Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Good Lord That Sandwich Sucked and Other Observations

So, I Noticed

The other day they are making a Where the Wild Things Are movie. That's all good and all, but WTF? The original cartoon was like three minutes long and the book could be read in one pissing. So this probably means that there's gonna be all this extra shit. Like the kid is gonna have a back story about his alcoholic father that beats him. Or the mother who just lost her job. Whatever. There wasn't much to the story. I'm sure they could add a bunch of stuff about dinosaurs. See, that would be cool. Because then you'd have these Wild Things battling the dinosaurs and then the kid could be caught between the two groups and have to decide which is the best. But in the end he chooses both. But just as he does they pan out and you realize his father's just been beating him for an hour and this is how he escaped from it. Then it's all sad and dramatic.
And he probably dies.

Sometimes I Walk the Line

It's true. Like the other day I was at work and I farted – don't worry this isn't a fart joke. I'm just saying that I farted and before farting I made sure no one heard me fart by taking off my headphones. See, I walk that line. Other days I'll pick my nose. That's another line I walk. Like what if someone sees me? That's some line walking, baby.

Good Lord That Sandwich Sucked

Ahhhhhhh! Ooooohhhhhh! Fuckingyuck! It was so awful. I feel so sick just thinking about it. It's like I can taste the burned out skull of a pig. It's like something they would serve at Arby's. I'm not a nice guy, so I can see how I deserved this…but JESUS! That really sucked. Good job Karma!

Pregnancy is the Shits

So, a friend of mine has opted not to watch the actual birthing of his son/daughter. The wife explained that it could ruin him on sex. So, I was out with another friend and I mentioned it. This led to him explaining how horrible watching pregnancy is – blood, shit, urine – the whole gambit. So, what I'm trying to say is – hey ladies, clean it up.

The Snail's Twitter Account

LOL! Just ate some shit by accident!

Hey, Michael, you still banging slugs?

It feels like I've been on this discarded straw for like nine years. Whoa, this was a dumb endeavor.

Charlie horse!

Michael was tagged in a photo "You get up in that shell?"

Good Lord That Sandwich Sucked

It was like ham and bacon and Swiss melted. That sounds like a good sandwich, but somehow the cooks at my work figured out a way to really fuck it up. Like they…I don't know. Maybe they used exotic ham and bacon? Like how I don't like expensive beer? And maybe it's my fault that I didn't like it? Could be. I need to do more research.

This Dream I Had Last Night

Trent Reznor comes roller skating by and buys some tickets off a scalper. I follow him and ask what he's up to. He says that he's doing some detective work on the scalping business and how they're ripping him off. I ask for an autograph but I don't have a pen. Then I see a coffee cup full of pens and pencils on a street corner and find a piece of paper for him to sign. But he doesn't sign his name he just writes all this bullshit all over the piece of paper to fuck with me. What a dick.

If I Were King of America

The first thing I would do is enslave a large portion of the country. But then I'd make them all go to clown college. Because you wouldn't expect that from enslavement. You know, you're like BAM a slave and then BAM no you're a clown. It would totally fuck your shit up.

Good Lord That Sandwich Sucked

Good Lord that sandwich sucked! I still can't get the taste out of my mouth. I even took my desk trash out to make sure that I wouldn't smell the last broken bits of what was once the most horrid sandwich ever to be created by mankind. Fuck you, Sandwich!

Friday, March 27, 2009

Week in Review

Happy birthday! Having a party for the next Friday.

This newscaster smugly explains it's a week in review. Four stars come on cartoons into the screen and a backdrop of a bear eating fire is framed behind the anchor's head.

"The news in review. For this Friday the 27th of March, 2009. President Obama circulated a plea to Americans to stop asking him for pot.

In response three large – very large – ravens attacked a young man's castle in the Upper Northern Hemisphere area where they tore out the metal screening and flew down into his fortress. No one is sure what they wanted. In related news an identified Russian called a fellow employee lazy and accused him of torturing him with email. In response, the employee gave the Russian a backrub and was fired for sexual harassment.

