squeak squeak

The aftermath a 24-hour flu bug is kind of like cleaning up after a hurricane—you’re shaken, glad that the worst is over and then you are confronted by the fact that your Nissan Ultima is stuck in a tree.

I got somewhere around 103º and was feeling quite proud of myself, much to Autumn’s dismay. At one point I remember being half asleep and asking her how many there were, which I think related to a dream I was having in which I had to count the members of a football crowd.

This morning I felt pretty good. That weak feeling persisted, due to dehydration and general ickyness, but other than that I was fine. The only major hiccup occurred when I was trying to contact a man about a giant cock (it is funnier out of context). I was on the phone with his wife, and my throat did that thing it does when it gets a tickle, where it closes up and squeaks.

ring ring


“Hi, this is Jeremiah of the County Press. I’m trying to get a hold of Har- {squeak squeak}.”


“{squeak squeak}”


“{squeak HACK COUGH GAG} ...sorry about that. Is Harold there?”

This segues quite ineptly into my main topic of this post, namely things that I find funny that no one else does. For one thing I believe “{squeak squeak}” to be infinitely funnier than the lone, single “{squeak}” Infinitely. I actually giggled when writing it, saying it in my head.

Another thing I found funny, but which flew right by my sister, involved a discussion about a friend of the family who was getting on in years. By that I mean she was freaking ancient. This kindly old bitty had taken to reading the Bible with some regularity, and my sister didn’t seem to understand why she would read it so often, over and over. I told her that the old lady was probably studying up for her finals. No one laughed.

I thought that was witty, I really did. I also find paradoxical statements as can normally be seen on key chains funny, such as “I’m not in denial” and “There is a vast government conspiracy to make me paranoid.” That stuff cracks me up. I don’t know why.

More singularly funny things: dogs smoking, putting cold things on girls and anyone who is both extremely untreatening and angry, like old people, children or midgets.

More amazing art, which I honestly believed I already posted, but apparently was a feverish delusion:

Art of the sort I would be doing, if he hadn’t done it first.

Humbling doodles that far surpass much I have seen; this fellow’s sense of proportion and perspective that he scratches out on receipts is awe-inspiring.


Returning to roots.

My dream last night was reminiscent of old Native American folk tales. For reasons of narcissism (I assume) I was a god-figure.

There was a great desert that stretched from the middle to the end of the earth. Along the middle was a great ridge so high no land animal could climb it, and across its peaks blew a wind that bared even the strongest flying creatures.

The desert was home to many things: the fly, the hornet, the spider, the sparrow and the snake. Every day and every night the hornet tried to sting the fly, the spider sought to devour the hornet, the sparrow to eat the spider and the snake to swallow the sparrow. With each was hunger and fear, save the fly and the snake, who only suffered from one or the other.

On the other side of the ridge was a meadow, a cool pond and a soothing breeze, the gentle sister of the gale that guarded it.

After a time the fly came to me and begged me to lift it over the ridge into the meadow.

"Please have pity on me, for every day and every night I flee cruel hornet, whom I have done no wrong. I hunger for no creature of the desert and only wish to quench my thirst in the cool waters of the meadow."

Looking down upon the fly, quivering and afraid, I was moved, for even then the hornet waited impatient and hungry outside of our circle.

Even to me crossing the ridge would be a challenge, so I put the fly in a special box with netting for walls, and asked him to wait until the winds died down.

The next day the hornet came to me with a similar plea. With the fly taken from her appetite her days were spent in fear of the spider. After making her promise to respect the fly or face my wrath, I placed her in the box as well. I put the fly facing away, so that he would not be confronted by fear, and the hornet faced the fly, to keep her stinger pointed away.

Then the spider came to me with a similar plea. After obtaining his word I placed him in the box as well, facing away from the hornet so that she would be protected by stinger and unthreatened by fang.

Soon the sparrow was in the box as well, facing away from all and waiting for the winds to weaken so that I could carry them over the ridge.

Snake came to me but could offer no need, only hungry desire. No fear drove him, just an endless want. I denied him my assistance and he angrily slinked away, promising vengeance.

