has the government attampted to regulate cigarettes and not drinking. Now, I don't support the government heavily regulating it's citizens, or living in a repressive closed society, but I would like a government who is genuinely interested in the well being of it's citizens and regulates the products available to us with a fair hand, not picking and choosing what it likes and doesn't like.
All I wish is that either the government would cease to use this negative imagery on packaging, or that they would consistently apply it to all potentially harmful products- that and find a way to get rid of this pounding headache and hangover...
Adieu.
These often graphic depictions of blackened lungs, gummed up aortas, or even amusing little limp cigarretes to show how smoking increases erectile dysfunction; are supposed to stem the tide of new smokers, and help convince habitual smokers to quit. As far as I can tell, these graphic pictures have not had the desired effect; they have not halted smoking, they have not stopped new smokers form starting, and often, smokers collect the boxes, in an attempt to collect the whole set.
Now, I digress. The purpose of my little rant is to ask, why smoking?
Why has smoking alone been targeted for this campaign of graphic deterrant images?
I maintain that as long as one social issue is being targetted (smoking and the concurrent health issues) why not others?
Every bottle of Jack Daniels should have a picture of a wife with a black eye, every pack of beer should have a picture of a puddle of vomit and urine in a sleazy bar's mens-room, and every bottle of sambuca should have a picture of a drunken italian knife fight. (ps. This does not constitute an attack on any of the above mentioned brands of products...we LOVE them all.)
But fair is fair.
Liver damage, domestic abuse, fatal car accidents, and splitting headaches all link to alcohol use; why then has the government attampted to regulate cigarettes and not drinking. Now, I don't support the government heavily regulating it's citizens, or living in a repressive closed society, but I would like a government who is genuinely interested in the well being of it's citizens and regulates the products available to us with a fair hand, not picking and choosing what it likes and doesn't like.
All I wish is that either the government would cease to use this negative imagery on packaging, or that they would consistently apply it to all potentially harmful products- that and find a way to get rid of this pounding headache and hangover...
Adieu.
Monday, April 25, 2005
Violence and Valley of Dreams
Walking down the street the other day I was attack by a squirrel with a switchblade. Now, I know that everyones got to make a living but cmon, robbing a poor college age student at knife point? Thats just low. Anyway, the squirrel was waving the knife and mumbling. Thats when I realized he was on "shrooms" as the kids call it these days. But after a few moments of waving the knife and yelling about the state of the grass, he ran off leaving his knife.
Luckily, there was a police officer there who noticed the whole incident. Now, I dont personally like cops. They always look at me like I did something...usually because I did but thats beside the point. Anyway, the cop called in where the attack took place and gave me some tissues so I dry my ey.....I mean, he gave me a gun so I could shoot that gol' durn squirrel. Yeah, thats it. So about 6 cop cars came and roared up by the tree where the squirrel was listening to, guess.
Thats right. Maroon 5. Apparently shroom effected squirrels who are violent and angry enjoy listening to a band that sounds like a grade 3 school musical. The squirrel was running back and forth and had somehow gotten hold of a rifle. Mumbling, drooling and foaming at the mouth the squirrel took pot shots at the cops.
Now, Im no legal expert, but through my own expierence I find that shooting at cops is a generally bad idea. Thats where the SWAT team comes in. They roared up in their armoured van and piled out. They took positions around the ol'oak tree and were prepared to off the squirrel. Unfortunatly they didnt notice his druggie squirrel friends bind and gag me and drag me to the tree. It was a hostage situation. All the squirrels wanted was to watch Jon Stewart's Daily Show and a bag of Cheetos. I was weeping like a little girl. I mean, wetness was coming out of every oriface I had. Too much info? Too bad.
One of the squirrels, whom I dubbed "Chucky", was chain smoking with his Tommy Gun in hand. But unfortunatly while in thier drugged state they didnt realize that wood burns and smoking cigarettes in a tree is a bad idea. The whole thing went up like a matchstick. Im not going to bore you with how I got out. Well more fell out of said tree. You can watch the video on the 11 o'clock news.
So whats the point? Here it is my marshmellows. Squirrels should not be given shrooms or weapons. And if you dont like that one heres another. Maroon 5 should not be listened to. Easy as that. My advice to you, my lovely audience is this, instead of violence we should try to find the valley of dreams. "It is said not to exist but I have seen". If anyone kind find out who sings the song they win an evening of love making courtesy of yours truly. So go out on this Monday and beware the squirrels they're armed! BE AFRAID OF EVERYTHING! Maybe I could get squirrels to sabatoge the Maroon 5 tour bus. Hmm.
Adieu
My belly button shouts profanities.
Luckily, there was a police officer there who noticed the whole incident. Now, I dont personally like cops. They always look at me like I did something...usually because I did but thats beside the point. Anyway, the cop called in where the attack took place and gave me some tissues so I dry my ey.....I mean, he gave me a gun so I could shoot that gol' durn squirrel. Yeah, thats it. So about 6 cop cars came and roared up by the tree where the squirrel was listening to, guess.
Thats right. Maroon 5. Apparently shroom effected squirrels who are violent and angry enjoy listening to a band that sounds like a grade 3 school musical. The squirrel was running back and forth and had somehow gotten hold of a rifle. Mumbling, drooling and foaming at the mouth the squirrel took pot shots at the cops.
