Gender: Male
Status: Single
Age: 25
Sign: Sagittarius
City: Wind Lake
State: Wisconsin
Country: US
Signup Date:
02/22/05
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Tuesday, April 29, 2008
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chicks won’t leave me alone
Current mood:  annoyed
let's face it....chicks dig me, man. take today for example, i was taking a jog down the road and suddenly these two chicks come up to me. they soooooo wanted me. they were hitting on me and using innuendos and stuff. seriously. they were all like, "cluck, cluck, cluck." and i was all like, "stop hitting on me. you're not my type." and they were all, "cluck, cluck, buguck." and i was like, "no." it was pretty sweet.
i don't know what it is about me....but i'm a chick magnet. seriously, chicks follow me wherever i go....i go out to eat at a japanese restaraunt and suddenly, i look down at my plate and there's a perverted chick on my plate covered in teriaki sauce. i mean, teriaki sauce is nice and all....but good golly. there's a time and a place for things, you know.
and on the topic of restaurants, who does this col. sanders think he is, anyway? the dude is obviously a pimp....pimping out chicks to everyone. in the kfc logo, you can only see his head, but the rest of the picture actually shows him with a boa and fur coat. true story. but anyway, this so-called colonel always tries pimping out his chicks to me....telling me that it's affordable. that's disgusting and wrong. chicks aren't objects, dang it. they deserve respect and at least double the price you're asking for. give 'em some dignity, for cryin' out loud.
seriously, chicks love me....but it seems like only the perverted ones do. they're always bobbing their heads at me when they walk. it's like that quagmire fellow from family guy....he's a perv-o and he only bobs his head when he's being an ultra perv-o....
these chicks must be perv-o's, too. why are chicks like this, dang it? i'm not a bag of seed for them to drool over, dang it. i'm a man. i am a man, and i don't need to take this harassment...because that's what it is....i see those chicks looking at my butt. i cover my butt in clothing because i don't want 'em to see it...it's wrong!!
....i...i just don't know what to do anymore. these chicks won't leave me alone...and it's all because i tried using that axe bodyspray, too....well, that's getting tossed in the dumpster. i just want this torment to end...an army of chicks....and they all want me...
....some people might say i'm the luckiest guy in the world. i say it's a curse....a gosh, darn curse.....golly.
10:31 AM
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Monday, April 28, 2008
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sweatin’ it out for the greater good
Current mood:  argumentative
i often sit back and find myself wondering, "how much is that doggie in the window...and how much could i get for it on the black market?" now before people start getting their crackers in a ritz, let me explain...because i've already had an outburst when i made these thoughts of mine public. she knows who she is and what she's done...and she's responsible for this blog....all of it....except for the good parts, i'll take responsibility for those...but everything else is all her. that's her punishment for questioning my abundance of intellect.
anyway, back to dogs in the black market -- i think it's a fabulous idea. think about it, if a dog gets sold in the black market, where do you think it'll end up? hmmm? hmmm? a sweat shop, that's where. do i have any proof of this? well, no...but do you need to stick your face up an elephant's rectum for you to believe that they poo just like everyone else? nope, you just assume they do. well, i assume that dogs would end up in sweat shops...and i assume the truth.
now, sweat shops have gotten bad raps over the years with children working and such....but let me tell you this, buddy; our economy makes it hard to get a job and those little tykes have found employment...and they're learning early on to hate their bosses when said supervisors walk around and whip 'em, throw steaming hot potatoes at 'em, or whatever they do. anyway, i'll get right to the point. sweat shops can be good...especially in the case of dogs.
have you ever seen a dog sweat? i sure haven't. richard simmons taught me long ago that to be healthy, you have to sweat. sweating makes you physically fit and healthy and happy...and, again, i have never seen a dog sweat in my life. this means that all dogs are like walking towns of flab. how do we remedy this unfortunate situation? sweat shops, that's how. by selling dogs to the black market, we are giving them a future of health and well-being...and they'll have the satisfaction of knowing how to make designer shoes for a dollar an hour wage. that's a feeling they can't get anywhere else.
