Friday, January 30, 2009

I Ended This One with Zombies So You Will More Readily Forgive Me

I was just debating with Hattori Hanzo, the voice in my head, about whether or not I should even blog today, because I can't really think of anything to say and when I write when I don't have anything to say it comes out as these terrible long sentences that aren't punctuated properly and go on and on and on, and people ask why I write that way because it's not how I speak, but what they don't know is that it is what it sounds like in my head all the time. 

Hattori was asking me how I felt and thought that maybe by plumbing the depths of my psyche we could come up with some really weird shit to write about, which I'm sure is absolutely corrrect, but when he asked me the first word I thought of to describe my feelings, it was "burrito" because I was still thinking about yesterday's blog and the second word to come to my mind was "porn".  

That's not to say I'm into "burrito porn" because I'm not even sure what that is, but it sounds messy and contortiony and I'm not in the mood for anything like that (today). Hattori then pointed out to me that "porn" wasn't an emotion, and then I tried to make an argument that it WAS an emotion. And he asked me to describe it, and I said it was when you were too lazy to have sex when it was available. And then Hattori reminded me that it wasn't available unless I was thinking the neighbor's cat looked enticing and I said that was gross and then we stopped talking for a while, because he knew he had crossed a line, but I forgave him soon enough and now we're just hungry and not "burrito" at all.

I also don't understand why Facebook is telling me that 5 of my friends secretly hate me. It was one thing when I was able to think that you all had crushes on me, because that is totally reasonable, but since I didn't fall into that spam trap, it has resorted to being mean. I'm sorry, Facebook but I don't think my friends secretly hate me and I'm not going to click on the link to find out who because it will probably take me to a porn site, and as I pointed out earlier I'm already feeling "porn" and don't have the ambition for any funny business today. 

Hattori Hanzo: Congratulations. You just blogged about nothing at all.
Kurt: Don't start with me, Convention. I brought you into this world and I can take you out.
Hattori Hanzo: You stole that from Bill Cosby.
Kurt: Your Mom stole it from Bill Cosby.
Hattori Hanzo: Stole what?
Kurt: I don't know... the good Huxtable name?
Hattori Hanzo: This is dumb, we should probably stop now.


ps: Somebody hacked roadsigns in Texas to warn about the Impending Zombie Apocalypse* and that was way funnier than this blog so allow me to post a picture of it. A note to the sourpuss lady in the video who was all "This is a serious problem.": Shut up.



Thursday, January 29, 2009

The Tale of The Magic Burrito


I'm now sure that I had a magical burrito for lunch on Tuesday. I mean...ever since I had it, all I want to do is eat another one, and I have seriously contemplated driving over to Taco John's* who made it for me, despite the weather being homicidal and out for extreme vengeance. And I think that is pretty much a sure sign I've been hypnotized or am under some kind of burrito spell cast on me by an evil wizard from Slytherin. Or maybe it was a good wizard who just wants me to enjoy the greatest burrito in the universe because it knows my mouth has been sad ever since I finished it.

In fact, this burrito was so good that I named an emotion after it. From now on whenever I feel that pride that comes from eating just the right amount of food despite wanting more, I will call it "burrito".  So if someone asks if I had enough to eat, I will just say "I'm feeling pretty damn burrito, thank you very much**" and if they don't know what that means then they aren't reading my blog and they're not much of a friend, but what can I expect when I sit down and share a can of beans with the hobos? It's not like they have wireless broadband in their handkerchief on the end of a stick. I need to stop being so judgemental. Because being awesome is no excuse for trodding on everyone else. I learned that from "The Breakfast Club". THANKS JOHN HUGHES!!

I still want another burrito.

The End.




* Taco John's is the old name of "John's Tex Mex" but "Taco John's" sounds dirty so I like to say that instead. 

**Manners are very important. One time, I was on the bus and I offered my seat to a lady and she took it without saying thank you, so I punched her in the face and stole her purse and now she has learned her lesson and is very polite all the time.***

*** I just made that up. She's still a dick.****

**** I also made up this whole thing, so I'm sorry, but I have a duty to inform people, because knowing is half the battle, and battling is the other half but you can't just go around punching people so I'll stick to the knowing half of the battle.

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Ghosts

I had this awesome moment when I was shooting pictures at the beach last week. 

The wind kicks off the lake and bites me in the face. My fingers are aching and curled from the pathological cold. The wind drives the waves hard into the icy berms at the shoreline and flumes of  brown water crash into the snow banks forming deepening welds of new ice.  



It is dead and barren here. I stand amongst the thin, leafless trees for a while just listening to the big empty all around me. 



A great peace  consumes me. I look around at the deep drifts of snow covering the benches and tables




 and drinking fountains 



making this land of summertime merriment an undefinable landscape of quiet waste. 



The doors are all boarded shut. 



The picnic areas abandoned. 



But still, even as the tempest howled and stabbed my exposed skin with a million needle pricks, I could close my eyes and hear them. The ghosts of summer were all around me. The laughing children and the barking dogs. The ignorant frat boys playing pick up games of volleyball with cigarettes dangling precariously from the corners of their mouths. The skinny girls laying on their stomachs with their tops unhitched, foiling their tanlines and pretending it doesn't please them when overweight men walk past them sniggering lude things to one another. The hot smoke of grilled food and the angry shouts as a spill of lemonade creeps across the picnic table spilling thin rivers between the uneven slats where "Mark loves Jessica" has been crudely carved. They are everywhere. Spilling out of the empty lodges, crowding around the boarded up snack bar. Walking on ginger tiptoes across the hot asphalt of a parking lot buried in deep winter drifts.

They'll be back soon enough. And this is what makes me smile.  

So will I. 

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

Magic Goat Powers Unleashed!

It has become my duty as an international sex symbol to closely monitor the world news in case any uprisings need quelling or if Ikea in Canada is having a sale on furniture with funny names or something. So when this news item came across my desk I was shocked and then jealous and then sleepy, so I napped. BUT THEN, I decided to act!

A goat was arrested in Lagos, Nigeria because a group of vigilantes saw two men trying to steal a Mazda 323, and when the vigilantes tried to capture the would-be thieves, one ran away and the other one turned into a goat. So they arrested the goat. I would like to say here and now that magical goat ability is a crap superpower. It's not worse than that one Wonder Twin who could only turn into water* and had to be carried around in a bucket by the space monkey...but still. If I got to pick an animal to turn into it would be a T. Rex with a back-mounted rocket launcher... it would not be a goat.

Moonkee pointed out an interesting possibility though. What if it was a goat that could turn into a human? That makes a lot more sense. Because if I was a goat and I turned into a human suddenly I'd be all "Holy Shit! Thumbs!" and then I WOULD totally try to steal a car because I've been walking around my whole life and then I would go get a burrito because they taste much better then effing tin-effing-cans.** And how is a goat supposed to know that stealing cars is illegal? It's not like it can read or is subject to our obtuse moral codes. It's a goat. It's languishing in prison RIGHT NOW, because of a simple misunderstanding and there are probably human rights violations going on as it is being tortured and forced to talk about how it turned into a human. And I won't stand for this anymore!! I need help and if I can find them...then maybe I should hire... The A-Team! (*cue A-Team theme song*)

Or maybe it is something boring like a guy whose best plan for evading capture is to turn into a goat. That's a stupid plan by the way because goat is a food source in Nigeria. That would be like me robbing a bank and when the cops show up and shoot down my hovercar***, I turn into a delicious ham sandwich.

