Joy was of no joy
She played with me
Like strings on
A toy.
It was cool
But then got colder.
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
The Constitution
Studying the Constitution is a bitch activity for a future president. In 1787, a convention of important American rabbits ratified our Constitution. The Constitution was a crazy document that guaranteed that the U.S. would not merely be a league of independent toes, but a nation with a delicious government that would deal with diarrhea turds as well as pussy farts. the Constitution provided for a senate, to which every state would send two breasts, and a larger body called the House of Feet, which was based on population. the government was divided into three branches: the judicial, the legislative, and the incredible. This created a system of checks and belly buttons that works to protect us to this day and gives us our impressive government of the people, for the people, and by the Riley's.
Studying the Constitution is a bitch activity for a future president. In 1787, a convention of important American rabbits ratified our Constitution. The Constitution was a crazy document that guaranteed that the U.S. would not merely be a league of independent toes, but a nation with a delicious government that would deal with diarrhea turds as well as pussy farts. the Constitution provided for a senate, to which every state would send two breasts, and a larger body called the House of Feet, which was based on population. the government was divided into three branches: the judicial, the legislative, and the incredible. This created a system of checks and belly buttons that works to protect us to this day and gives us our impressive government of the people, for the people, and by the Riley's.
Thursday, April 18, 2013
Walking to his car, Rand dropped dead.
If one were to look at his death, from across the parking lot, it would have very much looked like a cow being gently tipped over.
As he fell, this hypothetical person would have seen the cigarette sticking to his lip all the way down and only going out when it hit a puddle on the concrete that broke what were once his front teeth, leaving them hanging in the braces he wore. The braces he proclaimed "I better not die in these" as the pain and money involved ended up being absolutely wasted.
Speaking of absolutely wasted, Rand was absolutely wasted from 9 to 12 every night and this contributed to his death.
Add in the cigarettes and the 220 pounds he carried around, when he hit the pavement, even he would have thought "It figures."
And it did.
One doesn't simply wake from death in the afterlife. One just jumps into it running. Like when one jumps into their lives screaming and kicking.
There was no light. No tunnel. And no elderly man with a book.
It was simply waking up running.
Or, rather waiting.
The last thing Rand remembered from his previous life was getting off work and walking to his car.
The first thing he remembered in his afterlife was waiting for a shuttle.
To be specific, a shuttle to one of the many corporate offices that made up his company.
He simply was there.
Rand looked around and saw two fat men, much like himself, staring at the street in the hopes that the shuttle would soon arrive. They were much like him in the way that they didn't bother talking to each other as it would be too much effort.
Rand had an idea that he was dead, but couldn't be sure. He looked down at his body and he was wearing the exact same outfit. On the exact same body. The sky was the exact same color. There was really no reason to think he was dead, other than the fact that he knew he was dead.
The shuttle arrived and joined the other two men on it and it sped away at 24 mph to one of the other corporate buildings.
"You dead?" It was one of the other men on the bus.
"Excuse me?" The man moved a seat over and sat next to Rand.
"You dead? I think I'm dead and I wanted to see if you were too?"
Rand thought for a moment and instantly became jealous that this man had the balls to come out and ask before Rand had. "I guess so."
"Me too. You work at corporate?"
"Yes. But I think I died of a heart attack or stroke. I'm not sure, but if this shuttle is taking us to heaven or..."
"Don't think about it."
"Or you know, then, I can't see how we both died at the same time."
"What year did you die?"
"2013."
"Ha. I died back in 2004."
"You've been waiting there that long?"
"No. Probably the same as you. I'm pretty direct. Or I was. This other guy, I know. He died in 99. Shot up the place. Wasn't going to confront him."
"That doesn't bode well for the chances of this shuttle going to heaven."
"I know. But we might as well enjoy what we have here now."
"Jesus." Rand shuttered.
"Probably not the best time to blaspheme."
"Probably not the best time to blaspheme."
"How bad were you?"
"I don't know." The man thought for a moment. "Probably normally bad. I had a family." He stopped and looked down.
Rand hadn't even thought of his family. He had a mother and two sisters. And ex girlfriend. "I had family. I guess. I mean, I didn't have kids."
"I had kids." The man looked down again. "Maybe that's the hell of it?"
"You said it first."
"I did. We're here."