Mexican bandits continue to make a nacho'd mess of Mexico. Oh, you know the kind! You leave nachos in the fridge hoping to eat them in the morning. But between beers, you pick at them and stir the salsa into the cheese and sour cream and pretty soon you have this jello'd soup of a mess that in the morning you eat – but you feel bad about it. This is the best metaphor I can come up with. I've switched to lite beer and my nerves are fried.

Beware! Cash machines across the Universe are eating cash cards and spitting out their take on the movie 2001. One cash machine reported that the monolith was really a cinema screen and Dave Bowman had become self aware. This blew my mind. Other things that blew my mind this week: goat cheese and peppers, hot wing pizza, and no vegetarian option at my friend's wedding. I'd now like to take some time to make black people like me.

Last night I listened to Ice Cube's The Predator. That's right, I'm a fan of The Predator. Available on Amazon.com. Get this record. It will change your life. As it did mine. I fully support a free South Africa.

And now I would like to leave you with this." A large slice of pizza materializes on your desk and you say "Wow".

Thursday, March 26, 2009

Transcript of Obama's Town Hall

My first question comes from Greenhash…Mr. President, why don't we legalize marijuana?

Mr. Greenhash, I'm the first black President of the United States. Do you really think one of my first 100 days actions is going to legalize weed? If you're reading this response, I'm shaking my head right now and rolling my eyes.

Next question comes from Hightimes…Mr. President, why don’t we legalize marijuana?

Again, first black President. Shaking head. Rolling eyes.

Next questi – C'mon! Fine. From Bongrolla…Mr. President, why don't we legalize marijuana and tax it?

OK. Some thought was put into this, so I won't roll my eyes. But I'm totally shaking my head right now.

Next – Rahm, is this gonna – how many of these emails do we have? 3450? You're kidding. OK. Rules are rules. This is from Dick Cheese…Mr. President, I just took some acid – this is just that old SNL skit….

Next. From Dre Chronic…Mr. President, were you high when you allowed AIG to get those bonuses?

Mr. Chronic, no I was not. However, I was watching the Cartoon Network and eating Funyons.

Next. From Mary Jane…Mr. President, why aren't more people going after Phil Gramm for his initial deregulation of Wall Street instead of blaming you or even Bush? And can you legalize pot?

I don't know. And no.

Next. From – I can't even read this name, but he wants me to legalize pot.

Look, people, it's 2009. If you haven't found a way to get pot, then you aren't trying hard enough. When I was your age I would figure out who was "cool" and ask them where to get it. If you can't figure out who is cool, then go online. There are forums and forums dedicated to pot. Now, can we just skip to some more questions? We can? Great.

This…let me read it…K, this is from Colonel Sanders and he writes…Mr. Obama, I recently lost my job and I am having trouble finding a new one. I have a large amount of money that was left to me by my grandfather. I was thinking of investing it now that the stock market is in the dumps. What do you feel is a safe investment?


Monday, March 23, 2009

Slice McCluskey: Yeti Hunter

Slice McCluskey: Yeti Hunter

The Hunger

Slice stared over the cliffs of the drop. Just as he expected: Yeti. There were nine of them down on the plains beating something with bones. Slice grabbed the binoculars and looked down and realized they were beating a bag of Shake and Bake to death.
"Silly Yeti."

The Yeti

"Ya see, the modern Yeti have all the conveniences we do, they just don't know what to do with them. For instance, I once saw a Yeti using Grape Nuts to wash its hair. Another time I saw them trying to bury their dead on a wooden cross. It comes down to one thing: Yeti are stupid. That's why I study them. I think people need to understand stupid."


The Yeti advanced on Slice from the top of the bluff. He was pinned down with only the camera team and myself to document the battle. As the Yeti approached, they drew their guns and threw them at us.


For the first time in history, Slice had captured a wounded Yeti. After throwing their guns at us, we shot them all. The lone survivor lay in the tent trying to rub Tylenol into its wound.
"There she is." Slice said. "Wait – she's got a boner."
Slice had deduced that it was a male Yeti.