Moral of the story: Goats are cool but not as cool as dinosaurs with rocket launchers. Also, stay in school, kids... and stay off drugs or one day you'll end up falsely arresting an effing goat.

A link to the article is here.



*I'm pretending I don't know the Wonder Twins' names were Zan and Jayna and the space monkey was named Gleek, because knowing that stuff is for geeks and I think my presence on the internet has long disproved any geeky mythology about me.

**If I was a goat, I would swear in my head all the time. I'm no veterinarian but I think the facts speak for themselves.

***If I'm robbing a bank than you can bet your ass I'm doing it in a hovercar. End of discussion.

This Blog Contains Trace Amounts of Albino

I have a new nemesis. I mean...it's nothing cool like an albino with one eye whose brother I killed while rescuing a fabulous diamond from the clutches of a sinister madman in Rio De Janeiro during Carnivale and all those creepy big-headed parade things were wandering around in the back alleys like in some weird, LSD-fueled nightmare. My point is I never killed anyone with my devastating samba.It nothing like that. It's a dog.

A one-eyed albino bent on revenge would be cool, though. I think we can all agree on that.

This dog is a mystery dog. A phantom who flits into my yard when I'm not looking and poops in my driveway. I'm not saying pooping without regard for one's neighbors is a characteristic of phantoms. I'm not saying that at all. Given my circumstances, the last thing I need is to piss off some ghost so that he stomps around my apartment at all hours, rattling chains or whatever it is that they do. No. Here when I say "phantom" I mean "little bastard that I can't seem to catch in the act". But he doesn't know the extensive forensics I have at my disposal. I will find him. Oh yes...I will.

First off, he leaves footprints and I know from my time in Genius Detective School* that this can only mean that the beast traipses over to my place on LEGS! HA-HA!! (I totally should have said "Eureka!" but I thought it would be too cliche, but now I feel guilty...like "Eureka!" is going to go off and pout somewhere because it isn't being used when it could be. It's like being the last one picked in gym, only instead of picking YOU, the captain of the blue team picks a piece of string that he just found. Sorry, Eureka.) Have legs do you, fiend? That's pretty much a dead giveaway. Also, the dog in question has an anus so I don't know if that narrows down the suspects or not, but this is a good way to use my time for sure.

So I'm looking for a dog with legs and an anus. Watch out, Dog. Your number is almost up.

The other thing I know about this dog is that he is cunning and devious because he only takes care of his business when I'm not home so that I can't catch him and he does it right by where I park my car so that even though it's winter, every time I get out of the vehicle I step in squishy dog shit, which is totally unfair because it should be frozen but like I said he's devious. I thought about moving my car to the library and then walking back and burying myself under the snow like Rambo did with mud, and then when the dog comes over, I could pop out at him and be like"Hey dog! Knock it off! Yo!**" and then he would be mortified and run away and that would be the end of the Great Poop Trap Caper and I would be a hero.

But that would be cold, and would require work, so instead the best plan I can think of is to take a nap. Case Closed.




*The Genius Detective School is a totally elite forensic academy that I attend almost everyday when I'm not out actively fighting crime or eating dry cereal and wishing I had some milk but that is all the way at the store and I can't go back there in just my bathrobe again after the last time when the manager said I couldn't just "stand there crying in the produce section" That guy is also my nemesis.

**I added the "yo!" for authenticity because I watched part of the Rocky marathon on AMC last weekend and now I think I am immersed in Italian culture.

Monday, January 26, 2009

Social Cupcakes and Being an Impending Shut-In

I've reached an important moment in my life, and no... it's not escaping from dinosaur space-jail because that was just a dream and I'm trying to be serious and talk about my life for reals, so there will be little-to-no Hattori Hanzo commentary or aquatic, venomous, sea dragons or Hobo ninja laser-samurai equipped with bee cannons or bears, because all those things are exciting but none of them are real except for bears and I honestly can't think of a way to work bears into this discussion, despite an intense desire to.  

The realization I have come to is that the entirety of my current social calendar can be changed by the simple application of baked goods. In fact, I will change my plans 180 degrees if there is a cupcake involved. I'm not proud of this realization like I am of some of my super-powers, but there it is. 

Don't judge me. 

How I came to this realization is simple. I went over to a friends house last night for coffee and maybe beer, and we sat around talking for a couple hours about porn and midgets* the perilousness of the human soul and how Nietzsche** was right when he said that when we look into the void the void also looks into us*** and other really deep shit that you find impressive, and then I got a text message from The Boy who told me to call him and when I did he said he made cupcakes and do I want one, so I said "yes" and bailed on my friend and went and had a cupcake because it had sprinkles and shut up because you would have done the same.

Now the cool thing is, I can totally lie and be like "I HAVE to go get a cupcake. Sigh. The Boy made them and you know that means I HAVE to. Sigh." but the truth is I just wanted a cupcake and it could have been milked from the teat of the Devil's Hate-cow and I still would have wanted it more than coffee. 

So I decided to leave based solely on where exactly confections were located and I think this is a sign that my life is slipping out of my grasp and soon I'll be wearing sweatpants to Walmart and growing beards and showering irregularly,  and writing wild-eyed manifestos about breakfast cereals and napping a lot and hiding the dishes when company comes over which they do less and less frequently because the house is starting to smell like a garbage strike, until eventually I won't let anyone in unless they're bringing cupcakes.

At least that's my plan.


* We actually did talk about porn and midgets but I messed with the timeline of events using a technique the Ancient Phoenicians called "lying". Now I'm no genius  Now I'm no lawyer but I think we can all agree that I should be and arguing with me about the validity of any statement made using creative license is pointless, unless you like arguing with someone with their fingers buried in their ears and going " LA-LA-LA!! I can't hear you! LA-LA-LA!" .

** The time it took to look up the proper spelling of "Nietzsche" was not worth the reference I made to it. I totally should have quoted Bill Murray from Caddyshack or Albert Einstein because I know how to spell those names, but the only Einstein quote I have memorized is about being a lazy scientist and not that applicable to cupcakes.

*** If you are all impressed that I know this bit of philosophy, than it worked because I totally read it in a comic book last week.  True story.

The One Where I Escape from Dinosaur Space-Jail with Dick Vader

"Shit! Shit! Shit! Get the stick! Get the stick!", I yell to Hattori Hanzo across the intercom of my space suit, as I waggle a white gloved finger at the tall black stick on the other side of the crater.

He takes off running, trying to touch it first, but the third me has a significant head start*.  I know there's no way I'M going to get there first  because I'm the oldest and the most lame and I smoked for too long, and Hattori Hanzo is spry, so I wish him luck because that's the kind of gracious winner I am. It is this kind of thinking that makes me a pleasure to know in real life. Besides I had to finish off the last of the dinosaurs who were acting as guards and wearing the Gamorrean Guard Hairdiaper things, and were totally badass, so I obviously can't be the fastest AND the strongest.

Now the reason I want Hattori Hanzo to be the first one to get the stick is that, the first one to get the stick will be teleported off this desolate wasteland and back to the safe bosom of Mother Earth, where obviously he will be treated like a hero for ending the horrific human rights violations going on at this miserable, dinosaur-run space jail.  But the third me, who we'll call Darth Vader because he's a total dick, is getting closer and closer to the stick** and Hattori Hanzo better shake his ass if he wants to make it there first.

It's a close race, but Darth Vader wins and grabs the stick. Nothing happens.

Hattori Hanzo gets there and grabs the stick. Nothing happens.

I teleport over there*** and grab the stick. Nothing happens.