Now, Im no legal expert, but through my own expierence I find that shooting at cops is a generally bad idea. Thats where the SWAT team comes in. They roared up in their armoured van and piled out. They took positions around the ol'oak tree and were prepared to off the squirrel. Unfortunatly they didnt notice his druggie squirrel friends bind and gag me and drag me to the tree. It was a hostage situation. All the squirrels wanted was to watch Jon Stewart's Daily Show and a bag of Cheetos. I was weeping like a little girl. I mean, wetness was coming out of every oriface I had. Too much info? Too bad.
One of the squirrels, whom I dubbed "Chucky", was chain smoking with his Tommy Gun in hand. But unfortunatly while in thier drugged state they didnt realize that wood burns and smoking cigarettes in a tree is a bad idea. The whole thing went up like a matchstick. Im not going to bore you with how I got out. Well more fell out of said tree. You can watch the video on the 11 o'clock news.
So whats the point? Here it is my marshmellows. Squirrels should not be given shrooms or weapons. And if you dont like that one heres another. Maroon 5 should not be listened to. Easy as that. My advice to you, my lovely audience is this, instead of violence we should try to find the valley of dreams. "It is said not to exist but I have seen". If anyone kind find out who sings the song they win an evening of love making courtesy of yours truly. So go out on this Monday and beware the squirrels they're armed! BE AFRAID OF EVERYTHING! Maybe I could get squirrels to sabatoge the Maroon 5 tour bus. Hmm.
Adieu
My belly button shouts profanities.
Friday, April 22, 2005
Too Many Penguins
Four years ago today I was cleaning up an oil spill in northern Antartica. I cleaned the penguins until their tuxedos gleaned like they were going to the Oscars. It wasn't my choice for you lovely and dear jackalopes know that I, TPO, care little for.....anything. But since I had to do community service for an "incident". Im not allowed to talk about it fully. The court case is still going through. So there I was boiling under the hot sun, wiping oil off penguins. Such is my life.
But then out of no where. Well not quite no where. I mean, he didnt just appear in a puff of smoke. Or did he? Curse my memory. Anyway, the point is Dennis Miller came. Now I dont know why he was there nor did I really care. I was too cold to care much for anything. So Mr. Miller walked over to where a group of us "guests" were watched over by "fun police" and began on one of his customary ravings.
Now, I dont want to get off on a rant here, but why do networks put up with him? He goes on for 20 min about nothing. Yes, we all know similies are fun but cmon people. So he was spouting off about the cold. Colder then when the Russians came to Polish Independence day he said. Thats when I realized something. The rest of my group was entrance by his motor mouth. I was the only one who resisted. I guess my beauty was too much even for him. So slowly, as he went on about Tom deLay, I picked up a penguin. I hurled it at him. The penguin squaked and then hit him square in the chest. My group immidiatly broke out of thier spell and began to pummel Dennis with penguins. But what made my group of "inmates" go on a penguin bashing Dennis Miller rage? I will tell you my chicky birds.
Maroon 5. Thats right. Thats all they played up there in Antartica. Over and over and over. So as we were cleaning oil off the water fowl, we had to put up with horrible music. Now what sane person wouldnt want to beat someone with a penguin after a few months of that?
The moral of the story my subordinates is this. If you see a penguin, hurl it at a well known comic. Dont ask questions. Just do it. Its an impulse. Give into your primal rage. So while youre all doing that I'm going to train an elite force of hippos to tap-dance into the UN to save it from Bolton. Hows that going to work? Oh, you'll see.
So go out and clean penguins on this lovely friday. And if you see Dennis Miller, run for your lives. And if you see Maroon 5, even Maroon 1 , please pick up something and hurl it at them. For the good of all that is holy, do it.
Adieu
My finger nails need to feed.
But then out of no where. Well not quite no where. I mean, he didnt just appear in a puff of smoke. Or did he? Curse my memory. Anyway, the point is Dennis Miller came. Now I dont know why he was there nor did I really care. I was too cold to care much for anything. So Mr. Miller walked over to where a group of us "guests" were watched over by "fun police" and began on one of his customary ravings.
Now, I dont want to get off on a rant here, but why do networks put up with him? He goes on for 20 min about nothing. Yes, we all know similies are fun but cmon people. So he was spouting off about the cold. Colder then when the Russians came to Polish Independence day he said. Thats when I realized something. The rest of my group was entrance by his motor mouth. I was the only one who resisted. I guess my beauty was too much even for him. So slowly, as he went on about Tom deLay, I picked up a penguin. I hurled it at him. The penguin squaked and then hit him square in the chest. My group immidiatly broke out of thier spell and began to pummel Dennis with penguins. But what made my group of "inmates" go on a penguin bashing Dennis Miller rage? I will tell you my chicky birds.
Maroon 5. Thats right. Thats all they played up there in Antartica. Over and over and over. So as we were cleaning oil off the water fowl, we had to put up with horrible music. Now what sane person wouldnt want to beat someone with a penguin after a few months of that?
The moral of the story my subordinates is this. If you see a penguin, hurl it at a well known comic. Dont ask questions. Just do it. Its an impulse. Give into your primal rage. So while youre all doing that I'm going to train an elite force of hippos to tap-dance into the UN to save it from Bolton. Hows that going to work? Oh, you'll see.
So go out and clean penguins on this lovely friday. And if you see Dennis Miller, run for your lives. And if you see Maroon 5, even Maroon 1 , please pick up something and hurl it at them. For the good of all that is holy, do it.
Adieu
My finger nails need to feed.
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
A salute to cheese making
It has recently come to my attention that the magnificent art of cheesemaking has gone criminally un-lauded for some time. I feel it is therefore my responsibility- nay pleasure, to relate to you the great joys of cheesemaking.