"Last night. It was dark. We heard gunfire and made our way to the tent. The Yeti had shot its way out of the tent and made a run into the woods. We released the dogs on him, but to no avail."
The tent had been shot 27 times in a circle, of which the Yeti then ripped open and managed to run for safety.


We are crouched in front of a large hedge. Nine Yeti are attempting to pick up on each other while pouring breakfast cereal into champagne glasses and listening to a large radiator they've turned on.
"You relax often?" A male Yeti asks his female counterpart.
"I relax all the time." She says whilst dumping the cereal into her mouth and then stamping the champagne glass on the ground.


Slice takes us to a Yeti shop.
"Inside this large cave you will see that the Yeti have opened a small bodega. As you can see there are a number of various products the Yeti have stolen from various campsites. However, you'll notice that they are labeled by function."
Slice points at a few of the items.
A group of apples is labeled as toilet paper, while a gallon of gas and a pack of matches are being sold as cleaner/cleansers, and a small dog is being sold as a donkey.
The Yeti proprietor approaches us and asks "No free lunch" and produces a can of yams and 900 dollars in Monopoly money. Slice purchases the yams and the Yeti tries to sell us the donkey. "Moves goods and services to cave."
We turn the Yeti down and he becomes irate and launches the small dog at us.


The Yeti have numerous traditions and Slice begins to show us pictures of the different tribal dances and feasts from years before, all painted on the inside of a cave. Then he explains that most of the traditions have been left behind as the Yeti began to adopt more and more stupid renditions of American culture. For instance, the Yeti will program a microwave to cook for one second and then dance in a terrible strut to the incessant beeping of the microwave declaring that the second is up. Other forms of this include stopwatches and alarm clocks. The degree of stupidity doesn't get retarded until you see the Macarena being performed to the sound of a rock thumping around in a dryer.


"They will eat anything." Slice informs us. "I once fed a Yeti Arby's."
"Isn't that fast food? What's wrong with that?"
"I once fed them Arby's." Slice repeats.

The Future

What can be said about our secret friend who uses dung to clean non-existent car windows for other Yetis that "drive" by a tree with Christmas lights strung to another tree?
The Yeti are stupid creatures. Forensic scientists believe they cut from our branch of primate sometime in 2004 as American Idol became popular and George W. Bush was reelected President of the United States.
Thousands of years later, you can see Yeti traipsing through the forests wearing low fitting jeans and listening to tape recorded phones ringing on ancient boom boxes.
And yet, some Yetis have made it out of the forest and have taken jobs in the work force. Their slow manner and dimwitted responses have made them a key component of Homeland Security and Banking. Yes, the Yeti can one day rule the Earth.Just joking. They are stupid, stupid creatures.

Friday, March 13, 2009

The Hopes and Dreams of Mankind

I've been eating a lot of trail mix lately, so I will be brief.
The package I have sent to you carries in it the hopes and dreams of mankind. I have sent it in great haste, as I have eaten a lot of trail mix, as mentioned before.
Do not open the package in public, as the hopes and dreams of mankind are very personal things to mankind. So, like if a bird were to see them, then mankind would be embarrassed. Remember, you are part of mankind. Even if you are a woman.
I guess you're wondering what could possibly be the hopes and dreams of mankind? Is it just an idea or is it something tangible, that you can hold or use to buy things with? Well, I will not say for sure, but I will say that you will be more surprised than that time I sent you the Wrath of God.
I'm sorry I haven't spoken to you in awhile, as you can guess I've been doing a lot of research and exploring. That is how I came across the hopes and dreams of mankind. I had bet a friend that I could dunk on this basketball hoop, and then it all led away from that. Pretty soon I was in Brazil talking with natives about how to get through a 50 meter stretch of boobie traps. Then…well, you can see where this is going – hopes and dreams, babe.
Well, inside the temple, I was able to recite this voodoo prayer and then – WHAMO – the vault was unlocked and I bore (spl?) witness to the hopes and dreams of mankind.
At first I was like "No way!" Then it kinda settled in and I was like hmmm. Then I was able to eat some trail mix and have a V8. So you can see how I slowly got used to the hopes and dreams of mankind.
Later, I thought about you and decided to send them to you, because I know that you would be an expert in how to distribute the hopes and dreams of mankind so no animals get into them and steal them.
Think of it, like this chicken gets into the hopes and dreams of mankind and starts using them for chickendom? That would suck. Then they'd destroy the sanctity of the hopes and dreams of mankind and no one would be able to enjoy them, except the chickens and they're all stupid.
Anyway, I don't really like just throwing this all on you. I mean, you could be busy with something else. I don't know. It's been awhile. I heard you got married and have a new job, so maybe this is the wrong time to spring this on you.
If so, maybe send it to Larry and see what he can make of it.
I was tempted to send it to the authorities, but then I remembered they are normally the enemies of the hopes and dreams of mankind – remember when I made that potato gun?
So, open it up, tell me what you think. Maybe you like it. Maybe you don't.
Again – not even insects! Make sure nothing is around that is not part of mankind or is part of the government. I'm not sure if they are mutually exclusive.
How is Jerry?

