April 6, 2012
Verbatim, Guys. Verbatim.

"Look at it like this: how do we know that others see the same color that we do when we look at, say, a tree. We both say we see ‘green’ but our ‘green’ and theirs may appear differently. Perhaps their ‘green’ would appear a vibrant puce to us, or perhaps a soft, buoyant goldenrod. Hume once wrote, "That the sun will not rise tomorrow is no less intelligible a proposition, and implies no more contradiction, than the affirmation that it will rise.” Think about that for a second! We can never really know anything, not truly. Even among people in our closest confidence, we can never be sure of the interior life of another human being. I could spend fifty years married to a woman and never learn that she saw the world as a photographic negative to my own!

The point is this; you’ve never seen other people have sex, right? How do you know that when others talk about sex, they don’t really mean anal sex. You don’t! Maybe what you and I think of as standard vaginal intercourse, every other person in the world thinks is deviant, for their standard is anal sex. We don’t know! We don’t have the evidence. Maybe we two are the only people in the world thinking the way we do. Maybe when you see a vagina, the rest of the world sees an anus and vice versa! It’s not that you’re right or wrong, you might just experience the world through this finely altered lens. Maybe when I say “vagina” it means “anus" to everyone within earshot.

It's also a linguistic conundrum; have you ever read any Chomsky? I think you know what I'm getting at here.

I believe, as progressive people who want to understand and experience as much of the world around us as we can, it’s our duty to explore this possibility. You say ‘No. People don’t feel this way. People cannot feel this way.’ But you don’t know what others feel, and you can’t make that choice for them. If we are going to limit the possibilities based solely on our own experiences, well, we might as be Republicans disenfranchising inner city families because they weren’t born rich and white. I’m not willing to compromise my morals for an easy solution.

This isn’t about anal sex; it’s much, much bigger than that. It’s about open-mindedness; it’s about civil rights; it’s about tolerance. All I’ll say is this: I, for one, am no bigot. And I truly hope you aren’t one either.”

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Filed under: anal sex comedy tolerance racism 
March 4, 2012
Space Novel: Chapter 26: Part 1

"You will not destroy us." The voice echoed in my chest cavity.

I hate when I’m backed into being valorous. For real, it keeps happening. I seriously don’t get it.

"Look assholes, I’m not trying to destroy you. I think we can all agree that I’m no hero." I strained against the psychic bonds that held me suspended and impotent in the SPACETIME WORMHOLE. The Archons didn’t seem to care; not that I was be able to tell at least, since they’re just omniscient clouds of six dimensional solid light.

"You will not to destroy us, for we are already destroyed."

"Oh! Great! So… I’m just gonna let myself out." I get that I was immobilized in a matter-less void, divorced from space and time entirely, and that if it weren’t for these godlike dirtbags I would, in order, a) explode from the lack of pressure b) freeze to death c) suffocate d) be torn apart from some cosmic force or another, and e) probably just pop! out of existence because I technically wasn’t in existence here anyway, but I thought maybe if I just pretended to walk away - literally move my arms and legs in an a cartoonish motion akin to an overweight power walker - it’d all just work out okay.

It didn’t, but you’ve got to think positively in these hopeless situations.

"AaaaAAARRGGH! What?! Lemme go. Stop being dicks!"

"We will not. You must understand."

"Understand? I don’t want to understand! I’ve spent the majority of my life doing everything in my power, short of actual work, to keep from understanding anything! And you kidnapped me! I don’t want to destroy you! I don’t care about you! I’ve never in my life once spent a single thought on you assholes!”

The clouds of light-gas paused for a second, and then, in what passes for an impassioned whisper in the Archon’s monotonous telepathic language, said, “You are an unhappy and unpleasant person.”

"Head of the fucking class."

//END OF PART

February 17, 2012
Storage Wars UNAIRED EPISODE!!! Pt. 1

VO: Darryl skips the remaining auctions to check out the unit he outbid Dave Hester for.

Darryl opens the door to an empty unit with a single, intricately carved wooden box in the center. When he opens the lid, a cloud of translucent green mist wafts from inside. Darryl’s body seizes up and he falls to the floor.

