Watching himself brush his teeth in the mirror was how he used to close the day at the office. He'd then leave the bathroom, go back to the office, collect his jacket and hat, and lock it up. Now that business has picked up, hours have been shifted. Murray Clavier now worked the eight to four-thirty shift instead of the relaxed eleven to seven-thirty. Murray did not take this hour shifting too well.
Now that he was part of the inner city rush hour, traffic jams frequent his mind. Traveling was a pleasure, now it's a pain. He could listen to the first half of a Tchaikovsky piece on the way to work and finish it on the way home. Now he listened to all but the final two minutes of the piece. Everything but the crescendo took up his journey to work.
After work, Murray listened to the Russian composer for the first two minutes and rolled down his window to find harmony and euphony in the traffic jam. The various honks and beeps of automobile horns and the droning motors of busses were too chaotic to form a formidable piece of symphonia urbania. Within a week, Murray paid closer attention to the subtle background of coughing pedestrians, splashing water, and chirping birds. Birds? Birds! All this time, he never thought of birds living in the metropolis. This awakened Murray to the sparse but various trees within the downtown area. Among everything metal, glass, and concrete was something breathing with leaves of green. It was spectacular!
The city seemed to be humanity's billboard of civilization with Mother Nature accidentally spilling some of her green paint on it as she was passing to paint her Appalachian Mountains canvas.
Murray Clavier felt like a wildman and this scared him. He did not want to become one of the Hippies. He missed that train by over thirty years. He also didn't want to become a lunatic raving in Central Park.
Murray wanted to sit in a tree; it was the closest thing he could get to a forest.
During a lunch break one day, he passed by a tree on the way to McDonald's. The color of green and the chirp of a sparrow hidden in the foliage enveloped his mind. For a brief moment, a hallucination of a congregation of maple trees swaying to a Seals & Crofts song put a smile of relief on his face. Soon the smile was wiped away by the grease of a seeping McRib. A napkin with the albino golden arches tried to bring back the smile, but it only absorbed the grease off his face.
As he passed the tree on his way back to work, he was tempted to climb it. He unbuttoned his suit jacket, put his foot to the trunk of the tree, and looked up at a piece of gum a couple of inches away from his fingers. He figured it was better than piss and finished his day at the job.
That night, dreams of tree sitting lingered in his mind. Right before he sat in an oak tree that grew so fast that he could see the whole city get smaller and smaller as the tree grew. Then the cloud weft passed and took him away to the Black Forest where his kingdom of Ewoks waited for him. When he began to act out Return of the Jedi, his alarm clock woke him up.
To be friendlier to his trees, Murray carpooled to work that day with his neighbor who worked three blocks away for a publishing agency. His day went by smoothly mainly because he spotted about three trees on the way to Taco Bell. After his workday was done, he started his three-block walk to the publishing agency. The urge to climb and sit in a tree took over his mind and within a block, Murray, briefcase in lap, found himself perched in a tree. Relaxation hit him instantly when he noticed that everyone passing by him in that try was obsessed with going somewhere. Murray was where he wanted to be, and he found it humorous that no one else wanted to be there.
No one wanted to be there until a cardinal built a nest on the branch above him. Could it be love? How could such a bird trust a person, who sat just a couple inches below, not to bother it?
The day Murray totally forgot about his job, he built himself a nest to cushion his seat. That was also the day one of the city crazies pointed out Murray's delirium. One would expect him to become more self-conscious, but he already was. Mr. Clavier wanted to sit in a nest forever.
A couple of days later, Laurie (a co-worker) found Murray in his nest. "Whatever are you doing, Murray? Mr. Cuthbert's been trying to call you for days. If you don't come in today, you'll probably be out of a job."
If Murray came in that day, he'd be out of his tree. Luckily, he still had common sense in his brain. He just misplaced it until Laurie found it for him. Anyway, he needed money to build a better nest in perhaps a better tree.
For the next couple weeks, Murray contemplated the best nest while behind his desk at work. Astonishingly enough, he got all his work done punctually. Mr. Cuthbert was amazed and brought him back to his regular salary. That was such great news to Murray that the greatest idea for a nest came to him: an ostrich nest.
The Bronx Zoo did not seem appealing for an ostrich nest, besides it might be fake. He must get an ostrich nest from where most ostrich nests are: Africa. This called for another week's paycheck and a week's vacation. The paycheck part was easy, but when Murray asked Mr. Cuthbert for the vacation, he was told to lose that part of his memory. Murray liked his memory and he liked his nests, so he quit and charted a flight to the Central African Republic.
When he got to the capital city of Bangui, he asked directions to the nearest ostrich field. There he ran into Dr. Pillsbury who specialized in ostriches, but unfortunately not their nests. He was more interested in their necks and trachea. Together they rode a couple hundred miles to a huge stretch of land littered with grasses and ostriches. They both were in heaven.
The difficulty for Murray was to reach the throne of heaven -- the largest ostrich nest in the field. Dr. Pillsbury had no difficulty as he sat in his antiquated Jeep and surveyed the grassland for ostrich necks. Hopefully his intention was not a new recipe for soup. As Pillsbury scouted the land, he watched Murray peaking at the nests. He hoped Murray's intention was not to filch the nest and take the eggs. Luckily ostriches know how to defend themselves.
Murray found this out when he found his golden treasure, and nest big enough for two people to sit in. "Hey!" he yelled. "Dr. Pillsbury would you like to join me?"
Damn it, thought the biologist, he's going to spook the birds and put them in the defensive. Dr. Pillsbury wouldn't join Murray in egg-lifting anyway, he told himself.
Pushing the eggs out of the nest, Murray prepared a nice spot for him to sit. As he looked ahead, he saw a speeding ostrich head in his direction. An ordinary ostrich looks freaky enough, but an angry ostrich looks frighteningly deplorable.
Murray lost his senses and thought this battle for the nest was a test to get to heaven. By all means, Murray wanted to go to heaven. When he roosted on the almighty ostrich nest, Murray's ultimate goal was accomplished and he let the ugly big bird peck him to death.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Shall I compare thee to a pint of ice cream?
Shall I compare thee to a pint of ice cream?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Chocolate chips do not shake the darling buds of May,
And ice cream’s eaten too quick a date:
Sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his cream complexion melted;
And every fair from fair sometimes declines,
By Ben and Jerry’s changing course untrimmed;
But thy eternal pint shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;
Nor shall death brag thou eat’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou hungers;
So long as men can eat, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
Japanese Solar System
Radio House Kingdom
In connection with…
The National Telescopic Astronomy Administration
Funded by NHK and NTT
Have jointly discovered 14 new planets outside our Japanese solar system
Planet One is New Tokyo with the highest real estate in the universe
Planet Two is The Planet that Says Ni! Because Ni means Two in Japanese
Planet Three was lost when Okabe-san bumped into the telescope
(it will soon be located under British Petroleum funding though, so please visit their homepage at www.killthegulf.com)
Planet Four is already inhabited by dogs. We’re waiting for a suitable name for that planet.
Planet Five was claimed by Pink Floyd and David Bowie to hold their new recording studio
Planet Six is so close to Planet Seven that we don’t know which is which
Planet Six will be the only planet in which racism will be encouraged
Planet Seven is where Earth will store all its toxic waste
Planet Eight is TOP SECRET c/o US GOVERNMENT
Planet Nine is Hubbell II: The Telesphere
Planet Ten actually is Pluto (we made a mistake)
Planet Eleven is completely made of gold and was found to have the Microsoft logo on it
Planet Twelve is for Japanese tourists only for authenticity’s sake
Planet Thirteen has been deemed Satan’s Liar of Doom by the Roman Catholic Church
Planet Fourteen is the last planet found so we don’t have enough information on it yet
Author's Note: I updated the statement in parenthesis because it's more relevant.
Your Name is Flanders
"No, it's not," he said quoting the obvious from an unseen and unwritten textbook. He calls it The Frizz and plants in his refrigerator. The lime on his windowsill shined; he wiped it off.
"Disgusting lime. I don't know how it gets there." His hair resembled a red tree. Actually he does live in a forest, not the Black Forest though.
Born without parents, this thinks-he-is-a man sits around putting tiddlywinks up his nose. When he doesn't sit around, which he never does anyway, the man eats like a platoon. Buying five bags of Frito Lays chips, he eats the other company.
"I am not quite that odd," he said scratching his head. Sometimes he thinks he has lice and eats imaginary ones to scare away the pretty girls. This is one reason he is single and might be female.
On his favorite closet, hangs an annoying sign reading NO SKELETONS HERE. This man needs a superhero. One time he wrote to Marvel Comics and they sent him a Fantastic Four tie. When push comes to shove, he'd rather dislike the Fantastic Four. "Push doesn't have to shove." He thinks he hears the narrative.
"I hear the narrative. Listen!" Somebody knocked on his door to ruin his silence. He answered the door, found nobody, and found a postcard from Greece. It displayed a picture of the Parthenon. He read the postcard hoping it wouldn't read him: THERE IS NO NARRATIVE TO HEAR.
"Don't tell everyone I am a fictional character, because I'm real. I fool you knot." This stupid man cannot spell not. "N-O-T minus the K." He is ugly and repulsive, yet it is hard to distinguish his gender. "Mail!"
Literally, a ton of letters gushed through his door, and swamped his kitchen designed like a bathroom.
"What in blazes is happening? Normally, these things don't happen to me. I've never been written about before." That's because he's a fabricated character just like Sherlock Holmes, but Sherlock is more believable.
"You make me sound unbelievable. Really I'm normal." He ate all his mail. "No, I didn't." He ran to the bathroom to send the mail back to his fans. "I'm still in the kitchen. Who is writing about me?"
In the Valley of Sixes, Mr. Shea picked a daffodil. Frolicking with his prize flower, cameras stood by. "This is what Pepsi or any other Pepsi product does to me!"
The director gave him his briefcase back. "Relax Arthur. Pretend Pepsi is running through your system."
"Why can't I have Pepsi really running through my system?" questioned the stiff actor.
"Good point." The director raised his hand and snapped his fingers. "Give this man a Coke!"
"No, no. Pepsi! I wanted a Pepsi!" demanded Mr. Shea.
"Coke...Pepsi...same thing," sighed the snooty director.
"Who said that?" asked the Pepsi representative on the set. He spotted the director and yelled, "Take this hypocrite away!" Two brutes and a brunette hauled off the unemployed director.
The Pepsi rep shook hands violently with Arthur Shea. "Thank you, Mr. Shea, for pointing out the traitor amongst us and that nothing beats a Pepsi."
Arthur was stunned. "Actually, I just wanted to..."
PEPSI IS GOOD. YOU CAN DRINK IT. IT MAKES YOU HAPPY. SOME PEOPLE SAY IT'S BETTER THAN SEX. AND MORE PEOPLE SAY IT'S BETTER THAN MARIJUANA. BUT I NEVER HEARD ANYONE SAY IT'S BETTER THAN COCA-COLA.
"Who moved that capitalized paragraph above this sentence?" asked the representative of PepsiCo.
The entire advertising committee confessed leaving Arthur Shea the only man left employed by Pepsi.
"You know," said the Pepsi intermediary. "You are the true heart of this advertising campaign. And do you know why?" He grabbed Arthur closer to him shoulder-to-shoulder. "You really want a Pepsi. Arthur Shea, you are a good man for this."
"Yes," spoke Arthur. "I want a Pepsi, but I prefer..."
He read a poem from his book entitled Chartreuse. The poem was entitled Goodness Gracious Me Oh My!
Too bad he didn't have an audience. The response would be too bad. "Why do I write these poems for myself?" he asked himself. "Why do I ask myself questions about myself?" he asked himself. "Why I am so selfish?" He expected himself to answer his question, but he didn't, and that startled him into a world full of other people.
"That was a horrible poem!" screamed Mrs. Gullbird and her clique of poem critics. They dragged him to himself.
"I liked the poem, Leonard," he smiled to himself without a mirror. "I especially liked the poet, Mr. Leonard Jumpsuit, the Emperor of Excessive Self-Indulgence!"
The lamp's bulb blew leaving Mr. Jumpsuit alone in darkness. He wondered about criminals and monsters. They didn't exist as long as Leonard sulked with himself. He wished he could go to the store to buy another light bulb. But that required him to meet people. People are miscreants; they're not like him. They criticize him to one point.
He went out to buy a bulb anyway. On his way, he passed Evan Jensen and his little dog, both of them sneering. Then he ran into Mrs. Gullbird again. She had to yell, "You're a terrible poet!"
Finally, he got to the store, Expert Hardware. Ignoring the scoffing people, he snatched the bulb and took it to the cashier, Mr. Henry Billings.
"That'll be exactly two dollars, Mr. Jumpsuit," smiled Henry after pushing buttons on his register.
His last customer, Leonard Jumpsuit, the town's most renowned poet, gave Henry two dollars and a pocketful of change. "I'll trust that you have a full dollar here, Mr. Jumpsuit." He bagged the bulb and handed it to Leonard with another smile. "Keep on writing those poems."
Without saying a word, Leonard left. Henry's boss said some words though. "After you count Leonard's change, you can go home. Your shift's up."
Henry counted: two quarters, one dime, three nickels, ten pennies, ten more pennies, and four last pennies. "I've been shorted a cent," he sighed. "No matter."
After removing his nametag, Mr. Billings left Expert Hardware for the day. His house was only two blocks away from his job, so he walked. This day, he only walked one and a half blocks and never walked again.
Grim Reaper is death and deals the ace of spades. R.I.P.
"My name better not be Flanders," said Arthur Shea getting his first glimpse at the script. "People named Flanders are always made fun of."
The director looked at the Expert Hardware Commercial script to see if he could change his name.
Apparently not, "Your name will be Flanders."
"Disgusting lime. I don't know how it gets there." His hair resembled a red tree. Actually he does live in a forest, not the Black Forest though.
Born without parents, this thinks-he-is-a man sits around putting tiddlywinks up his nose. When he doesn't sit around, which he never does anyway, the man eats like a platoon. Buying five bags of Frito Lays chips, he eats the other company.
"I am not quite that odd," he said scratching his head. Sometimes he thinks he has lice and eats imaginary ones to scare away the pretty girls. This is one reason he is single and might be female.
On his favorite closet, hangs an annoying sign reading NO SKELETONS HERE. This man needs a superhero. One time he wrote to Marvel Comics and they sent him a Fantastic Four tie. When push comes to shove, he'd rather dislike the Fantastic Four. "Push doesn't have to shove." He thinks he hears the narrative.
"I hear the narrative. Listen!" Somebody knocked on his door to ruin his silence. He answered the door, found nobody, and found a postcard from Greece. It displayed a picture of the Parthenon. He read the postcard hoping it wouldn't read him: THERE IS NO NARRATIVE TO HEAR.
"Don't tell everyone I am a fictional character, because I'm real. I fool you knot." This stupid man cannot spell not. "N-O-T minus the K." He is ugly and repulsive, yet it is hard to distinguish his gender. "Mail!"
Literally, a ton of letters gushed through his door, and swamped his kitchen designed like a bathroom.
"What in blazes is happening? Normally, these things don't happen to me. I've never been written about before." That's because he's a fabricated character just like Sherlock Holmes, but Sherlock is more believable.