Tom Rogers

Thursday, March 12, 2009

Acid Diary

Playpeople came sneaking around the corner.
All brightly dressed in primary colors, Playpeople were cartoonish entities that slid across walls just out of sight.
Some might attribute this to some very real spectrum of light that humans cannot see, and maybe the actual form of the Playpeople is very different if seen through the eyes of another animal like a bird or a cat. And maybe they don't sneak at all, but rather slip passed my vision.
Yet, in the throws of a massive psychological tear, they were very real.
Some day out in the woods, I could be 18 or 32…
The tenses change and I'm not so sure I'm writing this all down or whether I'm experiencing it. But, like I was saying, it all began out in the woods with some friends and where I'm sitting in front of a fireplace in an apartment complex. I'm walking away from the others and the apartment deep into the forest.
The colors in the woods are tinged gold as the sun sets behind me and when I look around again I'm in the gymnasium of my elementary school. I'm nine and I'm playing basketball, only I can't play very well because I keep seeing the Playpeople out of the corner of my eye.
They slide across the brick walls and the last thing I see before being hit with a basketball is bright colors moving around in the PE teacher's office.
I get up and I'm back here writing this all down.
The effects of the acid have no visible effect on the room I'm in, only that my legs and arms feel weak and it's hard to write.
I try to think what day it might be or what I'm supposed to be doing and I only get a very vague sense of it - a job down the street, a car out front, and a family here and there.
The chair begins to vibrate a bit and I look up from my writing and I see a very tall Playperson barely visible in the coat closet.
I raise a hand and it slides further into the closet and I get up and follow it back into the forest from years ago.
I run into a friend and he's trying to describe the Playpeople to me and I keep patting him on the shoulder saying, "I know."
My friend looks horribly twisted and I realize this is symbolic of his state of mind which is twisting to try to grasp the new reality of his situation.
Namely, that he is me.
I breathe deeply and try to calm us both down, but he keeps twisting in on himself and before long he's a Playperson and has bent around a large stump and I can see bright red through the stump where he is hiding himself.

"Why do the Playpeople hide?" I ask.

"To get away." He says.

"From us?" I ask.

"No, you don't understand. We are us."

It takes me a moment to understand this. I sit down on the ground and ask "So, you-you-you hide from yourself?"

"Yes." He says and moves further into the log.

"Why are we so scared of us?" I ask.

"Because we don't understand us."

"But I understand me."