Darryl: Yeah, I lost money on this unit, and yeah, all the blood from my brain is pooling in my sinuses, but I proved to Hester today that he can’t get under my skin. You’ve got to gamble in this business, and I gambled on there being something of value in that box. Turns out it was a mummy curse. Live and learn right?

Darryl’s face melts off.

~

Dave: YUUUUP!

VO: And with that, Dave Hester wins the auction. The unit of thousands of live, poisonous snakes is his for $850.

Dave: In this business you aren’t bidding on what you see, but what you don’t. I think that behind the writhing mass of venomous asps, there’ll be some good finds.

Dave, with the help of animal control, carefully cleans out all the snakes, revealing a small, intricately carved box. He slowly opens the lid and, with a nearly inaudible hiss, a translucent green mist floats up, causing his body to seize up and his face to swell to many times it’s normal size.

Dave: You know, this unit was kinda a bust, but if you’re not willing to contract an ancient mummy curse in search of that big lick, you shouldn’t be in this business.

Dave coughs up his own lungs and falls to the floor. A giant python that escaped from animal control swallows him whole.

February 16, 2012

hellokstud said: why did you take away the pink from your tumblr theme? do you have seasonal depression? all this grey is giving ME seasonal depression.

Have you ever killed anything, hellokstud? Have you ever looked into the glassy pools of another creature’s eyes and recognized your common feral soul before finally snuffing out the spark of life shakily glowing within those eyes? I have, hellokstud. I have. I have seen the leagues of history and evolution in those doomed eyes. I have seen time itself spin and spiral backward into the dimly lit eons of this universe’s dusty past, where men were not, but gods lived - inchoate, crying for their mother’s touch - forming and destroying suns and galaxies with uncaring hands. I have seen in those dying eyes, early man, blood-soaked and screaming against the fallow wastelands, as they butchered Eden’s bounty without thought or feeling. I have seen and known these things, in the eyes of another fragile being, hellokstud. Have you?

January 7, 2012
Ugh…rap music

I’m gonna break character for a second.

When I started this blog I had two rules about what I would post: 1) I would only post original content, i.e. no reblogs or commentary on specific events whether they be cultural or political or whatever, and 2) I would never directly blog about myself. The idea being that, if I followed these two rules, I coud create wholly unique content without falling into the two-fold trap that so many blogs do: 1) devolving into a mundane din of constant self-reflection and 2) perpetuating the feedback loop of pop culture, where arbitrary facts are constantly picked apart and become part of the culture no matter how inane or damaging they may be (i.e. celebrity gossip, uninformed political discussion, base internet flame wars.)

But I think there is something that I do need to address: rap music. I’m so angry right now. I’m just so angry. But I also think that I have something important to add to the discussion. So thank you for indulging me in a bit of a rant. I hope I repay you with some ideas that maybe you haven’t thought of before. Here it goes. Bombs away.

Rap music is a form of music developed in the New York City in the late 70’s and early 80’s, that was originally a combination of New York’s current dance music and diverse styles of music from the Caribbean, specifically Jamaican reggae music, though many other influences can be identified.  It is usually comprised of an electronically produced backing track, called a beat, and a vocalist rhythmically speaking in time with the music. In the last two decades, rap music has moved from being a minor, regional scene to become the dominant musical form in pop music and a major commercial force. Rap music, and it’s surrounding Hip Hop movement, have influenced many aspects of American pop culture, and has become a very diverse genre, spanning from Top 40 pop music to niche “underground” music scenes.

Sheesh. Sorry, that might be a little inflammatory. I don’t want to offend anyone, but I just felt I had to add my two cents. Godspeed, and let’s get on with the funny!

11:03am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZfyUdxEPJogT
  
Filed under: rap hip hop rant angry 
January 6, 2012
The Boy Who Taught The Trees to Rise Up, pt. 2

The following is an excerpt from my soon-to-be published memoirs, The Boy Who Taught The Trees to Rise Up: The Working Life of a Modern Day Folk Hero.