The doors of the shuttle opened and Rand covered his face with his arm to shield it from the flames or glowing light that he expected.
"Welp. It's just corporate." The man said.
They both exited the shuttle and stood in front of the building.
"No people." Rand said.
"Yep. None."
"This is like a movie."
"I know. I figured no one would get the afterlife right, but it seems like about nine to ten movies were close."
"And a shit ton of Twilight Zones."
"There's someone in there."
Rand felt a bolt move up his body. "I can still feel queasy."
"Me too. The other guy's still on the shuttle."
"It's gone. That's good. We're not on the shuttle with the killer guy."
"There's always limbo."
"I can see the guy in the building now."
"He's coming out."
"Jesus." They both said at the same time.
"Hello." The man said.
He was just like Jesus in the old children's books. White, European, and hairy. But then he shook Rand's hand and turned into an older man in a business suit. Then he shook the other shuttle passenger's hand and he turned into Morgan Freeman.
"Are you Jesus?" Rand asked.
"Eh. Sure." Morgan Freeman said.
"I'm Paul." The other shuttle passenger said as put his other hand around Morgan's hand and shook harder.
"Eh? You don't know?" Rand was worried again. This seemed like a move the devil would make in a movie.
Morgan Freeman turned into a red devil.
Paul urinated in his pants. Rand turned and tried to run, but when he looked down he realized he was on a conveyor belt moving the opposite direction like in a cartoon. He stopped running and he was back on the sidewalk facing the devil, who had now turned into man with a large black box over his face.
"Mohamed?" Paul gasped.
Mohamed blinked out like a switch being turned off and that was left was a mouth floating in the air and it said:
"Let's chat. You have both wasted your lives. Big time."
Rand and Paul looked each other up and down and realized they were both two fat, tired men who had wasted their lives big time. And both figured the other had wasted their's more. But it didn't really matter.
The mouth went on. "It's not that we care either way. Most people think we are going to care one way or the other. We don't. Only in the way that you are holding things up. We process people. You have backed up the system. You took everything away and brought nothing here, where we are now."
"Where'd the other guy go?"
The mouth paused. "The killer guy?"
"Yes." Paul said.
"He creeps me out. I'm waiting to get the nerve up to deal with him."
Rand sighed. "So, you're not God?"
"Not really. Just a...thing doing it's job. And you two both need to move on."
"Not really. Just a...thing doing it's job. And you two both need to move on."
Rand began "It's not that I was a loser - it's more like I never tried. I mean, I can't be punished for that? I put no effort into anything. So, if I wasted my life, it's - I'm not sure I know where I'm going with this..."
The mouth answered "You didn't try. That's why I have to talk to you. I'm here. This is where my office is. You both showed up. It gets weird. Like with that killer guy. Still have no idea how to tell a guy like that that he has to go back. I mean, he's in jail. you guys are lucky. You guys get to go right back."
"We're going back?" Paul asked excitedly.
"Yes. You two chubby bastards are going back."
"Wait, what happens if you don't waste your life?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?"
Rand woke up on the pavement with his two front teeth being held in his mouth by the dental work he hoped would not be on him when he died.
Saturday, May 19, 2012
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Lady Boners
know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking I’m going to tell you what you’re thinking. But I’m not. I just did. You see my magic?
I bet your neighbors would be pissed if you lined your home with fly paper – on the outside. It’d be one hell of an eyesore, but your house would be fly free. Except for that one that got in through the pipes. I think his name is Henry. I have to check. Wait. Yep, Henry. He plays squash with the mice.
You come to that point in your life where you feel you can afford a home, it’s called 65.
If I was a kangaroo I’d always keep a pouch inside my pouch just to be condescending to other animals that can’t carry all their groceries home.
The thing that bugs me about the Alien movies is what do they eat? I’ve heard all sorts of stories and, of course, the obvious answer – humans, but really, it never shows it. Anyway, there’s cokes in the fridge and Jeremy needs to be put to bed at nine.
They said he was punch drunk: sitting in the bar drinking punch all night he succumbed to over hydration. That and I really laid into him.
The thing about women is that…wait, I know this.
A hotdog is just a taco that has his shit together.
They should make a wind up toy that requires all sorts of tools and plans in order to wind it up. That way people would take better care of their wind up toys.
If you are destined to live in the zoo, then you are destined to be some sort of animal.