Now, not being a cheesemaker myself, perhaps you ask yourself "what right has he to this supposedly "lauded" subject, and what possible insight could he provide?" Perhaps it sounded something like this, in that internal monologue, those inner conversations, that you pretend are a perfectly normal part of life.
Now, not being a cheesemaker myself, perhaps you ask yourself "what right has he to this supposedly "lauded" subject, and what possible insight could he provide?" Perhaps it sounded something like this, in that internal monologue, those inner conversations, that you pretend are a perfectly normal part of life.
Self:
What right has he to this supposedly "lauded" subject, and what possible insight could he provide?
To this I say FOR SHAME! Supposedly lauded subject? How dare you deign to besmirch the good name of cheesemaking with your peremptory thought.
And if you're wondering how I so thoroughly read into your inner thoughts- well, lets just ignore that little inconsistency, I think you'll find that you'll be much happier if you leave the thinking up to your governing powers...yes..much happier indeed...
The art of cheesemaking dates back thousands of years, and effectively uses the waste products gathered from the general collection of milk. The art of taking a relatively bland collection of thick milk, and creating the cornucopea of flavours, textures and colours of cheeses is remarkeable. From the bathing of the curds, to the mixing of whey, the cheesemaking art has given us such a rich variety of delicious, and often pungeant gifts, that I feel a sincere thank you is much overdue. These cheese-men are true artisans, combining the scientific know-how of bacterial spores and cultures, with the artists eye, hands and pallete.
Cheese-men, we salute you! For you pungeant men of cheese, you wisconsin wonders. You bacterial beauties, you along with the yogourt creators of America have given us the greatest gift of all, a unique culture. Albeit a culture which only surfaces when left in the sun too long, but a true American culture none the less!
But cheese-making is not limited only to Wisconsim, oh no. A rich history of cheesemaking can be found throughout europe and the world. From parmesan to gouda, to mozzarella, we delight in europes cheese offering. And when thinking of european cheese, we think of Italy. The land of the colusseum, the renaissance, and parmesan. With their decadent, salty, and delicate aged cheeses, to their stringy delights, Italy is truly cheese at it's finest.
The rich history of Italian cheesemakers is also commendable, dating back to their earliest roots, and kept very much alive today, Italian cheesemaking's most powerful symbol is Pope Benedict XVI. This bastion of Italian cheesemaking rose from humble origins as Joseph Ratzinger, to become the great man he is today. This poster boy of cheese was elected pope, the traditional high position of cheeses, by a group of cardinals, the hight court of cheesemaking. The former Joseph Ratzinger, who changed his identity upon being elected pope Benedict XVI did so in order that he might sink into the shadowy world of high cheeseness, in which he holds direct control over world politics through threat of national cheese cut-off, or the threat of national cheese tainting.
The position of high cheeseness puts Benedict XVI in the position of dictating world policy to the world leaders. He has become the most powerful cheese-man in the world, but also, the most powerful man the world over.
I am aware that Joseph Ratzinger is not actually italian, which effectively destroys the argument that he has ties to Italian cheesemaking, and will also acknowledge that the fallacies, half truths, and whole lies in this article are rampant, however, I also think you will find that you'll be much happier if you leave the thinking to your "democratically elected" government; and also put forth my opinion that I don't believe that you'll mind these inconsistencies.
So, in review;
1)Pope Benedict XVI is an Italian cheesemaker.
2)Pope Benedict XVI is secretly running the world through threat of cheese sanction.
3)The culture of the United States only becomes visible if left out in the sun a little too long.
So drink your wine, eat your cheese, and appreciate the little America that is growing on your kitchen counter.
But don't eat that one.
Monday, April 18, 2005
Radish and Ruby....Soho
I recently won a country wide Pickle Growing compition. I got thirty dollars off a jar of pickles at a supermarket. It was one of the happiest days of my life. Second only to that time I stole $55 dollars from a drunken hobo. Ah, good times. But in truth I believe the entire thing was fixed by the great secret society known as the Illuminati. If you dont know who they are look on the net. Or read the following before I get grumpy.
So how and why would the Illuminati care about a Pickle Growing compition? Easy. They are trying to place mind controlling drugs in radishes. But wait, you skraelings say, pickles arent at all like radishes! What're you on? To the first statement I will say exactly, my little ones. The whole idea is too wipe out all other forms of food by rigging compitions to state that they lose. Why do they want to lose? For people feel sorry for the loser. And they know Im on to them. They know that I, the Pretty One, am capable of destroying thier entire network of conspiracies. Now as for the pickle compition, the Illuminati allowed me to win in hopes of placating me so that later on they could control my mind with thier giant mutant radishes. You dont know about the Giant Mutant Radish conspiracy? Man, what do you know? The Illuminati are creating an army of giant mutant radishes. Why? So they can win the papal election. Thats right. The thousand year old ritual of choosing a pope could be utterly destroyed by the giant mutant radish army coming into the Vatican. Perhaps killing Maroon 5 while thier at it. So while the Swiss guards are dealing with them, elite Illuminati agents will infiltrate into the Sistine chapel to make the cardinals elect their choosing of pope.
Wild and crazy and slightly drugged, you say my little furballs? That leads me to your second little question I am on nothing but love for my audience. Now back to the action. The Illuminati know Im onto them. Ive overheard their conversations outside a motel in the soho section of London. Dont ask me why or how I was there. I just was.