"That's why you don't understand." It murmurs and I realize I'm moving through the dirt under my own feet and I vibrate back to the apartment where I'm writing the word "cat".
The closet door is closed, but inside I can hear the voices of the others at the camp and I can't be sure if I'm here or there.
I ask my friends how long we've been out here and I hear a woman's voice state "Nearly forever."I ask if she saw the Playpeolpe and even though I can't see her I know that she nods.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

The Zionist Conspiracy...To Make Me Laugh

As you may or may not know, this conspiracy has raged for decades. Is it just against me? I'm not quite sure, but I think we all agree (except them) that something foul is afoot and if it doesn't stop now, there may be no going back.
Many of you patriots to Christianity have noticed the foul stench of conspiracy closing in on our brothers and sisters. Yes, I see it in headlines all across the Internet concerning 9/11, the Holocaust, the Rothchilds, etc.
These are red herrings my friend. No conspiracy here.
However, the real conspiracy has been staring us in the eyes for far too long, and making snapping puns and ga ga gestures.
I can remember as far back as 1985, THEY were putting out a series of films under the orders of Melbrooks. This was my first taste of laughter and it made me cry.
It makes me cry today, just to think about it. How the architecture of a Blazing Saddles reduced me to a lump of shaking, tearful tremors that only could be quelled by an episode of Full House or Who's the Boss.
Later, Colonel Conspiracy Seinfeld hit the stage and what Melbrooks had done before him seemed like Vaudeville compared to the "capering" of one Jerry Seinfeld and George Castanza.
It seems that the milquetoast humor of Night Court and Arsenio Hall had quenched the hilarity of Mel, and now they needed a new weapon against me and my Christian brothers and sisters.
For almost ten years I suffered comedy comas at their treacherous hands every Thursday night.
Now we have Stewart.
What is the motive? Well, if we are all laughing, we cannot fight, and with no fight left in us we are doomed to hilarity for the rest of eternity.
The Rapture shall come with a laugh track – mark my words!
It is time to raise our fists and stuff them in our mouths. We must bring back the staring at a brick wall comedy of Friends. The reran hackery of In Living Color. The chutzpahless hamminess of Jay Leno.
Yea, we shall not laugh until our faces freeze over and we can become the humorless preachers of the true Christ that so shall save the Earth from fun.

Rev. Gregory

Monday, March 9, 2009

Groceing: The Story of a Sex Worker

Claudia knew it was going to be a long day. She sat heavily on the stool in front of the counter and ordered a milkshake. It was her fourth one that day. You might say she had a problem, but c'mon, they were milkshakes. She wasn't fat or anything. She just liked milkshakes. Gosh.
"What's the good word?" Max asked her from behind the counter. Max was a World War Two vet and was slowly dying from wounds he suffered consulting on Saving Private Ryan.
"There are no good words." Claudia replied. She looked down at the scars on her wrists from being tied to one too many spinning wheels. Her former lover was a knife thrower.
"What about xenophobia? That one is kinda cool." Max asked. His liver slowly morphing into a shredded cheese from all the drinking it took to put up with Tom Hanks inability to come off as a real soldier.
"You know, I hadn't thought of that. What else?" Claudia put her wrists away in her sleeves, where they came from.
"Polymer." Max smiled. His back acting up again from trying to show the crew what a PT boat was used for and having them board him and float him onto Newport beach.
Claudia smiled back. Maybe it wouldn't be a long day. Her outlook had just improved 93%. She had a calculator hooked to a mood ring and while none of this was scientific, it made good filler for this awesome story that has yet to involve monkeys.
It was time to put the milkshakes down and make something of her day.
She moved the milkshake away and told Max that she wouldn't be finishing the rest.
"Oh, really?" Max raised an eyebrow and then put it back down where it was stuck to his "Memories 09" photo album that contained eyebrows from the various movie stars that would frequent the restaurant.
"That's right. Today I'm going to make a change. Today I'm gonna reach for the skies."
"That sounds fine."
Claudia walked out of the malt shop and across the street to the grocery store where she went to the service desk.
"I want to become a grocer." Claudia demanded and emptied her purse on the desk. "I believe this is all in order."
"A what?" The woman working the counter was noticeably annoyed.
"A grocer. I want to groce." Claudia punctuated the statement by lifting a roll of Halls up and displaying it for the woman.
The woman stared at her for a full minute, then finally pulled an application out and handed it to Claudia. "We have a position open to push carts."
"I want to groce." Claudia demanded. Her face was red and she realized that she'd never wanted something so badly in her entire life.
"Listen lady, I don't think you can groce. I think you become a grocer, but that means you own the entire company. I don't think you can do that without starting your own business." In truth, the woman behind the desk did not know any of this for sure, and that is why she was basically your run of the mill liar.
"Then I will start my own business. Groceing." Claudia collected the contents of her purse and walked out of the store with the application.
Back at her apartment she began pricing the items in her kitchen with tape and a pen. Then, she cut up her mail and made confetti for the grand opening.
Next, Claudia wrote a note for the entire world of Facebook: "Now I must spread the word."
She knocked on every apartment and let the folks at Ridge Heights know that she was open for business.
Hours later a man showed up and began going through her cupboards. He left with some Top Ramen and a beer. $1.45.
"This groceing business is booming!" Claudia told her mother over the phone. "Just today, I had nine customers. And I made $20.00! And I have an order for razor blades and flour, so I'm going to use that $20.00 to purchase them. This is how groceing works!" But Claudia was wrong, groceing had more math to it. The kind of math that only those math guys know.
"Member that time I ate a rattlesnake?" Her mother replied.
Years later, Claudia would become a groceing giant and those that doubted her would die terrible deaths at the hands of a fleet of evil trees that sailed the seas looking for naysayers of any kind.
These trees would become storied elements of countless books on sea folklore and you probably will have grandchildren that will read about them and wonder about how trees could talk and exact revenge.
As for Claudia, most of you are wondering how she finally was able to turn a profit.Well, she began selling sex and drugs as well as packets of Ranch mix and peanut butter. But that doesn't mean that she failed in any way. It just means that she needed some extra incentive to get people in the door. This is all capitalism. You can read about it in any textbook about capitalism.