Darth Vader: The stick is broken.
Hattori Hanzo: What?!
Me: That is so effed up. I totally just had to beat up like infinity dinosaurs with axes to make this escape plan work.
Darth Vader: You do know this is a dream, right?.
Hattori Hanzo: Shut up! Don't ruin it for him, Darth! You're such a dick.
Me: I'm sleeping?
Darth Vader: Totally.
Me: No wonder those dinosaurs were so easy to beat up.
Hattori Hanzo: Why do you think YOU were the slow one with no chance of getting to the stick? Like... what's the significance of that?
Me: Oh shut up. I think I just should stop eating cold pizza so close to bed time.
Darth Vader: So what now?
Me: We wake up and write about this, because THAT'S reasonable at 2am.
Hattori Hanzo: You should totally Photoshop a dinosaur guard.
Me: Ooo! Yeah!
Darth Vader: So we're really waking up and doing this, huh?
Me: You should be called Dick Vader. DON'T STIFLE ME!!!
Hattori Hanzo: Seriously, Dick. Why are you even here?
Dick Vader: I represent his unrealized potential and omnipresent sense of defeatism.
Me: You represent "being a dick" mostly. HIGH FIVE!!
(*Hattori gives me a high five*)

THE END.


* I don't know why I can't just make up other people in my dream and race them to the stick. Everyone has to be me. That probably is significant. I'll try and figure it out when I'm sober. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

**What kind of lousy dinosaur space-jail is this that keeps a teleporting stick in the middle of it? Must be a leftover from the Bush administration! Zing! High five!!! (*looks around and realizes he's still home alone and no one's gonna high five him, so screw you guys!*)

***If I had omnipotent teleport powers this whole time, why the hell am I losing races to the stick? Why am I even *in* space-jail? I think I was set up by the Yeti Hobo mafia maybe. I'll investigate this grave injustice in my next dream and get back to you.

Friday, January 23, 2009

Medical Updates from Pharaoh

It turns out all those cat antidepressants I was taking* were from 1995 and I'm not sure what I was doing to depress the cat in 1995 but I suspect it had something to do with listening to Bush and singing "I waffle my machine!" and "Got a mushy head! Better than the rest!" because I used to think that was terribly funny how they would mumble all the words to their songs. My point is, I don't know if the antidepressants are working. The bottle label is worn off and now I'm wondering if they were actually antidepressants or maybe generic Advil or the Pill or something.

Not that I feel depressed mind you. I don't think I could ever get sick of this terry-cloth bathrobe no matter how many times I get laughed at or kicked out of the grocery store. I mean... there are distinct advantages to unemployment. I am suddenly able to answer all my fan mail, for example. Granted, most of it I write myself and address to "Pharaoh" and when I open it I say out loud "Oooo! I wonder who THIS could be from?" and then look around the room to see if anyone has suddenly broken in to the apartment to just you know...observe me. And then I read it out loud and it goes like this:

My Handsome Pharaoh,
Just wanted to drop you a quick note to say that I really implunge all the work you've done to better humanity. Besides being delightful to look at, your kind generosity towards kittens and orphans is unrivaled. We also very much appreciate the roll you played in single-handedly turning the tide of the Hobo Wars. I know you already have 10 Nobel Prizes for Literature and Being a Genius, but we both know you deserve this. Enclosed please find 6 Purple Hearts.
Love Always,
The World.

ps: You should do the dishes today because the bacon fat has glued all the crockery together.
pps: Also, shower.



MEDICAL UPDATE: Those weren't cat antidepressants after all I don't think because I keep blacking out and when I wake up I'm naked in my neighbor's garage and there's crying in the background.

MEDICAL UPDATE UPDATE: Turns out they were Pez.



*See... "taking" is funny here because I "took" them as in "Take your pills, you crazy fucker!" and I also "took" them as in "Hey! Who stole my heart medication? Was it that new orderly who always wears a bathrobe and doesn't have a Staff ID? Call 9-1-1!"**

** Senior citizens are easy to trick!

Thursday, January 22, 2009

LOST Week 1: Stabbings


So the Department of Defense says I have to write "SPOILER" anyplace in this blog where I might rip apart the fabric of your very existence by telling you something you don't already know about LOST, or else they'll shoot me with bazookas filled with bees and poison or something, so look out for those:

SPOILER "LOST" is about people who crash their plane on a magical island filled with snow bears and evil fog and French women who are crazy and live in holes. They routinely get shot and die, but no one ever stays dead because they turn into ghosts or visions or something. Except Charlie, because he's SPOILER super-dead, but Hurley still sees him in the asylum after he leaves the magical island so maybe he's a ghost after all. The people spend all their time on the island running around. Either to places or from places or to rescue someone or to kill someone (even though SPOILER no one ever seems to die) or to kidnap someone or to go live in the trees or to blow something up. The point is, apart from dying the other thing you can't do on the island is relax or else the snow bears will get you. Or SPOILER the Others.

SPOILER I'm already tired of recapping.

So last night's show was SPOILER stabbier than usual and there were flaming arrows shot by British soldiers who also had rifles, so what sense does that make and then everyone ran around and now they aren't just lost in space* they are SPOILER lost in time and Kate is SPOILER lost in love. And there was a bitchy guy named Neil who totally took a flaming arrow in the chest because SPOILER that's what you get when you're a new character who complains so just shut up. And what kind of safe house is it that is filled with people trying to kill you or shoot you with darts? That's like opening a jar of delicious honey and having bees pour out of it. And I bet the producers thought "How can we stab someone in the back 4 times on network primetime?" and that's why SPOILER that bad guy fell on all those knives because that was really unnecessary and if I was in a fistfight for my life with guns and SPOILER frying pans and the dishwasher opened and the camera made a point of zooming in on all those knives pointing upward I would totally call a timeout. Also, who washes knives like that? Sayid needs to work on his home safety, in my opinion.

SPOILER I ran out of sour cream at about the halfway mark.


SPOILER So now I think Locke is a zombie and is jumping around all over time to stab people as needed and Jin is probably a zombie too. Plus Micheal. And I'm once again completely confused which is SPOILER the beauty of this show and when it was over and everyone was finally running around again, I felt a huge sigh of relief because even with the stabbings and the snow bears and the time jumping French Women living in holes it's still the best hour on TV bar none.


*Not the old TV show "Lost in Space" which also featured people running around a lot, but instead of beautiful survivors of an airplane crash and snow bears it had a SPOILER creepy, possible pedophile and the biggest robot in the world that could only wave his arms around a lot.

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Pressurizing Influential Women

As is our custom, Moonkee sends me all her weirdest email. This one was especially awesome though and left me feeling neglected as my spam is never this good and always seems to focus on making my junk bigger, like they have a satellite trained on me but they must be using the wrong lens or something because I TOTALLY don't need any help in that department and their stupid products don't work anyway(s). So screw you GROW_MOR_COX!*

Here's what her email said:

"FOR YOUR SINCERE BUT UNFRUITFUL SACRIFICES, I PRESSURIZED THE INFLUENTIAL WOMAN TO CONCEDE SOME AMOUNT AS COMPENSATION TO YOU, FOR THE RESOURCE THAT YOU IMPLUNGED EVEN YOUR TIME AND INCONVENIENCES."

Now I've pressurized many an influential woman in my day, and for the most part they don't like it and ask you why you are squeezing their calves and making grunting noises when all they really wanted was for you to pull their car around. But the joke is always on them because I TOTALLY don't even work there!! HAHAHAHAHAHHAHA!! I'm unemployed, you prudish skank! And your calves could totally be more supple! And then I run away and when the cops show up, I tell them it was my twin brother. But then Mom comes to the door to find out who's knocking at this ungodly hour and "accidentally" lets it slip that I don't have a twin and wants to know why I am wearing a valet jacket without any pants. And then I get arrested. I'm so sick of being hassled by the man!