A day came when the winds were weaker. Every creature had kept its promise and the remained in a line least threatening to their lessers. I began to climb the ridge.

The winds were strong but did not touch me, instead tearing at the box in my hands As I neared the top I put the box on a peak and every animal with in gasped in awe at the distant paradise. I felt a bite on my ankle and stumbled, hearing only a hissing laughter in the shadows. I dropped the box and it broke spilling the fly and spider back into the desert and the hornet and sparrow into the meadow.

I woke up at this point, so I don't know if there was a moral or not. Had a weird feel to it though.


Despite my ignorance of the arts...

From a cubist rendition of Family Ties in "Those that Bind," to a photorealistic image of John Tesh in "Waiting for Adventure," and even a traditional set of Japanese wall hangings depicting Edward Norton, no other modern artist shows the breadth or depth of Brandon Bird.

Surely his is a genius, for in "Bad Day on the High Sea," he describes the work—featuring a squid, a sperm whale and a Tyrannosaur in an epic struggle—thusly: "Here, raw sexual aggression is symbolized by the sperm whale, while the squid acts as a thinly-disguised metaphor for the multi-armed oligarchies of Rockefeller, Hearst, and Morgan. Their battle plays against the backdrop of the sea, standing in for--what else?--the vastness of the unconscious mind. "

The extent of visual poetry is impossible to encompass in words, for one must see "The Dreamer and the Dream," which Bird describes as "This is a picture of L. Ron Hubbard on the couch eating Funyuns and pizza. He's thinking, 'Mmmm, that's a lot of pizza!'" to truly experience it.

Bird is a god with oil and canvas. Peruse his art and save your soul.


I will win the Nobel prize.

I'm going to get a frikken medal for this. Thanks to Google's beta of a localized search, what Indiana Jones had to trek half-way around the world I did from my desk.

More importantly I found what everybody keeps losing. Which is good, because soon after I found Jesus.

Jeremiah Britt
Private Investigator

Perhaps I was too harsh...

Despite what I posted yesterday, this kind of makes sense.


People for the Eating of Tasty Animals

I was on my lunch break... well actually, I was sitting here writing this and eating Lay's "Tastes of America: Sante Fe Ranch" chips and drinking water I got from the Culligan cooler by the bathroom (I forgot my lunch at home and am poor).

Anywho, I was thinking about how "Santa Fe Ranch" really means "Candy-Ass Barbecue" because it tastes like BBQ's lighter, interior decorator cousin. Having just met my 12:30 deadline with four stories, I had nothing really to do, so I read the ingredients. Near the bottom it stated, in bold lettering "CONTAINS MILK PRODUCTS."

Now, at first glance this may seem an important message for vegans and the extremely lactose intolerant. However, it wasn't as if the milk contents were exactly hidden within the ingredient list or given funny euphemistic names. There were no less than eight different dairy product entries and the word "milk" itself showed up six times not counting the PSA at the bottom. See below:

INGREDIENTS: potatoes, corn and/or cottonseed oil, salt, maltodextrin, whey, butter milk, tomato powder, sour cream (cultured cream, nonfat milk), monosodium glutamate, onion powder, parmesan cheese (cultured milk, salt, enzymes), cheddar cheese (cultured milk, salt, enzymes), Monterey Jack cheese (cultured milk, salt, enzymes), dextrose, partially hydrogenated soybean oil, garlic powder, corn starch, chili pepper powder, corn starch, whey protein concentrate, cultured nonfat milk, ETC.

Damn things are nearly milk chips. Why does this annoy me? Because, at the risk of earning the rage of my fellows, I have a growing hatred for vegans and especially anyone associated with PETA. I know, I know, I'm a dick. As a concept, I don't have anything against people who don't want to eat meat or the like for health/religious/spiritual reasons. However, there is a kind of fanatical, cult mentality amongst these people and I really dislike feeling the need to experience guilt because I think filet mignon is frikken delicious.