So how can we stop the giant mutant radish army of the Illuminati from placing thier pope into the race? I have one solution my friends. Rubies. Its a widely known fact that radishes, being red, are instantly attracted to anything red. Therefore, by spreading millions of rubys into a giant salad maker we can protect ourselves from the giant mutant radish army. Also we would all have a lovely salad.
Toegether, my crewmates on this ship of madness, we can stop the Illuminati from destroying the world as we know it. But we all need to work toegether. Well, not 'we' so much as 'you'. I must rally my army of lawn gnomes. Why? No reason.....yet. So go out and watch the 24 hour news networks on the papal election for you never know if a maurading horde of radishes will sweep upon the screen.
Adieu.
My toes are reaching for the sky.
So how and why would the Illuminati care about a Pickle Growing compition? Easy. They are trying to place mind controlling drugs in radishes. But wait, you skraelings say, pickles arent at all like radishes! What're you on? To the first statement I will say exactly, my little ones. The whole idea is too wipe out all other forms of food by rigging compitions to state that they lose. Why do they want to lose? For people feel sorry for the loser. And they know Im on to them. They know that I, the Pretty One, am capable of destroying thier entire network of conspiracies. Now as for the pickle compition, the Illuminati allowed me to win in hopes of placating me so that later on they could control my mind with thier giant mutant radishes. You dont know about the Giant Mutant Radish conspiracy? Man, what do you know? The Illuminati are creating an army of giant mutant radishes. Why? So they can win the papal election. Thats right. The thousand year old ritual of choosing a pope could be utterly destroyed by the giant mutant radish army coming into the Vatican. Perhaps killing Maroon 5 while thier at it. So while the Swiss guards are dealing with them, elite Illuminati agents will infiltrate into the Sistine chapel to make the cardinals elect their choosing of pope.
Wild and crazy and slightly drugged, you say my little furballs? That leads me to your second little question I am on nothing but love for my audience. Now back to the action. The Illuminati know Im onto them. Ive overheard their conversations outside a motel in the soho section of London. Dont ask me why or how I was there. I just was.
So how can we stop the giant mutant radish army of the Illuminati from placing thier pope into the race? I have one solution my friends. Rubies. Its a widely known fact that radishes, being red, are instantly attracted to anything red. Therefore, by spreading millions of rubys into a giant salad maker we can protect ourselves from the giant mutant radish army. Also we would all have a lovely salad.
Toegether, my crewmates on this ship of madness, we can stop the Illuminati from destroying the world as we know it. But we all need to work toegether. Well, not 'we' so much as 'you'. I must rally my army of lawn gnomes. Why? No reason.....yet. So go out and watch the 24 hour news networks on the papal election for you never know if a maurading horde of radishes will sweep upon the screen.
Adieu.
My toes are reaching for the sky.
Friday, April 15, 2005
Michael Jackson
There. Ive said it. Right in the title. I dont need to say anymore now. You all have an opinion of that subject. Whether it be sympathy, rage, or humour. I shoot for the humour one. I mean, cmon, he looks like the Joker from the Batman series. How cant you laugh at him? So my subject today my little Smersh gang, is pop culture. Or it may move on toward something else if I get distracted. I really have a short attention sp.....
Britney Spears is having a baby. Whoop dee freakin' doo. It seems that even when celebrities are "taking a break" from thier "hectic and mad capp" lives the still need to make sure that John Q. Public cares for them. She said she retired from the music biz and is now happily married to that dirtbag. Whatever his name is. I dont follow pop culture that much. It annoys me. And whatever happened to the first dude she married? Man, his 15 seconds went away in about 3. Much like I wish Maroon 5s' would.
So why do celebrities feel the need to stay in the spotlight? Why do they think that we care about their lives? Take Lindsey Lohan, Ashton Kutcher or Madonna. They all love to stir up controversy. Lets take a look at the Queen of media manipulation. Madonna.
Since the very beginning of her career in the early 80s, Madonna always seems to come out on top. No matter what she does. She could kill a man and still be the media darling. Her constantly changing get-ups and religions keep us all who pay attention on our toes. She is now apparently into Kabbalah, a wierd, mystical off shoot of Judaism. She's gone through so many of the worlds religions its really hard to keep track. Catholosim, Buddhism, Hindu, and now Judaism. How many more can she do? Will we see a voodoo Madonna? Thats doubtable.
What can we, the public, do about all these celebrities and their craving for the press and the limelight? I say that if it doesnt effect us personally then who cares? Lindsey Lohan can be going out with Sean Connery for all I care. Its not like theyre going to crash at my house. Perhaps if it was only Lindsey then we would talk but.....um,....yes, so who cares?
The only reason for pop culture is too annoy us. If we all ignored it it would die slowly. Let celebrities live thier lives and let us live ours. But people like watching famous people fall. Its in our broken human nature to enjoy it. My advicer to you, my fauns, is to be wary of small people.
Small people always are up to something. Hitler, Napoleon and Stalin were all short and look what happened there. Also my advice to you is to eat cucumbers. Why? Because I said so. So go out, turn off your boob tube and find out about life while munching on a cucumber. And have no fear CC and the philosopher ones will be posting soon so you can stop listening to the crazy man.
Adieu
My ears flap too much.
Britney Spears is having a baby. Whoop dee freakin' doo. It seems that even when celebrities are "taking a break" from thier "hectic and mad capp" lives the still need to make sure that John Q. Public cares for them. She said she retired from the music biz and is now happily married to that dirtbag. Whatever his name is. I dont follow pop culture that much. It annoys me. And whatever happened to the first dude she married? Man, his 15 seconds went away in about 3. Much like I wish Maroon 5s' would.