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

Too Much Shit

I realized it was a stupid and terrible thing to do. Kids like cotton candy, but the elderly do not. I watched as the small bone pile gummed at the cone of inflated sugar and laughed to myself. However, a part of me realized that this was mean and that I was purely feeding this thing for my own amusement.
We moved down the boardwalk and I began seeing how far I could push the wheelchair. Edward seemed to like this as he laughed and babbled on to himself about the war or peaches. I suppose when you reach a certain age you aren't only used to being the butt of nature's jokes, but you enjoy it.
We stopped at a burger stand and I got a cheeseburger and a coke and bought the old man some French fries he could no better pick up than eat. I left them steaming on his lap as he savored the aroma and we moved on.
A woman approached me and asked if the rheumatoidal bag of excrement in the wheel chair was my father. I replied "No, it's not mine. I'm just walking it." She gave me an odd look and I assured her that I was a professional caregiver and that by using the pronoun "it" I was distancing myself from any emotional attachment that could wear heavily on me when the old It died. She seemed to understand and I gave her my number telling her "This isn't the only 'it' that I do." She looked puzzled and It and I moved on.
There is a commitment you must make to yourself when you decide you're going to pretend to give a shit about something. That commitment involves making sure that you don't give too much of a shit, because in the end you could wind up with shit to think about. No one wants that in their lives. That's why it's important to keep a bag in your heart at all times, to pick up the shit and collect it. Otherwise, too much shit could cause you to give a shit. And you really don't want to give a shit. You want to keep your shit. What's the first thing you think of when you think of a man who thinks he knows it all? You think he's full of shit. And he does, and he is.
No one wants to lose their shit.
So, with that in mind, we hit the bar. I realized that wheeling an elderly man into a bar is something I've never seen another human do. The looks I got were priceless. I wheeled him in front of a jukebox and gave him some quarters and then drank for a while.
Believe it or not, someone had stolen my old man. Or, the old man had gained his wits and realized I'd be back for whatever was left in his wallet. Either way, I was really drunk.
I asked around "What happened to my old man?" but no one had an answer.
Finally, I realized I had left him at the first bar I had gone too.
So, I made my way down the street and eventually found him being coaxed to take shots with a group of frat kids. I had to commend them, they realized that you truly should not give a shit about anyone.
I helped them get the old man drunk, and when he shit himself, I decided to call it a night. There was simply too much shit in my life.
I expected that his children would be worried about him, but then I realized he lived alone and would probably die alone with no one giving one shit about how much he had shit himself that evening.
I realized then that the elderly continue to make the same mistake: they give a shit.
But I wasn't about to clean his shit, so it was a simple nudge into the apartment and the hope that he'd be able to figure out how to lock up before retiring for the evening.I never saw the old man again, and I decided to do my community service in some other fashion. The elderly just kinda spook me. Too much shit.