The benefits of soy and detriments of milk are wildly exaggerated, yet continually propagated as truth. One of the arguments is that the common occurrence of lactose intolerance in some minorities—namely those of African, Latino and Native American descent—is a sure sign that milk is the devil. Other races have no problem, however, because they produce enough of the enzyme lactase to digest the milk. So what? Are jalapeños bad because you gringos get heartburn? Screw that. There are plenty of racially specific traits that don't necessarily denote the evils or failings of various peoples or habits. Black people get sickle-cell anemia, does that mean blood is unnatural? White people can't dance, which is probably why so many Christian fundamentalists think the activity is sinful, nevermind that the Bible is rife with dancing, drinking and having a good time.

The argument that milk or meat is unnecessary because the proteins, essential minerals/vitamins and what not can be obtained from other sources is equally stupid. I could also say that buying a house is unnecessary because all the necessary materials can be found readily in nature. So, while you are consuming five more meals a day gleaned from pounds of odd or disgusting vegetables, be sure to go cut some trees down for a house frame, refine various ores for metal for pipes and electrical, make some cement etc.

Supposedly too are milk and meat's horrible health side effects. Everything from cancer to osteoporosis, the latter which I'm fairly certain is prevented by milk. Well happy Christmas, but everything we eat, drink and breathe has negative side effects. Too much of anything can cause cancer. Too much water and you get water-poisoning. Soy milk isn't exactly a host of magical benefits either; both soy and tofu have been linked to all kinds of problems and health risk, most involving brain function, but, surprise surprise, they are also linked to cancer.

There is no damn way that we can safely, as a planet, live with health and happiness off of plants alone. Current agricultural practices are questionable as it is, with pesticide use, deforestation and the environmentally crippling effects of irrigation and damning. Add to this most vegans dislike of genetically or chemically modified foods that could actually produce larger and more healthy, delicious and disease resistant crops and you have a very hungry populous. Soylent green anyone?

Aside—despite what PETA says, drinking milk and eating meat doesn't make you fat. Look at me. Not getting off your damn ass every once in a while will make even strict vegans fat. Look at cows.

Vegans are also against honey, as it is produced by bees for their own private, bee uses. This strikes me as insane for a number of reasons. The bees in question are farmed in a way that promotes over-production of honey. The bees are not negatively affected because all they do is produce honey, so they aren't likely to get overworked or miss the latest episode of The Simpsons. The bee farmers are not likely to do things to damage their profit producing little workers. And THEY'RE BEES FOR FUCK'S SAKE. I'll get behind more humane treatment of dogs, cats, hell, even cows. But bees don't experience the world in a way that relates to the human perspective so the very idea of humane treatment is idiotic. We aren't eating the bees themselves. We aren't chaining them to daisies. We are just harvesting what would otherwise be devoured by cartoon bears.

Oh, I know that statistically somewhere in the vicinity of one bee is crushed into every jar of honey in the collection process. Well eat this vegans: every damn "animal free" food you devour is virtually guaranteed to contain some animal matter, as bugs and other pests lived on and ate the living plants and processed materials.

Most vegans are hypocrites. Most cut corners, stop looking at ingredient labels when it is inconvenient or expensive to pay too close attention as nearly all pre-processed foods contain either whey or beef gelatin. No big deal, right? We all cheat on our diets. The thing is it is supposedly a health and morality concern for these people.

Healthwise, do you know of any diabetic who just downs sugar-rich foods when they get "too-busy" to keep track of their diets? Sure there are a couple, but I think we all agree they're playing insulin Russian roulette.

Moralitywise, do you know of any parent that beats their kids when they are too busy to provide adequate, humane disciplinary action? Probably. But what do we call these people? That's right: Assholes.

To boil it down to brass tacks (mixing metaphors rocks), I give you an excerpt from an article by Teresa Platt, Executive Director, FCUSA. Admittedly, she works for the fur commission, but that doesn't mean she doesn't to have her side heard. Besides, PeTa's had its fair share of publicity, what with the sick anti-meat propaganda and anti-fur campaign riddled with derogatory sexualized imagery. Give the article a read, it's a quite interesting look from the other side.