My favorite year is that one with the Macarena. That was a good year.
I’ll bet you that Space Mountain was once part of a habitable planet until they started using chloroflourocarbines….colorfloralhardons…those green house things.
What would be cool is if at a Monster Truck show they showed kids how evolution works. You know, like with a Toyota, a Hummer, and Truckasaurus. But I guess there’s that whole separation of Church and State thing. So, you know…
There was once a lady that literally danced all night. We called her The Girl with Epilepsy.
The thing about popcorn is that it can get stuck in your teeth. Other things about popcorn: it comes from corn, it can be microwaved, I have eaten it once or twice.
Why no sneeze guards in gardens?
The other day I was really wasted and started thinking about how come there’s no edible forks. And I don’t mean the kind that fall apart while your eating your pasta or whatever. I mean a fork that will last. That will be able to be doused in spaghetti sauce and still keep its integrity. That way you don’t have to – wait, we’d need an edible bowl, too!
It would be cool if they made a bunch of really tiny mustard packets. Like there’s about 20 that fit inside a regular size mustard pack. That way you could really make everything proportional on your hotdog or hamburger.
You ever pick your nose and a whole cheeseburger comes out?
I regarded the apple with curiosity: say there, apple – how do you be?
The apple then wrenched itself from my hands and hopped to the floor and just sat there. And sat there. Finally I had to kick it. There was nothing left to do.
I, too, have been spurned by lady love – spurned by her man boner!
Thomas cared not for the material life he had created and left the big city to go live in the mountains. After years of living off of the land he decided he was tired of living in the wild and built a spaceship and lived in space. From there on, no one heard from him. Until now: GUUYYYYYYS! GUUUUYYYYYYSSSSS!
If I were a betting man, I’d probably say the Earth will be totally fine for a few more years.
There was once a forgotten palace – a forgotten palace of underarm deodorant. Years ago, before the TV show Sledgehammer, there were a race of men who had advanced to such a degree that they were able to create and manufacture deodorant. They were Gods among men, until that day when the dinosaurs came and ate them.
Does the palace smell good? No, it does not. But that was the wisest guess.
I bet your neighbors would be pissed if you lined your home with fly paper – on the outside. It’d be one hell of an eyesore, but your house would be fly free. Except for that one that got in through the pipes. I think his name is Henry. I have to check. Wait. Yep, Henry. He plays squash with the mice.
You come to that point in your life where you feel you can afford a home, it’s called 65.
If I was a kangaroo I’d always keep a pouch inside my pouch just to be condescending to other animals that can’t carry all their groceries home.
The thing that bugs me about the Alien movies is what do they eat? I’ve heard all sorts of stories and, of course, the obvious answer – humans, but really, it never shows it. Anyway, there’s cokes in the fridge and Jeremy needs to be put to bed at nine.
They said he was punch drunk: sitting in the bar drinking punch all night he succumbed to over hydration. That and I really laid into him.
The thing about women is that…wait, I know this.
A hotdog is just a taco that has his shit together.
They should make a wind up toy that requires all sorts of tools and plans in order to wind it up. That way people would take better care of their wind up toys.
If you are destined to live in the zoo, then you are destined to be some sort of animal.
My favorite year is that one with the Macarena. That was a good year.
I’ll bet you that Space Mountain was once part of a habitable planet until they started using chloroflourocarbines….colorfloralhardons…those green house things.
What would be cool is if at a Monster Truck show they showed kids how evolution works. You know, like with a Toyota, a Hummer, and Truckasaurus. But I guess there’s that whole separation of Church and State thing. So, you know…
There was once a lady that literally danced all night. We called her The Girl with Epilepsy.
The thing about popcorn is that it can get stuck in your teeth. Other things about popcorn: it comes from corn, it can be microwaved, I have eaten it once or twice.
Why no sneeze guards in gardens?
The other day I was really wasted and started thinking about how come there’s no edible forks. And I don’t mean the kind that fall apart while your eating your pasta or whatever. I mean a fork that will last. That will be able to be doused in spaghetti sauce and still keep its integrity. That way you don’t have to – wait, we’d need an edible bowl, too!
It would be cool if they made a bunch of really tiny mustard packets. Like there’s about 20 that fit inside a regular size mustard pack. That way you could really make everything proportional on your hotdog or hamburger.