Phil Hornback: Nature Lover

On the trail, one can never be too careful, that's why Phil had brought a shotgun. He explained to Margaret "The natives here can be quite dangerous, and if they sense that we are a danger to them, they may attack. That's why I always carry this." Phil showed Margaret his Kazoo.

"The trouble with nature is that the further you get into it, the harder it is to get out." Phil told Margaret as they both held on for dear life from the branch at the top of the canyon.
"Phil, I love you." Margaret wept.
"God, you and nature both."

After relieving himself on a small fern, Phil told the Samsum to translate to the natives his desire to pee on every fern until they made him an acceptable toilet.

"I guess my favorite animal of the North is the giant polar bear, Margaret. As dangerous as a crocodile, it has no remorse for humans who journey into its path."
"Will we see a polar bear?"
Phil rubbed his chin. "Margaret, we plan to live WITH the polar bears."
"But how?"
"With these." And Phil pulled out some safety goggles.

Near the edge of the ice, Phil stared out at the thousands of penguins that approached. "Take me to your leader." Phil joked.
The penguin's approach went on and Phil realized he was their leader. "Brothers and sisters! I am here to free you from this icy prison!" And Phil ran at the birds thinking they would fly away.
Phil was a bad penguin leader.

"A fire is a good way to signal to the rest of the jungle that you are king." Phil said as he dumped gasoline on the abandoned temple.

The ocean's floor is a bastion of life and Phil moved across it, searching for the rare conch.
"The floor of the ocean is teaming with life. There's so much of it, it's hard to find the life you're looking for. Some people live their whole life without finding it. But here it is. And now we're gonna eat it."

"The savagery of the butchers is startling. Look at this elephant, everything but the tusks. To these poachers, this animal is nothing but tusks. Take you, for instance, Margaret. What if I just took your teeth and then left you for dead."
"But I can live without teeth."
"That's right! These elephants were just so vain they gave up!"

After nine years in the Australian Outback, Phil regarded his relationship to the country. "When I came here, I expected nothing. And I found nothing. And now that I'm leaving, I realize that this continent is one big waste of time. Why nine years? Because Americans are wasteful people, and I will always be an American."

Phil worked the Rubik's Cube until the entire square was painted in solid colors. He showed it to the Spider Monkey and the primate went to work on one of his own. "It's not that he's going to solve it, it's that he thinks he can solve it that makes it so funny."

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

St. Patrick's Day - Brought to You by the British!