Did you know meat can go bad and kill you? Did you know that many of the animals are skinned alive to produce beef? Did you know cattle produce a lot of manure, that it takes a lot of grain to feed them? Did you know that fish feel pain, that they suffocate and die horrible deaths? Many people live without meat, fish, poultry. We should stop eating animals and live off grains and vegetables.

The PeTA arguments follow this line of thinking and analysis:

* Did you know that you can get AIDS from sex and die?
* Did you know that sex can break your heart?
* Did you know that you can catch sexually transmitted diseases or get pregnant?
* Did you know that lots of children get pregnant from having sex?
* Did you know that sex is not necessary?
* Did you know that many people live long and healthy lives without sex?
* Therefore, we should all be celibate.

So, let's take the PeTA method of deductive reasoning and apply it to the crops that they promote so heavily:

* Did you know that most of the Earth is covered with land and water that can't support crops but we can force some of it to unnaturally produce by diverting water and infusing vast amounts of fertilizer?
* Did you know that, somewhere in the world, runoff from farms is polluting our waters right now, even as we speak?
* Did you know that tilling fields causes air pollution?
* Did you know that human beings are exploited for their backbreaking labor in the hot sun in the fields to harvest your crops?
* Don't you realize that trillions of gallons of water are diverted by huge concrete channels to irrigate farmland for agra kings driven by profit, removing that water from natural uses?
* Did you know that saline buildup from irrigating fields can render the fields unable to support life?
* Did you know that vegetables can grow molds and bacteria that can kill you?
* Did you know that 25% of the pesticides used in this country are used to produce cotton?
* Did you know that erosion from flooded farmlands is most likely responsible for the "Dead Zone" or hypoxia in the Gulf of Mexico?
* Did you know that pfiesteria, an organism that eats fish, grows in nitrogen rich waters and that nitrogen is present in fertilizers?
* Did you know that agra kings kill, using guns, traps and poisons, billions of birds, rats and mice every year, animals that are just trying to get something to eat?
* Did you know the animals lose their homes whenever we put down a crop and that they are sliced to ribbons by combines during the harvesting of the crops?
* Did you know that the greatest threat to wildlife is habitat loss?
* Therefore, people should be educated to not utilize any products produced by the agra-industrial complex which promotes mono-culture crop production and is destroying the world. Living from a sustainable take of grazers, birds and fish is the kinder, more Earth-friendly solution.



Writing exercise.

I was bored, so I came up with a little writing exercise. Waiting for a phone call I decided to see what kind of babble I could write before pausing for more than 30 seconds to think. This is why 1) the story stops in the middle of nowhere 2) it makes no sense and 3) the names are weird.

The names are a result of glancing at the copious amount of empty cans on my desk in a desperate effort to stay within my self-imposed pause requirements. Ed Feine is from "Lipton Brisk Raspberry Iced Tea" and "Mug Root Beer No Caffeine." Vern Nute is from "Vernors" and "Minute Maid Original."

Once typed, I did not allow any backspacing or editing, save spell-checking. This is more a result of trying to pretend I was using a typewriter than teaching myself to use proper revision techniques. It was fun, but also very depressing.

I suggest you all do similar and have fun. Also, go find out at match.com who you find attractive (link on main page). It's fun and interesting.

Lapedit Foods, Inc.®, owns several subsidiaries, most of them candy, snack or instant meal companies.

Known for their experimental flavors of ramen—Stuffed Turkey Dinner, Enchilada, Southern BBQ, and the ambiguous Triple-Decker—Señor Chong ® is Lapedit’s most popular line. Specializing in instant and microwaveable Hispanic/Asian meals, Señor Chong ® has found a particular niche amongst college students, young bachelors and graphic artists.

Ed Feine had the particular pleasure of belonging to all three of the above groups. Admittedly, the 27-year-old Feine was only a college student by circumstance—in his senior year Ed’s final required credit for his semiotics minor suddenly dropped off the course book when the esteemed and flagrantly homosexual Professor Vern Nute passed away after a three day orgy of sex, opium and sheep-sheering. As Ed was the only graduating senior pursuing that minor, in fact the only enrolled student that knew what semiotics was, the college did not see an immediate need to hire a replacement.

