I'm Baaaaack!

I"m back.  With a new poem.

Hey baby, make me happy.
Take your clothes off.  And make it snappy.

Fin.

Pictures tell lots of stories and video games

Fiction piece:

The gruesome twosome, although roughed up by their constant arguing and not giving in, and to some degree the forked pokes in the neck of disappointment making their way into view did not for one second give them the option of a detour or escape from continuing on their obvious well paid for trak into the stone cold dark European trek. They both knew they could salvage this trainwreck of a relationship, but as it was, a one sided love affair, neither would say their peace, only hope that one would give in. When a man is given a choice between video games and love, men being that they are stupid and women always being the hopeless indecisive optomists, always lose to video games. Why? Who the hell knows, but whatever that piece of irrational thought is, it must be exterminated because if we all continue down this path, we're all going to live miserable existences with hot women.

They, We and You

When "THEY" are neck deep in shit, its always "WE" ...

But when they have the opportunity to pass the blame it always "YOU".

A Phrase and a Finger.

There's one phrase that can make anyone feel awkward and self conscious and can be added to anything you say - beginning, middle or end.

• Bob, if you get some time, please look at these reports and Bob ... get your finger out of there.

• Valentino, the cologne is on the top shelf ... get your finger out of there and close the door please.
  

• Vicky. Get your finger out of there and come help grandma put her teeth in. Thankyouverymuch.
  

Plane Wrecks and the Black Boxes

You never see them coming, but sometimes you can hear them if you have an ear for jet engines that are about to fail. Next thing you know, you're in the middle of a shit storm including fire, people screaming, burnt plastic, sirens, lights, medical equipment, defibulators, more bodies flying, broken glass, dogs barking, records scratching and cats hissing, shaved chickens and yaks shaving ... and you didn't even know how it happened, none the less want to be there. Yet somehow, this is all your fault.

What am I talking about? Miscommunication when talking to women. By all men's standards, and I speak only for myself; Women are impossible to figure out, therefore we, (men) just label them as crazy. My friend compared how women are like black boxes. I agree. So let me ask you the reader:

Question: What do you do with a black box (that might or might not be ticking)?
Answer: You call the bomb squad.


Don't go near it. Especially if you hear the ticking - the ticking of a biological time bomb. Stay very far away or you will wind up in a twisted carnage mess like the one described above with no clue how the plane crashed into the mountain or why and no way of escaping unharmed. That is why they are called black boxes. Leave them alone and forget that you ever saw them.

In the time, before time (a real long time ago), let's say:

A monolith in the shape of black box descended down onto the earth and the poor primates or whatever we like to think was inhabiting the earth, who by the way, were happy being primates, making dumb jokes, burping and scratching their butts, got to close (due to curiosity or perhaps, the call of the siren
(the beeping of the black box) and just like the movie "2001: A Space Odyssey" the black box gave them insight. Insight on how to be murderous, over analytical, evil and worst of all, calculating. Then Republicans were born from this and the world has never been the same since.


Why did this come up you ask? Well, sometimes I like to jump around and pen about how I see certain things, specifically the fermented to the point of rotten idea, that relationships are a good thing. I don't see it that way, most of what I see is telling me the opposite. If I say anything, it is that relationships are too much work (and I mean too much) and someone always loses.

Relationships: Planes that crashed into the mountain, usually caused by one of those damn black boxes, but always blamed on the crew due to pilot error.

Random Thoughts

Sometimes I feel like jumping into traffic, letting out a super coke induced "WOOOOOOO HOOOOOO" while making the international jerking off motion and then walking away professionally with my collar "popped".








Other times, I feel like putting a wig and driving around with my Elvis's and fake teeth and smiling at people just to get a reaction. I love annoying people. It is my life's destiny.

Have you ever though about a Parmesan Cheesecake?
I have. I think I got something here.

Most of the time I sit around thinking of stuff that
I should have written down ...