"You make me sound unbelievable. Really I'm normal." He ate all his mail. "No, I didn't." He ran to the bathroom to send the mail back to his fans. "I'm still in the kitchen. Who is writing about me?"
YOUR NAME IS ARTHUR SHEA
by Jeremy Slagoski
In the Valley of Sixes, Mr. Shea picked a daffodil. Frolicking with his prize flower, cameras stood by. "This is what Pepsi or any other Pepsi product does to me!"
The director gave him his briefcase back. "Relax Arthur. Pretend Pepsi is running through your system."
"Why can't I have Pepsi really running through my system?" questioned the stiff actor.
"Good point." The director raised his hand and snapped his fingers. "Give this man a Coke!"
"No, no. Pepsi! I wanted a Pepsi!" demanded Mr. Shea.
"Coke...Pepsi...same thing," sighed the snooty director.
"Who said that?" asked the Pepsi representative on the set. He spotted the director and yelled, "Take this hypocrite away!" Two brutes and a brunette hauled off the unemployed director.
The Pepsi rep shook hands violently with Arthur Shea. "Thank you, Mr. Shea, for pointing out the traitor amongst us and that nothing beats a Pepsi."
Arthur was stunned. "Actually, I just wanted to..."
PEPSI IS GOOD. YOU CAN DRINK IT. IT MAKES YOU HAPPY. SOME PEOPLE SAY IT'S BETTER THAN SEX. AND MORE PEOPLE SAY IT'S BETTER THAN MARIJUANA. BUT I NEVER HEARD ANYONE SAY IT'S BETTER THAN COCA-COLA.
"Who moved that capitalized paragraph above this sentence?" asked the representative of PepsiCo.
The entire advertising committee confessed leaving Arthur Shea the only man left employed by Pepsi.
"You know," said the Pepsi intermediary. "You are the true heart of this advertising campaign. And do you know why?" He grabbed Arthur closer to him shoulder-to-shoulder. "You really want a Pepsi. Arthur Shea, you are a good man for this."
"Yes," spoke Arthur. "I want a Pepsi, but I prefer..."
YOUR NAME IS LEONARD JUMPSUIT
by Jeremy Slagoski
He read a poem from his book entitled Chartreuse. The poem was entitled Goodness Gracious Me Oh My!
I stopped in front of my house
Seeing many policemen surrounding it
"Your home is under arrest," they said
"For keeping you locked up at night."
I said, "I lock myself in there."
They placed handcuffs on me
And threw me in jail
The law's too tight
And the jailbirds bite
I never win
Too bad he didn't have an audience. The response would be too bad. "Why do I write these poems for myself?" he asked himself. "Why do I ask myself questions about myself?" he asked himself. "Why I am so selfish?" He expected himself to answer his question, but he didn't, and that startled him into a world full of other people.
"That was a horrible poem!" screamed Mrs. Gullbird and her clique of poem critics. They dragged him to himself.
"I liked the poem, Leonard," he smiled to himself without a mirror. "I especially liked the poet, Mr. Leonard Jumpsuit, the Emperor of Excessive Self-Indulgence!"
The lamp's bulb blew leaving Mr. Jumpsuit alone in darkness. He wondered about criminals and monsters. They didn't exist as long as Leonard sulked with himself. He wished he could go to the store to buy another light bulb. But that required him to meet people. People are miscreants; they're not like him. They criticize him to one point.
He went out to buy a bulb anyway. On his way, he passed Evan Jensen and his little dog, both of them sneering. Then he ran into Mrs. Gullbird again. She had to yell, "You're a terrible poet!"
Finally, he got to the store, Expert Hardware. Ignoring the scoffing people, he snatched the bulb and took it to the cashier, Mr. Henry Billings.
YOUR NAME IS HENRY BILLINGS
by Jeremy Slagoski
"That'll be exactly two dollars, Mr. Jumpsuit," smiled Henry after pushing buttons on his register.
His last customer, Leonard Jumpsuit, the town's most renowned poet, gave Henry two dollars and a pocketful of change. "I'll trust that you have a full dollar here, Mr. Jumpsuit." He bagged the bulb and handed it to Leonard with another smile. "Keep on writing those poems."
Without saying a word, Leonard left. Henry's boss said some words though. "After you count Leonard's change, you can go home. Your shift's up."
Henry counted: two quarters, one dime, three nickels, ten pennies, ten more pennies, and four last pennies. "I've been shorted a cent," he sighed. "No matter."
After removing his nametag, Mr. Billings left Expert Hardware for the day. His house was only two blocks away from his job, so he walked. This day, he only walked one and a half blocks and never walked again.
YOUR NAME IS GRIM REAPER
by Jeremy Slagoski
Grim Reaper is death and deals the ace of spades. R.I.P.
YOUR NAME WILL BE FLANDERS
by Leonard Jumpsuit
"My name better not be Flanders," said Arthur Shea getting his first glimpse at the script. "People named Flanders are always made fun of."
The director looked at the Expert Hardware Commercial script to see if he could change his name.
Apparently not, "Your name will be Flanders."
Friday, July 23, 2010
Doughnuts-77
That’s how many flavors we could have if you endorse our already patented 8 flavors which are:
- Bacon Bit Cruller
- Cheese Honey-Dipped
- Garlic and Onion Jelly
- Cabbage Custard
- Pineapple and Vinegar
- Whole Sugar Beet
- Chocolate Bouillon
- Cinnamon and Paprika
The Burt Reynolds Rap
Burt Reynolds is he
The Oscar nominee
He can swim and can ski
In “Trigger Happy”
He’s dangerous as can be
The man who is free
Burt Reynolds, Burt Reynolds
Burt! Burt!
Burt Reynolds, Burt Reynolds
Burt! Burt!
The old son of a gun
In Cannonball Run
His life is complete fun
This man can’t be stunned
In “Nickelodeon”
He was second to none
Burt Reynolds, Burt Reynolds
Burt! Burt!
Burt Reynolds, Burt Reynolds
Burt! Burt!
Welles said success is him
He’s so suave on a whim
He’ll never sink, only swim
Full of vigor and vim
Life is never grim
When Burt Reynolds is him
Burt Reynolds, Burt Reynolds
Burt! Burt!
Burt Reynolds, Burt Reynolds
Burt! Burt!
He won a Golden Globe
Accepted in his robe
No alien will probe
More than his ear lobe
In the light of a strobe
Is the glory of his Globe
Burt Reynolds, Burt Reynolds
Burt! Burt!
Burt Reynolds, Burt Reynolds
Burt! Burt!
Since “Armored Command”
He ruled movie land
Carrying a gun in his hand
He’s turned men into sand
Sixty years he has spanned
A life perfectly planned
The Oscar nominee
He can swim and can ski
In “Trigger Happy”
He’s dangerous as can be
The man who is free
Burt Reynolds, Burt Reynolds
Burt! Burt!
Burt Reynolds, Burt Reynolds
Burt! Burt!
The old son of a gun
In Cannonball Run
His life is complete fun
This man can’t be stunned
In “Nickelodeon”
He was second to none
Burt Reynolds, Burt Reynolds
Burt! Burt!
Burt Reynolds, Burt Reynolds
Burt! Burt!
Welles said success is him
He’s so suave on a whim
He’ll never sink, only swim
Full of vigor and vim
Life is never grim
When Burt Reynolds is him
Burt Reynolds, Burt Reynolds
Burt! Burt!
Burt Reynolds, Burt Reynolds
Burt! Burt!
He won a Golden Globe
Accepted in his robe
No alien will probe
More than his ear lobe
In the light of a strobe
Is the glory of his Globe
Burt Reynolds, Burt Reynolds
Burt! Burt!
Burt Reynolds, Burt Reynolds
Burt! Burt!
Since “Armored Command”
He ruled movie land
Carrying a gun in his hand
He’s turned men into sand
Sixty years he has spanned
A life perfectly planned
Eat That Beach
The water turns to ice
The sand turns to spice
The beach is cold and sweet
Like a giant ice cream treat
The sand turns to spice
The beach is cold and sweet
Like a giant ice cream treat
Hey! Really Win Cool II: Rubgy for Licorice
After reading the sign NO LION TAMERS ALLOWED, the lion tamer walked in the chicken coop. To his surprise he found his boss licking stamps behind a nice pulpit. "What are you doing here?" asked his boss, Mrs. Nurchkamibitz.
Because Zamer, the lion tamer, did not expect his boss to be in the chicken coop, he could not think of answer. This lead him to spurt out an uneducated response, "The vacuum machine was on fire water."
Mrs. Nurchkamibitz lurched at the ignorant lion tamer. "You fool! Think before you speak. Obviously, you came in here because the sign forbids any lion tamers. Curiosity brought you in here."
Zamer smiled with partial chagrin, "Being a lion tamer, I always follow curiosity, because curiosity killed the cat."
His retort was answered with a slap in the chest. "You blurry-eyed freak! Lion tamers tame lions not kill cats; get it straight." She continued licking her stamps. With no lust in mind, Zamer stared at his boss.
"Throw the eggs away, Zamer!" sneered Mrs. Nurchkamibitz. "They're getting a bit rotten." After completing the reasonable sentence, she pinched her nose.
Looking around the coop, Zamer noticed that all the chickens were dead in their nests. After picking one up, he found no eggs under the hen cadaver. "Chief," he thought he said, which he did, "There are no eggs, only dead chickens."
"Did you call me chief?" asked the prune-faced woman before swallowing an illegal stamp.
"I think I did," whined one-eared Zamer. He received the second meanest stare ever recorded in the NO LION TAMERS ALLOWED chicken coop. The first meanest stare was when Dwight D. Eisenhower was still in his diapers, and then some. That, my droogs, was a very long time ago, and then some.
"My name is not your name therefore I am," smirked chief Nurchkamibitz before sticking her tongue out of her eyes.
"I can tell these dead hens are making you woozy," cringed Zamer. "Let me throw them out for you."
Five hours later, Zamer finally got the nerve to garner the pungent, putrescent hens. Once he did, he stepped out of the coop and threw them into the Arctic Ocean. "Gadzooks!" exclaimed the highly sensitive Zamer as he found himself on an iceberg labeled NO LIBRARIANS ALLOWED.
After waving to some penguins across the way, a scuba diver emerged from the icy water onto the lion tamer's iceberg. "Who are you?" asked the diver after taking off her mask revealing her brick face.
"Who are you?" answered Zamer annoyed by her brick face.
"I'm Miss Shusgin," she replied waiting for a positive expression on Zamer's natural face. No expression was positive, so she continued, "Haven't you heard of me? I'm the world's most renowned librarian."
The lion tamer moved out of the way to reveal the sign to Miss Shusgin. "I'm Zamer, a lion tamer, and you're not allowed here."
"Look who's talking!" she clamored. "You're the one who went into that chicken coop when lion tamers were not allowed there." She began to undress in front of the immature lion tamer. Her entire body was composed of bricks.
"How do you know about me?" he asked in dismay.
"There's a book about you, Zamer, it's on the best-seller list right now," she smiled. She took one of her body bricks out, turned it into a book, and gave it to Zamer. "Here it is."
Taking it, he twitched at the book cover. Entitled Bagpipes for Horseshoes, the book showed a picture of Dwight D. Eisenhower playing Twister with Ricki Lake. "What is this?" he scoffed throwing the literature in the arctic depths.
"Hey!" she scowled. "I paid a lot for that book. I was going to have you autograph it for me."
In response, Zamer picked up the NO LIBRARIANS ALLOWED sign and pushed it against the bricks of Miss Shusgin. In an instant, she plunged into the sea. "Freak!" he screamed into the water.
Looking across the way, he saw the penguins pointing to something behind him. When he turned around he found himself sinking in a swamp with a sign reading NO FISHMONGERS ALLOWED. After he pulled himself out of the oozing sludge, he saw a little girl hanging from a cypress tree. "What are you doing here, missy?" he simpered.
"I came here to hang on these fine cypress trees." She did a flip in midair and landed in front of the lion tamer. "This is my favorite place to hang out, you might say."
Zamer soon was repulsed by her yellow eyes and skin. Backing away from her, he introduced himself, "My name is Zamer. I'm a lion tamer for Nurchkamibitz Carnival."
She extended her hand waiting to be shook by Zamer. "I am Pamela, a fishmonger suffering from jaundice."
Refusing to shake her hand, the lion tamer pointed out the NO FISHMONGERS ALLOWED sign. "Did you see that sign?"
"Oh," she snubbed. "That sign has been up for eons. It only gets repainted every other month to make it look new. I think that sign comes without a penalty. Why would they want no fishmongers allowed? It's quite silly, I say."
"It's like saying no lion tamers are allowed in a chicken coop," chuckled Zamer as he tried to find a toothpick.
"No, I'm afraid that's completely different, Sir James," she said finding a saber under a walking stick.
"Will this do for a toothpick?"
"Thank you," he replied. Suddenly a forlorn gesture planted on his face. "My name is Zamer and how did you know I wanted a toothpick?" he inquired whilst picking his teeth.
"You were looking for one, weren't you?" she rhetorically demanded. In less than a flash, a giant tube of toilet paper fell from the sky around the jaundice-stricken fishmonger.
"Oh God!" he cussed finding himself in heaven. Surrounded by fog and angels, Zamer was in the midst of God and sign that read NO TIME TRAVELERS ALLOWED.
With an enraged stare, the Supreme Being asked the lion tamer one simple question, "Zamer, son of Ryan, son of Gus, when did you get here?"
Zamer scratched his head and responded, "Oh, just a few seconds ago, Almighty One."
"Time traveller!" he shouted. "To hell you must go!" God's echo sent the lion tamer through the chasm towards the inferno.
Zamer, the lion tamer, was greeted by Satan and a sign that read NO FIREFIGHTERS ALLOWED. Zamer thought about telling Beelzebub he was a fire fighter, but then the devil spoke, "So...Zamer, you were going to lie. I would have liked you to do that more often on Earth, but I won't tolerate any lying in hell, you lion tamer!"
After a puff of fiery smoke, a spade appeared in Zamer's hands. "Start digging!" the evil one shouted pointing to the ground.
"What am I digging for?" Zamer requested.
"Satan doesn't give out answers for free," grinned the green-bearded worm, "And if you have the correct payment, you won't be lucky if I give you the right answer."
"What's the correct payment?" Zamer beseeched.
Lucifer blew steam out of his snout, "Dig, Zamer!"
At the first stroke at the loam, the lion tamer sprung a leak. "Is it oil?" he asked himself hopefully. Soon his face turned sour, "Oil in hell would not be pleasant."
"You got that right," snickered another demon.
At the second stroke into the fervent dirt, water sprung straight out. "I think I hit a water pipe!" announced Zamer.
"What?" barked the fiend. "There are no water pipes in hell."
"Maybe you forgot to take them out when you moved in," grinned the wisecracking lion tamer.
In a matter of minutes, the eternal inferno turned into a relaxing sauna. When the moisture punctured the serpent's eyes, he blared, "Damn you, Zamer!"
"I'm one step ahead of you, big bad guy," snickered the lion tamer getting the last laugh in the netherworld.
"Bless you, Zamer!" shouted the infuriated fury.