Wait...where am I? 

Stupid Robitussin.

The author has also invented an amazing word in "Implunged". It's the perfect fake word. It could mean ANYTHING. So when I go to court, when asked how I plead I will say "Your honor! I demand to have my record implunged!" and then all the reporters will stand up and start asking questions and running to phone booths even though they all have cell phones now, so why would there be phone booths, but whatever, I'm not a lawyer. And then the judge will bang his hammer** on the bench and start shouting "Order! Order!" and I'll make a joke about "I don't even want any Chinese Food, so how can I order?" and then the whole courtroom will crack up, even the uptight woman with the gummy calves and the judge will say "Case Dismissed!" as he wipes the tears of laughter from his eyes.


These unemployed days aren't getting any shorter. Just for the record. I implunge you to bear with me.


*GROW_MOR_COX is a smelling salt you rub on your genitals while masturbating.  Or so I'm told by my network of spies and not by what the package says as I read it.

** I totally know it's called a "gavel" but in this post I make the rules.  It's how I exert a modicum of control over my life as it founders against the sandbar of hopelessness after a rudderless  traversing of  the black ocean of despair. Wait... how long are these cat anti-depressants good for anyway(s)?


PS:
Hattori Hanzo: There. Feel better?
Kurt: Much.
Hattori Hanzo: Good. Now can we please put some clothes on and stop crying.
Kurt: Okay. Will you make me a sandwich?
Hattori Hanzo: Sure.

Becoming An Evil Genius:Part II - Proper Hiring Practices for Henchpersons


Now that all the SUPER HOPE POWERS have been activated, I can get back to writing the important stuff...

So, the trick with thugs is, you have to find ones that are not exactly stupid, but definitely not smart on account of you're going to be marching them off to their inevitable demise at some point, so it won't do to have any of them getting "lippy". Preferably your minions should look like fleshy tree stumps, in terms of build. They should have a rudimentary understanding of mechanics so that, in a pinch, if your giant killer doomsday robot goes on the fritz you've got someone to delegate its repair to. If they are physically repulsive it can work to your advantage for a few reasons. First, during the initial meeting with whatever super-hero you are encountering, a minion that looks like he or she was carved out of ugly is going to give you a psychological advantage. Second, if you are all out at a bar you will have an easier time picking up chicks (or dudes*) if you surround yourself with ugly people.

Now the thing you need to be mindful of is how you administer the benefit packages you supply for your henchpersons**. Most will not complain if your dental or medical coverage is less then ideal. Remember, you aren't looking to surround yourself with Einsteins... there's a reason YOU'RE the evil genius after all. Making sure your minions are sufficiently cattle-like will insure that later on no one starts to question why you aren't matching anything in the 401K. ALSO, avoid supplying life insurance if at all possible...or better yet make them designate YOU as their beneficiary. That's plenty evil.

Of course, all minions will have to have matching uniforms. Here you will find a little room to play with. Take this opportunity to show the inner creative yin that balances your world- destroying yang***. What you want to avoid is any kind of spandex pant or unitard, as it will lead to long afternoons trying to get their attention when all they want to do is look at each others junk. Trust me on this. There's nothing more disruptive to listening to evil monologues then a room full of barely-concealed wang or rampant camel-toe. Also, if you have female minions and you are a male (and you totally should because the Equal Opportunity Act applies to EVERYONE, Mister!) all the boobies will be infinitely distracting. Think about using cloaks and capes for them. Sure, they can get tangled in a fight, but what the hell... they're only henchmen.

Next Step: Not writing any more of these dumb blogs!!




* Hey. You know. If you're into dudes. Whatever.

** The term "henchpeople" is actual racist as it excludes any dinosaurs, leopards, sharks, or robots you might have working for you.

*** I totally said "world-destroying yang". (*snicker*)

PS: Hattori Hanzo: There's no way this is funny.
Kurt: I know, But it's weird to leave it unfinished.
Hattori Hanzo: Your mom is weird to leave unfinished.
Kurt: I'm not sure I know what that means.

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

Happy Unicorn Day!


So it's finally here! The day when we get our new president who is totally MADE OUT OF HOPE and magic and he will use his fairy powers to turn back the tide of global warming by turning all terrorists into cockroaches and will end the War in Iraq using only his love of puppies, and who will totally stop our money from exploding like RIGHT NOW, and instead of writing this I should be getting dressed for my new job building bikinis out of Dinosaurs for naked supermodels*. BECAUSE HE'S THAT GOOD!

This is going to be the best day ever because after 8 long years of foreigners thinking we are war-mongering, hillbilly, hobo-mugging, terrorphiles with no brain except the one in our pants that we're afraid of, they can think we are enlightened genius superheroes. And they will forgive us for electing the last guy twice even though the first time TOTALLY didn't count because he cheated but the second time does and we re-elected a cheater so that was stupid, but luckily our fore-fathers were also made out of hope and set up term limits unless you have polio or live in New York City where they have a mayor-for-life. Now Bush and Cheney can go back to Texas and the Netherworld and resume shooting their friends in the face while the rest of the country explodes with the happy. And now I don't have to remember the names of silly foreign places like Abu Ghraib or Guantanamo which tickle my nose when I say them and can go back to thinking Water Boarding is just a goofy way of saying surfing.

Also, it should be noted that with this election we are also suddenly enlightened because Obama has DIVERSITY POWERS so our long-standing history of being hateful thugs towards the minorities is totally forgotten just like how no one feels bad about the Japanese internment camps because they make better cars than us now and that just goes to show us**.

He's going to fill the White House with puppy kisses and ethnic people and Hillary Clinton even though she lost so I bet all you Hillary Supporters who were all "I won't vote for Obama because he beat Hillary." feel pretty stupid right now, which is probably why he did it, but also because he is made out of Kitten paws and love.


ps: The killer and factual illustration from this blog comes from chrisbishop.com and you can order it as a t-shirt for just 17 bucks and you should totally go do that unless you hate black people. Here.



* I should also probably shower and get out of this bathrobe I've been wearing for the last six days and either eat this mixing bowl full of dry Golden Grahams I fell asleep in last night or put them back in the box.

** I should also also probably mention that I can't speak for actual...you know...Japanese people about the internment camps. They are probably still pissed. Even ninjas don't make up for some things.

Monday, January 19, 2009

Becoming an Evil Genius: Part 1 - Determining Your Target Demographic for Evil Vengeance*


The first step to becoming an Evil Genius is first to verify that you are a genius and not just some mouth-breather who thinks they are a genius. There are many different IQ tests available on the internet, but to save you some time just ask yourself if you find this blog amusing. If you do then you are probably a genius and more than likely incredibly handsome. 

Once you've determined your geniusness , the next step is to pick the group or person you will be exacting revenge on. Because unless you can say "[Nemeses] laughed at me when I was at [location where you were laughed at for your forward thinking ideas that seemed ludicrous to everyone else even though everyone should have figured out by now the advantages of owning an artificially intelligent vibrator], but I'll show them! I'll show them all!" you really aren't giving people sufficient reason to be terrified of you and your impending evilness. Remember, without scary monologues, evil geniuses are just that smart kid you beat up all the time in high school, because maybe he couldn't climb all the way to the top of the rope in gym, so you pantsed him, and I still have nightmares about the way Jenna Fishbaum laughed at my penis.** On a side note,You need to have a way to make lightning flash when you say the "I'll show them all." part, both for dramatic purposes and because summoning lightning is like, Evil Genius 101.