plus, let's not forget the vietnamese. they prowl the streets looking for dogs to eat all the time. if these dogs weren't off the streets and in those sweatshops, we'd be hearing about dogs that had been devoured all the time...plus, vietnamese folk have the ability to unhinge their jaws like a boa constrictor. if their jaw becomes unhinged near an unsuspecting dog, that's the end of ol' poochy. this vietnamese threat alone is enough to warrant us to sell dogs to the black market whenever we can.
on top of that, the population of homeless dogs is rapidly on the rise due to bob barker being unable to remind us to have our pets sprayed and tutored...or whatever he says...i never really paid attention to be honest. but anyway, the point i'm trying to make is that would you rather see a dog making an honest dollar in a sweat shop or see it sitting on the street corner singing songs and begging you to put some money in its sombrero?
the second option is out of the question to me...these dogs need to be in sweat shops, where an angry supervisor is yelling and spitting in their faces. it's like the military. these dogs will walk out of these sweat shops (if their legs are working) with self-confidence, pride, and a sense of discipline that they would have never gotten had they not been sold into the black market. plus, as mentioned before, they'll be avoiding the vietnamese. i mean, seriously, they're bloodthirsty dog eaters. take a look.
...look at that face and tell me that she doesn't want to unhinge her jaw and satisfy her ghoul-like apetite. tell me she doesn't and i will find something unpleasantly blunt to harm you with.
the fact of the matter is this, folks. these dogs are lazy, unhealthy creatures...being active and healthy is something that each and every one of us should be. it will improve our lives and make us happier. it will do the same to these dogs. by selling them to the black market so that they can be placed in sweatshops, we're not only improving their health and personality -- we're gonna be getting a LOT of money for it that we can spend on those robotic vacuum cleaners so we can sit around and do nothing all day when we should be cleaning. we're helping dogs and helping ourselves at the same time...and that's not wrong. that's so, so right.
1:12 AM
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Thursday, April 24, 2008
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video games made me do it...
Current mood:  ashamed
today it seems that everyone blames video games for warping the minds of children and making them do unspeakable things like kill people. now, while i've always been a firm supporter of video games and believe that censoring them is a big load of phooey, i've recently realized that these games really are making me do what i see in the game....i just never realized it until now.
i had dusted off my old nintendo entertainment system and popped in super mario bros. 2...mainly because i wanted to throw vegetables at birds wearing masks. i played through all the way to the end, where i force-fed the game's boss vegetables, which made him die.
the game's boss is a giant toad called wart...i'm assuming it's based off the myth that toads give you warts....which is a stereotype, by the way. back then, nintendo was a bit racist towards toads. but anyway, after i finished the game...i suddenly had the urge to go find some giant toads...and to feed them soap so they would burp up bubbles. so, i did.
after i had gotten myself some toads, though, i suddenly felt evil creep into my mind. it was mario...in his annoying, high-pitched plumber voice, he told me to go find mentally challenged people and bring them to the toads. i did as the voice said because he was a plumber and plumbers usually have wrenches....and wrenches hurt.
so, i gathered several mentally challenged folks and brought them to the toads....and it was like i didn't even have control of my body at this point...like i was in the video game itself, i began to pick up the mentally challenged people and throw them at the toads. i strategically avoided the bubbles that the toads burped out of their mouths and made sure that when the mentally handicapped folks crushed them with their weight, as least part of them went in the toads' mouths...just because i know that when swallowed, vegetables kill toads.
after a while of this carnage, i quickly backed off....i regained control of myself and realized what a monster i had become. at first, i wanted to blame my parents because they had never told me that feeding toads soap and throwing retarded folks at them was wrong. but then i realized that since i had no control of my actions, super mario bros. 2 was obviously to blame. playing that game MADE me hurl mentally challenged folks at large, bubble-belching amphibians.
...however, whether i actually had control or not...i was the one who did it. i killed several innocent amphibians by hurling the mentally challenged at them...and the ones that didn't die from that died shortly afterward from soap poisoning. the toads croaked...and while super mario bros. 2 was obviously the one responsible, i was still the one who did it.
now, i don't know how or why this video game took control of me like it did, but it's very obvious to me that these kids that run around their schools, kill people, and then claim that video games made them do it....it's obvious to me that they're telling the truth....because i, too, am a victim of this travesty; i, too, have killed because of video games. maybe, one day the video game industry will stand up and accept responsibility for the actions of myself and others...and when they do, my soul can finally rest in peace.