The NO TIME TRAVELLERS ALLOWED sign once again stood in front of the lion tamer. "The sign remains the same," God lamented. "If Satan doesn't want you, I sure the hell don't. Go back to where you came from!"
In an instant, Zamer found himself outside on the farm where a sign read NO LION TAMERS ALLOWED in front of a chicken coop. Unexpectedly, the sign burst into flames.
A mile away, a renegade from the law stepped into a bowl of soup and entered a whole new world of chicken stock, but that's a whole different ball game.
Speaking of ball games, a champion chess-player threw the first pitch at a minor league game. Instead of a strike, the batter got a checkmate.
After that horrible joke, the flying shoe soon met its fate as it ran into the bubble-gum web spun by ancient Greek spiders. The bubble-gum web soon gave way to the flock of roller-coaster balloons dressed up like ballerinas in Viking attire. The avocado man finally ate his chives in broad daylight triggering Superman to wet himself.
Where is this story going? Out the backdoor perhaps? No, a totally wrong guess; rugby for licorice.
Because Zamer, the lion tamer, did not expect his boss to be in the chicken coop, he could not think of answer. This lead him to spurt out an uneducated response, "The vacuum machine was on fire water."
Mrs. Nurchkamibitz lurched at the ignorant lion tamer. "You fool! Think before you speak. Obviously, you came in here because the sign forbids any lion tamers. Curiosity brought you in here."
Zamer smiled with partial chagrin, "Being a lion tamer, I always follow curiosity, because curiosity killed the cat."
His retort was answered with a slap in the chest. "You blurry-eyed freak! Lion tamers tame lions not kill cats; get it straight." She continued licking her stamps. With no lust in mind, Zamer stared at his boss.
"Throw the eggs away, Zamer!" sneered Mrs. Nurchkamibitz. "They're getting a bit rotten." After completing the reasonable sentence, she pinched her nose.
Looking around the coop, Zamer noticed that all the chickens were dead in their nests. After picking one up, he found no eggs under the hen cadaver. "Chief," he thought he said, which he did, "There are no eggs, only dead chickens."
"Did you call me chief?" asked the prune-faced woman before swallowing an illegal stamp.
"I think I did," whined one-eared Zamer. He received the second meanest stare ever recorded in the NO LION TAMERS ALLOWED chicken coop. The first meanest stare was when Dwight D. Eisenhower was still in his diapers, and then some. That, my droogs, was a very long time ago, and then some.
"My name is not your name therefore I am," smirked chief Nurchkamibitz before sticking her tongue out of her eyes.
"I can tell these dead hens are making you woozy," cringed Zamer. "Let me throw them out for you."
Five hours later, Zamer finally got the nerve to garner the pungent, putrescent hens. Once he did, he stepped out of the coop and threw them into the Arctic Ocean. "Gadzooks!" exclaimed the highly sensitive Zamer as he found himself on an iceberg labeled NO LIBRARIANS ALLOWED.
After waving to some penguins across the way, a scuba diver emerged from the icy water onto the lion tamer's iceberg. "Who are you?" asked the diver after taking off her mask revealing her brick face.
"Who are you?" answered Zamer annoyed by her brick face.
"I'm Miss Shusgin," she replied waiting for a positive expression on Zamer's natural face. No expression was positive, so she continued, "Haven't you heard of me? I'm the world's most renowned librarian."
The lion tamer moved out of the way to reveal the sign to Miss Shusgin. "I'm Zamer, a lion tamer, and you're not allowed here."
"Look who's talking!" she clamored. "You're the one who went into that chicken coop when lion tamers were not allowed there." She began to undress in front of the immature lion tamer. Her entire body was composed of bricks.
"How do you know about me?" he asked in dismay.
"There's a book about you, Zamer, it's on the best-seller list right now," she smiled. She took one of her body bricks out, turned it into a book, and gave it to Zamer. "Here it is."
Taking it, he twitched at the book cover. Entitled Bagpipes for Horseshoes, the book showed a picture of Dwight D. Eisenhower playing Twister with Ricki Lake. "What is this?" he scoffed throwing the literature in the arctic depths.
"Hey!" she scowled. "I paid a lot for that book. I was going to have you autograph it for me."
In response, Zamer picked up the NO LIBRARIANS ALLOWED sign and pushed it against the bricks of Miss Shusgin. In an instant, she plunged into the sea. "Freak!" he screamed into the water.
Looking across the way, he saw the penguins pointing to something behind him. When he turned around he found himself sinking in a swamp with a sign reading NO FISHMONGERS ALLOWED. After he pulled himself out of the oozing sludge, he saw a little girl hanging from a cypress tree. "What are you doing here, missy?" he simpered.
"I came here to hang on these fine cypress trees." She did a flip in midair and landed in front of the lion tamer. "This is my favorite place to hang out, you might say."
Zamer soon was repulsed by her yellow eyes and skin. Backing away from her, he introduced himself, "My name is Zamer. I'm a lion tamer for Nurchkamibitz Carnival."
She extended her hand waiting to be shook by Zamer. "I am Pamela, a fishmonger suffering from jaundice."
Refusing to shake her hand, the lion tamer pointed out the NO FISHMONGERS ALLOWED sign. "Did you see that sign?"
"Oh," she snubbed. "That sign has been up for eons. It only gets repainted every other month to make it look new. I think that sign comes without a penalty. Why would they want no fishmongers allowed? It's quite silly, I say."
"It's like saying no lion tamers are allowed in a chicken coop," chuckled Zamer as he tried to find a toothpick.
"No, I'm afraid that's completely different, Sir James," she said finding a saber under a walking stick.
"Will this do for a toothpick?"
"Thank you," he replied. Suddenly a forlorn gesture planted on his face. "My name is Zamer and how did you know I wanted a toothpick?" he inquired whilst picking his teeth.
"You were looking for one, weren't you?" she rhetorically demanded. In less than a flash, a giant tube of toilet paper fell from the sky around the jaundice-stricken fishmonger.
"Oh God!" he cussed finding himself in heaven. Surrounded by fog and angels, Zamer was in the midst of God and sign that read NO TIME TRAVELERS ALLOWED.
With an enraged stare, the Supreme Being asked the lion tamer one simple question, "Zamer, son of Ryan, son of Gus, when did you get here?"
Zamer scratched his head and responded, "Oh, just a few seconds ago, Almighty One."
"Time traveller!" he shouted. "To hell you must go!" God's echo sent the lion tamer through the chasm towards the inferno.
Zamer, the lion tamer, was greeted by Satan and a sign that read NO FIREFIGHTERS ALLOWED. Zamer thought about telling Beelzebub he was a fire fighter, but then the devil spoke, "So...Zamer, you were going to lie. I would have liked you to do that more often on Earth, but I won't tolerate any lying in hell, you lion tamer!"
After a puff of fiery smoke, a spade appeared in Zamer's hands. "Start digging!" the evil one shouted pointing to the ground.
"What am I digging for?" Zamer requested.
"Satan doesn't give out answers for free," grinned the green-bearded worm, "And if you have the correct payment, you won't be lucky if I give you the right answer."
"What's the correct payment?" Zamer beseeched.
Lucifer blew steam out of his snout, "Dig, Zamer!"
At the first stroke at the loam, the lion tamer sprung a leak. "Is it oil?" he asked himself hopefully. Soon his face turned sour, "Oil in hell would not be pleasant."
"You got that right," snickered another demon.
At the second stroke into the fervent dirt, water sprung straight out. "I think I hit a water pipe!" announced Zamer.
"What?" barked the fiend. "There are no water pipes in hell."
"Maybe you forgot to take them out when you moved in," grinned the wisecracking lion tamer.
In a matter of minutes, the eternal inferno turned into a relaxing sauna. When the moisture punctured the serpent's eyes, he blared, "Damn you, Zamer!"
"I'm one step ahead of you, big bad guy," snickered the lion tamer getting the last laugh in the netherworld.
"Bless you, Zamer!" shouted the infuriated fury.
The NO TIME TRAVELLERS ALLOWED sign once again stood in front of the lion tamer. "The sign remains the same," God lamented. "If Satan doesn't want you, I sure the hell don't. Go back to where you came from!"
In an instant, Zamer found himself outside on the farm where a sign read NO LION TAMERS ALLOWED in front of a chicken coop. Unexpectedly, the sign burst into flames.
A mile away, a renegade from the law stepped into a bowl of soup and entered a whole new world of chicken stock, but that's a whole different ball game.
Speaking of ball games, a champion chess-player threw the first pitch at a minor league game. Instead of a strike, the batter got a checkmate.
After that horrible joke, the flying shoe soon met its fate as it ran into the bubble-gum web spun by ancient Greek spiders. The bubble-gum web soon gave way to the flock of roller-coaster balloons dressed up like ballerinas in Viking attire. The avocado man finally ate his chives in broad daylight triggering Superman to wet himself.
Where is this story going? Out the backdoor perhaps? No, a totally wrong guess; rugby for licorice.
Rare Phobias
Blepharophobia - fear of blinking, fear of one's own eyelids
Hypophobia - fear of things physically under or below oneself
Surphobia - fear of things physically above or over oneself
Aerophobia - fear of air
Lutophobia - fear of being clean
Biophobia - fear of life
Tactiphobia - fear of touching things
Vocaphobia - fear of talking, being talked to, and the human voice
Chromophobia - fear of colors
Somnaphobia - fear of sleeping and falling asleep
Obduphobia - fear of being passed
Saporphobia - fear of tasting
Locophobia - fear of moving or being moved
Affectuphobia - fear of emotions
Placiphobia - fear of things not moving
Resphobia - fear of inanimate objects
Cogniphobia - fear of thinking, fear of thoughts
Insaniphobia - fear of paranoia and madness
Miniphobia - fear of things smaller than oneself
Maxiphobia - fear of things larger than oneself
Cardiaphobia - fear of one's own pulse or heartbeat
Siccuphobia - fear of fluctuations in temperature
Hypophobia - fear of things physically under or below oneself
Surphobia - fear of things physically above or over oneself
Aerophobia - fear of air
Lutophobia - fear of being clean
Biophobia - fear of life
Tactiphobia - fear of touching things
Vocaphobia - fear of talking, being talked to, and the human voice
Chromophobia - fear of colors
Somnaphobia - fear of sleeping and falling asleep
Obduphobia - fear of being passed
Saporphobia - fear of tasting
Locophobia - fear of moving or being moved
Affectuphobia - fear of emotions
Placiphobia - fear of things not moving
Resphobia - fear of inanimate objects
Cogniphobia - fear of thinking, fear of thoughts
Insaniphobia - fear of paranoia and madness
Miniphobia - fear of things smaller than oneself
Maxiphobia - fear of things larger than oneself
Cardiaphobia - fear of one's own pulse or heartbeat
Siccuphobia - fear of fluctuations in temperature
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Henry Timble, the Man of the Streets, on the Streets, for the Streets, and from the Streets
Hellow! I’m Henry Timble and I will tell you about the 99 easy steps to a simple, more satisfying life. Let’s follow these steps in numerical order, OK?
Step #1 – Get plenty of shut-eye.
Step #2 – Read to children daily. They don’t have to be York’s children.
Step #3 – Pick up a heavy stick and then lay it down gently on the back of an old woman.
Step #4 – Call yourself a “winner.”
Step #5 – Organize your socks and beans in the same chromatic order.
Step #6 – Return all your juicers, mixers, or blenders to their rightful owners.
Step #7 – Arrest a new hobby.
Step #8 – Don’t dawdle when you can smolder.
Step #9 – Collect hickory for later usage.
Step #10 – Address your authority more dignifyingly.
Step #11 – Praise those who actually should be praising you.
Step #12 – Remove fear from your dreams.
Step #13 – Tackle the newest magazine on the shelf.
Step #14 – Sip lemonade more gently.
Step #15 – Stop taking breathers when you could be encouraging smokers to quit.
Step #16 – Begin something you have never thought of before.
Step #17 – Categorize your local library willfully.
Step #18 – Salute not only your national flag, but also your local and state ones as well.
Step #19 – Think things through the tube.
Step #20 – Magnify monarch butterflies on to the white wall.
Step #21 – Roast beef.
Step #22 – Stay away from unwanted mushrooms.
Step #23 – Frighten dragons that stay in caves.
Step #24 – Quit your night-job to get more free time.
Step #25 – Zero in on the moments that are most remembered.
Step #26 – File lost paper.
Step #27 - ♥
Step #28 – Gather his lost millions.
Step #29 – Bundle a piece of wood into more.
Step #30 – Distribute hugs evenly.
Step #31 – Moisten the brink of destruction.
Step #32 – Soft-shoe shuffle your way into delight.
Step #33 – Stick stickers to sticks.
Step #34 – Loop laces around eyeholes.
Step #35 – Giggle humungously.
Step #36 – Bewitch whatever lies beneath you.
Step #37 – Grate high-grade cheese into a small bowl.
Step #38 – Garnish a primrose path.
Step #39 – Lasso in a few more cattle for the rodeo show.
Step #40 – Cringe when danger approaches.
Step #41 – Muffle the buffer.
Step #42 – Wring rags of excess bath water.
Step #43 – Place things straight and evenly for optical pleasure.
Step #44 – Ring around the rosy without pockets full of posies.
Step #45 – Hang chewed lemon gum from your bottom lip.
Step #46 – Ride around in a dune buggy.
Step #47 – Tell all the people that you are made to suit them.
Step #48 – Spill camouflage emptiness upon the stream of consciousness.
Step #49 – Weigh the ineptitudes of everyone’s spouse.
Step #50 – Just do it better.
Step #51 – Yank the noodle candy.
Step #52 – Climb the effervescent ladder of successful destiny.
Step #53 – Rake in thousands of leaves.
Step #54 – Hound a pound of brown bread.
Step #55 – Decorate a lot of trees with international smiles.
Step #56 – Fund a local charity for as long as you like.
Step #57 – Liquidate every furniture store in the city.
Step #58 – Nullify the statements previously uttered by yourself.
Step #59 – Pop a few more kernels of corn.
Step #60 – Circumscribe all authority that carry arms.
Step #61 – Vindicate all your mother’s uncles.
Step #62 – Stop looking at me.
Step #63 – Abolish a tax concerning general welfare of the public.
Step #64 – Thrash a bore until the lions roar.
Step #65 – Pop another wheelie to impress the neighborhood kiddies.
Step #66 – Never miss a beat.
Step #67 – Rhyme to a different drummer.
Step #68 – Hop into a brand new Cadillac.
Step #69 – Quote Copernicus in bed.
Step #70 – Sift out the bits of iron in your breakfast cereal.
Step #71 – Choose a ruse.
Step #72 – Shower your friends with gifts of a different color.
Step #73 – Cherish an item found in the gutter.
Step #74 – Repeat steps #8 to #12 in reverse order.
Step #75 – Vocalize your innermost thoughts to your outermost thoughts.
Step #76 – Pour water to the very top of the glass.
Step #77 – Shake a few candles loose from the candleholders.
Step #78 – Core an eaten apple.
Step #79 – Supplement your workspace with black pepper.
Step #80 – Rinse your ears to remove your fears of lost hearing.
Step #81 – Team up with some other people who just might help you.
Step #82 – Fling dust bunnies while they’re alive.
