Archive for August, 2005

Baron Von Hoopla Cereal!

August 20, 2005

Coming to a store near you soon, Baron von Hoopla cereal! Made from only the finest refused wheat, corn, oats and whatever else cereals are usually made from. Kid tested, Canine approved. Packed with so much sugar it could give a Wildebeast diabetes, and filled with so much MSG your kids will be screaming, crying, kicking and scratching for more within seconds of their last bite.

Stays crunchy in milk, your lower intestines, and your stool.

“It’s Good – I think!”

When Conversing With A Tree

August 19, 2005

When conversing with a tree it is important to keep certain facts in mind . . . Most importantly, that almost all trees loathe conversations about the weather. I have no idea why this is, but it’s true. This is an enormous bone of contention with them, and some become quite irate by the simple phrase ‘hot, ain’t it?’, so to be safe, avoid all conversations about weather. Unless you are conversing with a Birch Tree, in which case weather is all they are interested in talking about.

Also, it good to keep some taboo topics in mind, so that uncomfortable silences can be avoided; some topics include Maple Syrup, the trees from the Wizard of Oz, The Spanish Inquisition, and antique wooden furniture. In fact, it’s probably within your best interest to steer clear of any topics revolving around wood.

Lastly, the one topic you never, but EVER, want to engage a tree into conversation about is the philosophical concept of Dualism. I made the mistake once, and was so bored to tears I found myself waking up six months later, covered in moss and growing mushrooms from my face. But, hey, I always was a fun guy.

23 Ways To Live Your Life

August 18, 2005

As told to me, by Dharma Jam:

1 Wake then bake. Wash, rinse, repeat
2 Wearing muumuu’s brings you closer to Mummu
3 Be gay & merry. Not literally homo gay, unless that’s your bag, in which case be homo gay.
4 Cd’s and mp3’s may sound cleaner, but vinyl has S-O-U-L
5 Once a year everyone should go camping. Become one with nature and one with a bottle(s) of beer.
6 Take note: pigeons are robots. Watch what you say.
7 Pigeons can’t be the only robots. Ponder that.
8 Who deserves gifts more than you?
9 If you don’t own a quality pair of headphones, remedy that
10 The giraffe is proof that mother nature has a sense of humor. No?
Well then, what about the duck-billed Platypus? Dude – it’s poisonous. Booya!
11 If everyone in the world took ecstasy today, war would end tomorrow. BUT imagine the crash the day after that.
12 Xylophones and marimbas are highly under used, and under appreciated.
13 Macrame plant-holders bring peace.
14 Why should socks be only black or white?
15 Neck poking is fun. Nobody expects it, and it gets quit a reaction.
Wet willies are juvenile; neck poking is the way of the future.
16 Why not make your world corduroy?
17 Never socialize with any chump with the initials K.K.
18 If you wear ponchos, stop. If you don’t wear ponchos, start. Whatever you are currently doing is wrong.
19 It’s called picking up a book bozo. Expanding your mind doesn’t start tomorrow.
20 All bamboo furniture should be burned. Mmmm . . . roasted marshmallows.
21 Every well-rounded person should be able to twist a balloon doggie.
22 Statistically, there is a possibility that a single trampoline jump could take you all the way to the moon.
23 2 + 3 = 6

Why Irreligion?

August 18, 2005

“Organized religion preaches Order and Love but spawns Chaos and Fury. Why?”

Kerry Thornley
1938-1998

The Four Circuits Of Humour

August 16, 2005

Eris revealed to me the beginnings of humour, and asked me to express them in a blog that nobody reads. How could I not comply?

So, this is the origins of humour, as told to me by Eris Nancy Discordia, goddess of Chaos, and the four circuits it can most easily be divided into. It should be mentioned that any of these circuits can overlap at any point, these are just a breakdown of the largest concepts.

1- Slapstick Humour
The first circuit of humour shown by the upright hairless apes was Slapstick Humour. One ape was walking toward a pond of muddy water, got their foot caught by a root, and tripped, face first into the slop. After a moment of taking the scene in, all the other upright hairless apes began hee-hawing without knowing why. For some reason the pain and misfortune of the fallen ape stirred something new in the upright hairless apes. It made them feel good.