1:31 AM
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Sunday, April 20, 2008
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cool runnings shoulda been about a bobsdead team...
Current mood:  exanimate
since i was young, all i've heard about is how jamaicans are so friendly and peaceful. "oh, they're such nice people out there," i hear people say. "they're always too high on drugs to start fights with anyone." high on drugs? sounds like a convenient lie to me. the truth is that jamaicans are warriors. they live to fight...they live to kill. i have proof:
that's right. predators are jamaicans.
take those dreadlocks for example, only two types of people wear dreadlocks: jamaicans and pot-smoking hippies. since i don't see a joint in the predator's hand up above, i'm guessing the pot-smoking hippies option is out, which means that the only logical choice is that predators are jamaicans. that is logic with absolutely no holes. predators = jamaicans...and i didn't even have to mention how their armor is shaped so that when you hit them with sticks, it's like playing steel drums. that's how wonderful and flawless my logic was.
but anyway, now that we've established that, without a doubt predators are jamaicans, the picture is starting to become clear. jamaicans aren't the peace-lovin' society that we've been lead to believe...no, they're bad eggs. predators kill people...they kill a lot of people...and since jamaicans are predators, that means we've got a society of murderers living on a small island we've deemed as 'paradise'.
have any of you people wondered why jamaicans always call people 'mon'? it's simple...mon is french for the word 'my'. when jamaican people call someone 'mon', it means that they have selected them to be their next victim in the hunt. they use a french term because they know full well that if everyone claims that jamaica is a paradise, the french will stay away...because they have to be french, afterall. if everyone wants to go to paradise, the french are gonna want to visit an abandoned playground in bulgaria instead. that's just the french being french; something the jamaicans were counting on. if the french aren't there, then they won't pick up on the jamaican's plans for death and destruction.
but anyway, these murderous scumbags pick their victims and hunt them down...and they don't kill them like in the movies, either. that's just hollywood making it all flashy and quick so it'd be enjoyable for an audience....no, the reality is much more gruesome. the death that these victims receive is so completely sadistic that many of you will have trouble wrapping your minds around it....these jamaican predators of evil kill their prey with...
silly putty.
now some of you are thinking that being killed with silly putty is a silly idea. i'd like whoever is thinking that to raise their hands so that i can see you and slap you across the mouth. silly putty being used as an instrument of death is a silly idea? well then smarty pants, listen closely.
silly putty is best known for what? smearing it on newspapers, peeling it off, and seeing that the design from the paper had transferred over to the silly putty. if you look back at the paper, though, the ink is dimmer...it's not as strong as it was prior to the silly putty application. jamaicans use this same principal when they use silly putty as a means to kill.
our dna is like a genetic newspaper...and these jamaicans cram the silly putty so viciously onto our skin, that when it's peeled off, our genetic structure becomes weaker. after being silly puttied enough times, we can't fight back...and between the final few applications of silly putty, the jamaicans can look at the print on the putty they pulled from us and enjoy our genetic newspaper's version of dilbert. boy, oh boy, that dilbert sure is a character, isn't he?
but anyway, if we're puttied enough, we'll have no genetic structure left...we'll be hollow like chocolate bunnies. in this state, the predators then box us up and give us to their children on easter....they may be cold, ruthless killing machines...but they're not heartless.
the whole point of this blog is to warn everyone in the world that jamaica is a deathtrap. it may seem like paradise and jamaicans may seem like the happiest people on the planet...but neither are true. the fact is that jamaicans are predators, their country is a place where you'll be murdered with silly putty, and their children will eat your hollowed-out remains when the putty death has finished. and beware, anything from jamaica is a predator...so before you trust any of your family, friends...or even yourself, do a background check. before you enroll in a school, find out who founded the school and where he came from. before you buy a puppy or adopt a dog from a shelter, make sure you know where it was born.....because even man's best friend could be a jamaican...it could be...
...a predator.
