Oh my dickens ...

Ten-hut. That's a call to attention for people who are not a certain friend of mine who's obsessed with finding more and more creative/retarded ways to speak up with a "that's what she said" at the end of every other sentence. And if I have underestimated the grasp of basic military lingo or general grasp of all things iingliish of some of you, I'll drink a mug of Boo-flamin-Hoo just for you. Just so you know, this happens when I do that:


Let's not kid ourselves here.** I write what I write because it makes me happy - the holy grail of all motivations in this sad, post-modernistic world. It is my hope that through a discourse between me and my words and world peace, I will come to a greater understanding of how twisted the beautiful landscape of my mind really is. If what I just said feels familiar to you, congratulations! Not only have you made it so far up the evolutionary ladder that you understand all that, understand what ADHD means and that you have it only in small measure, but - and this is more important - fuck you sir, and here's another dick joke for you:

"When in doubt, go for the dick joke." — Robin Williams

I honestly thought of going for a different one this time but I wanted this mutant-hybrid-bastard child of a blogpost circle-jerk to live and breathe for the few moments before it died from the collective unbelief of those of you who know from much experience (and self-study) that it takes two to fulfill the biological imperative and the collective disgust of those of you who understand what all of that meant. Having said all that, it falls upon me to play the midwife by pointing out that was a self-referential, third-party dick joke made by a guy who looks like a dick. You know what they say, looks like a dick, talks like a dick, it's probably you dressed up for Halloween.

My, my. Rather dickish today aren't we?
Yes we are.

Anyhoo, so then, so da and ach so: Some of my more observant readers (and no, my precious middle fingers, since you are typing all of this you do not number among them) will have noticed that there are two asterisks at the end of the first sentence, second para. A lesser number of my more observant readers will have noticed the very clever number joke in the previous sentence. An infinitesimal Chosen few probably realize how much of a colossal prick I'm being right now ...
Right! The asterisks was really a way of saying "OR". So here it is then!

The OR:

** Let's not kid ourselves here. I have a readership of about 4.5 people. One of them is probably a schizoid who thinks they're writing this. No, it's not me. Free blog fame for anybody who can be clever about the half-person in the comments section. Pretty please?

For a post that is supposed to be a celebration of sorts, it's tone is somewhat acerbic. The Voices that Haunt will help me to comprehend this eventually. Which reminds me, I should probably name them (us)- right, us - so it becomes less tedious to refer to the- us in the future. Suggestions? Celebrate what you ask? At this point, will anyone believe me if I say that this was a post about announcing the list of blogs I follow and that it totally got away from me? You will, you say? Well then, you understand me good sir(s) and this is most unfortunate for all of us. Without further ado, cast thine eyes hither, thither and yon, and ye will find the list.

P.S There might or might not be some head-scratching, some ball-scratching (I'm looking at you, Mr. 'That's what she said' ... I'm looking away actually) and general brouhaha. In either case, another of dem BooHoos

Painfully easy

Sometimes, adult fiction shows you something you loved to read in fairy tales as a little girl boy. It arouses childhood fantasies in a way you can't ignore easily in that moment. Tellingly, it doesn't do it in a vacuum anymore. The stuff of our lives is the context for these whims and it gives them power; makes the desire to fulfill them that much keener.

This did it for me:






Sometimes, I wish I could do that.

It passes. I'm a big boy, you see. Time for more Nova the Human Rocket.

P.S That is not the sound of a air being let out of a balloon. I keel you.

One of these days ...

I shall catch my brain unawares.
And actually manage to write something that makes sense.

Something to do with guilt

The other day after watching an episode of The Mentalist and Lie to Me back to back, I realized two things: one of them is a really shitty show and it's not the one you think - no, the other one actually.

Second, if I were to actually end up in a situation where I was being questioned by gentlemen of such extraordinary bullshit-detecting voodoo, I would immediately start snickering like a nervous hottie who'd just discovered the smell of her farts is not entirely unpleasant (and realizes she must take this knowledge to her grave). How this will happen will be made clear soon enough. Why it will happen is because somewhere in the recesses of my brain, one of the nooks happens to be a lounge full of clowns.

