Thursday, September 4, 2008

The boy bounced freely from his roost atop the trike, striking the ground with gruff enthusiasm and a spankering of trust only to be thrust into a cold cruel trikeless world that knows no pity for for the ground and schooled class of glasslike leaches of desire and withering expectation of uniform atrocities that gleam like a dazzle-pinned reaper inside a triumphant catass trophy pawing at the sun when it knows full well the sun can take no more.

Leveraging a skyline tremor into a never rending level-headed louse-drive that parks in my braids suffocating the follicles that followed their folly fully into it's flatulent fruition - a park-and-ride suicide with rancid metrokane suffrage that tapes name-droppings to a whole new levelich can't easily be reached or refrigerated without vagrant variants being obtusely jolted from their neo-naptime kinder-gestapo milk-marches.

Emblematically emblazoned with lilly-white embalmatorium overtones undermining the lynchpin leprechaun taunting the rainbow headaches of my nimble uplifted leatherette soul.

Achey echoes arc in twisted piney wedg-shuttled lampstick artichoke leprosy two-fold twisted like bacon in my engendered handcuffing overstuffers.

Wind out tenderly for an intersplendant reafforming of glitteronomous fredglings that gather like lake moss and leaf frost in your intensely wicked grandpa beard of one-thousand-and-.5 lunches diseased by winter tragedies that criss-cross and slowly envelope and predestine our very shells of egg-sub-zestiness inversely like a mother-in-law with doorlike napkin-feelers stationed near the necks of louder dogs.

Michigan whisps like a tenderized beaten meatless elbow that brings up endless barfs of summer.

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

The Novel Novice Contemplates His Navel

Once there was a man who desperately wished he could write a compelling semi-autobiography. He started wishing this beautiful wish at a very young age, in fact he started wishing at the earliest age anyone has ever started to wish, but nobody bothered to write it down or even take a photo.

When he was at school he wished this very same wish all day, every day. Everyone was so used to seeing him wish that they never really thought anything of it, but the wishing continued until he had wished further and longer than anyone who had ever lived.

Today at 94 years old it is possible that he could forever hold the world record for the longest wish except for one thing, at some point his wish seems to have degraded into more of a mental tick than an actual wish for anything and people stopped saying "shhhh, the man is wishing" and began saying, "dude's looking at his gut".

Even without the support he had gotten, and even with the slow turn the community was taking toward a constant buzz of scorn, he was writing his novel at exactly the same pace as always... nothing. Hadn't even started.

At the ripe old age of 94 - health and eyes in speedy remission - he finally asked for a pen. On that pen was written a slogan, "Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it". This was all the encouragement he needed to keep going in his quest. He happily dropped the pen and started wishing once again, now with more vigor and power than ever before. He wished for a bionic sailboat, a scarf made entirely of butterflies, a basket of concubines, and a rocket that could take him to the center of the earth. He wished for more things in his final hours than anyone had ever wished for in their entire lives and he died with the distinction of never having even the most vague and interpretable portions of even one wish come true.

Being so adept at this wishing game, it shouldn't be surprising to learn that this great wisher was also the only man to make a wish 7 days after his own death. The wish? He wished he had never been born.

Tuesday, May 20, 2008

Welcome to the wonderful world of dumb

As I've mentioned before, I generally can't be bothered to rant about anything specific because it is easy to get bogged down in the details. So here is a simple little rant that doesn't get bogged down with information. Unjoy!

We all know that people are stupid. That's not to say that ALL people are stupid. Some are dead. But in general, it is very safe to assume that any random person you may chance to meet is stupid. Stupid people have inexhaustible storehouses of stupid advice. They enjoy beating you over the head with this advice. They like to start forums that waste everyones valuable time.

For example, you might wake up in a good mood one morning and forget that the world is stupid. You realize you could use some good old fashioned learnin' about something you feel dumb about, so you look it up on the Internet. Pretty soon you realize that only stupid people have posted on any resources. That's right, the 8 people in the planet who might know are sitting on the info and waiting for a profit. Everybody else is wasting your time.

I hope this information helps.

Thursday, May 1, 2008

the bird

yesterday while driving i saw the bird - the bluebird of happiness - as it bounced off the windshield of a neighboring vehicle. the bird looked not so much happy as surprised. i thought the bird might still be alive, so i swerved to miss it. in my rear view i saw a car spin 360 degrees and come to a stop. since i thought it would provide more time to gawk at the wounded bird, i stopped and pretended to care about the young woman in the car. for such occasions i always keep long stemmed roses on ice in the trunk. as i approached the young lady, i produced the flowers from behind my back. to my surprise, she had something for me as well - the bird. she explained that she spun her car so she could catch the bird in her open rear window.

then something terrible happened, she bit the bird in half. when i asked her why she did that, she said that she only did what i wasn't man enough to do. i asked why the bird had to die and she told me not to be such a girl. then i realized that i was just making all this crap up and i was really very secure in my masculinity which is why i can write such things.

needless to say (but i will) there never was a bluebird of happiness, it was actually blue because it was a blue word, and it was a bird because you can't be heard from one car to another. of course, after having been severed the blue was forgotten, but everyone saw plenty of red.