"So that’s about it! We’re really excited to have you on board. I’ll leave you to get settled in. Remember to go down to HR and get your insurance information and reimbursements for your gym memberships and public transit fees. Oh yeah, and we’re gonna cut out early today and have a party to celebrate you joining the team! So get all that stuff worked out and then at three come down to the cafeteria! We’ll be having burgers and beer and maybe playing a little four square. Honestly, it’s not much different than what we do most Fridays, but Falcon, the COO, you’ve met Falcon right? Well, he called the Sweet Ride, that food truck with the cupcakes and giant gummy bears, and they’ll be coming down and all the food’ll be free!" De’yonte brushed her hair out of her broad, beautiful face and smiled at me serenely. But I wasn’t fooled.

"Yeah yeah yeah, say girlie? Are you my boss?"

"Uh, I guess no, not technically. We’re pretty much a flat company. We’re all kinda on equal terms."

"Yeah whatever I get it. Just tell me who my boss is so I know who to resent."

January 5, 2012
Space Novel: The Volta

He looked like some who would sleep at a public library. It wasn’t just that he’d gotten older, but he’d really let himself go, hygiene-wise. His nails were like two inches long and dirty. Stringy, oily white hair hung limply, in places it stuck by some unknown force to his haggard, sleep-deprived face.

"Voltron, you look like wino." Honestly, it kind of made me sad. He was just a crazy old man in a dingy rundown evil lair. "Have you ever seen Grey Gardens?" I asked, watching a badger root around inside a DOOMBOMB launcher.

"Spare me your pithy blustering, hero. After all these years, I’m going to finish the job I started, all those years ago! I’m going to kill you!” He tried to laugh but I ended up having to support his weight while he coughed up a black tarry substance. I led him over to stool in the corner by some death ray or something. It would take a half-minute for him to regain his composure.

While he was hacking away on top of the stool, I walked over to the spot on the middle of the floor where Shannara was vaporized. I don’t know what I expected, but there was nothing really remarkable about it. Just ugly tiled covered in crusty food stains and cat hair.

"Reliving your past failures, son? Do you remember her screams? Do you remember your own inability to save her? Do you remember your own impotence in the face of my power?" He stifled a laugh, so he didn’t break down again.

"Yeah, I remember."

"And it is painful, no?"

"Yes. But you know what they say, you can’t have the good things in life without a little pain."

The Doctor scoffed, “That’s what poor people say.”

He had a point. “You have a point.”

"Maybe I won’t kill you after all. Maybe this is worse for you. Maybe my ultimate victory will be letting you live after I have ruined your life!"

At this moment, I had a moment. I’m not really sure what the feeling I had was, but it was something different. Self-awareness maybe. “You know Doc, I think maybe I ruined my own life. I’m pretty sure I could’ve stopped you without endangering her life. I’m pretty sure Shannara and I could’ve been married today. I’m pretty sure I could’ve been happy.”

I looked up at him. He looked confused and very sad.

"But, no I am the shadow that has stalked you! I am the monster in your-"

"Hey, look, I’m gonna get going. Do you need anything before I do?"

Bewilderment gave way to a certain tenderness. “Well, I can’t reach the top cabinets in the kitchen anymore. Could you pull down a can of soup?”

//END OF PART

January 4, 2012
The Boy Who Taught The Trees to Rise Up, pt. 1

The following is an excerpt from my soon-to-be published memoirs, The Boy Who Taught The Trees to Rise Up: The Working Life of a Modern Day Folk Hero.

Hands gliding in unconscious, pointless motions - the soul-sodden muscle memory of menial labor - I stare blankly into the middle distance, eyes somehow both hard with silent strength and open and sensitive with a noble, wounded pride.

"What are my dreams? Well, I’m not sure. No one has ever asked me. No one since my mother died in the mines. Not since my heart was cauterized by that white-hot iron of despair. I suppose I want some peace, some respite from this hellish life. If I were grander, I’d say I would dream of a girl. Not a special girl, but just a girl. A girl who is strong and kind and can take care of herself. And maybe a house. Just a little shack in the woods where we can live quietly alone. Somewhere I could be content. But I gave up on dreams and happiness and girls long ago. Now I don’t know what I dream. I don’t even know if I can dream anymore.”

The man, Jonathan I think his name is, who sits at the table next to me, looked out into the churning machine ahead of us for a long time, his hands ceasing to work for a few moments to wipe a tear from his eye. He would be punished for holding up the line, but he looked to be gripped by intense thoughts.