2-Toilet Humour
The second circuit of humour shown by the upright hairless apes was of Toilet Humour. The largest ape was bullying the smaller apes around, grunting orders and gesticulating wildly to make his point. As he picked up the smallest ape, and tossed him in the direction he wanted him to move, the smallest ape let out a large, long, fart of defiance. Another pause, and then the apes began to hee-haw again. The large ape turned in anger and was going to attack the smaller ape when he was struck in the face with a large turd. The hee-hawing grew louder, and out of shame the large ape wandered away for good.

3-Satirical Humour
The third circuit of humour appeared just before speech developed. A new large ape had been bullying the smaller apes around, and behind his back a tall ape was mimicking the large ape’s distinctive facial movements and posture. He grunted, and scratched, and pouted and mugged mercilessly. It took the other apes a few moments to realize what the tall ape was attempting to portray, but once it sunk through, the hee-hawing began anew. The first form of political humour.

4-Intellectual Humour
The final circuit developed when speech became available. The first conversations were dry and humourless, amounting to little more than “Animal, there.” or “Me hungry” or the always popular “Me So Horny”, but the fourth circuit popped into circulation with the invention of the first limerick, which went like this: “There once was a girl named Zee, who was raped by that ape up the tree. The result was most horrid, all ass and no forehead, three balls and an ill-groomed goatee”. This was the first form of verbal humour, but also -possibly- the first philosophical musings of humanity’s origins. This was a large step beyond stubbing toes, farts, and imitations, this was the beginning of the critique on society that humour has become.

If you have any objections, please post a comment, and I will pass it on to Eris the next time she invades my Pineal Gland.

Hail Eris.

Benefits Of E-Prime

August 15, 2005

Lao-Tse:

The road you can talk about is not the road you walk on.

How often do you find yourself saying that Person A “is a fucking liar”, or that Person B “is a bore” on a daily basis? We make judgments like this everyday without ever really realizing the full implications of what we are ultimately doing. What we are doing is stamping, or branding, that person with an idea of his or her ‘essence’ . . . in the core of that person’s being they are a liar, or a bore.

But is this true?

Is this person ‘a liar’, or do they simply sometimes lie? To be truly a liar one would have to lie about absolutely everything. Every single word they spoke would need to be a lie. What if the person sees you on the street and says “Hello!” – how can that be a lie? “Good day”, perhaps. Or, what about the bore? Is this person truly boring, at all moments, or do they simply seem to be boring in your presence? James Joyce was quoted as saying that he didn’t believe there was such a thing as a boring person. So, can that person be a bore?

Perhaps the correct way to describe these people in a truthful manner would be to classify them in this manner, “I don’t care for Person A because he seems to lie a lot.” or “Person B isn’t my cup of tea, in regards to my tastes and interests I find them to be boring most of the time.”

If this seems to be overly complicated and long-winded, I would agree with you, but consider this, how different would our world be, tomorrow, if people didn’t routinely think in these ways:

-That person “is” a thief
-That person “is” a nigger
-That person “is” a Republican
-That person “is” a racist
-That person “is” slutty
-That person “is” a soldier
-That person “is” a murderer

Would a lot of our prejudices and stupidities melt away?

Maybe.

Hail Eris – All Hail Discordia

The Philosophy Of Gravy

August 14, 2005

All through my life I was told that the way to be happy was to struggle for success. But, success on my terms? Success by the terms of my parents? Success by the terms of my teachers? Or peers? Over time, success was finally laid down to me by society as a whole.

Success meant getting a well paid job that stressed my mind because ‘stress and hard work build character . . . a job you like will indulge the mind, and that’s where insanity starts’ which is really just a more elaborate way of stating the old adage ‘idle hands are the devil’s playground’.

Success also meant looking right – ‘dress for success’ they tell you, cut that hair, cover up those tattoos, get those teeth fixed, stand up straight, stick out your chin, suck in your gut.

Success also meant getting married to a girl from a ‘good family’, which is really code for $. You had damn well better make sure she looks like a melange of Jessica Simpson and Britney Spears (before the meltdown), though, if you want real success, and if she doesn’t quite yet, well that’s what God invented surgery for, right? Just don’t take any pictures of her in good light until the eyes have been widened, the lips puckered to look like a baboon’s asshole, the hair has been stripped and extensions have been implanted into the skull – work on the tits, ass, the works.