St. Patrick's Day is a great holiday to be social and celebrate the spirit of the Irish people. However, those who have decided to equate the great snake saint with liquor consumption have sullied this holiday.
This must end.
As an Irishman myself (45th generation and also Cherokee, Mexican, German, and African American) I find it truly offensive to be invited to a gathering that requests that guests BYOB or should be prepared to "get tanked" or some other offensive idea about drinking in public till one is sick.
It's alarming to me, an Irishman, to believe that a man who so soundly removed snakes from a country would somehow be equated with booze. Saint Valentine has also been slandered with people's need to fornicate on his holiday. Or how people are driven to material capitalism on Saint Nicholas' day.
Sure, only Patrick is Irish and the Irish are known for their drinking. But why is that? I've seen many a Frenchmen wander into my yard on any given night and vomit or stumble over the garden. That goes for Germans and Australians too (especially Australians).
Could it be that there's some sort of agenda here? I don't want to bring up bad blood, but let's just say it starts with Brit and ends in Ish.
It's no secret that the British have been plotting against the Irish for thousands of years. Even here in the United States where an Irishman (also French and Lithuanian) like me who has lived for 9 generations has to put up with the British and their racism towards my countrymen and myself (also a little Russian).
Just the other day I was at a job fair and happened to be drunk. This had nothing to do with the coming holiday. I get drunk quite often and I don't need to consult my calendar to wait for the British to tell me when I can drink.
Well, I go over to this BP (BRITISH Petroleum) booth and stagger over to the Brit there who fancies himself a comedian.
"Is everything all right?" He says to me. So I sock him in the kisser. Next thing you know, the police and security are all over me. I try to explain that the lousy chip eating Anglo Honky is trying to bring a Irishman (little Moroccan) down and they just laugh and throw me in jail because I'm Irish and they're all dirty Pilgrims.
Speaking of, you want to hear a joke?
Why did the Pilgrims leave England?
To get away from the English!
So, anyway, back to the "holiday". I use quotations because it's no longer a holiday, but rather a raped Saint party brought to you by the British Empire. Did you know that the Imperial Empire was based on the British one? Also, the Rebels were based on Irishmen? Lucas is an Irish name. Think about it.
Well, it might be another kind of name, but I'm not sure I care anymore.
The fact is I gort so mad while writing this that I went and started to drink. I'm so angry right now and there's a group ofa Frenchmen passed oat on me lawan.

Now where was I? Yes, last evening I was explaining to you how the British tarnished the good image of our (also a splash of Canadian from my Mother's side) nation's patron saint was blemished by the dirty Brits.
It wasn't enough that they bombed our country and sold Bono down the river, but they also took our holiday. So – what can you do? Please write your congressman and President Obama (not Irish) and let them know that this "liquoring" of our holiday must stop!

Thank you,

Shabazz X.

Monday, March 2, 2009

Witness the Lion

Witness the lion. So bold and beautiful in its golden fur, it is. I had to put "It is" at the end in order to make those words a sentence. The lion would think this was totally gay. The lion is a hateful creature.

Witness the majestic beauty of the caterpillar as he turns into a butterfly, is this any different than our transgender friends who have their penis' violently ripped from them and turned into boobs?

Witness the giraffe with its long neck eating all the leaves on the trees. The trees said "Hey, horse, you can't catch me, and the horse said "Fuck you" and elongates its neck through thousands of years of evolution. The tree was like "Damn!"

Witness the mongoose. A furry gopher that nature has pulled like taffy until it's almost weasel like. Then named a bunch of shitty operations after.

Witness the bat; so dark and frightful they named a masked vigilante after it. Also, the bat is the only mammal that understands chemistry.

Witness the kangaroo. I will guess you are in Australia or the zoo, because kangaroos only exist in those places. Oh, and the hamburger meat at McDonalds. Look it up.

Witness the woman in Witness that gets naked. Those are some tits right there!

Witness the coyote, so sleek and cunning. He traipses across the prairie hunting its prey at night. In the day, he sleeps and dreams of the moon. Our moon.

Witness the bird. Sure, that one. Look at it. Witness it. Mull it over. Damn. Bird. Up in that tree. Whoa!

Witness the alligator. The last of the giant reptiles, the alligator makes a formidable opponent for even the most cunning of animals. With one snap of the jaw it can bite you in two. But still you get out of the car and try to photograph them thinking the Parks Department would have put up a sign. Like these are the non-dangerous alligators or the ones with foam rubber dentures. You stupid man, DAD!

Witness the cat, slinking about the apartment, ready to pounce on dawn's early light. Seriously, cats will pounce on motes of light. They're fucking stupid.

Witness the fish. Any fish will do. Why do the Japanese love to eat them so much?

Witness the Gingerbear in all its half reptilian, half bear glory. He doesn’t exist. Yet.

Witness the peacock in its splendor. The amazing arrangement of colors turn an ordinary bird into nature's palette. That's right, nature paints with feathers.

Witness the rabbit. The low man on the mammal totem poll, yet he seems to take great care in being cute. If being cute were a defense mechanism, the rabbit would still be screwed because lions are hateful.