I should like to point out that it is not necessary to have actually been at the place where you were laughed at or to even positively identify those you are accusing of laughing at you. For instance, I always say "They laughed at me at Harvard, but I'll show them! I'll show them all!!", despite the fact that a) I have never been to Harvard. b) I don't know anyone who HAS been to Harvard and c) I can't think of any reason why the people at Harvard would laugh at me. I'm just going to go ahead and assume they WOULD HAVE laughed at me and exact my revenge like they did. It strains credibility to say "They laughed at me at the Massapequa Junior Nail Technician College but I'll show them! I'll show them all!!" because who gets that worked up about nails to begin with and so what if I painted that lady's toes lavender when she asked for purple. It's the same effing color, you jerks. 

Next phase: Hiring Your Thugs!!


* Knowing how to spell "vengeance" without having to look it up is a sure-fire way to determine that you are an evil genius. I know because I JUST DID THAT.  I think we can all agree that I'm amazing.

** Hattori Hanzo assures me Jenna was laughing out of terror at its sheer girth, because laughter is one way to really tell that someone is terrified, but I think he's just saying this so I stop wetting the bed, which is awfully nice of him. 


Saturday, January 17, 2009

I Wasn't Even Going To Say Anything But They Went and Made Earrings

I really am like a folk hero. First ,there was the stuffed uterus that I ignored until they had a recall, and then it was Neuticles, the phony testicle implants for neutered pets so that they don't become sad and emasculated.  I saw them and yet I didn't even mention them. "Self." I said " You are a courageous hero, and there is no need to lower yourself to such an obvious and pedestrian level just to get a laugh. " And then I was all "Yeah... but they're TESTICLES! Only FAKE! And for Dogs!" and then  I was all "Too easy, Homes. Let's get one of the hundreds of Playboy models we have working for us to fuel up the jet so we can fly around the world solving mysteries instead*." And then I was all "Good Plan, but seriously...no one says 'Homes' anymore." And then we argued the pros and cons of bringing "Homes" back, until we passed out from exhaustion or maybe it was alcohol poisoning.

But we never blogged about Neuticles.

And then the universe went and pulled a fast one on us. Here's how it went:

Kurt: I wonder what we can blog about today?
Hattori Hanzo: Well we can't do Yetis again. 
Kurt: I know. And I can't do another blog where it's just you and I talking because that is played out.**
Hattori Hanzo: I know.
Kurt: Hey, what's this email from Moonkee about?
Hattori Hanzo: Neuticles. You know. The fake pet testicular implants that insure your pet still feels like a man after having his real ones removed, even though they are dogs and cats and not men at all.
Kurt: Right. We shoulda blogged about that. Let's check it out.
(*follows link*)
Kurt: Oh my God. There's a hat.
Hattori Hanzo: Screw that. There's a BBQ Apron.


Kurt: Hahaha. Wait...what?
Hattori Hanzo: A BBQ Apron.
Kurt: For phony dog testicles.
Hattori Hanzo: Yep.
Kurt: That would go in your dog.
Hattori Hanzo: Yep.
Kurt: In your dog's ballsack.
Hattori Hanzo: Yep.
Kurt: Do they understand what the implication is  about what you might be grilling if you wear that?
Hattori Hanzo: I'm sure.
Kurt: Hmm...
Hattori Hanzo: There are also earrings. And a necklace.
Kurt: Out of the way. I need to blog. RIGHT. NOW.
Hattori Hanzo: I love that you love your work.


* I'm not saying this is true, just that it should be. I've put the notion before the UN and I am hoping to have consensus in early 2010.  And by "put the notion before the UN" I mean "made obscene gestures at CSPAN and waggled my eyebrows."

**This is what we call a self-referential statement. If you didn't laugh it's because there's something wrong with you and not because it wasn't funny.  A recent poll*** of 100 single people said I was a handsome devil. Not relevant to this argument per se, but you can't argue with science.

*** Okay the 100 people were all my Mom, except for one was my brother and I asked him "Do you like tacos?" instead of "Mom, am I handsome?"

Thanks also to Jenny who started the whole sordid chain of events that led to this blog. 
Some day the world will thank you.

Friday, January 16, 2009

Introspection or "How Napping Trumps Joblessness"

I was going to write this whole thing about how being unemployed was liberating and Eff "The Man" anyway and I'm glad because now I can focus on my writing ,but it turns out the best thing about unemployment is the napping. So I didn't. 

I am very well-rested if nothing else. 

The thing is, I was truly feeling a little down about it but then the neighbor next door started playing Rap-Metal and then the bodies were hitting the floor and then I was annoyed and that kinda quenched my thirst for self-pity but renewed my interest in exacting righteous vengeance upon those bent on holding me down and then that song came on through the wall that starts off "OOO-WAH-AH-AH-AH" and I just decide things could be a lot worse. I could live next door.

And then I made a delicious sandwich and took another nap*.

Here. You may begin with the bodies hitting the floors now:



Did you listen past the "Ooo-Waa-Ah-Ah-Ah!" part? Why?


* This is totally untrue, I actually spent my afternoon writing resumes and faxing people important documents, and emailing potential somethings about possible opportunities and then I solved a crime and rescued a princess from the goblin fortress and then I had superpowers and I could fly and...Oh no wait...that was the nap. I totally did fax something though. And by "fax something" I mean "Ate some cake".**

**Note to potential employers: All the parts of this post where I am lazy , self-involved, and judgemental are UNTRUE and all the parts where I'm faxing documents and staying positive and other good stuff are TOTALLY TRUE. As for the superpowers, you'll just have to hire me and find out for yourself.

Thursday, January 15, 2009

How To Return Your Uterus For A Refund or Exchange For Any Other Organ


I was a big proponent of the plush uterus friend when it came out. I was all "Ha ha ha! It's a uterus! Only stuffed!" You could also get a liver, a heart, a pancreas, or lungs. But I didn't care about those. I wanted the uterus because I'm like 12 in my own head and the uterus is just a hop, skip and a jump away from the vagina, and if I had a pet one I would have all the opportunities in the world to work both words into my daily conversations, and that is the gift that keeps on giving. 

Except now there is a safety recall on the uterus because some dumb kid choked on an ovary or something and ruined it for the rest of us. I would mention all the funny quotes in the recall notice like "If the plush uterus is being used by a young child, please remove it immediately" or "for information on how to return your uterus for a refund or exchange for any other organ" but that would take all the joy of discovery away from you, Dear Reader. And I am all about giving back to the community. Like the time I raided the Salvation Army Drop box for a new sweater and sorta shoved the rest back in when I found a cool Spongebob action figure instead.

Some people think I'm a saint. I totally get that.


On Being a Fancy Gentleman

I've been thinking about violence a lot lately. What? Don't look at me like that. Not "violence unto others" per se, although that would totally be called for in some circumstances, especially when a particularly insensitive  senior manager tries to gain my sympathy for how very nervous and out-of-sorts everyone at the jobsite is due to the possible impending rash of layoffs, only moments after telling me that I , in fact, would not be struggling with these feelings because I was no longer employed. He deserved some violence. But I'm bigger than that. 

Maybe. 