Once the girl is established, the next exit ramp to success is having at least two children, one boy and one girl. The boy is to become an extension of you, and the girl is to be the extension of whomever she marries. They had both better be attractive, so they can work in commercials as babies. Success starts early. If they aren’t attractive, keep popping them out, the odds will eventually be in your favour. A couple homely kids in the family photos aren’t an eyesore if two or three lookers even them out.

Success also meant getting into the right activities, such as golf, or, well . . . just golf I guess. Learn to play golf, get a good score, buy expensive (not well made) clubs and show them off in a large expensive bag which will be carried around by the son of someone who is NOT successful. Be contemptuous of him, his father didn’t work hard enough.

Success also means grasping onto some arbitrary religion, but not too tightly . . . zealots never achieve TRUE success. If someone asks you if you believe in God, the answer is yes, but if they ask you which god get the hell out of there, because that question means the conversation is sliding downhill into metaphysics, and philosophers are NOT successful. Go to church a couple times a year, and toss out a couple dollars to the collection plate when you do. Ask for a receipt.

Toward middle age begin carrying a pipe around, and practice clenching it in your teeth, but do not light. You’re too good looking to get mouth or lung cancer just to show how distinguished you are. Buy a small red sports car, and drive to the mall to pretend to pick up your kids. Look for a potential candidate for an affair. If you happen to see your children leaving the mall, drive away; walking builds character, and besides, your sports car can’t fit anyone but you.

Early retirement, a gold watch, and the inevitable move to Florida are the capping achievements of the successful life. Try to tan a lot, but not so much that you get wrinkles. Think of George Hamilton, use him as your guide. Make sure you leave a lot of money behind so people will always talk about how successful you were. Make sure they get you an obelisk as a headstone. Or, better yet, a tomb. That’s true success.

Everything else is just gravy.

My response?

Fuck you, and your expectations, bucko. I will name what success is to me, and that is having as good a time as is humanly possible, as often as is possible. Laughing and crying. Thinking about things beyond how to make the next buck, pursuing art and leisure, pondering metaphysics, eating well, smoking some grass, drinking some beer, giggling with someone I love, trying to help people as much as I can, reading books other than the ‘one everyone is talking about’ instead of watching hours of Survivor or Desperate Housewives.

I live for that gravy.

Hail Eris.

The Going Snubs

August 13, 2005

There.

They are done. All five. Like I promised. So there. Don’t say I never come through. And, Eris wanted me to pass along that each and every version of the Snub story is ‘true’. Life’s like that sometimes.

Isn’t it?

Hail Eris – All Hail Discordia

Original Snub, Version #5

August 12, 2005

Every year on September the 9th the god of excess and righteous partying, Dionysus rose from the dead and threw a swinging bash, held on the peak of Mount Olympus; all of the the gods were invited, from the biggies like Aegis-bearing Zeus, down to the lower level monster gods, like Phorcys, all except for one: Eris, called Strife, goddess of Chaos, Confusion, Comedy and doo-wop tunes.

Dionysus, already completely smashed, climbed onto a tabletop and attempted to quiet the rowdy, drunken, and stoned gods so that he could welcome them all, for the twenty-third time. “My brothers and sisters,” he called out. “Fathers and mothers, cousins, uncles, aunts, lovers and fighters, listen to me for just a fucking second before you go back to your pipes and beer-bongs . . .”

“C’mmn shit on m’face ya big hunka fssszzl mfffllllllllllssssssss-” Pallas Athene said, standing suddenly, and then melting back onto the bench she had been sitting on. The gods and goddesses erupted in boisterous laughter.

“Did she ask me to shit on her face?” Dionysus asked. “It doesn’t matter, I would have, anyway, by the end of the night . . . my glorious friends, I am so happy to be with you all again, and see all of your beautiful faces . . . and beautiful asses, and, and- well, anyway, I want to thank every god and goddess for showing up tonight-“

A bold female voice sounded suddenly throughout the room. NOT EVERY GODDESS WAS INVITED, BUT ALL ARE PRESENT AND ACCOUNTED FOR . . . NOW.

All the heads swung around, some more slowly than others, and wearily looked at the stunningly tall and beautiful goddess standing in the doorway, wrapped in golden robes. “Eh . . . Eh . . . Eh . . .” Dionysus stammered.

ERIS, the goddess of Chaos finished. Dionysus moved down from the table top, and approached the goddess. “I meant to invite you, Eris, you know we’re tight, you and me . . . it’s just that the others . . . they, uh, they get worried about the trouble you cause.”

