by Tomorrow's Man
1,000th MTicity
For this, my 1,000th Texticity via MoveableType, I turn over the reigns to my latest personality, the happily de-curpined (and thankfully less jumentous than usual), Mister Fob Dongle:
Grettings and gropings, fellow cypripareuniaphiles!
As this is my vanguard foray into the seeming thrill of what I've always regarded as an overly obstipated activity - that being 'BLOGGING, I will try to keep this short while putting aside my prejudices toward a trend that, instead of uniting peresons of like DNA, actually named itself by removing the "WE" from its moniker, guaranteeing it an act primarily performed by the likes of the type most assuredly to be onanistic to a fault in the first place. So, for a moment put down your Kleenexes and dry yours hands and pay attention as I will not stay with much to say.
Now I do not imply that reading these and any subsequent slashes of my darkerthanlight should result in any sort of thaumatological obsession, but one never knows where one might find the serendipitously articulated visage of the Virgin Mary to be blowing soap bubbles around vulgar charientisms; then again, one may not be reading closely enough. Those very muffin-heavy caricatures so loved in Mexico are the product of the same swarthy hand as this festinate monologue; indeed.
With that explosive revelation I leave you to what you wil now find to be such sad daily brimborions as are not my ongoing ululation, warning you pleasantly that I shall return, grotesquerie at the ready.
Barely Cheers,
Fob Dongle the Maledicent
MT Entry #999
Last night I had what I've come to think of as my worst nightmare ever - I dreamt that I was suffering an attack of very bad insomnia, and I could not get to sleep for the life of me.
All through the dream I drifted in and out of the illusion of a lack of sleep. When I awoke this morning, I could not figure out if I had been awake all night, asleep, or in some other state where the veil between reality and Reality was shredded most thinly by phantoms.
I'm nuts for nuts more than fruits or bolts but Frankie was damned good in that show as Raymond's dad I think I never really saw it but for when the shrill mother set his finger on fire and he threw that brother who used to kidnap cats into the lake to drown.
Reminds me of my first screaming orgasm and a scalpel to the knee.
Courtney Loves My Cats, pt. I
Got two cats, Pixel and Loretta. At seven P.M. it’s time for treats. One of them cries like a banshee for them, and the other sits and quivers with anticipation.
Look at you two. Pixel, shut the hell up! Christ, you cry for treats like a crackwhore desperate for a spoon. And Loretta’s sitting there licking his lips and shaking for it. Damn, combined, my cats are Courtney Love.
Well, what the hell would come about from that, I wonder. Courtney Love dies in any one of the numerous ways we’ve all imagined over the years: Protecting a black youth from a KKK Faggot-Nigger-Kill-Team; wasting away from Hansen’s Disease that she contracted while serving with the Peace Corps at the Tandong Leper Colony; being drowned to death trying to breathe the life back into the last remaining Dugong (it lived); or quietly slipping away one night just after her evening prayers, her hands held by the weeping members of her Chapter of the Red Hat Society.
Subsequently, we discover not only that she was a Hindu, but that the Hindus were right – well, mostly right. She is reincarnated – inexplicably – into the bodies of my two cats, Pixel and Loretta. (Instead of a subtle changing of souls I imagine it would occur much like the agents in the Matrix and the way they took over human forms; that, or she would just pop in there and start talking and my cat’s souls would flee to the Gates of the great Scoop in the Sky).
Pixel (for the sake of stirring some cream into this transcripted colloquial java of suspended disbelief) gets her Yin and obtains her rock-out-with-her-scaryparts-out attitude, her confidence, and her penchant for sounding like a dentist’s drill mowing through the bones in your left wrist every time she opens her mouth. (I imagine the title of the porn starring Courtney Love and Fran Drescher being changed from “Love, Thy Nanny” to “Styrofoam Rubbing Against Styrofoam.”)
Loretta – all black with a few grays, and so decidedly Yang – inherits CL's quiet side, her morphine addict side; the exquisite ‘heroin dilettante’ stare of her bright, swimmy eyes; the impressive actress-side of her that floated in the tub dead of AIDS in “The People Vs. Larry Flint” that caused a nation to sigh deeply and react to her performance with, “That poor girl, that’s about what I figured would happen."
[Pause]
"Oh, wait, she was ‘acting’?”
Confusious Say...
"Wiping one's boogers on the bottom of a glass desk is a clear sign of guilt."
How could I be happier with the fact that everything I expected to happen today went awry?
It was a perfect nine-hour reminder that everything I know is wrong, while everything I wildly assume is, righty-o.
Who wants to bet me that within a year adult content sites will finally begin using URLs like www.yourparentswithdonkeys.org.asm.
Come on. You know it.
Sense of Wonder
Bacteria in the small intestine 'eat' the food you eat for energy for energy...then they poop...and when they die, they become part of your poop...then the food that you ate you are using for energy and turning in into poop...oh my god oh god, so much poop, so much poop within poop within poop!!!
Just read that a hot-ticket item is the latest in high-quality crystal digital reproduction 5.1 surround sound headphones.
Mister, if you've got a head made for surround sound headphones, I want to tell you something something something something something.
Someone told me that someone told them that someone had a small, mostly red bird shaped like Cindy Margolis that spoke of an aphorism spoken by Confucious, except the bird had black spots and six beaks, kind of like those odd Asian beetles you find orgicating inside your vacuum cleaner as if each of them had double uvulas and no gag reflex.
The bird wouldn't shut up, but tasted like chicken.
One of those Mondays that should be reported to detectives while sitting wrapped in a comfy blanket in the back of an ambulance shakily sipping hot cocoa.
My Least Favorite Phrases
MLPP, First Entry:
"Four years ago, a particle accelerator in France detected six particles that should not exist. They are called tetraneutrons: four neutrons that are bound together in a way that defies the laws of physics." [from Michael Brooks, "13 Things that Do Not Make Sense," newscientist.com]
Okay. We've - and I mean the collective "we've" of the thinking race - been around for quite a many years now. Why do we still use and accept the phrase "defies the laws of physics" being used? It is an insult, doubly so in scientific publications. Isn't the whole point that anything that by definition 'defies physics' actually does just the opposite, and nullifies the definition?
In fact - isn't it impossible for anything that does anything to 'defy physics'? Isn't anything doing anything quite obviously coloring well within the lines of the laws of physics just by its nature of being anything doing anything?
Saying anything 'defies the laws of physics' is yet another example of scaredy-cat humans using the powerfully obfuscating ability of language to further an ego-agenda: If is doesn't obey OUR laws...then it is breaking the law.
The article goes on to explain that the four tetraneutrons were detained, and later arrested for breaking the law; they were fined in circuit court and released on their own tetracognizance. When interviewed outside the courthouse, the tetraneutrons boldly told FOX news, "And we will do it again."
I met someone who told me they feel like a carbohydrate in an Atkins world; I told them, don't fret, at least you're sweet.
New Year's Thanks
I'm thankful....
...that kittens are still just smallish cats
...that 36 winter's haven't killed me yet
...that the crazy people who enter my life these days cluster together and burn themselves apart
...that anything that happens (so far) still just doesn't last as long as death
...that music becomes more magical every moment of every year
...that I can laugh at stupid things and be stupid about serious things
...that riding my recumbent bike while drinking Gosling's black rum neat and watching The Simpsons is, fundamentally, considered "exercise."
...that the beautiful people I know have only gotten more beautiful since I've tried on my new eyes
...that, overall, I am confident, secure, and joyous at the fact that - finally - I spend more time pissing on the hollowdrag than pissing and moaning about it.