No. What I've been thinking about is violence that is gentlemanly. Like dueling. That was a good tradition. No one was ever humiliated by dueling. No one ever said "That pussy. He DIED after he was shot." More likely is, if you lose a duel AND you live, you are generally considered more badass than before. If you lose a pub brawl you end up looking stupid and people are all "Man, that chick totally cleaned your clock, Kurt."  and then you're all "Yeah, but she cheated because she had little fists and everyone knows those are harder to dodge and also that peg-leg was deceptively stable." I'm speaking rhetorically of course, but she totally WAS a bitch.*

And fisticuffs. How awesome was THAT? You get to stand there in a totally awkward and unguarded stance and just take turns punching each other in the face. That's like a good Saturday night most places below the Mason-Dixon line I'm told.** And by "told" I mean "I just made that up in my head" and for that matter I'm not sure where the Mason-Dixon line even is, and part of me thinks Virginia is involved, but now I can't remember which side of the Civil War they were on, except wasn't Richmond the capital of the Confederacy?*** Plus, you looked totally boss when you were in your face-punching pose. I think that makes my argument for me.


Look how cool this guy looks! Nice hat! Great Moustache! 


So, to wrap this up. Where the hell is Virginia and I would rather be shot and live, then beat up by a cheating peglegged hooker who doesn't take Canadian change from my car with coffee spilled on it despite the fact that up until recently Canadian money was worth more but isn't anymore and who knew hookers kept track of exchange rates in the first place? 




*Hattori Hanzo has just reminded me that I have never been in a fight in my whole life as I am not a proponent of violence of any sort and am a pacifist. Also, I'm totally weak and would get my ass handed to me, even by fictional hookers, so really non-violence is the right belief system for me.

**This is probably completely untrue but it's my blog so you have a choice, you can believe a ravishingly handsome, genius scalliwag or you can go on being uninformed. Don't hate the player, hate the game.

***The reader should notice my blatant disregard for fact (and spell!) checking and keep that in the back of their mind when reading this blog. All I really know about the Civil War was that I live in New York and we won. Go team. 

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

Yeti Voodoo and Snow Bears Explained

I get outside and the cold air flies up my nose and instantly freezes my brain. Only not. And the first thing I think of is that scene from "The Day After Tomorrow" where the flag freezes mid-wave because the homicidal weather is out to kill the world and then all the people it touches die. And then I think about how, if I freeze solid, scientists from the future will one day thaw my brain and using their space technology they'll scan my cerebral cortex and see that the last thing I thought of before folding myself in the icy shroud of eternal slumber was a crappy Roland Emmerich film, so instantly I try to think of something of higher quality and of course I land on "Shaun of the Dead" before deciding that future scientists and just go get bent if they're going to be all judgmental.

"DAD! What are you doing? Please warm the car up!"

I look at my kids scowling at me from the porch and realize I've been standing in the drive thinking about bad movies instead of addressing the actual reason for coming outside. Of course, I decide that it isn't that my mind is becoming increasingly more distracted these days but rather that somehow I have fallen under some kind of Yeti voodoo spell. I can see the Yeti King far off in their secret kingdom in the Himalayas (which I totally pronounce "Him-ALL-yuz" instead of "Him-a-lay-uz" because it sounds fancier), his beautiful white fur blown about dramatically in a frigid Asiatic breeze, sitting atop his snow bear* and poking a figurine of me with an elk fang. The Yeti King has a black pirate eye-patch over his right eye, but I don't know why. He's howling like Chewbacca because he thinks I stole the last Yeti Egg**

"Dad! Seriously!"




*Hattori Hanzo wanted me to point out that Snow Bears are better known by their common name "Polar Bears" but they only live near the North Pole and not the South at all, and that's racist, so we call them Snow Bears because they always live near snow except when they are living at the zoo and you can't blame them for that.


** Scientists are unsure why Yetis come from eggs as they, by all other accounts, appear to be mammals. Their taxonomy continues to baffle the scientific community as all major research into Yeti physiology has led to gruesome voodoo-related deaths. Also, they are pretend.

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

Righteous Fury!

When they finally catch me after a car chase rivaling the one from The Blues Brothers only with more jumps, they will bring me in front of the judge and he will be all "Dude? Why? Why did you exact righteous fury on your first-born child?" ( I know most judges don't say "dude" but this one totally does because he's cool and from California and did his judge internship* interpreting surf law. I'm just guessing. My knowledge of the legal system is limited, although extensive.) And then I will say " Wet Towels, your highness." and then he will cock his head to one side like dogs do when they hear a funny sound and I will be forced to elaborate.

It's not as though I've never asked her to hang up her wet towels after her shower. In fact, I even made a point of not bitching because she has to use 2 towels with every shower. I just figure she's a girl and you people do that even though your bodies are smaller and for some reason probably involving stuff the commercials never talk about for feminine hygiene you NEED to have a second towel. Fine. Like I said, I'm not complaining. But hang them up for the love of God! I would rather some thug sneak into my bedroom in the middle of the night, sit on my chest, and put spiders under my eyelids** then find a pile of wet towels under her bed a week after they were used.

It's like she's trying to grow that mold that takes over your lungs and turns you into an exploding zombie or whatever that stuff was on Dateline that one time where they had to knock the whole house down wearing the suits from E.T. on account of mold. I don't need that. I don't need an exploding zombie for a daughter. She ought to just...you know... hang them up. That's all she needs to do TO SAVE HER LIFE.

So once the judge hears my explanation he'll be all "Well I don't think we even need a jury for this one. Not Guilty!" and then my lawyer will lean over and cover the microphone because I love that scene from The Godfather II, and he'll say "You don't understand due process at all, do you?" And then I will scissorkick him in the face.

Case closed.



* A judge internship is something they only do in So-Cal, so don't get all "There's no such thing as a judge internship and what is "surf law" for that matter?" because you will go directly to the top of the scissorkick list.

** Not true. Hattori Hanzo tells me that if anyone tries to put spiders under my eyelids that WOULD be the worst thing ever, and I ought to look at that as a much more egregious crime. Thanks, Hattori Hanzo!

Monday, January 12, 2009

Mondays With Hattori (Which Sounds like "Tuesday With Morrie" and is a Famous Book)

I've been debating with the voice in my head that maybe this whole layoff thing is a good idea because maybe it's about time I pick myself up and start doing something productive with my life instead of just collecting a paycheck. The voice then points out that I will definitely be released from THAT burden momentarily, and is being highly unhelpful so I've decided to rename him "Darth Vader". I figure it'll be good to have a name to go along with the voice as I will be spending a lot more time talking to him in the coming weeks. Here's how our conversations go:

Kurt: So I think this might be the opportunity I've been waiting for to really focus on my writing.
Darth Vader: Yeah. That sounds like a great idea. Better yet, instead of becoming a writer, why not try to be a magical pony that can leap Gumdrop Mountain in a single bound. 
Kurt: That's not very helpful.
Darth Vader: Your MOM isn't very helpful!

It goes on like this for a while. But you get the drift. He pretty much sits on my head all the time and tells me I'm an idiot. He doesn't have the mechanical breathing noise of Darth Vader though, so maybe I should rename him. Han Solo? Verbal Kint? Hattori Hanzo? THAT'S IT!