PAY IT NO MIND, DIONYSUS, I HOLD NO MALICE FOR YOU, OR FOR ANY OF YOU . . . IT IS TO BE EXPECTED. BUT, I BRING YOU A GIFT, AS A TOKEN OF GOODWILL.

Eris held out a long plant with a stem which had five sides, surrounded by five green sepals, and bell shaped flowers hung from it. THIS IS BELLADONNA, ALSO KNOWN AS THE LOVE APPLE . . . ADD SOME OF THIS TO YOUR WINE FOR A REAL KICK, TEQUILA HAS NOTHING ON THIS.

Dionysus took the belladonna from her, looked down at it, and said “Thank you, Eris, that’s very big of you. Would you care to stay?”

NO, I MUST BE GOING . . . CAPTAIN BEEFHEART IS SUPPOSED TO BE PLAYING AT THE MONTEREY POP FESTIVAL, I HAVE TO GO SLIP HIM SOME ACID TO FUCK IT UP . . . IF HE PLAYS THERE HE’LL BECOME HUGE AND LOSE ALL HIS CULT CRED. TA TA . . .

And, with that she was gone. Dionysus turned and looked at the all the faces around him, quadrupled visually by the chemicals flowing through his white god blood. “Should we?” he asked.

Aegis-bearing Zeus stood, wobbly, and said: “Gimme that fucking plant with all speed . . . no mere flower frightens the king of all gods, no matter what the effect.” Then snatched the belladonna from Dionysus’ grip, crushed them up barehanded, and sprinkled the remains into a large decanter of wine. The wine was passed around, and all of the gods took a goblet full, even Pallas Athene, who was looking a rather unattractive shade of chartreuse.

After a few minutes Apollo said, “Oohh, I’m FeeLinG iT . . .” and began to run his fingers through his gossamer hair. White-armed Hera sat forward and said “I dOn’T FeeL AnytHiNG!” while twisting her lip around between her fingers. Aegis-bearing Zeus stood, and placed his fingers to his temples. “Do yOu FeEL thAt?” he asked the assembled gods and goddesses. “Do yOu See ThAT? dO You hEAr tHat?”

All the divine beings quieted down, and listened, and looked, and felt . . . and just as Hera repeated “I DOn’T FeEL ANyThiNG!” all of them began to share a single hallucination. In the hallucination they saw the world, and the world was perfectly quiet . . . the view zoomed in closer and they could see Athens and Sparta, the buildings, the trees, the animals . . . but it was all so quiet. “WhERe iS eveRYoNe?” Aphrodite asked. “WHy Is iT sO QuiET?” asked Hephaestus. “I dOn’T FeeL ANYTHiNG!” cried Hera.

Then, they did see people, walking glumly here and there, chatting mundanely about the weather, which was always good. They saw more and more people, until the humans were walking shoulder to shoulder, all with blank expressionless eyes. They saw children picking up toys of horses, and then tossing them over cliffs into the sea, watching them as they washed away. They saw people who simply stared at a single spot for hours and hours until falling asleep.

“WHat IS tHiS?” cried Demeter. “IT’s aWFul!”

Pallas Athene called out then, and sounded much more like her usual self: “DoN’t ANy oF YOu sEE? aRE yoU aLL so BliND? IT is A vISion oF a WoRLd WIthouT StrIFE. THe poPUlaTionS aRE grOWinG ToO LArge aNd pEOPle Are BecOMinG jaDeD . . .”

“ArE tHEre nO PoeTS, oR musICIans?” asked Apollo. Athena turned to him, saying, “WHat woULd thEY teLL ABout? WHat woULd thEY sInG ABout? HoW PInk tHIs fLowEr iS cOMparEd to THat? iT is A woRLD oF TEDiuM . . . LiFE haS no MeanINg fOr tHEm . . . THeY haVE no LowS tO coMParE to tHe hIGhs . . . iT IS maDNess”

Dionysus looked at Athena, and then at Zeus. “WE weRe foolS.” he said, simply, and quietly. “WE trEAted OUr siSTEr Eris LiKE an OUtCast . . . liKe heR CONtributIONs WErE WorTHlEss . . . WHen REallY . . .”

” . . . THey MEan EVeryTHinG.” Athena finished. “MOraLiTy, HAppINess, BEAutY, ArT . . . All aRe basEd oN STrife.”