Now, whether you believe that deception experts exist or that your thoughts can be read by a man who emotes about as well as a coked-out sock puppet,

there is no disputing that experienced enforcers of the law are fairly good at sensing when verbal poo is being chucked at them from behind the (apparent) safety of a poker-face which wouldn't fool our aforementioned sock puppet.

Which brings us, inevitably, to my predicament. Those who know me know that if accused of assassinating the president with a blunderbuss while riding an elephant down the middle of the constitution avenue - a far-fetched situation as you can see (but not as much as you think!!!! ...) - I would immediately start blushing like a boy who'd been asked out by a high-class tranny. It's a reaction I have very little control over.

And so, were I ever implicated in 'Murder by Blunderbuss' and brought in for questioning, this is what would happen. First, the internal dialogue:

"We didn't do it, of course."
"Of course not ... but wouldn't it be-"
"No. NO."
"Seriously, why can't-"
"No."
"But it's awesome!!"
"For fuck's sake NO!"
"Fine. So we're innocent. We should smile and show how relaxed we are."
"Actually, we should just keep a straight face to make them see we realize the gravity-"
"The awesomeness"
"The GRAVITY ... of the situation and that we're going to cooperate."
"But wouldn't that implicate us further?!"
"We're innocent you retard"
"Haa haa we're a retard!"
"...."
"Oho! This one looks menacing."
"Does anybody even use that word anymore?!"

Detective (intruding upon inner peace): So Mr. Giggle-shits, where were you that afternoon when this masterpiece of absurdity occured?

"I vote we should act gay, start giggling like we got kicked in the nuts by a kung-fu midget and plead insanity"
".... Sounds like a plan"

Glorious, gleeful madness ensues.

P.S I've been reading too many cracked articles and I worry about we.

P.P.S The next post will have NO hyperbole. NO, i say.

DISREGARD THAT, I SUCK COCKS! =D

Oh dear.

En Garde!

A quick look at the Memory Halls of Infinite Sorrow and Little Amusement reveals that my gentle readers would expect this to be the long-expected super-intellectual discourse (to the brain-exponent 10 no less!) on dialectic(s). You would be wrong. Yes, you! (The birdies can now be assumed to have moved past the advanced stages of rigor mortis and to be resting peacefully) But you would also be just a little bit right.

You see I have decided, as in all other areas of my life, to make this easy for myself. And why?! I ask you why not?!! And i shake my fist at you! You fools! .... Fools. Yes, so. I shall instead do it in parts.

As a start, a simple question: if you have two equally well-reasoned, rational, cogent and compelling arguments - naturally at odds with each other - what makes a narcissistic, faux-intellectual, smart, witty what have you like yourselves ourselves decide between the two? What tips the scales as it were? Is it reason? Emotion? A life-time exposed to the idea that the rise of the machines will be awesome?! Mommy not giving ice-cream when you really wanted it at 13?!!

Let's get the comments buzzing people! A little need for validation never hurt anybody. Yeah? What's that? You say Nazi Germany just wanted love and attention too?! Damn you! Godwin's Law was uncalled for!

...

And so, the next time i do this, whenever that is, I'll try and take it from here. Here's to hoping I do and that i don't just resort to saying something buffoonish and memetic.

dialectic

As the title of this post is telling those of you who read this blog ( me and the two birdies i just gave the screen ), this post is leading up to one in which i shall discuss, deconstruct and touch upon (inappropriately) the idea of a dialectic - instead of actually doing that here right now. It will be my hope that through a discourse between me and my words and world peace, I will come to a greater understanding of how twisted the beautiful landscape of my mind really is. If that sounds cryptic all i can say is fuck you, sir, and here's a dick joke for you:

"When in doubt, go for the dick joke." — Robin Williams

Yes. That IS a third-party reference to a dick joke i lifted straight from the wiki page about dick jokes - made by a guy who many consider to be a dick; others simply think he looks like one. How's that for meta-humour.

P.S This deranged phase of my life will pass. This too shall pass.