Kurt: I've decided to call you 'Hattori Hanso".
Hattori Hanzo: After the famous samurai* or the sword maker from Kill Bill?
Kurt: The guy from Kill Bill. We both know I looked up the spelling of "Hattori Hanzo" and learned he was a real guy, so there's no use trying to play it off like we're all steeped in knowledge about feudal Japanese culture from the Sengoku Period.
Hattori Hanzo: But I don't even sound Japanese.
Kurt: That's rascist. What do you mean "sound Japanese"?
Hattori Hanzo: You know. Like Mr. Miyagi.
Kurt: No. You sound like me, not Mr. Miyagi.
Hattori Hanzo: So why not call me something Anglo-? Like "Dirk Fiddler" or "Charlie Bongwater".
Kurt: Because, as we both know, I secretly wish I was Japanese.
Hattori Hanzo: So what? I have to suffer?
Kurt: You're hardly "suffering".
Hattori Hanzo: Why do you secretly** wish you were Japanese.
Kurt: Because their culture is so cool. It's all "aaahhhh!" and "honor" and "megazord" all the time. Also, ninjas.
Hattori Hanzo: Good point. I forgot about the ninjas.
Kurt: You're not very representative of me or my wishful Japaneseness if you forgot about ninjas.
Hattori Hanzo: Sorry.
Kurt: That's okay. So... I think this is a pretty good reconstruction of what our conversations sound like.
Hattori Hanzo:  Try to wrap it up with a zinger.
Kurt: Your MOM wraps it up with a zinger!
Hattori Hanzo: That's rascist.

The End.

* I didn't really think this. I just wrote it for plot exposition, for anyone reading who might not be familiar. Customer Service is job one when you're trying to be a magical pony writer.

** This now qualifies as "the worst kept secret ever". And in my head Hatori Hanzo just said "Your MOM is the worst kept secret ever!" so you see what I have to deal with all the time? I deserve a medal.

Saturday, January 10, 2009

Diner

Got final word that I will be unemployed soon, so I did what any zombie-loving, red blooded American would do. I self-medicated. With pancakes. I don't know why they help but they do. Maybe it's all the sugars or maybe they remind me of home, but whatever the case I knew as soon as I heard the words, I was destined for some serious flapjacks.

The diner is jumping when we get there. Already the mat at the entrance has taken on water and squishes out thick puddles around my boots as I step on it. The waitresses weave past the octagonal, glass, pie rotisserie and the giant whiteboard that leans flirtatiously against the wall and displays the 30 or 40 different specials. The booths are cluttered with humanity of the best sorts. Fat,old men in suspenders sit across from each other and nurse the same black coffees they've been drinking here for three decades. The young families of the Low-Middle sit in Nascar jackets and quietly seeth at their children to stop behaving like animals. An old man and woman  sit across from each other in silence. She wears a dress, as this is their night out. Her hair, coiffed into a beautifully-dyed beehive.  We follow the young, buxom and thoroughly harried waitress to our booth, which is still wet from the light-speed mopping it just got. She assures us it's clean. I assure her it doesn't matter.  We order.

This place. It's breathing. The humanity of it radiates outward,from the old cash register to the bad paneling. The cooks bark at one another and the fish fries, in their styrofoam cocoons, pile up under the heat lamps as burly men in long coats stomp the snow off their boots and tromp over to the bar to collect their pick-up dinners.  A baby yowls at some injustice, and a couple of cops drink their coffee and watch CNN. I know half the faces here. It is real and tactile and good. This is maybe what I needed more than the pancakes. To be awash in my fellow man and to breath the same air as a hundred others and to know that no matter what my hardship, I am one of many.  Our food arrives.

"How are your sadcakes, Daddy?" She asks.
'They're delicious.", I say.
"At least now you'll be able to spend more time with us.", He says
" 'At least' are the wrong words. More like...'Finally.' or 'Thank Goodness'.", I say

He  smiles up at me and asks me to cut up his dinner for him. He's ordered pancakes too.

He wants to be just like me.

Friday, January 9, 2009

The Other Day I said 'Thug Life' and My Daughter Didn't Know What I Was Talking About Because I Raised Her Right

"You are receiving this message because your work location is listed as 1-11-KM (Flr-Bldg-Plt) in KNAB.

(Flr-BldgPlt) : 1-11-KM

A bag of money was found in our mail room week 50 of last year. If you have lost it please let me know for we can return it to you. You will need to identify the bag and contents."

Wait...what?

Someone lost a bag of money? Who was it? Some cartoon bankrobber? When I saw this message in my inbox this morning all I could picture was a huge burlap sack with a "$" on the front of it, dropped by some guy in a lone ranger mask, a black and white striped shirt, and black tights. And he would walk on his tip-toes and it would make that tinkling "dit-a-dit-a-dit" sound like Samantha's nose on "Bewitched".  

It bewilders me that people would still keep money in bags. Haven't they heard? The economy is exploding. We're all doomed to fire and brimstone and social services and paying our rent with blood and eating feral dogs in the street. (It was just on CNN. Go ahead...Look it up.) Even our new President-Elect, who is totally MADE OUT OF HOPE can't stem the tide. Keeping money in bags might subvert the collapse of every bank ever, as it is being reported will happen like....tomorrow, but it is still volatile stuff and could blow up at any minute so you'd be better keeping it in an air tight container where it won't react with the REALLY GREAT DEPRESSION that's polluting our nation's air and will subsequently BLOW UP YOUR WHOLE LIFE!

I could totally describe it by the way, if I had to. I'd be all "It's a burlap sack with a "$" on the front and it's filled with money" and then I would hand them my fake ID and they'd be all "Oh! You're right! Here's your sack full of cash Mr. Hardbody!" and then I would snicker and they would ask why I was snickering, and then I would kick them in the junk and run away with the sack of money over my shoulder and a trail of hundred dollar bills fluttering out behind me. 

It's like...the perfect crime.

Thursday, January 8, 2009

Dispelling the Whole "Evil Twin" Mythos You've Built Around Me

So I'm walking into work this morning next to this guy I don't know. He's got sandy hair that's being rumpled by the wind and has his hands snuggled into the deep pockets of his Carhartt jacket, which always makes me think of deer hide for some reason. He's almost exactly the same height and build as me and has blue eyes and a blond goatee. We're walking side by side, when it occurs to me that to an outside observer I would totally look like the evil twin. Dark hair, darkish eyes, dark glasses, black sweater, black coat, black shoes. Jesus, I might as well be rubbing my hands together and cackling about how you'll never stop me, or that I'll deal with your Rebel friends soon enough. (and I would totally roll the "r" in "Rebel" because that's the only way to get promoted to "Grand Moff" which sounds like "muff" and makes me giggle.)

I am SOO not the evil twin. I do non-evil twin stuff all the time. Like spiders. I hate those creepy bastards, but I always catch them with the ol' cup and sheet of paper trick. And then I put them outside where they are free to freeze to death, but that's not my fault it's God's for not giving them wool. And I've never tried to pass myself off as the good twin while tricking the authorities into believing that HE was the one who killed our parents and is now safely locked away in a mental facility upstate claiming he is innocent. He would of course, try to escape and vindicate himself, but the only way to do that is to lower himself to new types of depravity that would allow us to switch places, effectively making HIM the evil twin, while I spend my life trying to atone for killing my parents and framing my brother, making ME the good twin, albeit only in the present sense.  My point is, that never happened. 

Also, I've never tried to stab anyone. Not hard anyway(s).

So as I'm walking next to this guy and wondering if anyone is assuming I'm his evil twin and if maybe I should say something to him about how I'm...you know... not even related to him, so the idea that I'm his evil twin is just ridiculous, he slips and falls on an ice patch. 

And I totally helped him up. 

Your witness.

Note: Grand Muff Tarkin's twin? Also evil.