Ed could not be swept under the rug, however, as he was the grand-nephew of a very influential alum who had absolutely no idea that he existed. The college administration agreed to give him his diploma on the condition that, however unlikely, when a professor was hired who happened to have the necessary credentials, Ed would return immediately for retroactive full accreditation.

That was five years ago.

Ed Feine currently lived in a modest bungalow with a massage therapist and Tantric yoga instructor/drug dealer, both of them attractive men who nearly always spent the night at various “client’s” houses. In fact, Feine had entirely forgotten what they looked like after the initial roommate interview four years ago. They always seemed to be in the shower or locked in their rooms when he was home, which was nearly always, as “freelance graphic artist” was synonymous with “unemployed.”

It wasn’t a big deal to Ed. They weren’t loud, took care of the garbage and generally were messy enough to make him feel comfortable leaving his sketches lying about without being so sloppy as to have infestations. He normally got a couple assignments a month, left $300 on the kitchen table on the first of the month and was left alone.

Ed was alone a lot. He wasn’t socially awkward or introverted, nor cursed with any physical deformity or skin parasite. He simply didn’t really care about meeting anyone, though he would wander down to the bar every other night to chat up women, all of whom he would eventually learn had slept with one or both of his roommates. Cynicism kept him in.

One Wednesday in June, Ed was mulling over an ad layout for a local grocer and enjoying a Señor Chong's Tofun Bean Fiesta Burrito®. The grocer had expressed a desire to see, as she had put it “Extremely happy oranges jumping into a juicer with a crowd of vegetables and fruits cheering them on and getting splashed with the delicious juices.” It was for next Sunday’s insert in the local paper highlighting seasonal fruits and vegetables. The whole happy suicide/sadistic enjoyment with overtones of cannibalism theme was especially troubling for Ed, as all his sketches thus far looked like VegiTales does Elie Wiesel’s Night. It probably hadn’t helped that he had watched Schindler’s List the night before.

Finally Ed quit in disgust when he realized that he had scribbled a distinctive, close-cropped mustache on a prominent banana whose arm was extended mid-wave.

Tossing what was left of his burrito into the garbage, he opened up a cupboard that wearing a little "Hello, my name is ED'S FOOD, DON'T TOUCH" sticker and grabbed a Styrofoam dish of Señor Chong's Happy Pumpkin Ramen®.


Dear God...

There are no lucid words to describe the insanity of the link below. Instead I will post a passage written by Samuel Foote in the mid 1700's to test the memory of a boastful actor, Charles Macklin:

So she went into the garden to cut a cabbage-leaf to make an apple-pie; and at the same time a great she-bear, coming up the street, pops its head into the shop. “What! No soap?” So he died, and she very imprudently married the barber; and there were present the Picninnies, and the Joblillies, and the Garyulies, and the grand Panjandrum himself, with the little round button at top, and they all fell to playing the game of catch as catch can till the gunpowder ran out at the heels of their boots.

There are no pictures to worry your boss or mother, no overtly offensive speech though the whole exercise is very, very disturbing. Move over Time Cube. How-to guide for delphinic zoophiles, you have been defeated.

This way lies madness.


Press Release

Practiced incompetence leads to mystery shocker

Albey Fairdsoon

LAPEER, Mich. (AP) — Despite a continuing lack of productivity today (3/11/04), County Press staff reporter Jeremiah Britt kept his job. Although pleased by the persistence of his paychecks, Britt admits that the absence of a pink slip has made him a little nervous.

"Well, you know, I like to, well, eat, as it were. So anything that keeps me in the gravy, figuratively and literally, is a good thing. But I don't really do anything. I mean I try, and sometimes I'm actually really busy, but mostly I just kind of try to look busy. I just know that the boss is going to notice soon and either tear me a new one, or kick me out the door," Britt said.