Society, Toilets and One Old Story

Romeo and Juliet. The greatest love story ever told? I guess for some. I don’t really believe it too much. I personally would never kill myself for someone that I supposedly “loved that much”. Seriously, I love myself a lot more than that. Drink poisons … uh NO. Stab myself … uh NO. When Romeo saw Juliet dead, something inside his pussy ass brain should've said, "Well ... that is that. For I will now open the greatest book of all time and read some passages from it. For it is my booty call book and I will get me some booty since this one has decided to keep her booty for herself and not share." Then my man gets on his cell phone and calls up another maiden who needs some Romeo in her life. How about moving this movie to 2008? I would see a dramatic increase in people reading this version as well as, and more importantly, people relating to it. So instead of Romeo and Juliet killing each other, they live. The families stop fighting and say “Yes, you two jackasses want to marry each other? Be our guest” and so they do. What happens next for the young, innocent and really stupid lovebirds? Well, Romeo get a job and Juliet drops a few loads (kids). Now the real world problems start: mortgage, school for the little pukes, food, money, entertainment, not getting on each others nerves, working, trying to not sound like a jackass whilst speaking proper English everywhere they go, feeding the kids (loads), transportation, rent money, etc...

Now begins the slow descent into a stale, boring ass suburban life like everyone else. After a few years of infidelity and fighting (Romeo and Juliet got sick of each other and needed some action) they finally divorce, just like everybody else. Now we have something to work with ... and a possible sequel: “Romeo vs. Juliet”.

If the story were told that way, and updated to now, I think that people can appreciate and relate to the new story. In the sequel the quarreling of the families resume and I’m sure somehow, we can bring some of the Sopranos and Godfather characters and actors into this, making it a melange of a gangster crime and love story like all the others that have all said the same thing.

... So how do toilets fit into this?

First, this is strictly a toilet read. I'm sure you have better things to do than to read Romeo and Juliet.

Second, the word TOILET caught your attention and you read my rant. See? I got you. Go me.

A Random Memory

This memory decided to come back to me. I remember being 14 or 15, being with my dad and going to a McDonalds. Deciding on what poison we were going to eat, a lurking transparent mist of an angry smell was heading right for all of us waiting in line ... waiting for it to punch us right in the nose and then yank some nose hairs out. We were just waiting and talking about whatever it was that were talking about. I have this habit (I'm not saying if it is bad or good, it's just a habit) of commenting on other people around me. Specifically, their appearance and I do it so that only my dad and I know what we are talking about. We're cool like that, we have our on code. So, business as usual, my father was making comments as was I, both of laughing like hyenas with laryngitis. It was so hard to keep a straight face that I would have to start coughing or turn around and let the HAHA loose, since his comments such as, "that woman looks like jabba the hut but with a moustache" or "OoOo, check out those shoes, where can I find a pair like that ..." absolutely kills me. Well the raucous whispered laughter ended with two smacks to the mouth, a smack to the back of the head and a punch in the nose. My dad's "AY M*ERDA" (loosely translated: "OH SH*T") shocked and confused look was the only warning sign I got before I was also dealt with blatant disregard for my private space. The air in my personal space had been violated. The minute we were shanked by this thing we were on RED ALERT looking to see for who the culprit was. My father, with his keen sense of fart detection skills, quickly sized up the chinese woman who was mopping the floors as the Public Air Violator. He turned around and pointed her out. His annoyed confused face turned into laughter once we figured out who the sniper was. For whatever reason, guys seems to fall right back to the primal rules. Anything associated with peepee or kaka makes us laugh hysterically. Its so immature, but its there and all guys have this hardwired into their brains.
I turned around and there she was and so was that angry smell. She was a tiny old woman, just mopping and cracking up. The mopped swished and she would let out a "hee hee hee" after the mustard gas was released. Her laugh was like Minnie Mouse and the stink charges she was detonating were so bad that she physically moved every time she fired one off. No one in the lines complained. No one said anything. They were however, saying tens of thousands of swears with their faces. All of us in line managed to hold out and get our poison. The chinese funk didn't bother us anymore once we got McHypnotized.

There was no particular reason for this story other than I was laughing on the way into work, remembering this moment.

Rant

Yep. Just sitting here thinking of something to write but nothing is happening. Just sitting here. Desk lamp. Check. Half empty bottle of soda. Check. Homework done. Check. All is quiet. Check. Still drawing a blank at what to write. Check. Sometimes ... like today, I feel like not even thinking or doing anything. Just sitting around and oozing. That's how I get up every morning. I ooze out of bed ... and drool.

Heath Ledger died today. Didn't see that one coming. Bummer. He'll always be known as the gay cowboy "Ennis Del Mar" and The Joker. That's too bad.

Eh, I have nothing to say today besides: sometimes, you CAN polish a turd.

LOL

LOL: Laugh Out Loud

The whole LOL or lol thing - just doesn't work anymore - because I've seen to many instances of "lol"'s being typed and not one of them where the author was laughing. Same goes for ROTFL, ROTFLMAO, LMAO, etc. No one is really laughing in this manner and successfully typing on the keyboard. If they are, then it wasn't genuine or they are lying.