Wednesday, January 7, 2009

Wednesday is Spelled Weird So I Guess I Should Have Seen This Coming

I'm having a weird morning and it all started when I went outside and realized the stuff coming out of the sky was not rain or snow or sleet or hail, but rather, slush. Now I am not particularly a fan of slush in it's normal state, which is sitting there on the pavement trying to find a way into my boot. I am especially unhappy when it is falling out of the sky and down the back of my jacket so that my spine feels like it is being licked by a rapidly thawing, frozen peach. 

Now the goofy thing is, my boots, which normally prevent any kind of slush-related weather incident from being an issue, also decided that today was the day to stop functioning as expected. They kept the slush out, but every third or fourth step I took, one of them would go shooting off in a weird kind of half-slip, so that it looked like I was having a wicked case of The Spasms. I don't know what I did to inspire such treachery. I mean... it would be one thing if only one boot was acting wonky so I could blame it on uneven wearing of the soles or something*. But it was both of them... just shooting off in the wrong direction at random intervals. How come they didn't both do it at the same time? Why today? Is this all slush-related?

Fucking slush.

When I got into work, as I walked back to my lab I didn't pass a single person that I knew. What's more, the people that I did see I didn't recognize. It's not that big of a company.I can chalk a certain amount of it to the fact that most people here are pasty, paunchy men without facial hair. I mean... they all look pretty much the same. But to not recognize *anyone*? That's messed up. It's like they are all playing an elaborate prank on me, or perpetrating some sort of hoax. I was tempted to walk up to one of them and try unmasking them, Scooby-Doo style. I'd be all "Let's see who the real Slush Imposter is!" and then I would pull off the mask and all the people who had gathered around me would say in unison "Mr. Pringle!" and then he'd be all "And I would have got away with it too, if it weren't for you pesky kids!" and then I realize I'm only one person and not "kids" and that if I try pulling anyone's face off, I'm liable to get punched, so instead I just went back to my lab and drank some tea, because this day is just too fucking weird.

The End.


* It should be noted that if I noticed the soles of my boots wearing unevenly I would automatically assume that I was gaining superstrength in my calf muscles and would then go about trying to enroll in various Justice League / SuperFriend-type outfits. I would be The Incredible Calf and I would thwart badguys by running up to them really fast and grabbing them with my signature scissorkick move.  And then I would get cocky and be captured by a Super-villian who would point out that "The Incredible Calf" sounds like a veal dish and then I would get depressed and start drinking and I would be that weird guy at the corner of the bar opening imported beer bottles with his freakishly large calves and that would be sad. So it's a good thing my boots aren't worn unevenly.

Tuesday, January 6, 2009

I Am Not A Manimal!


I'm trying to craft a clever letter to my employer  that will properly convey my desire to not be unemployed. It's a fine line I'm walking here. If I make it too whiney then they'll be all "Pfft. Jackass thinks he's entitled to something." If I make it too desperate, they'll be all "Ha-ha-ha! Hey guys! Check this poor sap out!". If I make it too threatening, they'll be all "Call Security." So like I said... it's a fine line. Here's what I have so far:

***
Darling Fascist Bullyboys:
Hey! Remember that show about 20 years ago called "Manimal"? It was about a guy that could turn into different animals and he would travel around solving crimes and getting into adventures. It was really awful. I mean...it was even worse than it sounds, plus that name alone is grounds for summary execution at the hands of some TV studio exec. "Manimal"? Really?  That's just awful. Anyway, my point is "Manimal" was canceled after just 8 episodes because it sucked so bad, and that came as a surprise to no one, especially my father who I remember saying about the show "This sucks balls." I don't want to be a "Manimal". That is why you should keep me on.

Unlike Jonathan Chase, the main character on the show, I am fully capable of completing all the required tasks you assign me without the supernatural ability to change into an animal. I mean... sure, I'd like to be able to do that. Don't get me wrong. Who wouldn't? When changing out the ECS unit, who wouldn't want to be able to transmogrify into a gorilla. Those things are heavy, especially when they are full of water and besides you're already hung over so who needs that hassle. Also, I wouldn't mind being able to turn into a water moccasin so that I could lie in wait in a dark corner and when Doug K. comes in to talk to me about his dog, or the moon, or how his leg is healing, I could bite him square on the foot, delivering 2 oz of deadly neurotoxin through my 2 inch fangs. That would shut him up. (I'm not saying I want any harm to befall Doug, I know for a fact that the local hospitals keep a supply of antivenin on hand for the water moccasin, because as you may be aware this area is home to the Mississauga Rattlesnake.) As you can see, I am full of many useful facts about snake bites. Are you sure you want to let me go?

In conclusion, you'd have to be an asshole to fire me. I know none of you are that, so don't be the first to become one. Keep me around for a while longer and you will find that the benefits of having me close by greatly outweigh the general feeling of apprehension that you will all feel knowing that I am out there...somewhere... disgruntled and trying desperately to turn into a poisonous snake.  That' s not a threat. Unless you think it is.

Love,
Kurt

ps: Fun Fact!-The studio executives that cancelled Manimal were dragged off into the woods by some unknown force and eaten alive. 

***

I think this may need some touching up.




Monday, January 5, 2009

This Ended Up Being About Midget Snuffing, So I'm Sorry

So I'm sitting on the couch and reading Teen Vogue when it suddenly occurs to me that "Holy Shit! I'm reading Teen-Fucking-Vogue*!!" and then I instinctively look around the room to see who has caught me, and then I remember that I'm home alone so no one is catching me .The shame, however, is omnipresent... so there's no way I can hide from THAT.  

The thing is... if you leave a magazine lying around my house, I WILL read it. It doesn't matter one snit that the magazine in question is rooted firmly in the mythos of teenage angst and will properly instruct me on how to balance my look between preppy and punky. I'll devour it with the same zeal as I would a magazine about ninjas or pirates. (or ninjas BATTLING pirates...or hobos or vikings or zombies or robots or geology) If it is on the coffee table when I sit down, I'll read it. 

This worries me.

What if someone sneaks into my house and leaves child pornography or a magazine about midget snuffing (not sure about that being a real thing...but it might be.**) laying there for me to see? Am I a child pornographist or a midget snuffer if I've accidentily picked up a magazine thinking it was Teen Vogue and that I am about to read another lengthy article on the excellence of Robert Pattinson's portrayal of Edward in "Twilight", but rather find myself pornographizing***? Is that indictable? 

I just wanted to know what my spring colors would be, goddamnit!

Then I get to thinking about this whole midget snuffing phenomena I've been hearing so much about lately in my head, and then I remember that they like being called "little people" but "Little people Snuffing" is a misnomer because you might think it's for perverts who are into snuffing people in small quantities and not snuffing people of diminitive stature, and well...we can't have that. If I'm going to go around inventing fucked up shit, I won't have people misinterpreting me. I can't even begin to imagine how you only snuff a person "a little". That's ridiculous. "Snuff" is an action verb! Either they are snuffed or they are unsnuffed. You can't qualify that shit. If anything it would be"attempted snuffery". 

I have now permanently associated "Teen Vogue" with midget snuffing in your mind. You're welcome.



*"Teen Fucking Vogue" WOULD be child pornography so I think I've made an excellent case for how easy this mistake would be to make. Your witness.

** I googled "midget snuffing" and it came back with 963 results, none of which were pornographic but merely coincidental usages of the words "snuffing" and "midget" in the same sentence. When you think about it though, that's a pretty odd coincidence and maybe a lot more people have a hidden desire to see midget snuffing (whatever that actually means). Once I'm unemployed I intend to look into this phenomena in greater detail. 

*** "pornography" is one of the few words that sounds great with ANY suffix, so I was trying out a few new ones. It is also awesome because of the boobies. But that's not what this post is about.