1:36 AM
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Saturday, April 12, 2008
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the grand return of the ask ape blog
Current mood:  lazy
i'm not gonna go into a big explanation...you folks sent me questions and i am giving you answers. i got 15 questions, which is down quite a bit from last time, but it's still plenty for a blog, so i can't complain. anyway, let us begin...
If bea arthur and abe vagoda die, will the universe implode on its self?
no...while the passing of the two would be a horrible tragedy, and bea arthur is a crutch that our universe is using to stand up....abe vagoda is no such crutch. he's more like a band-aid....a sesame street band-aid. one that both heals a wound and makes us smile when we see it. now, if the other crutch of the universe, scott bakula, were to die, too...well, then we'd be in some trouble.
The other day, I was running on a road and saw a duck, a turkey, and a Canadian goose were within five feet of each other. The turkey was a female, but the other two birds were agreesive males. So I threw a slice of soggy white bread (don't ask why I had bread with me on the run) right in the middle of all three birds and the female turkey got the bread. Why did she get the bread, esp. when there are two, aggresive male birds longing for human food?
because there is a simple rule that doesn't just apply to humans, but to all living creatures....that rule is: no matter how aggressive or dominant a male is, they are weak compared to a female. while we can't tell, that female goose was probably one hot tamale in the eyes of the male geese....therefore, they were weakened by the tamale-ness of her, which allowed her to step in and eat up. there's a saying: heck hath no fury like a woman's scorn. it doesn't matter how big and bad those males were, if they messed with her potential meal, she'd make their lives miserable with constant goose nagging....true story.
Ok Mr smartypants, Is cold-fusion really possible?
i was going to do research on this controversial topic and gain an opinion....but then i lucked out at a chinese restaurant and got the answer in a fortune cookie. it stated: "someone will ask you a question related to a pathological science. the answer is yes." since cold-fusion is a pathological science, i'll assume the cookie meant that. so, my answer is yes....and my reasoning is because a fortune cookie told me so.
No doubt that inflicting Shaq Fu on some unfortunate fool would unleash a whole lotta pain, but do you consider Shaq's other weapons such as his rap album Shaq Diesel or his film Kazaam to be just as more painful than Shaq Fu to the schmuck on the recieving end of the brutality?
kazaam was one of the absolute worst movies i have ever seen....so, of course, i adore it. then again, some folks think i'm a masochist, so it could easily be extremely painful even if i like it. i never listened to shaq diesel, but if the album hints at shaq's voice sounding like a semi being jackknifed...then, i'll adore that as well. shaq fu, on the other hand doesn't just involve shaq making you feel pain but assorted other lame characters dealing out the lame-o punishment as well...i have never played a fighting game were i felt that limp-wristed slapping would look cooler than some of the moves in the game....in that regard, i give the nod to shaq fu for inflicting pain on folks.
Is it okay to eat doo doo?
i think so...but only if you have a fork and knife. you need to have manners when you eat it, afterall.
In your opinion, what's the best and worst song of the 90s?
ahh geez, i don't listen to music much....but i'll say johnny depp by wesley willis is the best song and anything by michael bolton and/or celene dion would be the worst.
Is it true that if you fart when you are hanging upside down that a baby duck dies?
no, that's not true at all. it's just an urban myth. in reality, though, if you do the whole topsy-turvy pooting stuff, a gnome will appear out of nowhere with a giant bucket of ice cream...he'll then proceed to take off his pointy hat and place a single scoop of ice cream in it. he'll take a lick of the ice cream and perish before your eyes. nobody knows why this strange phenomenon occurs....but it does. it does.
Is baseball dumb?
technically, yes. because baseball can't speak....it can't hear, either, which would make it deaf and dumb....and it's famous and fills peoples' lives with joy....basically, baseball is helen keller....except without the intentions to murder people.
Why are you so cool?
you've been snorting the drugs, haven't you? :)
Who invented the doll?
a little-known caveman....oogaag mattell. mr. mattell later formed the famous toy company, creating dolls for everyone. originally they made toys with crude materials...but since then, they've come a long, long way. oogaag was a brilliant business man...it's a shame that he's no longer remembered....although a photograph of him is hanging in the mattell corporate headquarters lobby...how a picture was taken in 10195 bc is a mystery that may never be solved.