Tuesday, April 29, 2008

Nimble Happy Sunshine Flowers

“Aren’t bunnies the best?” “Sure are.” “We are bunnies.” Thus went the conversations of Bunny Land. Each day scores of happy bunny topics were broached by the BCI or Bunny Chief Inquisitors.

The job of the BCI was one of great responsibility. It required poise, confidence, fluency in 64 languages, degrees in the interdisciplinary fields of both Chemical Engineer-leading and Chemical Cheerleading, and no history of fur matting.

Although not required, it was expected that the BCI candidate would have a good working knowledge of hair care products. Since almost every bunny in the world has been used for chemical or cheerleading testing, they generally know what hair care products burn their eyes. This universality of training in bunny society is one of the primary reasons that it isn’t even mentioned on the forms.

Bunnies of note have often speculated as to whether a bunny could achieve such a high-ranking position as BCI without having a comprehensive hair care research background and if so, what would happen. The consensus of opinion at the last HRS (Hopping Rodent Summit) was that it would have no positive or negative effect on the duties of the BCI. But the real question remained unanswered, “Could it happen? Could a bunny be elected with no hair product experience?”

The following is a paid advertisement:

Yes, there is nothing more enjoyable than acquiring your very own fluffy, cuddly bunny. As we all know, bunnies are the answer to all of our woes. They are happy, bouncy, quiet, and their poop is round. These are the key factors that have made bunnies such valuable members of almost every family in America. It doesn’t hurt that they wiggle their damn noses when they nibble on clover! I swear, some people have literally died from cute attacks after watching bunnies hop around and nibble on sprouts. This is why the bunny has been featured on the news so often recently. It seems a bit harsh to compare the cuteness of the bunny to the venom of a cobra, but at least they qualified it by making it clear that the comparison was to a spitting cobra. I get the spitting cobra analogy on one level anyway, a spitting cobra can blind its prey from several feet away and a bunny can blind its prey with cuteness from up to 80 yards away. So in that sense, I have to concede that bunnies are more dangerous. However, in most cases I still have to say that the comparisons are unfair.

Get one today!!! A bunny, not a cobra!!!

Saturday, April 26, 2008

Ghost Doll

Once upon a time there was a little girl named Ghost Doll. She was made of glass and fire, and was allergic to killer bullets. But once while waltzing to the soup store, she stepped into the middle of a bulletin board landslide that scraped her out to sea. When she finally stopped barfing shards of lemon pie, she realized that she metaphorically wasn't in Kansas anymore. She also redundantly had never been in Kansas before, at least twice. She paradoxically had ALSO never been to Kansas anymore.

After she had finally finished pondering the realizations of not having been in Kansas, she began to wonder what she should already know, and why wondering this might do her any good, when the answers were bound to be wrapped in mysterious ramblings from an impersonal narration by a former NFL hall-of-famer if they could get him, which they couldn't. But he had turned down so many opportunities that opportunity finally got bored and stopped knocking him on the head and instead tried the kneecaps and landed him like a ton of fish after he stopped bathing because he couldn't afford soup and was dyslexic in a funny (but not derogatory) way.

Opportunity knocks, not mocks. One of the new slogans opportunity had printed for tee-shirts of inverted destiny that it had printed up on aluminum feather garlands that filter through our transparent minds with greased knots weaved within our tangled strangled consciousness creating a shovel-slapped plethora of life-giving crimson fluid for the counterpoint to our intensity of inverse nuances.

Well, of all her friends Ghost Doll's best friend in the whole universe was a girl named Tuna Scooper, and they would laugh and play, even though they were only each other's imaginary friends. But they themselves were in each other's parallel universes, so they would spend their days explaining to the other imaginary friends that in the world to which they belonged they weren't real. But the other imaginary friends treated them as outcasts due in part to the fact that a decree had been written that allowed mice to be used as lies for a decade and four pennies. But still nothing came of it.

But, oh, how they would laugh and play and dissolve crickets and aluminum handbags and western style handkerchiefs which they used to sun themselves on the family gizzard pick and scream about how uptight holidays spawned by cancer are.

Those were the days we all recalled with trite contrition spoon fed like a baby mermaid glittering in the mundane & noxious oceans of our prefab bliss.

Friday, April 25, 2008

Understanding Nudity

We don't choose to be nude. We're born that way.

Words such as these may make some people uncomfortable. But it is a fact that we are all nude at one time or another, and in fact we are unclothed to some degree at all times, so "partial nudity" should not be a shocking thing to see. If it is seen, it is generally seen with the naked eye, because binoculars and video cameras will often convince the somewhat nude person to cover up.

Now I want to make it perfectly clear that I do not condone nudity, nor do I revel in it. I am merely admitting that I have been nude at times. It's nothing to be ashamed of... unless you're nude in front of other people, which is disgusting.

There are however, many people who actually apply to themselves the label "nudist", as if they can really be summed up in such a generic term, and who am I to say that they can't?

Also, many people live their daily lives with little or nothing to wear, and yet they wouldn't generally be thought of as nudists but rather, as lazy, poor, itchy, burned over 80% of their bodies, too fat right now, sun bathing, getting a full body waxing in preparation for a nude photo spread that they were tricked into believing was actually required by the government to pre-screen potential organ donors, taking a bath or shower, deciding what to wear or "other".

I'm sure there was some reason I started writing this... trying to be clever, sorry it didn't work.