"Shoo, boy," he finally said, "that’s so deep. Me, I know exactly what I dream of. I know exactly what I want."

"Yeah," I responded, turning back to my work with a guarded but mirthful smile. "And what’s that?"

A single hopeful tear hung at the corner of his eye. “Two Rottweilers and a pink Range Rover.”

He beamed at me with youthful earnestness and I envied his innocence. I envied his stupid, beautiful dream.

November 21, 2011

"Bring it in, guys. Bring it in. Huddle up. Take a knee and listen. Good work out there, boys. Really solid work; you guys showed some real solid fundamentals out there. I’m proud of you. You  played some top shelf football out there. I saw it, your parents out in the bleachers saw it, and the other team sees it. It’s half and we’re up by thirteen. Damn fine work.

But the game isn’t over till it’s over. We’ve got to hold on to this. We gotta show up hard in the second half, as hard as if we were losing.

I’m going to keep this short, let you guys go rest up for a bit and get some Gatorade and orange slices. Let’s talk second half strategy.

Let’s talk defense real quick: we’ve been pressing hard all game, and I want to keep that up. Paolo - three sacks in the first quarter! Jesus H my man! That’s great football right there. But you’re slowing down, and letting things get though that shouldn’t. I’m pulling you; no shame in being tired after that high quality work. I’m gonna put T-Bone in for you, let you rest a bit and use a couple of Rejuvenation Potions. Maybe we can get you back in at the end.

Defensive line: great fucking work, guys. Don’t tell you’re parents I said that either, haha. I’ve always thought that you guys have been the backbone of my team, and you really proved it today. I’ve been crunching the numbers and you guys are totally nailing it; you’re running a .451 OB, your ATAT is 186.9, you guys are frickin destroying it with a 54e in FQADS, and your GBAG is through the roof at 1.

Offense: you guys have really come through today. It hasn’t been a high scoring game, but you’ve shown a very high level of play. Again I have to say how proud I am. You guys have come so far since freshman year, and I’m proud to have been able to watch you grow in to such solid players.

Giacometti: you’re going in at fullback. I need you to bring the PAIN, son. We’re gonna hit their weak d tackle as hard as we can. I’m putting you in because of your high constitution and specialization points in cryomancy, and I know you can find that hole, and smash through their defensive line with a Blizzard spell.

O’Leary is going in for Tompkins at center. You did great work Pete, but number 35 is quicker than you, and he’s getting through too often. You’re a solid player Pete, but your deck is weak against quick red/direct damage decks. It’s nothing personal; O’Leary just has more action points to use and a higher speed rating. That being said O’Leary, I need you to focus your character build to specialize against these guys.

Finally, a reminder to all of you guys, remember to play the game that’s actually happening not the one that you think is happening. If they open the play with a Budapest Gambit, don’t counter with a Russian Triangle, just because it worked in the first half! Remember how we counter a Buda: e4 e5 2. Nf3 d6. And protect your goddamn bishops!

Alright guys, go get pumped up. Coach Slattery and I are gonna talk to our star QB about  Powell doctrine and Miami model heavy police action. On three. One, two, three…BREAK!”

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Filed under: football comedy funny 
November 11, 2011
Space Novel: The Beginning

She was mad as shit, just yelling over and over, “Help me! Help me, you asshole!” Doctor Thax Bennecourt Voltron just smiled and wrung his hands in a really evil way.

"He won’t help you, Shannara, because he knows he wouldn’t survive it." The doctor cackled like a villainous movie villain.

He was right, I wouldn’t survive it. But that’s not why I wouldn’t help: I knew it wouldn’t make any difference, it wouldn’t save her. It’d just get us both melted. But try explaining that to her.

"It won’t save you. It’d just get us both melted."

"Fucking help me you goddamn motherfucker!"

She didn’t understand I was just being practical. I mean, If I thought it would save her life, of course I’d take the bullet, so to speak, for her. I mean, I am in love with her. If she wasn’t being melted slowly by a Space Laser she wouldn’t be thinking so irrationally.

"Do something. Please. Please, honey. Please."