White-armed Hera looked at all of the other gods and goddesses while they pondered this, and after a pause said: “I dOn’T FeeL ANYTHiNG.”

High above the temple of Dionysus, Eris chuckled to herself, and floated up high high high into the sky.

Original Snub, Version #4

August 11, 2005

Aegis-bearing Zeus’ annual marble competition was well renowned throughout the worlds of the gods, and every deity worth their salt was invited, from Jehovah to Odin, except for one: Eris called Strife, goddess of Chaos, Confusion, Calamity and paperclips.

Zeus stood near the mound, and held up his prize marble, made from the clearest diamond, with a tiny Gorgon head placed inside. Light from Apollo’s flaming chariot in the sky glinted off the surface and scorched into the divine retinas of the holy beings gathered. “With this glorious marble I shall once again take the championship . . . I will crush all of the opposition, and claim all your marbles. What say you all? Who is ready?”

Jehovah walked forward, and tossed his long grey beard over his shoulder, pulling out his new marble. It appeared to be a rough-hewn stone. “This marble of mine is a stone that was used to bash out the brains of a heathen who dared to not believe in me. That, I will not stand for. I must be acknowledged as supreme ruler of the entire universe, and all who do not bow to me will be crushed out of existence and roasted in the burning brimstone pits of hell, which I conveniently created for just such a purpose. But, also let it be known that I am a loving god.”

“Yes yes yes,” said Zeus. “We all know about your worship complex, and your bipolar disorder . . . very very very old news. Are you ready to lose that pebble to me? Who else shall play?”

Odin stepped forward, squinting heavily. “I will play you, you miserable letch. See this, I have plucked mine own eye from my head, knowing it will give me all the power and knowledge I need to stomp your sorry ass. This time I shall not be beaten, and will be able to retire to Valhalla in peace.”

“In pieces, is more like it, if you keep up talking that sort of rot,” Zeus snarled at Odin. He turned and gazed over the faces of the other gods and goddesses. “Who else shall play marbles with me and lose?”

I SHALL PLAY, came a loud husky female voice. BUT I DO NOT INTEND TO LOSE.

Zeus wheeled around, and stared at a tall goddess with wild blonde and black hair dancing in the breeze. One eye was blue and the other was green. “Eris Nancy Discordia!” cried Aegis-bearing Zeus. “Of all the nerve! I deliberately did not invite you, you always fuck around with the marbles while they are on the playing area . . . more than once my dominance has been brought into question due to your fucking around. Forget it, you are not playing. Leave the mound!”

Eris smiled sweetly. PLEASE DO NOT BLAME ME BECAUSE YOU ARE COCK-EYED . . . THE ONLY REASON AT ALL YOU CONSTANTLY WIN IS BECAUSE THE OTHERS CANNOT BARE TO LISTEN TO YOUR WHIMPERING WHEN YOU LOSE. THEY FIND IT TEDIOUS AND BORING . . . I DO NOT, BECAUSE I, MYSELF, AM NOT BORING, AND ERGO CANNOT BE BORED . . . ON THE CONTRARY, I FIND IT RATHER GIGGLE-INDUCING.

Zeus snarled: “Just get the fuck out of here, with all speed.”

NOT A PROBLEM, BUT BEFORE I GO PERHAPS ONE OF THE OTHER GODS WOULD LIKE TO USE MY LUCKY GOLD MARBLE IN MY PLACE? and Eris held up a beautiful and glittering golden sphere, which had etched in the side “For The Luckiest”.

Jehovah and Odin both stepped forward at the same moment. “I’ll take it.” Jehovah said, just as Odin cried the same thing. Dionysus and Thor both jumped forward at that moment, but Jesus Christ jumped onto their backs and knocked their heads together.

DON’T FIGHT, CHILDREN, Eris called out, LET’S DO IT FAIRLY . . . and with a wide arc in her swing, Eris tossed the gold marble high into the clear blue sky and screamed: SCRAAAAAAAAAMBLE!

Every single god and goddess on the mound made a mad jump at where they thought the marble would land, many an elbow bloodied many a mouth, and several fingers grabbed fistfuls of hair and pulled. Teeth bit, nails scratched. Zeus’ prize marble rolled out of the ruckus, covered in white god blood, and Eris picked it up, wiped the blood off on her robes, and floated up into the sky, laughing uproariously.