There's no emotion or oomph behind "LOL" anymore. LOL is just something we write to fill up space when we can't think of anything funny or smart to say.

Lack for words

Sometimes I'm at a lack for words.
This picture says it all.

School Post

I try my best to keep things interesting. One of the things that I really dislike is posting to the class forums for school. It is quite annoying but I get a serious kick out of the lack of interest that the rest of the students have. Their one word to one sentence replies to a very thought out complex question literally does two things: 1) It angers me because of their lack of enthusiasm 2) I think about number 1 which keeps me in check so that I take a positive spin on it and laugh at them.

So I will give you an example of some of my brain dumps and droppings that I leave for the class. This one is regarding the conflicts in the movie "Angel Heart" which we saw in class last week.
--
Topic: Discuss a conflict in Angel Heart. What kind of conflict is it? How is it important to the story? How is it resolved?

My Response:

Well it seems to me that Harry had a lot of problems in this movie. First, he gets sent to find himself but doesn’t know it yet. While doing so, Harry has some dreams that start the slow descent of his reality slowing disappearing like a mound of powdered chocolate in a glass of milk. All of this is because he can’t find the person he’s looking for. To continue his slow paced decline into the pathetic zone, his dreams contain sequences of him trying to disrobe an old woman in black. This makes the point very clear, that he has problems.

He still pushes his way further down in the hole because everyone he has interviewed or talked to about the person he is trying to find, Johnny Favorite, are dying off like the supposed Jaguar Shark. Since he’s he last person to be seen with any of them, the local authorities are also pressing hard against his face and neck to get some answers. The last witness on his list, that he has yet to ask any sort of questions to, happens to be a young girl who we find out is Favorite's daughter. So instead of using his deductive powers to get a clenched “I’m going to destroy you” grasp on the truth and reality, he decides the best move here is to sleep with her. Bad move Chuck. That never works out.

However readers, let’s not look negatively on this, but rather with a positive spin; he single handedly resolved five out seven conflicts by giving him a passing score of 71%.

So here’s what the final resolution points were:

Harry finds out that he’s really Johnny Favorite who made a deal with his employer. His employer is actually Robert DeNiro, who thanks to this movie I found out is really the Devil with a beard. The young girl he “sleeps with” is his daughter, who is Lisa Bonet from the Cosby Show. I also found out that she’s a high priestess in a voodoo cult. His grip on reality is totally smashed like a two high-speed trains hitting each other when he figures out that he is not Harry Angel by repeating the phrase "I know who I am." No Chuck, apparently you don't. Looks like the Devil is going to booger-hook Harry back to hell. All four of these resolutions bring the final resolution to the viewer, which is the truth of how this whole deal went south.

Two points that I like to make are, Harry never finds out who the old woman in the dress is and he never really gets over that fear of chickens. That’s too bad, there are chickens in hell.
--

Thanks for reading, now I gotta wipe.

Tired.

Still tired. I wish I was back in bed sleeping. Ever notice you get up, do what you need to do in the morning but you're missing something? I know I am. I'm going to try something different and next time, play some "kitchen of the future" music. Anything lounge would work. Hopefully that will perk me up. I feel like this guy right now, minus the briefcase and hat and suit. I guess a picture of jello in a chair describes me best right now. Wiggling.

Today is Monday. How fanstastic.

Office. Monday. Marvelous.
The picture on the right is the official office language. You can use this to make up an excuse as to why you are useless today.

Mondays ... getting to the office:
Getting out bed, to take a shower and then change has to be the slowest moving part of the morning. Its not even getting up, doing it and you're done. It is the fact that you were doing something that you should have not done like drinking, smoking, tripping, watching movies, playing videos games, dancing in a pumpkin patch, etc. Your brain knows what needs to be done for the next day but for some reason or another it decides to sabotage (pronounced sabo-tayge) your sleep time. It always seems to do this. Not only that, it does it so well, that when it thinks its had enough, the time on the clock says you have about 2 hours of sleep. With a well let out WTF followed by a sigh, you knew this was going to happen and yet this isn't the first time either. There have been countless times where you have been here. This is what Mondays are good for.

Wood Flooring

My roommate posed a great question the other day:

Why do they call it a hard wood floor?

He's right. I've never heard of a softwood floor. You never hear about floors made out of balsa wood. We know they are hard. Can't we just say wood floors? It just one of those oxymorons that we just accept in this country. Much like the president, minus the oxy.