Step #83 – Sympathize with the corporations for once.
Step #84 – Renew your driver’s license early.
Step #85 – Touch a sprouting flower in the dew of morning.
Step #86 – Copy someone else’s copy and throw it away.
Step #87 – Pinch sheets.
Step #88 – Gargle rose water before joining a Christian sect.
Step #89 – Scratch your itches.
Step #90 – Collaborate with an Arabian musk ox.
Step #91 – Relish in the designers’ trash.
Step #92 – Locate any lost items you may have lost in your lifetime.
Step #93 – Adjust the color on your TV set again.
Step #94 – Step out of the shower so we can see how clean you are.
Step #95 – Poke a dot.
Step #96 – Shimmy yourself into a trance.
Step #97 – Drag your friends along.
Step #98 – Emasculate the mayor or her husband.
Step #99 – Buy another one just in case.
Are you still with the program? Those 99 steps weren’t as easy as I thought. What do you think?
Step #1 – Get plenty of shut-eye.
Step #2 – Read to children daily. They don’t have to be York’s children.
Step #3 – Pick up a heavy stick and then lay it down gently on the back of an old woman.
Step #4 – Call yourself a “winner.”
Step #5 – Organize your socks and beans in the same chromatic order.
Step #6 – Return all your juicers, mixers, or blenders to their rightful owners.
Step #7 – Arrest a new hobby.
Step #8 – Don’t dawdle when you can smolder.
Step #9 – Collect hickory for later usage.
Step #10 – Address your authority more dignifyingly.
Step #11 – Praise those who actually should be praising you.
Step #12 – Remove fear from your dreams.
Step #13 – Tackle the newest magazine on the shelf.
Step #14 – Sip lemonade more gently.
Step #15 – Stop taking breathers when you could be encouraging smokers to quit.
Step #16 – Begin something you have never thought of before.
Step #17 – Categorize your local library willfully.
Step #18 – Salute not only your national flag, but also your local and state ones as well.
Step #19 – Think things through the tube.
Step #20 – Magnify monarch butterflies on to the white wall.
Step #21 – Roast beef.
Step #22 – Stay away from unwanted mushrooms.
Step #23 – Frighten dragons that stay in caves.
Step #24 – Quit your night-job to get more free time.
Step #25 – Zero in on the moments that are most remembered.
Step #26 – File lost paper.
Step #27 - ♥
Step #28 – Gather his lost millions.
Step #29 – Bundle a piece of wood into more.
Step #30 – Distribute hugs evenly.
Step #31 – Moisten the brink of destruction.
Step #32 – Soft-shoe shuffle your way into delight.
Step #33 – Stick stickers to sticks.
Step #34 – Loop laces around eyeholes.
Step #35 – Giggle humungously.
Step #36 – Bewitch whatever lies beneath you.
Step #37 – Grate high-grade cheese into a small bowl.
Step #38 – Garnish a primrose path.
Step #39 – Lasso in a few more cattle for the rodeo show.
Step #40 – Cringe when danger approaches.
Step #41 – Muffle the buffer.
Step #42 – Wring rags of excess bath water.
Step #43 – Place things straight and evenly for optical pleasure.
Step #44 – Ring around the rosy without pockets full of posies.
Step #45 – Hang chewed lemon gum from your bottom lip.
Step #46 – Ride around in a dune buggy.
Step #47 – Tell all the people that you are made to suit them.
Step #48 – Spill camouflage emptiness upon the stream of consciousness.
Step #49 – Weigh the ineptitudes of everyone’s spouse.
Step #50 – Just do it better.
Step #51 – Yank the noodle candy.
Step #52 – Climb the effervescent ladder of successful destiny.
Step #53 – Rake in thousands of leaves.
Step #54 – Hound a pound of brown bread.
Step #55 – Decorate a lot of trees with international smiles.
Step #56 – Fund a local charity for as long as you like.
Step #57 – Liquidate every furniture store in the city.
Step #58 – Nullify the statements previously uttered by yourself.
Step #59 – Pop a few more kernels of corn.
Step #60 – Circumscribe all authority that carry arms.
Step #61 – Vindicate all your mother’s uncles.
Step #62 – Stop looking at me.
Step #63 – Abolish a tax concerning general welfare of the public.
Step #64 – Thrash a bore until the lions roar.
Step #65 – Pop another wheelie to impress the neighborhood kiddies.
Step #66 – Never miss a beat.
Step #67 – Rhyme to a different drummer.
Step #68 – Hop into a brand new Cadillac.
Step #69 – Quote Copernicus in bed.
Step #70 – Sift out the bits of iron in your breakfast cereal.
Step #71 – Choose a ruse.
Step #72 – Shower your friends with gifts of a different color.
Step #73 – Cherish an item found in the gutter.
Step #74 – Repeat steps #8 to #12 in reverse order.
Step #75 – Vocalize your innermost thoughts to your outermost thoughts.
Step #76 – Pour water to the very top of the glass.
Step #77 – Shake a few candles loose from the candleholders.
Step #78 – Core an eaten apple.
Step #79 – Supplement your workspace with black pepper.
Step #80 – Rinse your ears to remove your fears of lost hearing.
Step #81 – Team up with some other people who just might help you.
Step #82 – Fling dust bunnies while they’re alive.
Step #83 – Sympathize with the corporations for once.
Step #84 – Renew your driver’s license early.
Step #85 – Touch a sprouting flower in the dew of morning.
Step #86 – Copy someone else’s copy and throw it away.
Step #87 – Pinch sheets.
Step #88 – Gargle rose water before joining a Christian sect.
Step #89 – Scratch your itches.
Step #90 – Collaborate with an Arabian musk ox.
Step #91 – Relish in the designers’ trash.
Step #92 – Locate any lost items you may have lost in your lifetime.
Step #93 – Adjust the color on your TV set again.
Step #94 – Step out of the shower so we can see how clean you are.
Step #95 – Poke a dot.
Step #96 – Shimmy yourself into a trance.
Step #97 – Drag your friends along.
Step #98 – Emasculate the mayor or her husband.
Step #99 – Buy another one just in case.
Are you still with the program? Those 99 steps weren’t as easy as I thought. What do you think?
Casey Limerick
There was a little boy named Casey
Whose clothes were a bit lacy
We asked, "Do you like those frills?"
He replied, "They give me thrills."
That feminine little boy named Casey
Whose clothes were a bit lacy
We asked, "Do you like those frills?"
He replied, "They give me thrills."
That feminine little boy named Casey
Walking the Dog
Person #5 walks his dog and is stopped by person #4.
4: Pardon me, but why are walking your dog?
5: It has four legs, has it not?
4: Four legs do belong to that dog, but that is irrelevant.
5: On the contrary, this dog having four legs is relevant to my walking him.
4: Tell me, o canine strider.
5: Many years ago when television lingered in the mind of its inventor, I sauntered to the dismal city pound in which the dispirited faces, belonging to so many prime pups, caught my eye. I saw imprinted on their aggrieved faces the frown of innocence, so I offered the pound manager--
4: Pound manager?
5: Yes. Mr. Fregg was his name, I think. So I offered Mr. Fregg five cents--
4: A nickle?
5: Four pennies and two half pennies
4: I see.
5: I beseech that you do not hinder me so rudely, my friend. Good-bye!
4: What about your dog story?
5: Oh, I apologize. So I offered the pound manager four pennies and two half pennies so I may take the hounds out for a vivacious afternoon's promenade.
4: Yes...
5: As we strolled through Thomas Park, lovely ladies and kind children offered me two bits for the dogs of their volition. With my benevolence intact, I bestowed the wonderful women and admirable urchins the dogs for no expenditure.
4: What did the pound have to say about that?
5: They did not "have" to say anything, but they did.
4: What did they say?
5: "The rock sails to the feet of Anchoret."
4: How odd.
5: Very.
4: What did they mean?
5: To this very day, the maxim still bedevils me.
4: What does this all have to do about four legs?
5: I'm sorry. Did I veer off the topic?
4: You did.
5: What was the inquiry again, may I ask?
4: The what?
5: The inq--question.
4: Ah! What about the four legs?
5: Dogs have them.
4: I know, but correlate that with your reason for walking the dog.
5: The dog?
4: Yes, the quadruped at your side. [4 points. 5 looks and is startled at the dog's presence.]
5: How did this beast get here?
4: You brought it here.
5: Impossible.
4: Look. [pointing again] Your holding its leash. [5 looks at his the leash in his hand and is startled again.]
5: How quaint. [5 drops the leash] Dog, be gone! [5 stomps his foot and points away. The dog remains seated.]
4: I think you've found a friend.
5: Of course he's my friend. He's my dog. Right, Poseidon?
[The dog wags its tail furiously.]
4: Just a minute ago you denied that dog as being yours.
5: I admire your tenacity, but you are a bit neurotic.
4: Neurotic? Me? I'm not the one who keeps changing the stories about your dog.
5: Correct, but I don't go around and stop a chap from enjoying his walk with his dog.
4: If you didn't want to talk to me, then why didn't you just tell me instead of dragging me into an unruly conversation.
5: Fine, then I apologize for invigorating your life with stories so fantastic as the ones I tell.
4: The stories you tell are stupid!
5: Stupid? If you want to hear a stupid story, go ask your parents about your childhood years.
4: Are you saying that I lived a dull childhood?
5: No, I am saying you lived a stupid one! [5 laughs]
4: Alright, that's it! [4 is about to slug 5]
5: Sick him! [The dog growls and 4 backs off]
4: If that dog bites me, I'll file suit.
5: Come on, Poseidon, let's leave this ill-tempered man to himself. [5 and dog leave 4 by himself]
Merchant's Disdain
What can a person say about Pepsi-Cola without complaining about its vexatious commercialism? I remember a time when I didn't have to turn the aluminum can sideways to read PEPSI. That's when it never bothered me to indulge in the sweet fluid, quenching my taste for a synthetic nectar. The Tigris and Euphrates Rivers of my youth flowed with the genuine flavor of yesterday's Pepsi. Today however I have grown older and wiser. Pepsi does not please me anymore, but I am confused why this is so. Does it have to do with my change in taste or does it have to do with Pepsi's change.
As a child I praised Pepsi-Cola and became a loyal imbiber of its namesake cola product. Under its intoxicating carbonated water, I viewed Coca-Cola as the evil soft drink. I could plainly see the devil disguised in the red can on television commercials tempting my family and friends to taste of its ingredients that can shine a penny and take rust off an automobile. As a child, I witnessed Coca-Cola dominating the cola advertising campaign. Because of that, I was a Pepsi-drinking minority and no one liked me for what I drank. "Why don't you have a Coke?" they asked. They sounded just like the devil on the television screen.
"No!" I yelled and I knew that the people of Pepsico smiled upon me. I put two quarters in the vending machine and, without hesitation, I pushed the Pepsi button. My friends watched in disgust. They couldn't tempt me into their Coke drinking ways. I even learned that Coca-Cola put cocaine in their soft drink during the turn of the century. Downright evil, I thought. Those Coca-Cola distributors probably aren't ashamed of that fact. They possibly even try to get past the Food and Drug Administration by putting small traces of the narcotic in each can or bottle.
The Nineties came into being, and Pepsi's "new generation" campaign grew old. Pepsi's new generation was the generation of the 1980s, my generation. To get a grip on the new youngsters, they changed their commercials. Assuming we were all hooked, they didn't want anything to do with me and my generation anymore. I felt betrayed. I see the betrayal on all the new Pepsi cans with the name brand imprinted vertically. Was I too hip for the "new generation?" I am not a square. In fact, I was a Pepsi junkie up until college. I begged for Pepsi's attention, but they kept aiming at the new kids on the block. What about me?
All of a sudden, I realized a dramatic change in Pepsi's taste! It was sweeter! Too sweet! It gave me a headache. I gave away the rest of my Pepsi the Cube to my roommate and my friends. Pepsi disgusted me again, but this time it was physical. With a little hope left in me, I thought the company may have accidentally put too much high fructose corn syrup in my Pepsi the Cube. With that thought, I ran downstairs and put two quarters in the vending machine to prove myself wrong. Pepsi sucks!
Now I see too many Pepsi commercials, and they freak me out. The world will not be a happy place when everyone on the block gets merchandise from the Pepsi Stuff magazine. I don't even want to talk about Mountain Dew.
I began my boycott at the end of the first decade of my life. Since then I've been a healthy (pre-)adolescent and adult. Because of my absence from every single location of America's favorite fast food chain, my digestive tract has worked in the right direction: from the mouth to the posterior. Stomach acid flavors and sudden changes in digestive flow were no longer parts of my life. The golden arches have served billions and billions, but how many of those numbers never return? I only know of one, it is myself.
McDonald's doesn't give a damn about me. Why should I protest with such a stubborn boycott? It's not much of a protest anymore; instead it's a health choice. The last foodstuff my stomach ever refused was a Big Mac. And before that, the grotesque item was a Fishwich. As I write this, nausea permeates from my memory cells. Simply put, I don't eat McDonald's stuff anymore and I don't vomit anymore.
My consequential life decision didn't affect my family much. My mother also dreaded consuming greases and creams from the McDonald's kitchen. My father could care less about the place; all he wanted from them was their coffee and free use of their lavatory. If there are some incurable skeptics out there, I must admit I still use McDonald's, but it's to complete my digestive process. Otherwise Ronald McDonald can keep his concoctions, consumables and advertisements away from my appetite.
Since almost every money maker recognizes McDonald's success, my fast food alternatives are plentiful. Most other fast food chains have irritated my stomach, but not enough that it had zero tolerance. Around the time I began the boycott, a Whopper made me a bit queazy. Burger King likes to slop as much mayonnaise on their Whoppers as possible, and too much mayonnaise is always the culprit to upset my stomach.
I've known Taco Bell to be under much fire of making people sick. Almost all Taco Bells have pleased me; the only exception being the one located in Beloit. To stop my discomfort from Beloit's Taco Bell, I had to ingest some Pepto-Bismol. I loved the flavor of original chewable Pepto-Bismol, but I don't think they make it like that anymore. I always wanted Pepto-Bismol to make licorice with that chalky flavor. It kind of tastes like white jellybeans. Some may think I'm a bit awkward when it comes to food because of my aversion to McDonald's and my proclivity for chalky medicine. Is it bold for me to admit I have a taste that does not agree with corporate America? No.
Many privileged people live their lives without succumbing to the on-the-go conveniently-placed fast food eatery. Some of them even pinch their noses as the breezes blow the aroma of greasy grills into their estates. They wouldn't have it: the aroma or the distasteful food. Obviously I am not one of these stereotypes, but I do share their repulsion towards the symbolism of the golden arches.
Understanding that it does make many people happy, I do not protest their patronage to McDonald's. I see the glimmer in the eyes of friends who see the 59 cent hamburger flashed on the television screen. Sometimes I can feel their jealousy towards the man chomping on the Big Mac. That makes me squeamish as well, but it makes others hungry. What most enrages me is when one friend says, "I could really go for one of those right now," and the rest of my friends hungrily follow. It enrages me because they make me the devil. They think, "He's the one who cannot eat of the food of golden arches given by the capitalist God."