You ever pick your nose and a whole cheeseburger comes out?
I regarded the apple with curiosity: say there, apple – how do you be?
The apple then wrenched itself from my hands and hopped to the floor and just sat there. And sat there. Finally I had to kick it. There was nothing left to do.
I, too, have been spurned by lady love – spurned by her man boner!
Thomas cared not for the material life he had created and left the big city to go live in the mountains. After years of living off of the land he decided he was tired of living in the wild and built a spaceship and lived in space. From there on, no one heard from him. Until now: GUUYYYYYYS! GUUUUYYYYYYSSSSS!
If I were a betting man, I’d probably say the Earth will be totally fine for a few more years.
There was once a forgotten palace – a forgotten palace of underarm deodorant. Years ago, before the TV show Sledgehammer, there were a race of men who had advanced to such a degree that they were able to create and manufacture deodorant. They were Gods among men, until that day when the dinosaurs came and ate them.
Does the palace smell good? No, it does not. But that was the wisest guess.
Friday, March 16, 2012
March Madness
March Madness is a term for the time of year in Northern England when mystical mushrooms approach humans promising salvation.
Great crops of fungi approach the local English and sing a siren’s song of gold plated dreams and escape from boiled food.
To some, like late singer/songwriter Layne Staley, this was known as the Mad Season.
This is all according to a wiki on the interwebs that believes in oil futures and large pig-headed goats that roam the streets of New Orleans in search of “the best brunch around”.
Regardless, in America, it’s the time of year when St. Patrick’s Day and college basketball collide in an orgy of alcoholism and gambling.
Alcoholism and gambling go hand in hand like Democrats and Republicans. Everyone wants to get involved and everyone loses.
Here in the Western Washington, we have a number of Native American Indian casinos. It’s important to remember that in Washington our Indians are so hard core they are not only Native, they are also part of the West Indies. This involves lots of tax shelter information that I can’t explain right now – but our Native American Indians are LARGE. The casinos are a monument to Jack Nicholson suffering White Man’s Burden in a lodge somewhere in Colorado or Oregon, depending on your frame of mind.
It was early afternoon when we arrived with dumb smiles on our faces and printouts of brackets that would promise money.
You approach a casino like a new dog – with dog food.
And that’s the kind of money I brought with me – dog food.
That errant 300 that you can’t afford to lose, but figure you’re being good for leaving your debit card at home – which is a large mistake considering you will probably borrow money from your friends with the lame promise that “my cash card is back at my house”.
You start drinking coffee or coke and figure you’re not one of those diabetes riddled men in a wheelchair pushing your oxygen tank from machine to machine in the hope for just enough to be able to eat at Sizzler on Saturday.
And you aren’t. C’mon, you’re 35 and have plenty more life to waste.
Smart people play games with good odds, like craps. But, winners play machines.
From Dean Martin’s Wild Party to Lucky Lamps, there are plenty of animated games that scream WHEEL OF FORTUNE at you. And at first it’s funny. So ironic. And yet so dangerous. Pretty soon Pat Sayjack isn’t so funny.
Roulette is an ugly game. The type of people that play will sell you crack from the nearest homeless person’s pocket. They hang on the glass dividers around the table and slur insults at waitresses while drinking left behind Manhattans.
Blackjack is where you find junior high guidance counselors and other assorted pedophiles that enjoy hanging off furniture like dead fish as they tell you about that time they got a free room at the Flamingo and met Dolly Parton in a Chik Fil A.
Poker is where you find the degenerate gamblers that imagine they are gifted with a lethal dose of kickass to the point they spend their 401K loan on a pointless hours of trying to make their sunglasses more intimidating.
The rest of the games are things I can’t pronounce; ugly foreign version of Yahtzee and Sorry where everyone loses and they throw you down staircases taxi cabs away.
The handsome bar is where you learn to spend a little more for your drinks. Like when you order two glasses of absinthe and end up handing the waitress a 100. You think about it and there’s a perverse sense of satisfaction knowing you paid that much for drunky fuel and don’t realize that 2 + 2 equals you make 30 grand a year and don’t have a car.
There’s an ugly moment when you feel water fill your nose and you’re on your 18th beer and you’re rambling on to an old man about how a server works and how if you had been back there in 48 you’dve been just like him.