If you're an ape, do you like bananas?
no....but i like to oat, oat, oat, opples and bononos
Who got us into this mess?
snow peas. they don't look like snow. they don't taste like snow. but they have snow in their name....and that angers people to the point where messy situations occur.
How do dogs think?
there's actually an old, musical street vendor in their skulls with a tiny, dancing monkey. the vendor spins the handle of a magical device and it creates music, allowing the monkey to dance around. now, the vendor and the monkey are actually atop a keyboard and as the monkey dances, it types in the thoughts of the dog. this is also why we can't understand dogs when they bark at us...the monkey rarely forms actual words. but anyway, here's a general rule: smarter dog=monkey with mad dancing skills. dumber dog=monkey with my dancing skills.
if puff the magic dragon lived by the sea, could he swim?
no....that's why it's "lived" by the sea instead of "lives" by the sea. he drowned...but he was wearing a skullcap so his head scales wouldn't get wet....so it was actually a very funny sight.
Is opening an umbrella indoors bad luck?
nope....it's only bad luck if you're mary poppins....in which case, you may get a concussion if you try it.
well, that's all for this edition of 'ask ape'...tune in for the next blog when i talk about something stupid and pointless, yet intelligent and thought provoking...well, except for the last two parts. thanks to all who sent in questions and to those of you who didn't, you should be ashamed of yourselves. adios all and take care.
11:47 PM
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Friday, April 11, 2008
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kool-aid man...and a new pictoem
Current mood:  artistic
is it just me or does it look like the kool-aid man is the poster child for internal bleeding? afterall, with all of those brick walls he bursts through, and people beating him up for poor choice of clothing, it's not difficult to imagine that he's getting massive internal damage to his body. i mean, that just doesn't look like kool-aid inside his pitcher body....the color is too solid, which means the liquid is far too thick to be kool-aid. it's gotta be blood. he's a brave soul to have internal bleeding that badly and still manage to cause havoc with a smile.
speaking of his creepy facial features...aside from his smile, all they are is punctuation; comas for his eyes and nose and apostrophes for his eyebrows...it reminds me of the pictoem i wrote not too long ago entitled 'semi-colon, baby, semi-colon'...in fact, here it is...and since i'm too tired to continue on much more, i'll also copy and paste my original analysis of the pictoem, too....i just waste more space that way. :)
SEMI-COLON, BABY, SEMI-COLON
:  :
the title is semi-colon, baby, semi-colon....yet there is no semi-colons to be found...only colons. the addition of the baby represents that our children are surrounded by lies in the media. an example of one such lie, probably, is that whole scientology religion...it doesn't even sound like a religion...it sounds like a class you'd take to become a zoologist. now, i believe in aliens and all, so this religion has me curious...but i still think it's a heaping bowl of giraffe upchuck.
speaking of bowls, let us continue on with the explanation of the pictoem. bowls have to do with eating, and so does another message hidden inside the pictoem...cannibals like the taste of babies. the colons form a baby shishkabob...with the stick going right through the baby's adorable little midsection. cannibals say that human flesh tastes like chicken...which means that babies taste like chicken...cannibals like human flesh which means cannibals like babies. in case you've never taken a logic class, you've just read logic at its finest.
next, if you examine the baby itself, you'll notice that its pajamas match the sheets in its crib...this, of course, is symbolizing the baby hiding from the lies and the cannibals with the crafty use of camoflauge. this is just telling us things that the movie "look who's talking" told us back in the 80's...that babies are intelligent and have famous actor voices speak their inner thoughts.
i suppose that's all...there's more to it than what i wrote...but i'm too tired to go any deeper into it...let's just say that my pictoem was deep....really deep. so deep that i've got attractive lifeguards running around the beach surrounding it as david hasselhof music plays in the background. if that's not deep to you, then you, my friend, may have a mental illness...one i call denial.
i forgot how artistic i can be with the english language...anyway, yeah...the kool-aid man's face looks like a pictoem to me. in fact, back in college, i was told about found art and found poetry...well, let it be known that i have found poetry in the kool-aid man's face...no, i have found pictoetry. yes, pictoetry. and this piece of found pictoetry i have titled "internally bleeding punctuation". yes...here it is...