This stipulation is all propaganda against the phenomenal images of prime satisfaction found intermittently between everybody's favorite sitcom and along the highway to everybody's favorite vacation resort. And I most sincerely apologize for stopping anyone who must benefit from the genuine taste of McDonald's.
To inform those who do not understand why they relish the taste of a McDonald's burger, I will present a possible reason. That reason may be the 30% filler McDonald's is allowed to use. Most of McDonald's burger competitors use soybean as their filler but according to a friend who research fast food meat products and their fillers, McDonald's concludes their 70% beef hamburgers with mealworm. I've seen mealworms before. I had a friend who fed his pet crayfish mealworms, the shriveled orange things. The taste of McDonald's is essentially genuine. My friend, Becky Cooper*, did not find any other place that used mealworm as their filler. I applaud McDonald's for its unique filler and the many people who keep coming back for its taste.
*Becky Cooper is indeed the same person as I mentioned in my Nineteen Hundred and Sixty-Seven paper. She conducted this research at the dawning of her vegetarian lifestyle. The way she got her information was going to each fast food chain in Kenosha, WI and asking what was in their burger. Most places cooperated with her, but McDonald's did not. All the employees had no idea what was in the burgers they served. She went to the manager, who gave her a difficult time saying it was not her business to know. She was persistent, and the manager confessed to the 30% mealworm filler. How about them apples!
"Fun equals video games," says the mind of Jeremy at the age of thirteen. The body of Jeremy at the age of thirteen has eyes suitably adjusted for the television screen and thumbs well blistered from pushing the Nintendo buttons. The mind occasionally dreams of Jeremy running through a two-dimensional world full of vines to climb and waterfalls to avoid. The body prefers the sedentary sports on the carpeted floor of Jeremy's living room. It's nice and warm inside and both mind and body can be winners.
Today the mind of Jeremy disagrees with its form eight years ago. Of course the mind of Jeremy at the age of twenty-one has more experience. It knows that too much video games zombifies the brain. Zombify means the numbing of brain, dulling of the senses, and one impulse--play more video games. The unwanted psychological state of addiction lodged itself in the mind of Jeremy at the age of thirteen. Luckily for the body of Jeremy at the age of thirteen, the only video game effect it had was lethargy and eyes fixated for electronic impulses coming from television screens.
Jeremy's mind became so zombified that he became hostile towards anyone else who wanted to play Nintendo. I'll give you two reasons for this hostility: 1) Jeremy's mind at the age of thirteen wanted thought it was consuming happiness from the Nintendo Entertainment System and would not let anyone share or take it away from it; 2) Jeremy's poor skill at video games would lead to embarrassment if he had to play against or with anybody. Because of the second reason, Super Mario Brothers 2 was the favorite game.
At the time Super Mario Brothers 2 became the favorite Nintendo game, its successor was the hottest thing in the video game market. Super Mario Brothers 3 intrigued the zombified mind of Jeremy because of its playing time. Jeremy's mind and the Nintendo programmers didn't agree upon the back-to-the-original schematics of keeping score and a hideous time limit. Also, stomping goombas doesn't seem as stylish as picking up enemies and throwing them at others. As an English major, I might add that the well-rounded heroes in Mario 2 had more complex and different skills than the heroes in Mario 3 who only differ in appearance.
[and now in first-person]
Nintendo's marketing technique squelched any poor boy's opportunity to quickly beat the game. To win the game efficiently, one needed to be a subscriber to Nintendo Power. One issue showed all the nooks and crannies of the game; a big advantage. Luckily the kid across the street let me borrow it after he tried the various ways of getting to and beating King Koopa. With Nintendo Power by my side, controller in my hands, and screen in my eyes, Super Mario Brothers 3 still eluded me. After a whole summer spent on the game, I never succeeded in getting past Boom-Boom's castle of the 8th level. My eyes were sore, my thumbs were numb, and my mind was zombified.
The following year, my parents became addicted to the Nintendo Entertainment System and Doctor Mario and Tetris became a part of our collection. I no longer impulsively played Nintendo then, but I gave into the colorful 8-bit shapes falling down the television screen about an hour a day. Any more than that and ended with dreams with colorful 8-bit shapes falling down. Anything that invades my dreams and has me strategically places sticks and squares instead of flying over the rolling hills of Ireland dodging dragons must be stopped. I quit Nintendo cold turkey and avoided all temptations even from my parents and my best friends.
[back to third-person]
Jeremy's mind still desired electronic impulses to stimulate his vision. Television provided no interaction and video games provided no productivity. The Christmas after quitting Nintendo cold turkey, the Slagoski family got a I.B.M. PS/1. Jeremy merged his desire for electronic visions with his writing skills and applied them to the I.B.M. As this essay is being written, Jeremy still stares at the computer screen watching the letters he pushes on the keyboard appear in front of him. It stimulates him to see the electronic paragraph exactly match his thoughts. The excitement even grows higher when the words on the screen print onto paper. Now his thoughts are in three forms: ethereal, electronic, and material. He is a bit crazy. I'm afraid that whoever reads this may absorb his though process. To relinquish Jeremy's mind please drink Pepsi or eat a Big Mac. Thank you for your care.
YOUR COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED
1. Did you enjoy your reading of this paper? yes no
2. Do agree with Jeremy's writing style? yes no
3. Will you read another of Jeremy's papers? yes no
4. Outside of class? yes no
5. Did you like how the class handled this? yes no
6. Did you like how the professor handled this? yes no
7. Should Jeremy explain this paper? yes no
8. Do you enjoy Pepsi products? yes no
9. Do you enjoy McDonald's? yes no
10. Do you enjoy home entertainment systems? yes no
Other comments:__________________________________________________
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
As a child I praised Pepsi-Cola and became a loyal imbiber of its namesake cola product. Under its intoxicating carbonated water, I viewed Coca-Cola as the evil soft drink. I could plainly see the devil disguised in the red can on television commercials tempting my family and friends to taste of its ingredients that can shine a penny and take rust off an automobile. As a child, I witnessed Coca-Cola dominating the cola advertising campaign. Because of that, I was a Pepsi-drinking minority and no one liked me for what I drank. "Why don't you have a Coke?" they asked. They sounded just like the devil on the television screen.
"No!" I yelled and I knew that the people of Pepsico smiled upon me. I put two quarters in the vending machine and, without hesitation, I pushed the Pepsi button. My friends watched in disgust. They couldn't tempt me into their Coke drinking ways. I even learned that Coca-Cola put cocaine in their soft drink during the turn of the century. Downright evil, I thought. Those Coca-Cola distributors probably aren't ashamed of that fact. They possibly even try to get past the Food and Drug Administration by putting small traces of the narcotic in each can or bottle.
The Nineties came into being, and Pepsi's "new generation" campaign grew old. Pepsi's new generation was the generation of the 1980s, my generation. To get a grip on the new youngsters, they changed their commercials. Assuming we were all hooked, they didn't want anything to do with me and my generation anymore. I felt betrayed. I see the betrayal on all the new Pepsi cans with the name brand imprinted vertically. Was I too hip for the "new generation?" I am not a square. In fact, I was a Pepsi junkie up until college. I begged for Pepsi's attention, but they kept aiming at the new kids on the block. What about me?
All of a sudden, I realized a dramatic change in Pepsi's taste! It was sweeter! Too sweet! It gave me a headache. I gave away the rest of my Pepsi the Cube to my roommate and my friends. Pepsi disgusted me again, but this time it was physical. With a little hope left in me, I thought the company may have accidentally put too much high fructose corn syrup in my Pepsi the Cube. With that thought, I ran downstairs and put two quarters in the vending machine to prove myself wrong. Pepsi sucks!
Now I see too many Pepsi commercials, and they freak me out. The world will not be a happy place when everyone on the block gets merchandise from the Pepsi Stuff magazine. I don't even want to talk about Mountain Dew.
* *
I began my boycott at the end of the first decade of my life. Since then I've been a healthy (pre-)adolescent and adult. Because of my absence from every single location of America's favorite fast food chain, my digestive tract has worked in the right direction: from the mouth to the posterior. Stomach acid flavors and sudden changes in digestive flow were no longer parts of my life. The golden arches have served billions and billions, but how many of those numbers never return? I only know of one, it is myself.
McDonald's doesn't give a damn about me. Why should I protest with such a stubborn boycott? It's not much of a protest anymore; instead it's a health choice. The last foodstuff my stomach ever refused was a Big Mac. And before that, the grotesque item was a Fishwich. As I write this, nausea permeates from my memory cells. Simply put, I don't eat McDonald's stuff anymore and I don't vomit anymore.
My consequential life decision didn't affect my family much. My mother also dreaded consuming greases and creams from the McDonald's kitchen. My father could care less about the place; all he wanted from them was their coffee and free use of their lavatory. If there are some incurable skeptics out there, I must admit I still use McDonald's, but it's to complete my digestive process. Otherwise Ronald McDonald can keep his concoctions, consumables and advertisements away from my appetite.
Since almost every money maker recognizes McDonald's success, my fast food alternatives are plentiful. Most other fast food chains have irritated my stomach, but not enough that it had zero tolerance. Around the time I began the boycott, a Whopper made me a bit queazy. Burger King likes to slop as much mayonnaise on their Whoppers as possible, and too much mayonnaise is always the culprit to upset my stomach.
I've known Taco Bell to be under much fire of making people sick. Almost all Taco Bells have pleased me; the only exception being the one located in Beloit. To stop my discomfort from Beloit's Taco Bell, I had to ingest some Pepto-Bismol. I loved the flavor of original chewable Pepto-Bismol, but I don't think they make it like that anymore. I always wanted Pepto-Bismol to make licorice with that chalky flavor. It kind of tastes like white jellybeans. Some may think I'm a bit awkward when it comes to food because of my aversion to McDonald's and my proclivity for chalky medicine. Is it bold for me to admit I have a taste that does not agree with corporate America? No.
Many privileged people live their lives without succumbing to the on-the-go conveniently-placed fast food eatery. Some of them even pinch their noses as the breezes blow the aroma of greasy grills into their estates. They wouldn't have it: the aroma or the distasteful food. Obviously I am not one of these stereotypes, but I do share their repulsion towards the symbolism of the golden arches.
Understanding that it does make many people happy, I do not protest their patronage to McDonald's. I see the glimmer in the eyes of friends who see the 59 cent hamburger flashed on the television screen. Sometimes I can feel their jealousy towards the man chomping on the Big Mac. That makes me squeamish as well, but it makes others hungry. What most enrages me is when one friend says, "I could really go for one of those right now," and the rest of my friends hungrily follow. It enrages me because they make me the devil. They think, "He's the one who cannot eat of the food of golden arches given by the capitalist God."
This stipulation is all propaganda against the phenomenal images of prime satisfaction found intermittently between everybody's favorite sitcom and along the highway to everybody's favorite vacation resort. And I most sincerely apologize for stopping anyone who must benefit from the genuine taste of McDonald's.
To inform those who do not understand why they relish the taste of a McDonald's burger, I will present a possible reason. That reason may be the 30% filler McDonald's is allowed to use. Most of McDonald's burger competitors use soybean as their filler but according to a friend who research fast food meat products and their fillers, McDonald's concludes their 70% beef hamburgers with mealworm. I've seen mealworms before. I had a friend who fed his pet crayfish mealworms, the shriveled orange things. The taste of McDonald's is essentially genuine. My friend, Becky Cooper*, did not find any other place that used mealworm as their filler. I applaud McDonald's for its unique filler and the many people who keep coming back for its taste.
*Becky Cooper is indeed the same person as I mentioned in my Nineteen Hundred and Sixty-Seven paper. She conducted this research at the dawning of her vegetarian lifestyle. The way she got her information was going to each fast food chain in Kenosha, WI and asking what was in their burger. Most places cooperated with her, but McDonald's did not. All the employees had no idea what was in the burgers they served. She went to the manager, who gave her a difficult time saying it was not her business to know. She was persistent, and the manager confessed to the 30% mealworm filler. How about them apples!
* * *
"Fun equals video games," says the mind of Jeremy at the age of thirteen. The body of Jeremy at the age of thirteen has eyes suitably adjusted for the television screen and thumbs well blistered from pushing the Nintendo buttons. The mind occasionally dreams of Jeremy running through a two-dimensional world full of vines to climb and waterfalls to avoid. The body prefers the sedentary sports on the carpeted floor of Jeremy's living room. It's nice and warm inside and both mind and body can be winners.
Today the mind of Jeremy disagrees with its form eight years ago. Of course the mind of Jeremy at the age of twenty-one has more experience. It knows that too much video games zombifies the brain. Zombify means the numbing of brain, dulling of the senses, and one impulse--play more video games. The unwanted psychological state of addiction lodged itself in the mind of Jeremy at the age of thirteen. Luckily for the body of Jeremy at the age of thirteen, the only video game effect it had was lethargy and eyes fixated for electronic impulses coming from television screens.
Jeremy's mind became so zombified that he became hostile towards anyone else who wanted to play Nintendo. I'll give you two reasons for this hostility: 1) Jeremy's mind at the age of thirteen wanted thought it was consuming happiness from the Nintendo Entertainment System and would not let anyone share or take it away from it; 2) Jeremy's poor skill at video games would lead to embarrassment if he had to play against or with anybody. Because of the second reason, Super Mario Brothers 2 was the favorite game.
At the time Super Mario Brothers 2 became the favorite Nintendo game, its successor was the hottest thing in the video game market. Super Mario Brothers 3 intrigued the zombified mind of Jeremy because of its playing time. Jeremy's mind and the Nintendo programmers didn't agree upon the back-to-the-original schematics of keeping score and a hideous time limit. Also, stomping goombas doesn't seem as stylish as picking up enemies and throwing them at others. As an English major, I might add that the well-rounded heroes in Mario 2 had more complex and different skills than the heroes in Mario 3 who only differ in appearance.
[and now in first-person]
Nintendo's marketing technique squelched any poor boy's opportunity to quickly beat the game. To win the game efficiently, one needed to be a subscriber to Nintendo Power. One issue showed all the nooks and crannies of the game; a big advantage. Luckily the kid across the street let me borrow it after he tried the various ways of getting to and beating King Koopa. With Nintendo Power by my side, controller in my hands, and screen in my eyes, Super Mario Brothers 3 still eluded me. After a whole summer spent on the game, I never succeeded in getting past Boom-Boom's castle of the 8th level. My eyes were sore, my thumbs were numb, and my mind was zombified.
The following year, my parents became addicted to the Nintendo Entertainment System and Doctor Mario and Tetris became a part of our collection. I no longer impulsively played Nintendo then, but I gave into the colorful 8-bit shapes falling down the television screen about an hour a day. Any more than that and ended with dreams with colorful 8-bit shapes falling down. Anything that invades my dreams and has me strategically places sticks and squares instead of flying over the rolling hills of Ireland dodging dragons must be stopped. I quit Nintendo cold turkey and avoided all temptations even from my parents and my best friends.
