Chat Logs - Learning To Sleep On Yer Back

The Birth of Two.

I Wanna Run Away, I Want to Bring You Too...

The lovely people at Pitchfork have made their new broadcasts embeddable. Can they do no wrong?

Yet another reason why Liars are the best thing going. Absolutely ferocious!

What about Bob?

This is simple. Honestly. Usually when asked to “Please choose a well-known movie, book, painting, sculpture, speech, song, performance, or other manifestation of human artistic expression.”, and then to “Describe how it fails to attain perfection.”, one could really get their brain tied in a knot. Not this fella. No sir-ee Bob.

Bob just happens to be the orchestrator if this, dare I say it…Blog-a-Thon…yuck! ::spits::

You can read the musings of Bob here

Well gee Bob, here is my humble response to your not-so-humble task:

Creation.

All of it, The World, Everything, Earth, Sky, Genesis, and on the seventh day he was too pooped out to keep going, etcetera etcetera.

If only I were God. Let’s just go ahead and start with Mosquitoes. In some places, mosquitoes are seen as reincarnations of the dead, condemned by the sins of their former lives to the condition of Jiki-ketsu-gaki, or "blood-drinking pretas". Any way you look at it, they are an annoyance of the highest degree. Now why would the Big Hippie Upstairs create an insect that carries viruses and parasites from person to person, all without actually catching the disease themselves? Maybe in 200 years, if the sun hasn’t burnt out, scientists will find a mosquito that has been petrified in a glowing hunk of Baltic Amber, and bring Ol’ Dirty Bastard back to life. Then, and only then, will the existence of mosquitoes be justified.

Now, I will agree that the reproductive process is a beautiful marvel, and I wouldn’t change a single thing about how we pro-create. However, I also wouldn’t mind having the sexual organs of both males and females. Pardon my crassness, but there’s just something so enticing about the thought of going home after a stressful day of work, and fucking yourself.

On the seventh day, instead of resting, how about putting in the due diligence required for creating weather and it’s patterns. I’m quite positive the fine people of Oklahoma and Oz will all agree: Tornados aren’t that great. Oh wow…how spectacular…look at Mother Nature do her thang!

Question:
When creating the “Tornado” do you go with Plan A or Plan B?

A) You know what sounds good? How about a violently rotating column of air that rips through small, rural towns, leaving nothing but a trail death and destruction?
B) What do you think of a pastel-colored bunny-rabbit with three heads? One head a bunny, the head of a cute little African American baby, and the head of a cute little Asian baby. And instead of leaving a trial of death and destruction, Tornado leaves a trial of perfectly ripened mangos and avocados.

The answer seems pretty clear. Far-fetched you say? Well, um, I AM the CREATOR after all. As long as I’m at it, I think I’m going to just go ahead erase the term “far-fetched” from mankind. Do you have a problem with that? Well that’s too bad because it’s my world and you’re living in it. I just un-created you.

National Award

Question: What is the best way to fill a music venue with aggressive homoeroticism?

Sitting here, carefully attempting to superglue together the remnants of my brain, I begin to regain some of life's most critical skills...mobility, rational thought process, the ability to form a complete sentence, etc. As for my hearing, well that's another story, thanks to last night's sonic-blitzkrieg courtesy of the Mars Volta.

Needless to say, waking up was no easy task: Where am I? What happened last night? Why is there a river of dried blood running from my ears? Why did everyone in the crowd last night feel that it was their civic duty to act like a complete testosterone filled asshole? Oh that's right...Pants, then shoes.

Apparently there is a new set of guidelines one must follow when attending a hard rock concert:

1) When maneuvering through the crowd, you must, well, not maneuver through the crowd. Otherwise some Ratso Rizzo/neanderthal hybrid will greet you with a "Yo, keep on movin" or "Don't even think of standin' here". Was anyone else aware that Ticketmaster sold tickets for specific plots of ground upon which to stand?

2) The person behind you is there to serve as a recliner. When watching a band perform, be sure to lean as far back as possible, allowing the person to your rear, a yummy bite of Pert-Plus-potpourried rat's nest, you call hair.

3) Carelessly bump into everyone. Hard! When traveling from point A to point B, rather than a polite "excuse me", just use your shoulders and aim for the chest. Not getting to your destination with enough brute force? Why not use your elbows! Just imagine you're the praying mantis and walk with your arms akimbo, sharply digging that elbow into anything and everything.


I'm always on my best behavior the 1-2 times a year that I am forced beyond my will to ride the LIRR and Path Trains, all I ask is that you troglodytes do the same.

Paean To The Food Mecca

Hungry? Self-Conscious? Do you have an allergic reaction to glutens? -- If you answered yes to any combination of the aforementioned, then we have something in common my loyal compatriot, You eat at Whole Foods, too.
Fear not, for wheat-product-induced hazes are a thing of the past; why don't you try the quinoa. Any post graduate, investment banker (with a the paycheck to support living close to a Whole Foods) can find solace in a freshly baked slice of pizza and a wing of buffalo. Personally, I need my sushi to be brought to me via conveyor belt -- now if there were only some high-end grocery store/cafeteria hybrid in lower Manhattan...


A Proposal For John P. Mackey, Chairman and CEO of Whole Foods Market, Inc.

Dear Mr. Mackey,

Thanks for taking the time to read my modest proposal. I can only imagine how busy your days can be, between all the cutting of plastic six-pack holders, and the boardroom displays of environmental elitism, it's any wonder how you find the time to...I don't know, recycle?

Now its obvious that your fine establishment knows more about guiltless eating and shopping than most retailers, and being the guiltless consumer that I am, it only makes perfect sense that we join our forces, with the greater intention to leave the consumer marketplace with one-hell-of-an environmental tramp-stamp.

Mr. Mackey, make me the new face of Whole Foods. Not only do I eat there at least five meals a week, but also am the one to throw away the backed-up pile of recyclables that fill the entire fucking cabinet under the sink. They don't actually get recycled, but just get tossed down the trash chute. As a man who understands the critical importance of energy conservation, you don't really expect me to take all those bags down to the recycling basement, do you Mr. Mackey? I can wear your t-shirts everywhere I go, provided they are American Apparel, of course. I'll stack my 2008 soapbox right on top of my 2007 soapbox (Dr. Dog), and like the disciples of an edible Jesus, will exult the praises of your excellent cereal assortment. With one lung-filled blast of Ani DiFranco from my Ram's Horn, I shall summon my Mango Chutney Militia , and the streets will run opaque tan with Chickenless Chicken Noodle Soup. Let me be your Edamame Succotash lobbyist, for I sire, bleed green.

Humbly yours,

Brussel Sprout