Mark Haney, editor in chief at The County Press and Britt's superior, seems generally pleased with Britt's work. While Haney does give Britt occasional guidance about clarifying jargon for readers and separating the facts from the fluff, there isn't much feedback.

"The second week I was here we got a call from a lady saying I misquoted a number she gave me. Last week I messed up a date. Each time (Haney) came over and told me that 'we need to keep our facts straight.' He wasn't happy, but he didn't yell either," Britt said.

According to Britt, each time he makes a mistake or only turns in three stories he is sure that he'll "get canned." So far he has remained employed and even un-chastised.

In an attempt to "actually, you know, work at work," Britt has added graphics editing to his repertoire, doing various photo illustrations for the paper and offering layout style suggestions.

These efforts have met with compliments by coworkers, Haney, Assistant Editor Krystal Kaltz Johns, and even Publisher Steve Funk. Britt has responded with increased nervousness and a reoccurrence of chronic insomnia.

It is unclear as to whether Britt's epic avoidance of Welfare is some kind of grace period given to new hires or the result of office apathy. Some contributing factors could be the recent loss of three full time employees and constant threats from others to put in their two-week notices. These two circumstances could be causing the management to be leery of aggravating or firing an already angry and understaffed work force.

It could be that Britt has finally used up his free parking, however, as last week another staff reporter, Jennifer Decker, joined The County Press. Bereft of his "new guy" status, Britt fears that he'll no longer be able to wile away countless hours reading movie reviews on the news wire or updating his various LiveJournal and e-mail accounts.

"Good job on your column. It was funny," Johns said recently.

Britt responded by stuttering, going back to his desk and swearing under his breath.

"Any day now. I'm gonna get fired. I really am. Tomorrow's probably my last day," Britt said.

Britt then wrote up a fake press release to look busy.

My mind is wandering. So is my browser.

Here are some things that I'd like to see:

Ketchup/mustard, similar to the Goober brand peanut butter/jelly They would be in individual chambers, like Aquafresh toothpaste, depending on dispension the two could be made to twist beautifully, like a vinegar candy cane. (I heard that a Babysitters' Club book mentioned that a combined orange paste was a burger shak's "secret sauce.")

With all the current features (organizer, web browser, high color display, camera, etc.) packed into today's ultra-slim phones, I don't see why they can't make a feature-free (just phone) cell the size of a watch, pen, or multi-tool, for relatively cheap, Those disposable phones didn't take off, but a durable, small and simple one might be marketable

Carbonated tea, which is made, but not with a wide enough distribution.

Shoes with cleats that are recessed, like cat's claws. They would come out when toes were curled or with strong, sustained pressure caused by running via smart gel technology.

One thing I've wanted for a while was S'moreo cookies. Graham and marshmallow, with chocolate wedge. There are s'more type cookies now, but they suck.

Electronic bartender. I could put bottles of gin, vodka, rum, whiskey etc. in the back, hook it up to a soda fountain (CO2 pump, water line and syrup), and have the thing select from appropriate glasses or plastic glasses (or just whatever glass you put under the dispenser) and make the drink. Would need controlled delivery (tequila sunrise) and stirrer (could dispense stirrers and use them with simple servo, rubberized grip?) Would be expensive but awesome. Need an old laptop to program in drinks (maybe the user can customize strength and and new drinks). Spill-proof touch display. Muy awesome.
No robotic arm to worry about calibration. Moving parts: valves (have to research types), servo for stirring, grip for stirrers (optional), gate mechanisms for dispensing cups and or stirrers (optional).
Computing power: a scientific calculator could do it, but might want a graphical display, so I'd say old laptop and touch screen (market demo only).
I could write it in Visual Basic, or C++ (have to brush up), need robotics controller output via serial port or USB

This would be fantastically simple.
Little square box with cutsey labeling. Simple record and playback chip and battery (like those kid keychain things for $3 where you push button and then can warp playback). Opening box triggers record function for ten seconds. Close the box quickly. Open it and it plays back last recording, but only once. Hallmark would love it. Put a ring inside, ask for marriage...