[back to third-person]
Jeremy's mind still desired electronic impulses to stimulate his vision. Television provided no interaction and video games provided no productivity. The Christmas after quitting Nintendo cold turkey, the Slagoski family got a I.B.M. PS/1. Jeremy merged his desire for electronic visions with his writing skills and applied them to the I.B.M. As this essay is being written, Jeremy still stares at the computer screen watching the letters he pushes on the keyboard appear in front of him. It stimulates him to see the electronic paragraph exactly match his thoughts. The excitement even grows higher when the words on the screen print onto paper. Now his thoughts are in three forms: ethereal, electronic, and material. He is a bit crazy. I'm afraid that whoever reads this may absorb his though process. To relinquish Jeremy's mind please drink Pepsi or eat a Big Mac. Thank you for your care.
YOUR COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED
1. Did you enjoy your reading of this paper? yes no
2. Do agree with Jeremy's writing style? yes no
3. Will you read another of Jeremy's papers? yes no
4. Outside of class? yes no
5. Did you like how the class handled this? yes no
6. Did you like how the professor handled this? yes no
7. Should Jeremy explain this paper? yes no
8. Do you enjoy Pepsi products? yes no
9. Do you enjoy McDonald's? yes no
10. Do you enjoy home entertainment systems? yes no
Other comments:__________________________________________________
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Park Amazing
The red-nosed pig with a gun from Scotland drove his psychedelic bike around the fluid corner marked with the blazing tangerine post. Mike and Spike, two Dew dogs with it in the cup-holder, sped past in their licorice bonbon cycles, the Scottish swine. After twirling the pedals in sapphire circles full of fish plates, he came to a stop at the red grass.
"I mean blimey!" shouted the sheep floating by their unpigmented ears over the crimson pasture. Fire engine Blatz and his stylus full of cats, strode beneath the elephant trees to whistle his soda song.
The sneezing winged-jaguar decided he heard enough of the fizzy melody, and jumped into his pool of guacamole. Nearby, the red-nosed pig in a million gray bibs found a phone to call on. Before dialing, he paid the toll to get into Bizton. Picking up and squeezing the receiver, he munched away at the cordless wire while talking to the salamander on the other side, "Amphibian, amphibian, how you sleekly exit the lagoon. Grabbing the fly with your temperate tongue, makes all your off-white eggs look young."
Delightful and somewhat frightful, Mr. Kitter the Salamander walked underneath the tunnel between two coastlines. Saying 'ello to his fellow mellow yellow arthropods, he ate them one by one. By the time he came to the end, everyone called him Mr. Kitter the Insect-and-Crustacean-Eating-Amphibian-Who-Especially-Admires-the-Taste-of-Spiders.
There was an old lady who swallowed a fly. The fly was not an ordinary fly. For one reason only, the fly tasted like a fresh pizza decked out with Italy's favorite condiments. For two reasons, the fly smelled like cookies just taken out of grandma's wood-burning stove. Three reasons named Carnage, Perspiration, and Sorrow called the pig with the gun back to the kaleidoscopic playground where swing sets and monkey bars and jungle gyms play with each other.
In Park Amazing, yellow dandelions gave off the scent of lemon trees. As they turned white, the scent changed to the taste of coconut milk. In the box full of necromantic ashes, chemists and zoologists discussed chaos in the stars. Staid camels gallantly walked the perimeters of the bedazzling esplanade. Small people in big hats shrouded the water slide with their cubic capes. Three strawberry armadillos danced the tango for three under the moonlit sun. Sounds made by the hurdy gurdy man meshed with the swami's sitar troubadours making the ears of all who owned orbit around the heavens.
Familiar smells from any distance quelled the seeds growing from a banker's wallet. Gleaming oxen from the shepherd's pie shouted idioms to the Scottish pig forming wing buds. Soon he was to meet the almighty sky match beyond the jet-packed blenders and supersonic weasels. The never-frightened saucer found a knotted bolt pilot caught between five blades of grass. "It's summer now, time for you to bloom."
"Am bloomed," radiated the kinky rivet navigator as he unpredictably metamorphosed into a daylight butterfly/savior. Blasting off into inner sky, the lovejet propelled daylight butterfly/savior who found Park Amazing blossoming into rosy silicon daisies and violet cellophane petunias by the thousands.
Hymenoptera, the bumbling bee, paused for a drink from the bubbling buds of a mapelyptus fruit tree. Looking like white wine and tasting like root beer, the mapelyptus syrup-juice burbled into the sparkling oral cavity of Hymenoptera. "Buzz" received by the botch bee as he said it.
Beyond the teeter-totter and underneath the merry-go-round, an embroidered and embellished dragon with one horn watched the heparin army of ants scrub the sand clean. Brushing away the lush mush, antiseptic loam became defiled detergent. Now the tremendous winged-serpent sleeps his pyrorespiration existence away.
To the north, reposed a gigantic salamander composed of marble and quartz stood en-gallant protecting Amazing Park from any negligible nuisance. Its marble tail meandered for nine encouraging kilometers. Its lustrous quartz eyes glared at the ennenns or negnews (negligible nuisances) with undenying duress.
Enduring to the east was a vitreous triangle-based pyramid at a typical mountain's prominence. Acting as a prism during the dawning, the sun beamed its rays towards the considerable pyramid that relayed all the colors, visible and invisible, over Amazing Park.
Frolicking addaxes turned green every sunrise. King cobras always slithered in pale red during the early morning hours. Regally flying falcons were bedazzled in splendid yellows and oranges. Honeyed dew moistening the kaleidoscopic turf took the split sunlight and returned the solid intense color to its original form with its own prisms. Consequently spots of light intermitted the rainbow morning in Amazing Park.
When the azimuth changed to late morning, all the life gained their personal colors back. Like the sun passes directly over the Heel Stone in Stonehenge at summer solstice, the sun also passes directly over the diamond-topped obelisk centered in Amazing Park. Every summer solstice in the florid grove, the multicolors return hovering over the park as a vast circular ceiling being held up by the solitary obelisk.
Looking up, all who were once color blind are blinded by the extreme variety of shades of gray, that their black-and-white eyes shed revealing the senses of color ranging from burning reds to intense and electric violets. And blacks and whites become less pleonastic.
As Monsieur Tapir and Herr Plover sip their Guavade, the lethargic inhabitants of Park Amazing watch the sunset behind the megalithic sphere with a pinhole carved through the center. When the sun lingers behind the sphere, the ray flashes out of the pinhole and hits the pellucid pyramid to the east. Park Amazing knew it was the end of the day, when the colors of dusk appear off in the west and east horizons.
Scales of liming mammoths and spurring mastodons bound to the tusk-bearing cousin. On the yellowish-green newspaper, the fist located his wrist and shook hands like before. "Hello, corn tree," it whimpered under the eary forest.
The pastures grazing next door to Park Amazing found it hard to be gazed under the sun. The bipedal judge came along, trumpet and trombone in hand and mouth, swinging his phrases to insult the sunset. This startled a glowworm. It rained ticket stubs for forty minutes and forty seconds.
"Quenched," grumbled the tremor beneath the verdant plaza. Lazy slugs melting along the ambassador's fence post making the sunshine penetrate the postholes. Eyeglass-less laser beams scattered around the wheat growing in the cabbage patch. Kids from the goat cheese farm scattered daydreams amongst their horoscopal prescription.
A salad lady and her frenzied floppy-eared poodle mingled with the pasta chef. "Mangia!" Celestially, he transferred his lillypads to France. "Bon apatit!" No one at anything until he moved east. Stop the westward expansion. Earth is only a sphere.
Speaking of unicorns trapped in a trapezoid-shaped UFO, Glaycom spoke no further. Henceforth starts this sentence. Park Amazing excepts no visas, green cards, or Pearl Jam refunds. The previous rejects all other American express is not very fast. The clock ticks to its own beat. Try to go along with it and your song will be aired on time. Everything happens on time. Time happens, not the explicit term for feces.
"Tell him I'll be with her," meandered the lingering moon. It left skid marks next to the jet stream. Whether it was supposed to happen, only panty hose knows. "Jokes I told her. Liked them she did," the moon continued to say until he found the end of the sky.
The flood came and went as the tides rolled their eyes of march. A sign signaling WELCOME TO AMAZING PARK AMAZING repeated until the writer found himself missing from the scene. Being scenic as it once could have been, her blurry vision kissed the shadow good-bye. Still here after all drink near. Non-alcoholics have more fun because they're conscious of it.
Mr. Ziggurat no longer liked his first name and changed it to Ziggy for zing. Ziggy Ziggurat from Mount Ararat has a pet mountain cat. And that's not all, the mountain cat eats mountain rats. I've never seen any before, but hey! "I still got many pockets left in my trousers."
Instantly the commercials rolled in. McDonalds chewed the burgers and Coca-Cola sipped the sodas. Pop and Mama Cass is getting fat on a Creeque Alley cat. Me cards keep getting blacker all the time, skip the diamonds and cardiacs. Who's cardiac is that beating on the window? "He's not beating," gibbered the French horn. "He's bleating; 'tis is lamb. Cute isn't it?"
The rhino-hippo blob animal replied with a giggly grunt. Turning the page to more bones. A tree fell. I fell trees for a living. For a living I do the same but for more money. "Approaching the ribbons." Cut!
"Ladies and gentlemen. I hereby dedicate Park Amazing to the people of--" The porpoise waves good-bye to the helium inflated heads. The face of mostly sideburns twist and turns down the dungeon hall.
Excuse the jumps. The violet kangaroos now only hop. Jumping is for the frogs. Rivets and the Saskatchewan Indian burned his smokeless tobacco into the toilet. Flushed and drained is the bowl. Go away little lavatory man. The native Americans shall always say, "I stay here because this is a great place to stay and I've never been anywhere else, so I know this place, which is a great place. Is today Tuesday?"
The racist gets slapped and burned at the Ponderosa. Guess what's Tuesday's special? Roast bigot garnished with garlic swastika sauce. Eat those Nazis up! ...and Adolph plays with it," says James With Out Front Ears.
The spineless camel limps to the motorcycle store to purchase a pyramid to look good with. Without the knees myth, the monkeys will never be complete again. Back then, they were. Look ahead and what do you see--the twenty-first century begging not to be. "Elevator action!" yelled Marty Atari playing chess on his fractured skull.
And the dairy cows boycotted milk on Christmas. Cattle in a kettle is not a sight scene very often. Wondering makes me bump into walls. Or is that wandering. Wandering into Park Amazing, the burping adobes burst their sun-dried bricks.
Raising the prunes to an undefined height, the cakeater fries his jellybeans in banana oil for twenty minutes. Flapping away, Dumbo and Swlabr rise to become the creme de la creme as they say in Versailles. Treaties or no treaties the victims of war never get their niceties. Prisoners of war get hung by their neckties and cease to be POWs or anything human.
Making people sad is the job of the Jabberwocky and the Myoclonic Jerk. Their second jobs are to scare and awaken. Both can get anyone when one is trying to sleep. Have I ever slept without trying? Yes, I guess I have mistaken pizza pies for actual pizzas.
Scatter those beads across the floor. "I'm wondering if we have a kitchen anymore," mumbled the bunny scratching a figment of the bubble's inert imagination. Dirt for dinner in only nine minutes. Too much filth and so little time, it's such a great way to bottle blistered wine. The zephyr blew by revealing all the dodo birds doing their dodo thing the only way dodos know how to do do them. Repitan, por favor.
The synthesized fighter plane of world war one sits in the waiting room. It's sick, you see. It's see, you sick. The propellers won't propel. I'm afraid it's contagious, and you've got the blue swede flu.
A high-voltage tonic dream will coat your stomach with carpet wax. Remedies are hardly fun to dance along with. Take your cures lying down. Never get caught lying in bed with a syringe. Advice from someone who's never done it. It is what the sheiks and shebas had seventy years ago.
Okay all you zebras and puffbirds, get your horoscope ready. The lucky ones today are Aries, Taurus, Leo, Virgo, Scorpio, and Capricorn. You get to serve your country by slaughtering natives of an older country. And remember kids, the higher the body count the better chance you come out a winner, that is over there. Friendly fire doesn't count unless they look the enemy or if they're in your way. The Army Way!
Meanwhile under the sea, the dragon dreams about octopus rides and Rapunzel. Alaskan cakes and Eskimo pies have migrated north all their lives until their south once again. Lost on the other side of the world is like being found on this side of the world only different.
Door Bert and Window Bert live in the same room. They open and they close. What they talk about, nobody knows. Floor Wax and Ceiling Fan live like woman and man. One is always over the other in discussion and situations. But they never get close. Wall Paper is a friend of mine.
So the red-nosed pig with the same gun from Scotland drove his kaleidoscopic bike around the fluent corner marked with the flaming tangerine pillar. Mike and Spike once more sped past in their licorice bonbon cycles, the Scottish swine. "The middle of the park is always where I am," the boar stated while the pepsin curs scurried on their hardly divine sun. "And I move a lot." To prove his statement, the purple-arsed oinker moved the lot.
Park Amazing has been moved to the other side of the solar system. Suddenly the globe stood on its head, or north pole (magnetic?), and Park Amazing remained in the same season - thyme. The thyme of the seasoning. People never respect the sentence following a horrible ambiguity enough, especially when it ends with the word "flabbergast!"
Sir Chicklette is a Madame, and she wore a picnic tablecloth to her favorite miniature church. Mice petitioners revolved around the pulpit like midget dwarfs. "I believe it's time to say HELLO to everyone," smiled and urged Sir Chicklette's hen, Clookenheimer. "Actually I believe it so much, I ought to suggest it." The suggestion was made, and the stars in the hells bells rejoiced as the temperature fell below body temperature.
"We call that area the temperate zone," added Coach Smeh with some shalt and pfeffer on his hot fog. The plate became a steam matte in a short order of peregrine holiday pen yo-yos. The peppercini man in a chef's hat made sure he felt the way he expressed himself.
A half-inch hack took the cane away from the blind man. Too bad the jade didn't gallop away to a distant galaxy known as Falad. The grease monkey returned with his bottle of slick, and smiled to the attendants. "Fashionable, ain't I?" he smiled all over his bristly tummy.
Sixty-seven tent shadows entered the gates of Park Amazing to make a statement. See the previous sentence to this one. The volleyball players spun in place on top of the ballet performance. A dull replica of the original copy sits next my gray hat. Pulling strings to the left, she wriggled and gave the gift of Valentines.
"A ki-kin-king-kingdo-kingdom!" stuttered the accountant as his toupee decided to fly into the ceiling quicksand. Gentle Ben saddened by the mist, gave up his nose to the informary. The doctor is tin, which is made out of tin. She hasn't been polished for years. Two minutes to be exact, but I'm not exactly keen on being precise.
The entire population of ThoseNotLivingInParkAmazing rushed to their favorite hiding spot to find themselves sharing the same interests. A unicorn dropped a bomb on them, or did someone drop some corn.
Since then all shirts have been worn like sew. It's not supposed to that way. The other way it should have been included burnt pretzel dandruff found on home plate. A gazelle in the shape of a telephone wondered too much and became the smartest vegetable ever to be not intended as a fruit.
Dizzy Mister Lizard waylaid, like a dessert in an unknown jungle cat, towards Sister Sixpence. "How about me and you?" the weirdo asked. "I haven't given myself much thought. That is why you were born?" It was going to be a sentence, but he confused himself when he remembered he didn't have a brain.
"I've never played catch with a terrapin," mumbled the chassis hair net.