But then he starts coming on to you and threatening he’s the ex governer of the state and if you could put 1000 on black for him he’d be very happy. You turn and walk out of the bar and run into a Russian waitress with tits like Mt. Si. She offers you a drink, but you know better, you’ve awoke to that feeling of your kidneys not being there way too many times.
And you only had two.
It gets late and you decide to leave. Then you stare at your wallet and the contents and then figure it’s only 103 till you’ve lost a solid 300.
So, you go gamble some more. The whole time thinking about how well your brackets are you lose half the grand prize and then search around for an abandoned Manhattan at the nearest roulette table.
Great crops of fungi approach the local English and sing a siren’s song of gold plated dreams and escape from boiled food.
To some, like late singer/songwriter Layne Staley, this was known as the Mad Season.
This is all according to a wiki on the interwebs that believes in oil futures and large pig-headed goats that roam the streets of New Orleans in search of “the best brunch around”.
Regardless, in America, it’s the time of year when St. Patrick’s Day and college basketball collide in an orgy of alcoholism and gambling.
Alcoholism and gambling go hand in hand like Democrats and Republicans. Everyone wants to get involved and everyone loses.
Here in the Western Washington, we have a number of Native American Indian casinos. It’s important to remember that in Washington our Indians are so hard core they are not only Native, they are also part of the West Indies. This involves lots of tax shelter information that I can’t explain right now – but our Native American Indians are LARGE. The casinos are a monument to Jack Nicholson suffering White Man’s Burden in a lodge somewhere in Colorado or Oregon, depending on your frame of mind.
It was early afternoon when we arrived with dumb smiles on our faces and printouts of brackets that would promise money.
You approach a casino like a new dog – with dog food.
And that’s the kind of money I brought with me – dog food.
That errant 300 that you can’t afford to lose, but figure you’re being good for leaving your debit card at home – which is a large mistake considering you will probably borrow money from your friends with the lame promise that “my cash card is back at my house”.
You start drinking coffee or coke and figure you’re not one of those diabetes riddled men in a wheelchair pushing your oxygen tank from machine to machine in the hope for just enough to be able to eat at Sizzler on Saturday.
And you aren’t. C’mon, you’re 35 and have plenty more life to waste.
Smart people play games with good odds, like craps. But, winners play machines.
From Dean Martin’s Wild Party to Lucky Lamps, there are plenty of animated games that scream WHEEL OF FORTUNE at you. And at first it’s funny. So ironic. And yet so dangerous. Pretty soon Pat Sayjack isn’t so funny.
Roulette is an ugly game. The type of people that play will sell you crack from the nearest homeless person’s pocket. They hang on the glass dividers around the table and slur insults at waitresses while drinking left behind Manhattans.
Blackjack is where you find junior high guidance counselors and other assorted pedophiles that enjoy hanging off furniture like dead fish as they tell you about that time they got a free room at the Flamingo and met Dolly Parton in a Chik Fil A.
Poker is where you find the degenerate gamblers that imagine they are gifted with a lethal dose of kickass to the point they spend their 401K loan on a pointless hours of trying to make their sunglasses more intimidating.
The rest of the games are things I can’t pronounce; ugly foreign version of Yahtzee and Sorry where everyone loses and they throw you down staircases taxi cabs away.
The handsome bar is where you learn to spend a little more for your drinks. Like when you order two glasses of absinthe and end up handing the waitress a 100. You think about it and there’s a perverse sense of satisfaction knowing you paid that much for drunky fuel and don’t realize that 2 + 2 equals you make 30 grand a year and don’t have a car.
There’s an ugly moment when you feel water fill your nose and you’re on your 18th beer and you’re rambling on to an old man about how a server works and how if you had been back there in 48 you’dve been just like him.
But then he starts coming on to you and threatening he’s the ex governer of the state and if you could put 1000 on black for him he’d be very happy. You turn and walk out of the bar and run into a Russian waitress with tits like Mt. Si. She offers you a drink, but you know better, you’ve awoke to that feeling of your kidneys not being there way too many times.
And you only had two.
It gets late and you decide to leave. Then you stare at your wallet and the contents and then figure it’s only 103 till you’ve lost a solid 300.
So, you go gamble some more. The whole time thinking about how well your brackets are you lose half the grand prize and then search around for an abandoned Manhattan at the nearest roulette table.
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