So why do celebrities feel the need to stay in the spotlight? Why do they think that we care about their lives? Take Lindsey Lohan, Ashton Kutcher or Madonna. They all love to stir up controversy. Lets take a look at the Queen of media manipulation. Madonna.
Since the very beginning of her career in the early 80s, Madonna always seems to come out on top. No matter what she does. She could kill a man and still be the media darling. Her constantly changing get-ups and religions keep us all who pay attention on our toes. She is now apparently into Kabbalah, a wierd, mystical off shoot of Judaism. She's gone through so many of the worlds religions its really hard to keep track. Catholosim, Buddhism, Hindu, and now Judaism. How many more can she do? Will we see a voodoo Madonna? Thats doubtable.
What can we, the public, do about all these celebrities and their craving for the press and the limelight? I say that if it doesnt effect us personally then who cares? Lindsey Lohan can be going out with Sean Connery for all I care. Its not like theyre going to crash at my house. Perhaps if it was only Lindsey then we would talk but.....um,....yes, so who cares?
The only reason for pop culture is too annoy us. If we all ignored it it would die slowly. Let celebrities live thier lives and let us live ours. But people like watching famous people fall. Its in our broken human nature to enjoy it. My advicer to you, my fauns, is to be wary of small people.
Small people always are up to something. Hitler, Napoleon and Stalin were all short and look what happened there. Also my advice to you is to eat cucumbers. Why? Because I said so. So go out, turn off your boob tube and find out about life while munching on a cucumber. And have no fear CC and the philosopher ones will be posting soon so you can stop listening to the crazy man.
Adieu
My ears flap too much.
Thursday, April 14, 2005
Spring and Road Rashes
Smell that my dobermans? Tis spring! Or that cheese that I hid under your desk during break. Either way its a new season. I know Im a bit late but I dont care. Spring has sprung the grass is riz I wonder where them flowers is? Yes the harsh opression of winter is over and all the world rejoices with the bringing of life and happiness.
Makes me sick. My chocolate tree that I planted when I was 5 still hasnt grown at all. Very disappointed. But all around you life is coming back. Birds are chirping in the trees, flowers peeping out of the ground, trees coming back to life, sun shining down, and that guy with a lawnmower is already going at it as if the entire seasons gonna stop within a week.
Spring is when a young mans fancy turns to love. Yuck. First of all, Ive never heard anything called a fancy on a young man. And second love is for suckers. I know your probably thinking in your wonderful head, "Hes just being bitter, punk man. Love is super". Love has taken its toll on me my mates.
Speaking of Maroon 5. I firmly believe that they are the single worst band recording. Right down there with Hoobastank and James Carney and the Beaver Brown Band. Dont ask about the second band I made it up. Or did I? I dont even know anymore. I was flipping through the old televison when I hit the Canadian eqivalant of MTV, MuchMusic. And on that channel I saw and heard the song that made me want to jab out my ears with a fork. The lead singer sounds like an air raid siren.
My point my puppets is this. Spring is a lovely time of year. Not quite as hot as summer and not quite as cold as fall. A happy medium. So take advantage of all the beauty and life around you and go outside. And once outside a whole world will be awaken by one of two things. The sounds of you eating a pinecone. Which by the way are incredibly nouirshing and a good way to get rid of choleara. Another way is by either taking over a small eastern european country or smashing everything that has to do with Maroon 5.
I will wrap this up by summing up everything I just ranted and raved about. Spring is good. Maroon 5 is not. Pinecones and invasions of former Soviet satillietes are good. And trying to act like a monkey while chasing Alec Baldwin down the street....well thats just funny. So go out and enjoy the sun. I, on the other hand am going to water my chocolate tree and pray to Freyr, Norse god of the Harvest.
Adieu
My nose is eating my face.
Makes me sick. My chocolate tree that I planted when I was 5 still hasnt grown at all. Very disappointed. But all around you life is coming back. Birds are chirping in the trees, flowers peeping out of the ground, trees coming back to life, sun shining down, and that guy with a lawnmower is already going at it as if the entire seasons gonna stop within a week.
Spring is when a young mans fancy turns to love. Yuck. First of all, Ive never heard anything called a fancy on a young man. And second love is for suckers. I know your probably thinking in your wonderful head, "Hes just being bitter, punk man. Love is super". Love has taken its toll on me my mates.
Speaking of Maroon 5. I firmly believe that they are the single worst band recording. Right down there with Hoobastank and James Carney and the Beaver Brown Band. Dont ask about the second band I made it up. Or did I? I dont even know anymore. I was flipping through the old televison when I hit the Canadian eqivalant of MTV, MuchMusic. And on that channel I saw and heard the song that made me want to jab out my ears with a fork. The lead singer sounds like an air raid siren.
My point my puppets is this. Spring is a lovely time of year. Not quite as hot as summer and not quite as cold as fall. A happy medium. So take advantage of all the beauty and life around you and go outside. And once outside a whole world will be awaken by one of two things. The sounds of you eating a pinecone. Which by the way are incredibly nouirshing and a good way to get rid of choleara. Another way is by either taking over a small eastern european country or smashing everything that has to do with Maroon 5.
I will wrap this up by summing up everything I just ranted and raved about. Spring is good. Maroon 5 is not. Pinecones and invasions of former Soviet satillietes are good. And trying to act like a monkey while chasing Alec Baldwin down the street....well thats just funny. So go out and enjoy the sun. I, on the other hand am going to water my chocolate tree and pray to Freyr, Norse god of the Harvest.