"If you think that's peachy. I've never played catch my whole frickin' life," swore a baboon-smelling whirlwind.
"Ha!" squawked an international brim. "I have never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever played with a terrapin!"
For a while, a sinkhole submerged when Gaea doubted the brim's unhealthy allegation. Near the Unspecific Ocean she said, "Everyone has had to play with a terrapin." When she looked up terrapin in the book about commercialism and then in the book called DICTIONARY, she deleted the sinkhole venture.
Crawling into the esplanade's kitchen, Lady Marmalade caught grains of cinnamon on her silken dress. Lord Molasses and Dame Margarine helped the lost kitchen-diocese around and about. Exit became the situation of them.
"Morning and afternoon are transfixed and soon will be a perpetual fact of time," billed the senior park bench-sitter. No one really pays attention to what the senile genius jabbers about. He has only prattled two others times to the entire populous of Park Amazing. What he said did come true. He predicted water changing from clear to blue. The other prediction is as important as a sardine floating on salt water yet more presumptive yet less cardinal.
All around the seven-foot breakwater, pipelines squared off at the black boulders. Razor man applied a pigmented integument to his ashen hair. The hydraulic boomslangs agree that his looks have become ancient with less time at the seams.
"Has the sun caught the galactic cold?" a passing comet asked a recluse solengaster galloping sixpence under a melting number. The invertebrate ignored the overgrown icy space-traveler because her ears were underdeveloped so that she was deaf to all heavenly bodies.
Luckily the solengaster's bushy neighbor overheard the comet, but was slow in responding to the comet. He answered, "No!" to a green brick fence instead.
Two blind wizards and a wayward witch gathered around a grassy knoll and ate tiddlywinks. "I've got a very crazy itch wresting with my elastic spine," rang the witch like a disconnected telephone. The blind wizards crawled away in reply.
To end the story short, the sky became orange. Park Amazing turned to the same color with the same name: orange. All the inhabitants of the pleasant prairie also mutured or blossomed into the orange background. Everything, including a hairpin found under a glass hippopotamus' marble, was orange. As every molecule in a universe bled orange, a red angel escaped from another universe into the space which once was Park Amazing and ruined the great orange denouement.
"I mean blimey!" shouted the sheep floating by their unpigmented ears over the crimson pasture. Fire engine Blatz and his stylus full of cats, strode beneath the elephant trees to whistle his soda song.
Iron-cast dye and visual perceptions
The mint rolled out costly misconceptions
Clay beauty queens have no ways by all means
Slapping monarch toast like double-paned cheese
All the wasps and turkeys find neon hard to please
The sneezing winged-jaguar decided he heard enough of the fizzy melody, and jumped into his pool of guacamole. Nearby, the red-nosed pig in a million gray bibs found a phone to call on. Before dialing, he paid the toll to get into Bizton. Picking up and squeezing the receiver, he munched away at the cordless wire while talking to the salamander on the other side, "Amphibian, amphibian, how you sleekly exit the lagoon. Grabbing the fly with your temperate tongue, makes all your off-white eggs look young."
Delightful and somewhat frightful, Mr. Kitter the Salamander walked underneath the tunnel between two coastlines. Saying 'ello to his fellow mellow yellow arthropods, he ate them one by one. By the time he came to the end, everyone called him Mr. Kitter the Insect-and-Crustacean-Eating-Amphibian-Who-Especially-Admires-the-Taste-of-Spiders.
There was an old lady who swallowed a fly. The fly was not an ordinary fly. For one reason only, the fly tasted like a fresh pizza decked out with Italy's favorite condiments. For two reasons, the fly smelled like cookies just taken out of grandma's wood-burning stove. Three reasons named Carnage, Perspiration, and Sorrow called the pig with the gun back to the kaleidoscopic playground where swing sets and monkey bars and jungle gyms play with each other.
In Park Amazing, yellow dandelions gave off the scent of lemon trees. As they turned white, the scent changed to the taste of coconut milk. In the box full of necromantic ashes, chemists and zoologists discussed chaos in the stars. Staid camels gallantly walked the perimeters of the bedazzling esplanade. Small people in big hats shrouded the water slide with their cubic capes. Three strawberry armadillos danced the tango for three under the moonlit sun. Sounds made by the hurdy gurdy man meshed with the swami's sitar troubadours making the ears of all who owned orbit around the heavens.
Floating down the river of placid pleasure
You look at the saccharine clouds with leisure
Juice from the nectarine, echoes from the tangerine
Lift me, lift me, lift me to the Elysian fields
Where from violence and hate my shadow shields
Familiar smells from any distance quelled the seeds growing from a banker's wallet. Gleaming oxen from the shepherd's pie shouted idioms to the Scottish pig forming wing buds. Soon he was to meet the almighty sky match beyond the jet-packed blenders and supersonic weasels. The never-frightened saucer found a knotted bolt pilot caught between five blades of grass. "It's summer now, time for you to bloom."
"Am bloomed," radiated the kinky rivet navigator as he unpredictably metamorphosed into a daylight butterfly/savior. Blasting off into inner sky, the lovejet propelled daylight butterfly/savior who found Park Amazing blossoming into rosy silicon daisies and violet cellophane petunias by the thousands.
Hymenoptera, the bumbling bee, paused for a drink from the bubbling buds of a mapelyptus fruit tree. Looking like white wine and tasting like root beer, the mapelyptus syrup-juice burbled into the sparkling oral cavity of Hymenoptera. "Buzz" received by the botch bee as he said it.
Beyond the teeter-totter and underneath the merry-go-round, an embroidered and embellished dragon with one horn watched the heparin army of ants scrub the sand clean. Brushing away the lush mush, antiseptic loam became defiled detergent. Now the tremendous winged-serpent sleeps his pyrorespiration existence away.
To the north, reposed a gigantic salamander composed of marble and quartz stood en-gallant protecting Amazing Park from any negligible nuisance. Its marble tail meandered for nine encouraging kilometers. Its lustrous quartz eyes glared at the ennenns or negnews (negligible nuisances) with undenying duress.
Enduring to the east was a vitreous triangle-based pyramid at a typical mountain's prominence. Acting as a prism during the dawning, the sun beamed its rays towards the considerable pyramid that relayed all the colors, visible and invisible, over Amazing Park.
Frolicking addaxes turned green every sunrise. King cobras always slithered in pale red during the early morning hours. Regally flying falcons were bedazzled in splendid yellows and oranges. Honeyed dew moistening the kaleidoscopic turf took the split sunlight and returned the solid intense color to its original form with its own prisms. Consequently spots of light intermitted the rainbow morning in Amazing Park.
When the azimuth changed to late morning, all the life gained their personal colors back. Like the sun passes directly over the Heel Stone in Stonehenge at summer solstice, the sun also passes directly over the diamond-topped obelisk centered in Amazing Park. Every summer solstice in the florid grove, the multicolors return hovering over the park as a vast circular ceiling being held up by the solitary obelisk.
Looking up, all who were once color blind are blinded by the extreme variety of shades of gray, that their black-and-white eyes shed revealing the senses of color ranging from burning reds to intense and electric violets. And blacks and whites become less pleonastic.
As Monsieur Tapir and Herr Plover sip their Guavade, the lethargic inhabitants of Park Amazing watch the sunset behind the megalithic sphere with a pinhole carved through the center. When the sun lingers behind the sphere, the ray flashes out of the pinhole and hits the pellucid pyramid to the east. Park Amazing knew it was the end of the day, when the colors of dusk appear off in the west and east horizons.
When night is nigh, the sights all sigh
Moaning moons, staring stars, and gasping gaps
Della wears a new jersey and locked away her caps
During the dusty dusk, terror does not touch the tusk
Scales of liming mammoths and spurring mastodons bound to the tusk-bearing cousin. On the yellowish-green newspaper, the fist located his wrist and shook hands like before. "Hello, corn tree," it whimpered under the eary forest.
The pastures grazing next door to Park Amazing found it hard to be gazed under the sun. The bipedal judge came along, trumpet and trombone in hand and mouth, swinging his phrases to insult the sunset. This startled a glowworm. It rained ticket stubs for forty minutes and forty seconds.
"Quenched," grumbled the tremor beneath the verdant plaza. Lazy slugs melting along the ambassador's fence post making the sunshine penetrate the postholes. Eyeglass-less laser beams scattered around the wheat growing in the cabbage patch. Kids from the goat cheese farm scattered daydreams amongst their horoscopal prescription.
A salad lady and her frenzied floppy-eared poodle mingled with the pasta chef. "Mangia!" Celestially, he transferred his lillypads to France. "Bon apatit!" No one at anything until he moved east. Stop the westward expansion. Earth is only a sphere.
Speaking of unicorns trapped in a trapezoid-shaped UFO, Glaycom spoke no further. Henceforth starts this sentence. Park Amazing excepts no visas, green cards, or Pearl Jam refunds. The previous rejects all other American express is not very fast. The clock ticks to its own beat. Try to go along with it and your song will be aired on time. Everything happens on time. Time happens, not the explicit term for feces.
"Tell him I'll be with her," meandered the lingering moon. It left skid marks next to the jet stream. Whether it was supposed to happen, only panty hose knows. "Jokes I told her. Liked them she did," the moon continued to say until he found the end of the sky.
The flood came and went as the tides rolled their eyes of march. A sign signaling WELCOME TO AMAZING PARK AMAZING repeated until the writer found himself missing from the scene. Being scenic as it once could have been, her blurry vision kissed the shadow good-bye. Still here after all drink near. Non-alcoholics have more fun because they're conscious of it.
Mr. Ziggurat no longer liked his first name and changed it to Ziggy for zing. Ziggy Ziggurat from Mount Ararat has a pet mountain cat. And that's not all, the mountain cat eats mountain rats. I've never seen any before, but hey! "I still got many pockets left in my trousers."
Instantly the commercials rolled in. McDonalds chewed the burgers and Coca-Cola sipped the sodas. Pop and Mama Cass is getting fat on a Creeque Alley cat. Me cards keep getting blacker all the time, skip the diamonds and cardiacs. Who's cardiac is that beating on the window? "He's not beating," gibbered the French horn. "He's bleating; 'tis is lamb. Cute isn't it?"
The rhino-hippo blob animal replied with a giggly grunt. Turning the page to more bones. A tree fell. I fell trees for a living. For a living I do the same but for more money. "Approaching the ribbons." Cut!
"Ladies and gentlemen. I hereby dedicate Park Amazing to the people of--" The porpoise waves good-bye to the helium inflated heads. The face of mostly sideburns twist and turns down the dungeon hall.
Excuse the jumps. The violet kangaroos now only hop. Jumping is for the frogs. Rivets and the Saskatchewan Indian burned his smokeless tobacco into the toilet. Flushed and drained is the bowl. Go away little lavatory man. The native Americans shall always say, "I stay here because this is a great place to stay and I've never been anywhere else, so I know this place, which is a great place. Is today Tuesday?"
The racist gets slapped and burned at the Ponderosa. Guess what's Tuesday's special? Roast bigot garnished with garlic swastika sauce. Eat those Nazis up! ...and Adolph plays with it," says James With Out Front Ears.
The spineless camel limps to the motorcycle store to purchase a pyramid to look good with. Without the knees myth, the monkeys will never be complete again. Back then, they were. Look ahead and what do you see--the twenty-first century begging not to be. "Elevator action!" yelled Marty Atari playing chess on his fractured skull.
And the dairy cows boycotted milk on Christmas. Cattle in a kettle is not a sight scene very often. Wondering makes me bump into walls. Or is that wandering. Wandering into Park Amazing, the burping adobes burst their sun-dried bricks.
Raising the prunes to an undefined height, the cakeater fries his jellybeans in banana oil for twenty minutes. Flapping away, Dumbo and Swlabr rise to become the creme de la creme as they say in Versailles. Treaties or no treaties the victims of war never get their niceties. Prisoners of war get hung by their neckties and cease to be POWs or anything human.
Making people sad is the job of the Jabberwocky and the Myoclonic Jerk. Their second jobs are to scare and awaken. Both can get anyone when one is trying to sleep. Have I ever slept without trying? Yes, I guess I have mistaken pizza pies for actual pizzas.
Scatter those beads across the floor. "I'm wondering if we have a kitchen anymore," mumbled the bunny scratching a figment of the bubble's inert imagination. Dirt for dinner in only nine minutes. Too much filth and so little time, it's such a great way to bottle blistered wine. The zephyr blew by revealing all the dodo birds doing their dodo thing the only way dodos know how to do do them. Repitan, por favor.
The synthesized fighter plane of world war one sits in the waiting room. It's sick, you see. It's see, you sick. The propellers won't propel. I'm afraid it's contagious, and you've got the blue swede flu.
A high-voltage tonic dream will coat your stomach with carpet wax. Remedies are hardly fun to dance along with. Take your cures lying down. Never get caught lying in bed with a syringe. Advice from someone who's never done it. It is what the sheiks and shebas had seventy years ago.
Okay all you zebras and puffbirds, get your horoscope ready. The lucky ones today are Aries, Taurus, Leo, Virgo, Scorpio, and Capricorn. You get to serve your country by slaughtering natives of an older country. And remember kids, the higher the body count the better chance you come out a winner, that is over there. Friendly fire doesn't count unless they look the enemy or if they're in your way. The Army Way!
Meanwhile under the sea, the dragon dreams about octopus rides and Rapunzel. Alaskan cakes and Eskimo pies have migrated north all their lives until their south once again. Lost on the other side of the world is like being found on this side of the world only different.
Door Bert and Window Bert live in the same room. They open and they close. What they talk about, nobody knows. Floor Wax and Ceiling Fan live like woman and man. One is always over the other in discussion and situations. But they never get close. Wall Paper is a friend of mine.
So the red-nosed pig with the same gun from Scotland drove his kaleidoscopic bike around the fluent corner marked with the flaming tangerine pillar. Mike and Spike once more sped past in their licorice bonbon cycles, the Scottish swine. "The middle of the park is always where I am," the boar stated while the pepsin curs scurried on their hardly divine sun. "And I move a lot." To prove his statement, the purple-arsed oinker moved the lot.
Park Amazing has been moved to the other side of the solar system. Suddenly the globe stood on its head, or north pole (magnetic?), and Park Amazing remained in the same season - thyme. The thyme of the seasoning. People never respect the sentence following a horrible ambiguity enough, especially when it ends with the word "flabbergast!"
Sir Chicklette is a Madame, and she wore a picnic tablecloth to her favorite miniature church. Mice petitioners revolved around the pulpit like midget dwarfs. "I believe it's time to say HELLO to everyone," smiled and urged Sir Chicklette's hen, Clookenheimer. "Actually I believe it so much, I ought to suggest it." The suggestion was made, and the stars in the hells bells rejoiced as the temperature fell below body temperature.
"We call that area the temperate zone," added Coach Smeh with some shalt and pfeffer on his hot fog. The plate became a steam matte in a short order of peregrine holiday pen yo-yos. The peppercini man in a chef's hat made sure he felt the way he expressed himself.
A half-inch hack took the cane away from the blind man. Too bad the jade didn't gallop away to a distant galaxy known as Falad. The grease monkey returned with his bottle of slick, and smiled to the attendants. "Fashionable, ain't I?" he smiled all over his bristly tummy.
