I’ve been out in the desert for a few days getting over my head injury, and haven’t written shit. Instead here’s a video of a puppet reading this week’s search terms. I left the kitchen window open while taping and my neighbor’s visiting family walked past.
As always, hat tip to UTB, the originator of search term mayhem.
image stolen from hotnerdgirl.com
Various readers write:
I’m concerned about your head injury. I’m not normally the kind of person who freaks out over this shit, but you really need to see a doctor. You could die or be retarded, etc.
As always, thank you for your sweet concern. But it’s nothing. It hurts like a bitch, but I’m only cognitively impaired insofar as I’m distracted by pain. It’s just a knot on the head. It’s on the right side right on top of my occipital lobe so if there were brain damage it would be evident in my eyesight. Left side. Because of the optic chiasm– the nerves that read from your eyes cross over in an X and run to the back of your head, for some reason. Meaning your left eye transmits to the back right side of your head. See? I remember all that shit from class, that was almost 20 years ago. No brain damaged person can say shit like “optic chiasm.” I bet it’s even called that because it’s shaped like the Greek letter “chi.” See? I remember the Greek alphabet. Continue reading
My house is clean now, and I am profoundly uncomfortable in it. The girl did it. She even poured bleach in the toilet. Now it’s white. If I take a shit, it will leave a brown streak in the perfect white toilet and I will have to reach in there with a brush and scrub it off immediately. Then I will have to clean the brush. I will have to handle shit and caustic chemicals in order to not have the scarlet letter of my shit streaking the bowl, vividly bringing to her mind the image of me squeezing out Brussels sprout logs. The stove is now clean. I will have to furiously wipe it down after every spatter of spaghetti sauce because of this. Because it’s clean, now you have to keep it clean. Constant work and vigilance. How do people live like this.
Recently it was revealed that Funny or Die optimizes its site to land searches for “gang rape,” then directs them to a gang rape themed page sponsored by Velveeta®. Why would they do this? How many people could possibly be out there looking for unbelievably weird and debased shit?
A fucking lot. If you had the only legal child porn site in the world, or a hoard of real rape videos, it would be bigger than Google. These are from this week only. Hat tip to UTB.
It’s not the end of the world
you’re not dead
you have plenty of time
and everything is gonna feel better
as soon as you have a drink.
Image from thingsimadethenate.blogspot.com
I was in the checkout line. Purchasing meat. London Broil was on sale, you get a big Family Pak with two huge steaks for $2.99 a pound.
A mousy young woman behind me who had sprouts and 7 grain bread turned to a guy whose basket was full of beets and said “looking at meat like that makes me nauseated.” She said it so I could hear it. What they call ”passive aggressive.” “You are a disgusting immoral pig,” she was saying to me, except with other words to another putative vegetarian because that’s how you do things. Continue reading
There’s a man in the coffee shop. He is talking to the cute waitress who I think hates me. She appears to hate me so much that I think she must be gay. But I guess not. He is asking if she ever reads books. Oh no, she laughs. Hahaha, I wish I could, I just never have the time. She works in a coffee shop that serves about eight customers a day and is also a bookstore.
He walks back to the shelf and comes back with a book, white cover black letters like those six packs in Maine that just say “beer,” and the cover says “Oranges Tangerines Bananas” or something. He hands it to her. It is his book; he wrote it. Oh, she says, I will have to check this out. He has a black leather jacket and a tattoo of a kite.
You motherfucker with your poems about fruits. If I had one more hustler gene I’d rule the world.
The Romans got him, and he asked God why he’d been forsaken. Which seems to imply that he really didn’t see his death coming. And then rose three days later and… what? You don’t get to see much of the resurrected Jesus. He doesn’t seem to have stuck around terribly long. The whole thing just feels like a “hook,” you know? A retcon. He was either supposed to not die, or the world was supposed to end, but that’s not what happened. So instead, he did in fact see the whole thing coming; we will explain away the Eloi, Eloi, Lama Sabacthani as having some meaning that’s the opposite of the obvious. This was the plan all along, see. And then Christ returned, kind of did nothing, just tipped off his cronies that he was back, basically, and disappeared. And we’re left not with a story of the resurrected and supernatural Christ powerfully changing the world but a ghost pretty much hanging on words from when he was naturally alive. What was the point? Continue reading
delicioustacos 