Adieu
My nose is eating my face.
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
Three Chord Wonders (The essence of Punk and other muzaks)
People often complain that punk rock is nothing more then just a spikey haired jerk screaming into a mike while the lead guitarist plays nothing but three chords and the drummer hits the drums at an exceptional rate of speed and power. This is fact false. While yes, my little leather clad rebels, some punk bands actually do this and it happens to work quite well most go that extra mile and play maybe 4 or 5 chords in a song.
Lets take Green Day for example. They have a bass guitarist, Mike Dernt, a drummer, Tre Cool, and a guitarist/lead singer, Billy Joe Armstrong. Now this combination gives them an intresting sound. The bass in most songs is actually pretty prominent through most of their earlier songs (Longview as an example). The guitar is actually is just rythmic for the most part with some excellent riffs stuck in. Its really quite a unique and good sound. It allows for more lyrical content then just screaming into a mike and being angry at the world/government/people/Maroon 5.
Now we take a look on this magical school bus of a ride to one of my favorite bands, Tiger Army. Thier psychobilly sounds are quite pleasing in a creepy way. They consist of an upright bass, guitar and drums. And toegether create a really good sound. But what really sets Tiger Army and the whole psychobilly scene apart is the lyrics. Most of them can be called "hauntingly beautiful". Songs of death, love lost and loneliness that most punkers would just become angry and yell. A perfect melody and great lyrics really creates an excellent sound.
Finally before I get bored I must move to another great band, Thrice. They are a punk metal band that really captures the essence of punk. They have a lead guitar/vocals, bass, another guitar and drums. They have that hard edge sound that really is quite pleasing. This band is the pseudo-screamers. But the lyrical content is just amazing. This band is one that can truly be call metal punk.
So whats this about? Well, I cant seem to recall. So.....work it out on your own. New wave in the early 80's which lead to "hair metal" which lead to grunge which lead to pop which lead to...what? Rap? Hip hop? Rock? Ten years from now we might know but for now its a quagmire of music. Music needs a change. A new Hendrix, Beatles, Kiss, Ramones, Nirvana, Motley Crue someone that changes the face of music. I've said this numerous times and will continue to say it. Stereotypes need to go. In music, life and all other forms of society.
I leave you dear readers with this advice. Eat more grapfruit. For truly grapefruit can change the face of the world. A shining new sour, pinkish world it will be my ewoks.
Adieu.
My shirt is mocking me.
Lets take Green Day for example. They have a bass guitarist, Mike Dernt, a drummer, Tre Cool, and a guitarist/lead singer, Billy Joe Armstrong. Now this combination gives them an intresting sound. The bass in most songs is actually pretty prominent through most of their earlier songs (Longview as an example). The guitar is actually is just rythmic for the most part with some excellent riffs stuck in. Its really quite a unique and good sound. It allows for more lyrical content then just screaming into a mike and being angry at the world/government/people/Maroon 5.
Now we take a look on this magical school bus of a ride to one of my favorite bands, Tiger Army. Thier psychobilly sounds are quite pleasing in a creepy way. They consist of an upright bass, guitar and drums. And toegether create a really good sound. But what really sets Tiger Army and the whole psychobilly scene apart is the lyrics. Most of them can be called "hauntingly beautiful". Songs of death, love lost and loneliness that most punkers would just become angry and yell. A perfect melody and great lyrics really creates an excellent sound.
Finally before I get bored I must move to another great band, Thrice. They are a punk metal band that really captures the essence of punk. They have a lead guitar/vocals, bass, another guitar and drums. They have that hard edge sound that really is quite pleasing. This band is the pseudo-screamers. But the lyrical content is just amazing. This band is one that can truly be call metal punk.
So whats this about? Well, I cant seem to recall. So.....work it out on your own. New wave in the early 80's which lead to "hair metal" which lead to grunge which lead to pop which lead to...what? Rap? Hip hop? Rock? Ten years from now we might know but for now its a quagmire of music. Music needs a change. A new Hendrix, Beatles, Kiss, Ramones, Nirvana, Motley Crue someone that changes the face of music. I've said this numerous times and will continue to say it. Stereotypes need to go. In music, life and all other forms of society.
I leave you dear readers with this advice. Eat more grapfruit. For truly grapefruit can change the face of the world. A shining new sour, pinkish world it will be my ewoks.
Adieu.
My shirt is mocking me.
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
The problem with numbers
We have recently passed 1000 hits on this bl- Oooh, we're gonna get a thunder-shower! Excuse me, the radio's playing in the distance.
Anyhow, we have passed 1000 hits, and although I would have very much liked to be ornery, and refused to write this article simply because my esteemed colleague TPO pre-emptively obligated me to do so. I feel that you, the loyal reader deserves better than that- to be smote by my mighty hand, maybe. To be hunted like an animal, and have your head placed on a pike then danced around in a bizzarre ritualistic orgy of primitive god placating ferver- certainly. But to deprive you of a 1000 hit celebratory post- NEVER!
I urge you to enjoy this moment, savour the sweet juices of ill gotten gain. I would like to now regale you with tales of my adventures in capitolism, thus beginning a series of stories which will amuse, confuse and ultimately- PLACATION IS CAPITOLISM'S MEANS AND END!
Anyhow, we have passed 1000 hits, and although I would have very much liked to be ornery, and refused to write this article simply because my esteemed colleague TPO pre-emptively obligated me to do so. I feel that you, the loyal reader deserves better than that- to be smote by my mighty hand, maybe. To be hunted like an animal, and have your head placed on a pike then danced around in a bizzarre ritualistic orgy of primitive god placating ferver- certainly. But to deprive you of a 1000 hit celebratory post- NEVER!