...well, that's fancy. and on that fancy note, i'm gonna try and get some shut-eye. there's two hours until i have to wake up for work, so i bet be gettin' to beddie bye. whoa those last to lines rhymed and i didn't even to try....dang it. take care, all.
12:20 AM
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Tuesday, April 08, 2008
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deus ex machina...tribute to a friend
Current mood:  sad
the origins of the term deus ex machina lay in greek tragedies...it involved lowering someone who played a god down to the stage using a mechane; a crane. translated, it means "god from a machine." i was just informed that recently, like in a greek tragedy, one of these deus ex machinas has passed away after a bout with cancer. this blog is dedicated to him, and by golly, i’m gonna try to make it lame and stupid just so he mutters sarcastic insults at me from above....just like old times hehe.
so, deus ex machina means god from a machine? well, gosh darn it, this whole being lowered down by a crane thing doesn’t make sense then. birds aren’t machines, dang it...and even if they were, wouldn’t these birds be storks rather than cranes? after all, they are ’from’ them....babies come from storks, so why would a god come from a crane?...then again, the stork could be pre-occupied with pickles, which would explain why the crane had to step up...
and if these gods come from machines instead of birds, like the translation says, does this mean that we’ve got machines having romantic relations with one another? ahh geez, that probably explains why machines have parts called the ’male end’ and the ’female end’....and why one fits inside the other. that’s really nasty....i’ve been touching the private areas of machines.
well, we know that the machines can ’do the act’ but, how would a machine give birth to one of these gods? unless....anything that comes out of a machine is a god. take a toaster, for example....you put in plain, ordinary bread...but when it pops out -- god! it makes sense when you look at it this way: if you are trying to hammer in a nail, which is going to last longer? a flimsy piece of bread that will bend on first impact, or a piece of godly toast that will chip away as time goes on, but ultimately last much longer than the bread? obviously, the toast would last longer...which makes it like a god to all of the other bread. this is universal, too. we’ve got tanning booths ’cause people with tans are treated like gods, smog from our cars ’cause the hole it makes in the o-zone makes it easier for deities in the heavens to reach down and touch our lives, and sausage makers because....uh, meat wrapped in instesinal casing shows that...umm, heavenly beings like that kind of stuff....plus, sausages are well-established gods of the track and field scene...
so...i suppose with that logic, deus ex machina makes sense...god from a machine. it may not be a savior that emerges from these machines, but whether it be a god in comparison to something similar, a way to open up to the spiritual forces above, or whatever the poop sausage makers do, it can be as meaningful to us as a god in some way, shape, or form.
one particular deus ex machina that was meaningful to a lot of us was dan denholt. as i end this blog now, i just wanted to say that i’m not sure if a crane, stork, toaster, tanning bed, or sausage maker lowered dan to this stage we know as life....but i’m honored and humbled to be one of the people that he allowed to sit in the audience of his theatre...and even though the theatre is no longer playing shows, i’m still sitting there....staring at the stage, stuffing my face with junior mints, hoping for an encore that i know i’ll never receive.
thank you, dan.....thank you for the memories, thank you for the good times and the bad, thank you for being a friend. despite what you always believed, you will be missed.
r.i.p. dan denholt
11:49 PM
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Sunday, April 06, 2008
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insomnia randomness
Current mood:  blah
i can’t sleep...insomnia is hitting me hard like a walrus with a bat. actually, i suppose that wouldn’t be too hard at all since i’m sure you can’t really swing a bat too hard when you have flippers to grip it with. i think that’s kind of sad. we’re living in politically correct times, dang it....we’ve got those crazy slackers known as peta running around fighting for animal rights, but they’re ignoring the fact that most marine life can’t play a good game of baseball because they can’t get a good grip on their dang bats. the walrus should have the right to play baseball in its spare time...am i right? when is peta gonna get on this subject and make sure we’re making flipper-pleasing bats for these buck-toothed hillbillies of the sea? when are they gonna stop yelling "FOUL!" and start yelling "FOUL BALL!!"? it better be soon, dang it....’cause i think walruses would look absolutely adorable in baseball caps.