Debit cards that have a simple LED display that shows balance. This would be easy. Squeeze the edges to activate to save battery life. Solar powered even. Only stumbling block: data transfer from existing ATM's. Account information (e.g. balance) isn't stored locally, so I'm not sure how this would work.

Automatic hemming of clothes. Micro zippers, with rows of teeth arranged in parallel lines, could do it. Have no idea if this is sensible.

A combination washer/dryer. I hoped to god that they had these already. I don't see what the big problem would be, other than water drainage. Front load washer, high-velocity spin to get out most of the water, then tumble dry with heat. What is the problem? They have them, specifically for limited space apartments and condos. Unfortunately they are prone to malfunction. DAMN.

Quote from Autumn #1: "It tickles when you put things in my butt!"

(When I warned her I would take this out of context and post it here she replied with quote #2).

Quote from Autumn #2: "I'll just tell them that Mom likes to put pencils in my butt."

I love my girlfriend.


Thirteen squared.

Ugh. I'm tired and have been searching for Depeche Mode's "Personal Jesus" for too long, yet the song slips through the joints in my skull and flosses my exhausted mind. So I took a break, and inspired by Autumn's "flash fiction" assignment, decided to try my hand. Mixed results ensue--the assignment calls for 500 words, I decide at 169, 13^2. Then I get stupider and make each sentence 13 words. Ick. Damnable results, angsty and riddled with clumsy metaphor. Can't win 'em all.

Her beauty was her tight tiny clothes, his was that he didn’t care. He wasn't remarkable except he knew it; she didn't and so would learn.
Across the gulf of promises she caught his eye and possessed his mind. Muttering advances, lust and fear mixed in his cheeks to form deep red. After three dates, in her daddy’s pickup, behind the local Aco, midnight happened. She moaned lies that caught in his throat, cut him as he swallowed. Four months later, addicted to the mechanizations, their industry formed an accidental product. The waiting room, bright and empty as his mother’s alcoholic smile, disdains him. Gentle doctors, clean rooms, the best in modern medicine and baby is unborn. Complications clutter simple procedures like dark black splotches on a clean white page. Every birthday her bed sprouts rose candles as he sings, presents his tears. He’s too young to have unlearnt the truth of lost love and lies. Poor he, poor she; she’s too old, too lost, love unlearnt, and lies.


You sunk my battleship!

Well, I’ve done it. I’ve ordered my very own copy of "Whisper of Espionage: Wolfgang Kohler and the Apes of Tenerife" by Ronald Ley. From there I will have to get various Kohler works, hopefully enlisting my very beautiful and wonderful girlfriend’s student access to U of M’s library, namely publications in various psychological journals. With various research materials for culture and dress of the locale and time period I will then do my best to transform Ley’s mediocre work into a passable screenplay.

For those of you unfamiliar with Kohler, he was a German gestalt psychologist who, according to Ley, was also a very successful spy during World War I. So successful, in fact, that no one even knew he was a spy until Ley was researching Kohler’s work many years later.

Being as how my subject was an eccentric fellow, yet frighteningly intelligent, I will attempt to form my screenplay to reflect the way “The Road to Wellville” treated Dr. Kellogg, but darker and with more monkeys.

All in all, the 98 cents I invested in the book shall not be too sorely missed.

This will be a step in my life goal of writing (if not publishing) something in every major format.


Tangents, links, and some porridge

Well my “I turned into a giraffe” story line is at an end, as it caused my girlfriend to believe I had cheated on her.

This makes sense, I assure you, and those who know me well enough realize how I promote odd and insane associations, especially with such phrases as “shot in the chest,” “short bus,” “Abraham Lincoln’s new electric cat,” “The” and “I have turned into a giraffe.”

And no, I did not do bad things. That would be crazy, crazy stupid and stupidly crazy. I love that gal Miss Autumn.

Anyway, on the left you see some links; some fun sites (join me in NationStates you bastards), my e-mail (stable) and my Amazon wishlist. No one is expected to buy me crap, but it lets everyone peek into the books, movies and music I desire enough to purchase instead of borrow from the library, rent from a video place or download illegally.