I urge you to enjoy this moment, savour the sweet juices of ill gotten gain. I would like to now regale you with tales of my adventures in capitolism, thus beginning a series of stories which will amuse, confuse and ultimately- PLACATION IS CAPITOLISM'S MEANS AND END!
Thus begins-
Tales of Interest!
Part 1: Tales out of work...
It becomes important when out of work to adopt a new, and very special point of view. You must cease to- nay, refuse to admit that monetary gain is either:
a) Easier than destitution
b) Helpful
c) Necessary to basic living in this society
But how? You ask, how can I simply ignore the fact that a capitolist society is based upon, and wholly dependent on the citizen populace working and making money. Observe.
Societor
(A tangeable reprisentation of society in human form):
"Working is easy, once you begin you will learn to enjoy it. In fact, you will find that you will learn to value yourself in terms of your paycheque, and the more tangeable objects which can be purchased with said paycheck."
Me:
"N'ah."
Societor:
"How will you live, you cannot live within this society if you will not bend to the will of me, Societor!"
(Now, here is where most would find no way of progressing onward without claiming to live in the woods in a hippie colony, but here is a simple trick to countering this argument...)
Me:
N'ah.
Societor:
No, but you. You can't just. Theres no way for you to. It just doesn't.
*POP*
And there you have it, In the future, you may find it useful to simply respond in any situation in terms of negation. I find it quite useful, not to mention fun.
Now, just for fun, lets have a brief and frank discussion about jobs, and our duty to our society.
The Frank truth about that thing that we do, no, not the thing at night, the other one, the daytime thing.
1) Working should be hard, that is it's nature. When work must be done, hard work is preferable. In that way, we increase the amount of time that can be spent drinking beer and barbequeing.
2) Of Time and Payscales- Your payscale, and all payscales are deliberately, and necessarily set BELOW what your time is worth. If not, no profit could be made; as profit is the grease that lubes the fat, bloated backside of capitolism.
2b) I cannot overstate this fact people, working is by necessity not worth your time, your boss is profiting through your labour, this is important, any time a tempting job offer comes along which may get you working again, just remember. It's not worth your time. Period.
Now, all this talk of capitolism, and lack of working makes you think, hmmm, this is sounding a lot like a comminism advocation- BUT NO!
In fact, I have come before you today to expose the MSN Communist Conspiracy!
Those of you who have downloaded the free (eh..eh...clue number one) MSN Messenger 7.0 patch, have no doubt noticed the amusing new animated winks. With the obnoxious womans laughter, the strip dancing piggy, and....the dancing young hipster with a RED STAR OF COMMUNISM emblazened onto his shirt! The preceeding exclamation point should show you just how shocking, and exciting this discovery is.
MSN is secretly, under the guise of simple amusement, brainwashing our youth with hidden communist propoganda. I have learned, through devious maneuvering, the full extent of MSN's plan; a three pronged attack on the sunconscious using liminal, sub-liminal, and super-liminal means.
I will now expose the full malevolence of this secret ploy by relating to you how I managed to surrepitously uncover this conspiracy.
Me:
I noticed that one of your MSN winks has a man dancing with a red star on him, does this constitute a threat to our capitolist system by an all out assault of communism?
President of MSN/BC:
Yes, yes it does.
Me:
Oh.
President of MSN/BC:
Yeah.
Me:
Well, don't you think it's pretty inconsistent for a huge corporaion, which has made billions and trillions of dollars by exploiting the capitolist system to suddenly appear as a communist aggressor?
President of MSN/BC:
Yes, yes it does.
But we don't think the readers will really notice, or mind this little inconsistency.
Me:
Neither do I.
President of MSN/BC:
Well good.
Have a nice day now.
Me:
You too, it was nice to speak to you.
So there you have it, my clandestine research which has led to this shocking expose.
In conclusion, I think I speak for all involved when I state that the problem with numbers is that there's too many of them. I mean, infinity, c'mon It's just rediculous...
Coming in part two:
Tales of Interest!
How many adjectives can you cram into a sentence?
I'll see you next time, and remember, never stop watching the Skeee's! And shooting turkey's.
Of Squirrels and Turkies
Many of you are wondering why I made a megaphone out of a squirrel in one of my odd and somewhat disturbing posts. And the answer to that my eggs sunny side up is simple. Goodnite.
Now why name this site Turkey shoot? And why have Insane Ramblings of the decreped as a title? And why do people think The Pretty One, me, is on drugs? All these questions will be answered in do time. Or I'll forget about them and move on to an obscure refrence to a thirties action movie.
So this is my blog. As you my brilliant pomperneckels can see we have had many posts. Some weird, some funny, some serious, some wierd, some weirdly funny. But why name it turkey shoot? Well think about it. Wouldnt you like to kill a turkey? Nasty, smelly mean little beasts they are. Ergo the reason we must kill the ugliness in our world and place more love and respect between our fellow men. *Snicker* I laughed at that myself. So why turkeyshoot? I dont know. It was funny at the time and still is. Now stop phoning me about the Sleep mattress bed.
The Insane ramblings of the dereped part is easy. Most of the people who post on this blog are insane or decreped. Or both. I fall into one category my pink furred Nim-Nims.
Later on my esteemed administrator friend Introspective Irishmen will post a congradulations to all the little people for helping us reach over 1000 hits. But I wont say anything yet. For its a surprise.
