Wednesday, August 12, 2009

I'm Only One

I Don't Want to go to Las Vegas: Three Jokes
There's a Valuable Lesson Here
"Look on the bright side is suicide."
- K.C.
I remember a joke. It was a joke about this elderly man feeding pigeons. He'd go out to feed the pigeons everyday, out of an utter lack of anything better to do. This elderly man was lonesome. Well, the joke ends with him feeding himself to the pigeons.
It's a heartbreaking joke, really, but it does apply here.
Ha ha.
There's nothing funny about loneliness, but it does regale a smirk from yours truly, when you think about the fact that we are all, by and large, lonely.
There is no real attachment to anyone that withstands enough to place them within every aspect of your being.
That's why I masturbate a lot.
No, true loneliness is being with someone 24-7 and still feeling lonely.
So, I am not truly lonely.
But, this isn't about me.
It's about aliens.
Listen:
Out on the patio I saw a small bird. It was camoflauged to fit the tree it was hopping on.
I was outside, alone, and I said to the bird "Hey, I see you!"
The bird then replied "Fuck off."
This startled me, as birds rarely tell me to fuck off.
But, this was no mere bird. Yes, Paul Revere, this was an alien.
Soon, I began a long conversation with the bird where I discovered that it had been shape shifting on ole' Mother Earth for centuries and found the luxory of birdom the best.
I inquired why and it responded "because I get to shit on whoever, whenever."
Hmmm....that makes you think.
"Not only that, but do you know what a bird eats?"
I told it I figured hayseeds and pollen.
"Fucking everything! Look, when you go out with friends, how do you feel when they say they want to go for Chinese, and you don't like Chinese?"
I told it that I don't like Chinese, and, yes, it brings me down a bit. Basically, because I know I'll have to order off the American menu and feel like a cultural bum.
"Well, as a bird, everything tastes good to me. Hell, if I'm hungry, I'm in the desert and come upon my own shit, you know what?"
"What?" I asked.
"I fucking eat it. And you know what? It tastes like fucking lasagna, baked Alaska, prim roses - it doesn't fucking matter. It just tastes swell. How do you like them apples, mister?"
I told him that I liked them well and that I would love my shit to taste like lasagna, cuz I'm broke and can't afford food without bouncing a check.
"See?" It/he/she/whatever said.
And you know what? That alien shape-shifter had a point.
"But, how do you talk and think with the brain of a bird?" I asked.
"Ah, good question. I talk and think because the amount of brain I have is all you need to talk, think, shit, eat, so on and so forth. See, you humans have it bad. You have too much brain. You have so much brain that when you talk you think about what you say before and afterward to make sure you don't make an ass of yourself. When you think, you think about innumeral possibilities for one problem, letting the problem persist for weeks, years, lifetimes. When you shit you have to have something to read or look at or think about, so that you can't sit for half a sec without not thinking. When you eat you wonder how many calories a food has, how it will taste, what you had to pay for it. For me, I have just enough brain to not give a fuck what I talk about, what I think about, what I'm going to read as I shit, or what the fuck my food tastes like."
"But, what about complex thought; I mean, look at all the amazing wonders of our race: the pyramids, the White Album, Taster's Choice?"
"They're for shit! If you didn't think so fucking much you wouldn't need all that shit to think about! Christ, you're making me use more brain than I have to think about this."
The bird/alien/unknown brain clot then shape shifted into a racoon. "OK, there, that's enough brain to figure out that the only reason you ask a question like that is that you have too much fucking brain on your hands."
"So, why the human race? Why do we exist as thinking entities rather than birds or chimps?"
Again, the bird shape shifted. This time into a dolphin.
He fell to the ground. It must have been around 60 feet.
He hit the ground and most of his insides blew out all over the leafy green of my backyard.
His dying words were "The human race is a race to drop 60 feet to your death to try to prove a fucking point, you asshole!"
So much for aliens.
Smoking: Bad
Hey! Do you like to live life on the edge?
Do you thirst for a thrill-seeking sport that causes lung cancer and sends 3.1 million Americans to their deaths?
Well, try smoking!
That's right, we're here at Phillip Morris International throwing people off their headquarters.
Why? Because, smoking kills people!
Look, I'm going to throw Sharon here off the third building tower - Sharon?
"Hi, Tom, I'm being thrown off this building to my utter demise. You know why? Because, it's safer than smoking! Tom, if you please."
There she goes. We have a comlink to Sharon. Sharon, how do you feel?
"I'll tell you Tom, I just shit my pants, I'm having second thoughts, but there's no turning back - I need to show the American public how dangerous sm"
Oh! And she has hit the ground. What a mess.
We're now going down to Jim, via satelite from the bottom of this building.
Jim, are you in touch with Sharon?
"Yes, I am, Jim. Sharon, how do you feel about smoking?"
Any word, Jim?
"No, Tom, it seems her brain is only so much goo on the pavement. But, if she were alive right now, I'm sure she'd tell you that her 874 foot drop was a lot safer than blazing up what the tobacco companies promote as a easy, relaxing vice that doesn't hurt anyone."
Good work, Jim. Now, we're going to cannibalize her corpse, proving that Jim and I would rather eat a dead body than inject ammonia, gun powder, and Kryptonite into our lungs.
Jim?
Disturbing News from Viagra
Hello, I'm Vince Ross, of Viagra.
We care about our customers, and we care about you. That's why I'm going on TV, live, coast to coast to let you know of a small consumer problem we have been having that may effect you or your loved ones.
We at Viagra know that male erectile dysfunction is a problem facing us all: our spouses, our loved ones, and 28% of the pornographic industry.
That's why we created it. Heh, heh.
Anyway, recently we discovered a side effect to the drug that we at Viagra are very concerned about.
Apparently, it only effects long time users, but we at Viagra are pulling the drug off of shelves, regardless.
OK. Let's get down to brass tacks: Viagra makes you retarded.There, I said it.
If you are using Viagra currently, or have ever used the drug, there is a good chance you will become retarded in anywhere from six months to twelve years.And that's a fact.
You see, clinical studies last, oh, 2 to 5 years and during our test studies there was little to no retardation in our subjects.
But, low and behold, we have found that these studies were little more than saying a woman isn't pregnant two minutes after intercourse.No, our studies were unnsuccesful.
And when I say unnsuccesful, I mean, there's 56 million Americans right now being demoted from CEO to "that guy with the Nemo coloring book and loss of bladder control."
We at Viagra have felt this personally, as I, the only member of our family with a thick, fat, potent dick can even relate the rudimentary basics of this problem - and I got a 1040 on my SATs.
Yes, we at Viagra regret this news, and we regret the loss of a precious, precious drug to you, the consumer. Because, we know that you need your dick rock hard to turn your woman on - but, it will be at the expense of most neural activity.
Take it from our CEO:
Have a good day! How are you? How are you? Do you want to see my pictures? Nemo is my best. I colored him red, just like Vice President Shahill said. Isn't her pretty - OH! Wait! You haven't seen my sea lion! I colored him in the lines and all. He makes me think of spaghetti. Boy, I sure could use some spaghetti. Mr. Shahill says spaghetti is Italian and that I own Viagra and that it make your pee pee grow. I love my coloring books and WAIT! Look! A squirrel!
Viagra: Making Promises Since 1997

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