speaking of baseball caps, how in the world do they come up with this "one size fits all" scam? granted, i rarely wear baseball hats, but i tried one of these magical hats that supposedly fit everyone and it was so tight that it cut off the circulation to the very top of my head...they should rename these hats to "one size fits some people perfectly and it’ll technically fit on everyone else, but not very well." i’ve got an over-sized head, dang it...i don’t need to feel bad when my cranium has too much girth for a one-size-fits-all to fit comfortably...i’m a very sensitive fellow, you know.
on the subject of sensitive things, my arms are currently very sensitive due to my new job of sand-blasting pumps and piping clean...it wouldn’t be a problem except i’ve got big, ol’ monkey arms that my welding coat can’t cover completely....so the sand bounces off the metal and back into my skin at wonderous speeds. while the sensitivity is irritating, the plus side of the story is that i’ve got fun designs on my arms now where the skin got blasted off...like little clouds....or rorschach blotches. i’m look at one right now....it kinda looks like a sandwich playing a violin.
since we’re talking about musical food, let’s talk about beans. it’s called the musical fruit by a very popular song sung by young scholars...i’ve never seen or heard of a bean singing or playing an instrument in my life. i mean, sure, when you eat them, they’re obviously doing some sort of performance in your belly ’cause your butt cheeks start applauding....but i haven’t heard a single note....but maybe they’re performing in a note that’s unaudible to the human ear. i never considered that until just now. i apologize to any beans reading this....sometimes i just like to jump to conclusions.
conclusions are a good way to end things....like this blog here....so, let’s conclude it. i’m starting to feel a bit like i can sleep....so, maybe i’ll give it the ol’ college try. i’m not quite sure how well i’ll be able to sleep knowing that the poor walrus still can’t play ’ball....but, i suppose i’ll at least try. afterall, trying is the first step to success...and success is the first step to something besides success. think about it.
2:24 AM
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Friday, March 07, 2008
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the embodiment of love
Current mood:  romantic
two of my pals from seattle posted blogs about love...sooooo, i figured i'd reach deep into my mangled mind and throw my two cents in. afterall, i tend to see stuff that nobody else does, so maybe i can solve the mysteries of love, eh? let's try it.
to me, this isn't really easy....in my mind, love is way too simple to explain in more than a few words...but at the same time, it's way too complicated to explain in writing within someone's lifetime. but, perhaps there's a creature out there that is like the embodiment of love....a creature that could make it easier for us to understand this crazy emotion....a creature like this one...
yes, the fangtooth fish. this animal could very well be the perfect description of love, in my opinion. so beautiful, yet ugly....yes, yes....fangtooth is love and love is fangtooth. they are one and the same...but since people don't like to take my word for stuff, i suppose i'll explain.
the fangtooth is a deepwater fish, so, it's not too common to find one without actually making an effort to get out and look. love is the same way, you might get lucky and find love without any effort...but chances are, you'll have to go out and look for it if you want to find it. it's kind of like a game of hide-and-go-seek...except when you find the thing you're seeking, whether it be a fangtooth or a significant other, you jam a hook in its mouth and reel it in. afterall, nothing says 'i love you' like a large, gaping hole in your cheek.
speaking of sharp objects being embedded into faces, the fangtooth also has extremely long teeth....the teeth are so long, in fact, that when the fish closes its mouth, its lower teeth have to slide into special sheathes on either side of its brain in order to avoid it from impaling itself. this aspect of the fangtooth is so like love that it's almost scary. afterall, how often do we see people try to clamp their teeth down on a sugar cookie of love, only to kill their chances when their over-sized chompers end it all after missing the sheathes of sense, killing all chances of obtaining that sweet taste of love?
that kinda brings up a new point...love can't be forced. you can't clamp down on it and expect it to work....like a pair of gym socks, love needs to be aired out to work. if you don't allow space, that sweaty foot smell of discontent will fill the air and somebody is gonna want out, and if there is no way out, they'll make a way. this happens with large bottom teeth and brains, too. fangtooth fish, however, have given space in their skulls for their teeth so there is no need to break out. they give space....which is an important aspect of love.
i'm starting to get tired, so i'll just list one last example before i head out and try and get me some sleep. while these fangtooths can look ferocious with their deadly-looking overbites, they're actually pretty small and harmless to us human folk. it's kinda like love in that aspect, too. love seems scary and intimidating, but it's really nothing to be afraid of...yeah, you can get hurt by love's giant jaws, but it's not gonna kill you. afterall, like the guy below once said, we have nothing to fear but fear itself...