Whats the point my friends? Its all about finding someone. Maybe you will maybe you wont. Maybe you'll marry maybe you wont. Maybe you'll divorce at 23 maybe you'll be dancing the funky chicken at your 75th wedding anniversery. Maybe Im sounding like that really annoying song.
Anyhoo, I shall leave you my pumpkin eaters. Find out about life, love and luncheons. MAy the Force be with you. Unless youre lining up at the Chinese theatre waiting for the new star wars flick. Then youre a gimp.
Adieu
My feet have run off.
Now why name this site Turkey shoot? And why have Insane Ramblings of the decreped as a title? And why do people think The Pretty One, me, is on drugs? All these questions will be answered in do time. Or I'll forget about them and move on to an obscure refrence to a thirties action movie.
So this is my blog. As you my brilliant pomperneckels can see we have had many posts. Some weird, some funny, some serious, some wierd, some weirdly funny. But why name it turkey shoot? Well think about it. Wouldnt you like to kill a turkey? Nasty, smelly mean little beasts they are. Ergo the reason we must kill the ugliness in our world and place more love and respect between our fellow men. *Snicker* I laughed at that myself. So why turkeyshoot? I dont know. It was funny at the time and still is. Now stop phoning me about the Sleep mattress bed.
The Insane ramblings of the dereped part is easy. Most of the people who post on this blog are insane or decreped. Or both. I fall into one category my pink furred Nim-Nims.
Later on my esteemed administrator friend Introspective Irishmen will post a congradulations to all the little people for helping us reach over 1000 hits. But I wont say anything yet. For its a surprise.
Whats the point my friends? Its all about finding someone. Maybe you will maybe you wont. Maybe you'll marry maybe you wont. Maybe you'll divorce at 23 maybe you'll be dancing the funky chicken at your 75th wedding anniversery. Maybe Im sounding like that really annoying song.
Anyhoo, I shall leave you my pumpkin eaters. Find out about life, love and luncheons. MAy the Force be with you. Unless youre lining up at the Chinese theatre waiting for the new star wars flick. Then youre a gimp.
Adieu
My feet have run off.
Monday, April 11, 2005
Burt and Ernie: Whats Going On There?
Could Seasame Street be telling us about the gay community through Burt and Ernie? Quite possible in my deranged mind. Lets face it. They have certain tendencies that lead us to believe that they are a couple. They sleep in the same room, and Ernie does not seem preturbed at all when his "roomate" Burt opens the door while hes playing with his "rubber ducky" in the tub. So yes I believe that childrens television is heliping our kids understand the modern world. Now Im not homophobic or a cannibal. Though I do enjoy the odd bite of a human once and a while.
The US has turned into a wierd little parody of itself. Promoting freedom and life while repressing the gays and still going along with the death sentence. I recently went to the land of the free and home of Dave as is my understanding. Could the border guards be anymore paranoid? I know that its on Yellow/Aqua/Maroon 5 (ugh) alert but still. Its Canada man. The worst we do is send down whoppers or Mary Jane. But enough political crap. Thats for my esteemed collegues CC and II to do. Im the crazy one. Or am I? MUHAHAHAHAHAA.....ha....yes.
So anyway I was recently fishing in northern Gooberdalloeyville. It was a cold day of April and the snow was falling along with the leaves and rain and...sun. That storys going nowhere so Im going to stop, change directions, maybe get an oil change and go back to whatever I was talking about before.
Sesame Street is incredibly odd to me. Im not into those kid shows. Though I do enjoy a good Spongebob once and a while along with Dave the Barbarian. I dont trust many kid shows. They're all wierd and confusing. Guess Im getting old. Oh well. Young people are stupid. I am one. I should know.
My point my darlings is this.Maybe we should be more tolerate of diffrent things. I hear to much of mobbings and stabbings. If we all took the time to discover one another itd be a nicer world. Im sorry I cant hold it any longer Im laughing my head off. Anywhatthecrap, Im going to say this. With more pull on our resources we need to ration everything but limes. Why? Because limes are the future my friends.
Thank you.
My eyes are trying to escape.
The US has turned into a wierd little parody of itself. Promoting freedom and life while repressing the gays and still going along with the death sentence. I recently went to the land of the free and home of Dave as is my understanding. Could the border guards be anymore paranoid? I know that its on Yellow/Aqua/Maroon 5 (ugh) alert but still. Its Canada man. The worst we do is send down whoppers or Mary Jane. But enough political crap. Thats for my esteemed collegues CC and II to do. Im the crazy one. Or am I? MUHAHAHAHAHAA.....ha....yes.
So anyway I was recently fishing in northern Gooberdalloeyville. It was a cold day of April and the snow was falling along with the leaves and rain and...sun. That storys going nowhere so Im going to stop, change directions, maybe get an oil change and go back to whatever I was talking about before.
Sesame Street is incredibly odd to me. Im not into those kid shows. Though I do enjoy a good Spongebob once and a while along with Dave the Barbarian. I dont trust many kid shows. They're all wierd and confusing. Guess Im getting old. Oh well. Young people are stupid. I am one. I should know.
My point my darlings is this.Maybe we should be more tolerate of diffrent things. I hear to much of mobbings and stabbings. If we all took the time to discover one another itd be a nicer world. Im sorry I cant hold it any longer Im laughing my head off. Anywhatthecrap, Im going to say this. With more pull on our resources we need to ration everything but limes. Why? Because limes are the future my friends.
Thank you.
My eyes are trying to escape.
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