That’s pretty much it.

/me out.


You're going to want to sit down for this...

I took the book quiz that Stef took and was rewarded with comparison to one of my favorites which is coincidentally one of the easiest etymological instances I am aware of. Below I have posted everything but the pic, because they take up space and are generally hideous. It’s just the book cover anyway. If you really want to see it click here.

You're Catch-22!
by Joseph Heller
Incredibly witty and funny, you have a taste for irony in all that you see. It seems that life has put you in perpetually untenable situations, and your sense of humor is all that gets you through them. These experiences have also made you an ardent pacifist, though you present your message with tongue sewn into cheek. You could coin a phrase that replaces the word "paradox" for millions of people.

Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

Okay, so I’m a giraffe now.

I try to help this gypsy lady, who was drunk, and she yells some crazy shit at me before throwing a small femur with a ribbon wrapped around it at me and then passes out in the ditch. I put her carefully back in her cart, replace the wheel, pat her donkey and go home. About a mile from my house I start feeling nauseous and I pull over. I get out, crazy psychedelics and wham! I’m 18 feet tall and I’ve destroyed my pants. Thankfully, though other giraffe’s are generally mute, I’ve retained my speech faculties. Lacking opposable thumbs I have been given very adept prehensile lips and tongue.

I quickly jogged home at about 35 mph before the utter realization of my predicament set in—I was naked.

Fortunately, upon discovering my state my mother was distracted by my metamorphosis and the nudity went unmentioned. I was afraid of a loss of purpose, but within hours I was offered several high-paying jobs by various circuses, scientific laboratories (eek!) and Kids R’ Us. Things are looking up, though I will probably spend half my pay on long distance conveyance.

Ah well. Every silver lining has a cloud.

Fueling my megalomania

Inspired by the “What Country Are You?” quiz, and a obsessive desire to control others, I have set up an account at NationStates. I suggest you do the same.

It is a game, yet a remarkably simple and unobtrusive game that takes about ten minutes a day and doesn’t have obnoxious sound or graphics (read: it will not appear to be fun to a casual observer). Based on a book titled Jennifer Government which I won’t describe because you can read about it on the site, NationStates lets the player set up his/her own utopian socialist state, dystopian fascist regime or anything in between.

You answer 10 multiple choice questions, pick a national name, motto, animal and currency and then a flag (I shall be uploading a custom one later). Viola! You have a country.

Then each workday you are posed with 1 issue (you can increase it if you prefer). You can decide on this issue as you see fit, or dismiss it entirely. The next day it is law and your nation adjusts accordingly, albeit in an exaggerated fashion.

There is no war or trade, so you don’t have to worry about some power user coming in and mucking things up. There is a United Nations, but you don’t have to join. All in all a nice little daily diversion to add to the list of news/comic/movie sites you check everyday when you get to work.

My country is The Republic of Kluver-Bucy, not to be confused with Gary Busey. It is named after a rare psychological disorder resulting in (among other things) oral fixation by way of confusion of indentifying food and hyper-sexuality.

Anywho, if enough of you join up we can move our nations to a particular region, join the UN as a group and wield our unwieldy wielding of power.

Oh, I forgot to tell you in the last post that a drunk gypsy woman turned me into a giraffe last night by—accidentally—when I stopped my car on the expressway to help her change the wheel on her gypsy cart.

Thankfully, the tongue and mouth of me and my fellow Giraffa camelopardali are extremely strong and dexterous, allowing me to type. More on that later.

P.S. Ladies, my tongue is also now 24 inches long. Just a fun fact to file away.

I'm not really that bumpy.

I don't know how I feel about this.

You're Chile!
You're really skinny, and kind of bumpy in frame, but you're not as
rough a person as you used to be.  You like long, long, long walks on the beach and
avoiding having your rights violated, just like anybody else does.  You're even
willing to stand up to those with more power and influence than you, trying to bring them
to justice.  Fight the man!

the Country Quiz at the Blue Pyramid