...hey, ol' fdr even looks like a fangtooth a bit. i always thought he had abnormally large teeth hidden in that mouth....seems like i was right.
but anyway, due to its small size, fangtooths are often preyed upon by larger fish such as tuna. that's right. the tuna we eat has digested fangtooth in it...digested love, so to speak. and since we eat the tuna, then that means we're eating that digested love. just about everyone has eaten tuna at one time or another in life...so, i guess with that logic, there's a little bit of love in just about all of us....a little bit of digested, already-been-chewed love.
so, when you're wondering about love...how it should be, how to find it, how to jam a hook in its cheek...look no further than the fangtooth fish...
afterall, if you can get past the way it looks and see it for what it is, the embodiment of love, then you're already well on your way to finding love yourself. so, if you meet a disgusting, ugly-looking person that revolts you, talk to them, that nausea might not be from their appearance....it might just be love. after all, beauty is skin deep and so is that groovy emotion that we call love.
6:23 AM
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Wednesday, March 05, 2008
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stop being fakers, women
Current mood:  aggravated
the other day, i heard on tv that some women fake organisms. i didn't believe it at first because that's, y'know, like lying...and lying is bad. i mean seriously...this woman tells some guy that she faked every organism...and that's just plain wrong. who knows how many diseases this demented woman claimed to have had only to come back and tell the guy that they were all faked by her. that's just plain not cool.
but, it got me thinking...if women fake organisms, that means that some of these female-only diseases might not be real at all...and you know, it makes sense.
take breast cancer, for example...it takes like a bajillion lives a year according to the tv. i, however, am far too smart to believe anything i hear on tv, so i don't buy that for a second. i mean, seriously, look at what the breast cancer organism looks like...
...alright, first off that 'photo' was obviously made with crayola crayons...more specifically, the 'macaroni and cheese' colored crayon. but for the sake or argument, we'll let that slide and focus on what was drawn. to me, it looks like they just went out and put a pinecone atop some branches and followed it up by drawing the picture we see above. how does that relate to a woman's chest? simple. how did they get those materials to create this fake organism? they had to 'bust' up a tree. get it? yeah...everyone thinks women are so much smarter than men...well how do you like that, women? i'm cracking your codes!
it's also important to note that the ribbon for breast cancer awareness is pink...and what is pink but a shade of watered-down red? that's right...those pink ribbons support watered-down communism. afterall, women as a whole are like communists, now that i think about it. they lie about organisms in their body and share this lie with one another...if sharing isn't communism, i don't know what is. plus, as some women get older, i've noticed they like to buy those giant cake-like hats to wear around....they kinda look like ushankas, the furry hats worn by russian communists.
 
see? it's plain as day, people. i don't know how my fellow males haven't figured this out already...but to be honest, i probably would have never figured it out if i hadn't been watching 'the view' (weekdays on abc at 10am central time) so i could laugh when barbara walters tried to pronounce words with the letter 'r' in them.
anyway, i know that women read this blog....and to them i have this to say: stop faking organisms. it's making us male folks feel bad. we don't want you to be sick...and it angers us when you reveal that you were never sick to begin with. but in way, it's our fault, too for not seeing through the lies....i mean seriously; periods? i knew they were fake all along, there's no way something that terrible could happen. next time a woman tells me she's got a period, i'm going to tell her to get a life.
there's no fooling me any more. i know the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me golly. i will never be fooled ever again by the women folk...no, i'm way too smart for that. women are smarter than men? psh...i think i just proved otherwise.
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Currently
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Lady and the Tramp (50th Anniversary Edition)
Release date: 28 February, 2006
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3:46 AM
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