Sixty-seven tent shadows entered the gates of Park Amazing to make a statement. See the previous sentence to this one. The volleyball players spun in place on top of the ballet performance. A dull replica of the original copy sits next my gray hat. Pulling strings to the left, she wriggled and gave the gift of Valentines.
"A ki-kin-king-kingdo-kingdom!" stuttered the accountant as his toupee decided to fly into the ceiling quicksand. Gentle Ben saddened by the mist, gave up his nose to the informary. The doctor is tin, which is made out of tin. She hasn't been polished for years. Two minutes to be exact, but I'm not exactly keen on being precise.
The entire population of ThoseNotLivingInParkAmazing rushed to their favorite hiding spot to find themselves sharing the same interests. A unicorn dropped a bomb on them, or did someone drop some corn.
Since then all shirts have been worn like sew. It's not supposed to that way. The other way it should have been included burnt pretzel dandruff found on home plate. A gazelle in the shape of a telephone wondered too much and became the smartest vegetable ever to be not intended as a fruit.
Dizzy Mister Lizard waylaid, like a dessert in an unknown jungle cat, towards Sister Sixpence. "How about me and you?" the weirdo asked. "I haven't given myself much thought. That is why you were born?" It was going to be a sentence, but he confused himself when he remembered he didn't have a brain.
"I've never played catch with a terrapin," mumbled the chassis hair net.
"If you think that's peachy. I've never played catch my whole frickin' life," swore a baboon-smelling whirlwind.
"Ha!" squawked an international brim. "I have never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever played with a terrapin!"
For a while, a sinkhole submerged when Gaea doubted the brim's unhealthy allegation. Near the Unspecific Ocean she said, "Everyone has had to play with a terrapin." When she looked up terrapin in the book about commercialism and then in the book called DICTIONARY, she deleted the sinkhole venture.
Crawling into the esplanade's kitchen, Lady Marmalade caught grains of cinnamon on her silken dress. Lord Molasses and Dame Margarine helped the lost kitchen-diocese around and about. Exit became the situation of them.
"Morning and afternoon are transfixed and soon will be a perpetual fact of time," billed the senior park bench-sitter. No one really pays attention to what the senile genius jabbers about. He has only prattled two others times to the entire populous of Park Amazing. What he said did come true. He predicted water changing from clear to blue. The other prediction is as important as a sardine floating on salt water yet more presumptive yet less cardinal.
All around the seven-foot breakwater, pipelines squared off at the black boulders. Razor man applied a pigmented integument to his ashen hair. The hydraulic boomslangs agree that his looks have become ancient with less time at the seams.
"Has the sun caught the galactic cold?" a passing comet asked a recluse solengaster galloping sixpence under a melting number. The invertebrate ignored the overgrown icy space-traveler because her ears were underdeveloped so that she was deaf to all heavenly bodies.
Luckily the solengaster's bushy neighbor overheard the comet, but was slow in responding to the comet. He answered, "No!" to a green brick fence instead.
Two blind wizards and a wayward witch gathered around a grassy knoll and ate tiddlywinks. "I've got a very crazy itch wresting with my elastic spine," rang the witch like a disconnected telephone. The blind wizards crawled away in reply.
To end the story short, the sky became orange. Park Amazing turned to the same color with the same name: orange. All the inhabitants of the pleasant prairie also mutured or blossomed into the orange background. Everything, including a hairpin found under a glass hippopotamus' marble, was orange. As every molecule in a universe bled orange, a red angel escaped from another universe into the space which once was Park Amazing and ruined the great orange denouement.
THE ORANGE
(and the red angel)
I've been amply happy with the status of my health
But in the middle of all that's orange I lose stealth
Can I see what is not me, for two and two is twenty-two
Rolling like a cardboard box into the cupboard of a shoe
Teatime served under a hot stove
Blast iron certified dietitian in the attic
Blue talons and purple pinions
This has no glue
Roads, roads everywhere
Cars, cars all over them
Even some trucks and buses here and there
Street is a synonym for road
"On the contrary"
Classified Advertisements
FUNERAL NOTICES
RELOFIDOWICZ - Funeral services for the late Gertrude Relofidowicz will be held on today at 4:00 pm at St. Lawrences Catholic Church with Reverend Howell Shoe officiating. Visitation is limited to only her immediate family because she was ugly. Burial will not take place until the coffinsmith stops his strike against his self-employed job. The burial is supposed to be in the Beardstown Municipal Cemetery. Gertrude is only survived by her great-grandmother Lola Relofidowicz.
HOGWASH - Funeral services for the late Gerald Podgess Hogwash of 9814 Loin Avenue, who passed away some odd years ago will finally be held tomorrow at midnight from the Pest Control Center Funeral Home. Since he had no friends and his relatives are occupied in the trial of the floor wax store arson, only Jack P. Gogleu is invited to kiss the carcass (a weird Hogwash tradition).
SERVICE AND REPAIRS
INCOME TAX - We will help you get your refund as quickly as possible. Computerized! Call Ron at 555-1745.
DEAD TREES - Do it yourself with a special tool. Call Marsha at 555-8812.
IN-GROUND POOLS - Too cold? Too deep? Glyn has the answers and equipment. Call him at 555-7000 (only before 9 AM).
SALAD SHOOTER REPAIR - All your Salad Shooter needs is some TLC from Tina Shogry at 555-4556. She knows!
PERSONALS
AGNES,
You're dead!
BAND - The Hogwash Family Band will play in your home, parties or no parties, for a price. Sorry, no phone. Write: PO Box 34, 68, 102, or 103.
CONGRATULATIONS BILLY HOGWASH
For breaking the family record of swindling 300 classmates to politely give their lunch money to you. Way to go! You have the knack.
THANK YOU
For letting me be myself again.
LOST AND FOUND
BOOT - Black boot, size 10 lost in the best fishing spot in Alcohol Pond. Phone 555-0973.
CAT - Lost in my house near the kitchen. Phone 555-4160.
KEYS - In shapes of naked people found near the Strip Stakes. Phone 1-900-555-7193 between 9 and 11 PM.
LICE - A whole family of lice found in my daughter's hair in lively condition. Phone 555-0943.
PLANET - A orange sphere lost near the Pegasus Constellation. Spotted two nights ago. If found call 555-7121. Big reward!
SOCK - Blue argyle left sock lost on Highway BR in the Beardstown area. Phone 555-2948.
ZIPPER - A rusty zipper from a Levi 580's pair of jeans found under a compost pile. Phone 555-0314.
HELP WANTED
ASSEMBLY WORK - Beardstown Gadgets Factory. Excellent pay. Reasonable hours. Apply in person. 300 Factory Street, Beardstown, IL. Phone 555-5050.
BOOKKEEPER - Nice-looking women still in her prime. Must like to obey orders from handsome boss. Paid on the spot. Pay larger than hours. Phone 555-6998.
AUTO MECHANIC - Must have a one syllable name. Very outgoing and ambitious. Pay starts small but rises suddenly to an undefined peak. Minimum 6 months experience and have a taste for foreign sports cars. Phone 555-1860.
CASHIER - Must know how to use calculators. The atmosphere is nice. Hours are nice and so is the pay and so are the customers and so are the holiday bonuses and so is the boss. Phone 555-4127.
CHILD CARE - Must like to legally punish children between ages of 6 mos. to 17 years old. The pay is more adorable than the baby. Number of hours correspond with the number of children. Phone 555-9843.
DELIVERY - Don't eat what you deliver because we deliver entire encyclopedia sets. 100 hours a week for $475. The van looks nice and the books are heavy. Phone 555-4309.
JANITOR - Nice job. Phone 555-4956.
PROSTITUTE - The city of Beardstown has no trollops and desperately needs at least one clean woman. Phone 555-7008.
WAITRESS - Must not be the above strumpet. The Restaurant Across the Street From McDonalds. Minimum wage for maximum fun. Apply in person. Phone 555-3296 for more information.
HOUSEHOLD GOODS
ANVIL - Heavy. $10. Phone 555-2859.
BED - Pillows, sheets, and quilt included. Mattress isn't. Does not squeak unless you more than 600 pounds are on it. $220. Phone 555-0644.
COAT HANGER - Sturdy and gray. Can hold up to 10 pounds. Entirely environment friendly. A dime. Phone 555-7286.
KNIFE - Used. Clean. 5 cents. Phone 555-0585.
LITTLE GIRL - Ugly and mean. What every parent wants. Pay $100 to her brother, Jimmy Roggins, at Adams Elementary School during school hours.
TABLE - With seven chairs and a recliner. Silverware and six glasses included. Wooden. Phone 555-6260.
TWO-CAR GARAGE - Dusty but efficient. Great home for spiders and mice. 900 cubic meters. 4567 Blood Drive, Beardstown, IL. Phone 555-6252.
VASE - A pretty vestige for $5,000,000. Phone 555-5234.
DOGS, CATS, PETS
CAT - Neutered male. Too affectionate for me. Likes canned food and milk. Hates adolescents. Meows a lot. Free only if a wonderful home is provided with love. Phone 555-0526.
DOG - Female. Barks at anything which moves left to right. Bites only young children. Likes to eat dog food and/or cats. $10. Phone 555-0406.
GOLDFISH - Sex undetermined of the eleven fish. They like to swim. Must live underwater in a suitable fish tank. Phone 555-5937.
UNFURNISHED APTS., FLATS
GROVE STREET, 7239 - 1 bedroom, 1 bathroom, 1 kitchen/dining room, 1 living room, $320 rent. Call 555-6505.
LICHEN ROAD, 6384 - 1 bedroom, 1 bathroom, $450 a month including free access to laundromat below. Call 555-0947.
NARCOTICS BOULEVARD, 1111 - 1 bathroom, $100 a month including free toilet paper. Call 555-7254.
PENCIL AVENUE, 2789 - 2 bedrooms, 1 bathroom, 1 kitchen, 1 dining room, 1 living room, 8 closets, $560 a month plus free pest control services. Call 555-0485.
Nursery Rhyme Remix
Old MacDonald had a farm
Riding on a pony
Jack and Jill fell down the hill
And the dish ran away with the spoon
Riding on a pony
Jack and Jill fell down the hill
And the dish ran away with the spoon
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Bromine
Bromine is a chemical. I think it's a liquid. You can use bromine for many things such as reading. Bromine is a nice chemical to read about.
Bromine starts with the letter "B." Many other words start with the letter "B" such as: be, bee, bad, baffle, bag, baggie, badge, badger, back, ball, balloon, BAM!, ban, bagpipes, bar, barricade, barrier, bass, base, bake, bail, bane, bear, bait, bat, bay, etc., etc., etc.
The second letter in bromine is the letter "r." Many other words have "r" as the second letter such as: brag, Bradford, break, brake, brawl, brand, brick, drive, dry, drunk, drill, drag, dragster, drought, fry, Friday, Frau, friend, frizzy, fraternity, freeze, frigid, frill, frock, grow, grin, grace, grouch, grinch, growl, grade, gravel, grenade, grudge, train, treat, trick, trowel, travel, trinket, trill, trot, true, triangle, tree, etc., etc.
"O" is the middle vowel in bromine. Many other words have "o" as the middle vowel such as: ZOWIE!, your, wombat, woman, whoa, work, world, word, vodka, tot, Thor, sock, spore, show, roll, rock, wrong, OOO!, pot, pronto, throttle, God, dog, abode, bog, love, etc., etc.
The last letter in bromine is the silent "e." Many other words have the silent "e" as the last letter such as: have, came, take, name, cake, female, shame, Jane, ape, care, face, late, Wayne, heave, crepe, grease, Crete, I've, dine, hike, lime, like, mime, file, line, hype, fire, ice, kite, stove, home, choke, Rome, broke, hole, home, hone, hope, whore, close, wrote, Louvre, puke, fume, Luke, rule, June, sure, loose, flue, Jacksonville, Shakespeare, etc., etc., etc., etc.
Bromine is a reject in the arts, but a blessing in the sciences. Most poets don't use the bromine in their poems. Bromine is not used greatly as the main ingredient in any cake, casserole, or any other food item. People won't read about bromine in many novels. The Beatles had many songs, but none of them were about bromine. Shakespeare never involved bromine in his plays. Finally, there are no movies or television shows about this silent chemical that lies as number thirty-five upon the periodic table of chemicals.
Bromine is a very ugly liquid: reddish-brown. That color could be useful to color bricks if bricks lose their color. It could be used as rust, since it is corrosive. Rust and bromine are almost the same, but yet they're not. One reason is that they're both spelled extremely different. More people fear rust than bromine, because they don't know what bromine is? That's what this essay's all about: to inform the common human of bromine.
In summary, bromine is a liquid and a chemical at the same time. It's always a chemical, but not always a liquid just like the number brown.
Bromine starts with the letter "B." Many other words start with the letter "B" such as: be, bee, bad, baffle, bag, baggie, badge, badger, back, ball, balloon, BAM!, ban, bagpipes, bar, barricade, barrier, bass, base, bake, bail, bane, bear, bait, bat, bay, etc., etc., etc.
The second letter in bromine is the letter "r." Many other words have "r" as the second letter such as: brag, Bradford, break, brake, brawl, brand, brick, drive, dry, drunk, drill, drag, dragster, drought, fry, Friday, Frau, friend, frizzy, fraternity, freeze, frigid, frill, frock, grow, grin, grace, grouch, grinch, growl, grade, gravel, grenade, grudge, train, treat, trick, trowel, travel, trinket, trill, trot, true, triangle, tree, etc., etc.
"O" is the middle vowel in bromine. Many other words have "o" as the middle vowel such as: ZOWIE!, your, wombat, woman, whoa, work, world, word, vodka, tot, Thor, sock, spore, show, roll, rock, wrong, OOO!, pot, pronto, throttle, God, dog, abode, bog, love, etc., etc.
The last letter in bromine is the silent "e." Many other words have the silent "e" as the last letter such as: have, came, take, name, cake, female, shame, Jane, ape, care, face, late, Wayne, heave, crepe, grease, Crete, I've, dine, hike, lime, like, mime, file, line, hype, fire, ice, kite, stove, home, choke, Rome, broke, hole, home, hone, hope, whore, close, wrote, Louvre, puke, fume, Luke, rule, June, sure, loose, flue, Jacksonville, Shakespeare, etc., etc., etc., etc.
Bromine is a reject in the arts, but a blessing in the sciences. Most poets don't use the bromine in their poems. Bromine is not used greatly as the main ingredient in any cake, casserole, or any other food item. People won't read about bromine in many novels. The Beatles had many songs, but none of them were about bromine. Shakespeare never involved bromine in his plays. Finally, there are no movies or television shows about this silent chemical that lies as number thirty-five upon the periodic table of chemicals.
Bromine is a very ugly liquid: reddish-brown. That color could be useful to color bricks if bricks lose their color. It could be used as rust, since it is corrosive. Rust and bromine are almost the same, but yet they're not. One reason is that they're both spelled extremely different. More people fear rust than bromine, because they don't know what bromine is? That's what this essay's all about: to inform the common human of bromine.
In summary, bromine is a liquid and a chemical at the same time. It's always a chemical, but not always a liquid just like the number brown.
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