The doctor was frothing he was so excited. I really hated playing into his hand like this, but since everything was going to go pop! so soon, what’s really the point…

"Baby, I’m sorry. It’s not that I’m scared or anything, it’s just that it’d be so futile."

Really, I was doing her a mercy, I think. She was dying slowly, and had a chance to evaluate her life and see that it was good and that she was ready to die. I saved her from my fate - going pop! with the rest of things, blotted out instantaneously, with no warning or time to make peace.

"If you think about it, I’m actually doing the heroic thing!” I had to yell really loudly now, so she could hear me above her own yelps.

"Jesus, this is so good," the doctor panted.

TO BE CONTINUED

//END OF PART

November 11, 2011
I’m stressed

"Oh god, you feel so big. Oh god."

"Feel?"

November 9, 2011
Space Novel: Excerpt (27 of 32)

"Believe me, I understand that you have nothing in your body that even approaches interest in anything I have to say; it’s fairly clear in the distant, aggressively sarcastic tone of your responses and your defensive body language - but, seeing as we’re stuck in this Outer Space Train Car together for the next day or so, and taking into account my deep-seated and voracious need for constant companionship - well, we’re adults, so let us be honest here, by “need for constant companionship” I mean “need to constantly be listened to" - so, again, taking those two points into account, I have decided to compartmentalize all this knowledge of your utter contempt for me as a living, sentient creature in a little, let’s say, drawer in the back of my conscience, a drawer something akin to a junk drawer, filled with old keys, traumatic childhood memories and varying lengths of twine, a place, obviously, for useless and forgotten things, so that I can blabber on and on about no one and nothing that means anything to you without the threat of self-awareness, doubt or moderation on my part."

My sigh was so insultingly obvious that I was a little embarrassed by how much I was overacting. “It’s a-dult, not ad-ult. You sound like a guidance counselor.”

"Hmmm. So anyway, the barbeque Giant Space Whale at Blorg Blorg’s on Planet THX 1138 is okay, but a little too flavorful, you know…”

I groaned as loudly as I could and buried my face in my book so violently that I got a bloody nose, but he was a Space Alien of his word and continued explicating the difference between the various hulling techniques that can be used on Giant Space Whales.

I stifled a ray of admiration that was rising in my chest by spitting a peanut shell onto his lap.

//END OF PART

November 6, 2011

Harry and his buddies from the Gryffindor house were making some spells at each other, practicing for their upcoming magic game against the other houses. Some people got their wands all twisted up in a spellbook argument, but no one was hurt and they all were excited to get a malted together later. It was a blustery day, and, across the pitch, Harry could see the other teams, bundled up in their warmest wools and tweeds, were also making spells in preparation for the big game. Well, he could see the chubby Hufflepuffers rolling around the end zone, practicing their super secret Pickle Tickle spell and getting their cardigans all covered in leaves, and he could see those bad seeds, the Slithery Snakes, drilling each other on their signature Daddy Issues Fireball. But Ravenclaw, the fourth house, was nowhere to be seen, and it was almost kick off!

As the captains of the teams were assembling at half court, the magicians from Ravenclaw stumbled into the arena.

"Where have you guys been? The game’s just about to get started!" Harry hollered at the obviously hungover sorcerers, and the other captains, Jiggly Puff and Gerard Way, echoed his sentiments.

"Yeah whatever, turkey. We were finishing up our art installation," Thelonius, the Archmagus of Ravenclaw, replied while two naked magic demon babes he summoned made out next to him. "It’s a sound sculpture inspired by bell hooks. You probably wouldn’t like it."

"Guys! This is the final magic game of the year! Take it seriously!"

"Wow, cap it junior. We’re not playing. We forgot about it. We we’re just on our way to Professor Lou Reed’s love den to smoke some hash and fist each other to Bitches Brew. Peace.”

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Filed under: comedy harry potter funny 
November 6, 2011
Fucking Hipsters

God, I hate these fucking hipsters.

You can’t go anywhere anymore without seeing some guy with a mullet smoking while riding side-saddle on a Vespa. It’s like, is nowhere safe from these people?! The other day I was at the grocery store and I saw this asshole wearing a plaid shirt, leather vest and jodhpurs. Jodhpurs, really? Shopping in my supermarket?

Something that really bothers me about hipsters is how they still think smoking is cool. We all know smoking isn’t cool anymore! No one cool smokes, guys. Get with it. And that’s not even all! These kids see people smoking cigarettes, and they decide to smoke clove cigarettes just be cooler and more ironic. And then people see the clove cigarette smokers, and they decide it’s cooler to smoke normal cigarettes just to even more ironic! God!

Don’t get me started about how rude these fucking hipsters are! Like those snotty record store hipsters that make you feel bad about buying Storm Front by Billy Joel. I mean, I get all my music from iTunes, but we all know how snooty those record stores are. No real person with a real job like at the post office or gas station or pharmacy or community pool is that fucking rude. And what do they think they’re doing? Records? Why not get obsessed with something that matters, like baseball stats or celebrities. And those nerds don’t have anything to be rude about! Those dudes are so dumpy I bet they never get any pussy at all.

Or, Jeez, those hipsters that aren’t dumpy at all. God, I hate those hipster that are so fucking put together, and look like they bought all their clothes on a style blog. They’re all so young and beautiful and they just think they’re better than me and are always laughing and having so much goddamn fun talking about celebrities’ clothes and always either about to fuck or getting back from fucking some other beautiful hipster.

Or, Christ!, those motherfucking assblaster hipsters that make their own clothes. They’re all like, “Ooh, I’m knitting on the public transit. Look how interesting I am. I’m ironically thrifty!”

Or those hipsters who get all their clothes from thrift stores. I mean, thrift stores are for people who don’t have any money, not for some jerk college kid.

Or those hipsters who get their clothes from The Gap and stuff, but have those stupid weird haircuts. I saw this one dude in jeans and a polo, and I was like cool, but then I saw that he had a fucking Fall Out Boy haircut! And he was sitting next to me at the Cubs game, talking to his friend about how he liked the Sox! Oooh, so ironic!

Or those hipsters that wear glasses. Ugh. Like, I get that they probably need glasses, but they’re so prissy about which frames are cool enough to wear. Get metal wire frames like a real person, you fucking hipsters!

Or those hipsters who aren’t at all into clothes but do have glasses and maybe are really into art. I’m always seeing them at art galleries and stuff, being so fucking pretentious. I’m trying to enjoy a drink with my friends and look at some art, and they’re just fucking ruining it by being so contrived and pointlessly artistic, talking in depth about all these obscure artists, like they actually know quite a bit about modern art. Whatever, I can’t deal with that shit.

Or, mother of fuck, those bookish hipsters always reading at coffee shops and drinking coffee. Reading poetry and talking about poetry and probably writing fucking poetry. Jesus, poetry! It’s like they don’t even care that know one wants to read poetry except for them! I bet they actually enjoy Joanna Newsom. Those songs are like twelve minutes long! Who cares about that shit?! Who has time to listen to that long of a song? Get a fucking job, hipsters!

Or those really ironic hipsters with all that tattoos and piercings that listen heavy metal, and pretend to like it and have never willingly read a book. Ugh, fucking morons.

Or those hipsters that don’t at all care about art or books or music or clothes or even smoking clove cigarettes, but flock to the avant-garde film fests. Avant-garde film fests? Try and be more cliche, hipsters. I don’t care who Maya Deren is and what insight you have into her use of non-diagetic sound.

Or the hipsters who ride bikes and pretend like its more practical than a car. Again I say, get the fuck with it!

Or, ick, the hipsters in cars who don’t give a shit about environment.

Or the hipsters who are always stopping people on the street to sign petitions about the goddamn environment. Like they actually care.

Alright, end of my rant. I’m just so sick of these young hipsters who just think they are so interesting for liking some things and not liking others, and for dressing one way and not dressing others, and for sometimes being rude and sometimes having conversations in coffee shops about art or whatever and just generally seeming like they’re having so much goddamn fun.

Am I right, people?

1:59pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZfyUdxAbSykB
  
Filed under: hipsters real talk 
October 24, 2011
Guys it won’t load! It’s taking so long!  Jesus, just load damn it!

Guys it won’t load! It’s taking so long!  Jesus, just load damn it!

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