Monday, June 29, 2015

Naked Levitation

A spiritualist from San Francisco, wanted to discover an experience she could partake in that was completely devoid of inanimate objects.
She searched the world.
Seeking true purity.
She swam with Turtles in the Galápagos Islands.
But her bathing suit was an inanimate object.
She ran with elephants in the Sahara. 
But her boots were inanimate objects. 
So she went back to both and did them naked.
But it turns out both water and land themselves are inanimate objects.
And the tough Sahara ground had given her feet some awful blisters. 
And, yep bandaids, even more inanimate objects.
She was distraught, crestfallen even.
Years passed slowly as she failed to come up with answers. 
But then she had a brain wave.
After her feet had finally healed, she went into a deep period of intense meditation.
She studied and practiced and learned and studied.
It took twenty five years of non-stop dedication.
But she did it.
She learned to levitate. 

It was time.
She stripped off her clothes, and using all the will and strength she had saved and built over twenty five years she closed her eyes, tensed her muscles and her soul, and slowly yet gently she lifted off the ground.
She was now the first person in history to have had an experience devoid of inanimate objects! 

The effort took a huge toll on her physically. 
Upon landing she immediately passed out and fell into a deep coma that was to last several years. 
This was lucky for her in a way.
For it was only weeks later when the photos that had been taken of her amazing feat had gone well and truly viral was it pointed out...
that she'd forgotten to take her watch off.

Have you tried burning incense?

Jamie walked into a new age meditation and spiritualism store in He hipster section of town, trying to find the right incense scent for him.

He wandered past the books on buddism and witchcraft and found the incense section and began to browse.
'Let's see, what have we got here, vanilla - what in the fuck. VANILLA! 
Vanilla - so like oh yum ice-cream, what a lovely scent - till I get overwhelmed and try and eat it - and instead of cold deliciousness and get BURNED!

What if I run into someone I know, but not well, and so their name is right on the tip of my tongue, right where I'm burned, that will HURT!!! Vanilla? Get fucked!'

But Jamie was not ready to give up on incense just because one scent was poorly conceived 'let's see what else they have here' he said, before picking up a second stick

'Jasmine and Lavender, those are flowers, if I wanted my house to smell of flowers I'd go buy god damn flowers wouldn't I?'

You can't though can you 'for the wife'. No I'm single mr florist, you condescending ass! I don't have a girlfriend, a boyfriend or even a dog. I'm alone and lonely, thanks for reminding me you dick, who are you to fucking pry into people's fucking personal lives! You know why people first started giving people flowers don't you!!! Cause no one bathed, it was to cover up stink! Your job exists because of foul body odor, THINK ABOUT THAT FOR A WHILE MR JUDGMENTAL ASS!!!'

Jamie was beginning to get a tad annoyed. But he decided to try one more stick. 

'Frankincense and fucking Myrrh????! He screamed (these really are popular incense scents, I looked it up) people are gonna think
I have a Jesus complex - "look at Jamie, thinks he's Jesus. Oh look at the Jesus baby, thinks his moms a virgin and he's the king of the Jews, are you my king Jamie, do you needs me to wash your feet, let's get supper, oh touchy subject?' Jamie was sure his friends would say.

'God damn motherfucking kitchen appliance spinning damn ass bitch fucking stupid flag pole dumb fucking  incense scents!!!!!' He seriously bellowed at the stand!!! 

He was beginning to think that incense wasn't going to be as calming as his psychiatrist had lead him to believe.

Sunday, June 28, 2015

True Greatness

Here at David Tieck and his Fleeting Forever we like to celebrate greatness. For example I myself am great at many things, including but not limited to:
- Friendship.
- Getting popcorn bits stuck in my gums.
- Longing for things.
- Recognizing whether or not my diet is healthy.
- Wrapping trees in imaginary ski outfits.
- Knowing the PERFECT times to shout 'that's a smart as giving a bulldozer to a seahorse'.
- Reconstructive criticism. 
- Being the only person at a party not temped to steal the coffee table book on erotic bakery.
- Crime solving. 
- Being one of the prettiest men at an average looking man convention.
- Modesty.
- Truthful list making. 

But the thing with greatness is that for the most part you have to actively participate in something before you know for sure you are great at it. The problem of course is that this leaves out in the cold all of the things you're great at that you've never actually done. I don't think this fair.

I for example have never actively worked in the pursuit and capture of serial killers, but I'm great at it. 

Here are some of my basic instincts to solving one of these cases, things that even the best criminal minds working in law enforcement have probably never even thought of:

- I would assume at the start of my investigation that in most serial killer situations that the murderer is normally someone who knows the victim and has a vendetta against them or alternatively someone who doesn't know them at all. 
- This would allow me to narrow the field down to get to brass knuckles and attack the status quo with a fresh canvas.
- I mean the killer is probably rarely people who genuinely know and adore the victim, unless they can maintain that AND sadistic and psychotic fantasies - but in my experience most people aren't good at hiding their secret desires.
- I mean look at Tiger woods - he secretly wanted to be good at golf - but he couldn't keep it a secret, because golf courses aren't open at night. 
- BUT, even though it now seems obvious, Tiger Woods almost never turns out the be the killer.
- So I'd probably only accuse him on one in every twelve cases or so, that way he wouldn't get suspicious of me being suspicious of him. 
- Plus after accusing him of one of the killings, if by chance he got off, after the trial I would say 'hey any chance you get give me some pointers on my swing?' Even though I no longer actually play golf. That way he'd think we are now buddies and he'd quickly trust me again.
- If my boss would ever be like 'good work Murphy' 
I'd be like 'nah it's Dave, not Murphy' And they'd be like 'it is, we've been trying to figure out your name for months, but you solved it just like that, you're a true wizard'.
- But if Tiger Woods ever said to me 'Good work Murphy' 
I'd be like 'Thanks'.
That way if someone told him 'some guy named Dave was over collecting DNA samples' he wouldn't worry that it was the cops, cause he'd think I was named Murphy. 
- I'd mostly chase after series killers who weren't bald, because they leave more hair lying around.

Yep, I'm kick ass at solving crimes by serial killers. Great at it even. What are you great at that you've never tried? Just don't say 'giving bulldozers to seahorses' cause I tried that once, it turns out it's not smart! 

Saturday, June 27, 2015

Fear The Mailman

With a somber cloud sitting on his heart, Jarrad, a retail assistant in a small suburban book store, stared at an envelope. 

Now I should be clear, the envelope wasn't why he was somber. I don't want to give that impression at all. In setting the scene here I need to be clear. Because it could make perfect sense for a letter to give someone negative thought, I myself once felt morose over an envelope. And one time a postcard made me feel forlorn. It was from someone enjoying an exciting adventure that I wasn't getting to enjoy. How cruel, that's not what postcards were invented for. They're supposed to be for excuses to take photos of scantly clad people in front of famous monuments to remind people that beauty is subjective and comes in a variety of forms, and that if you think about it that means that you too are beautiful. So I don't mean at all to underestimate or undervalue the emotional power that a mere mailed selection of paper can wield, just that this was not the case here. 

In fact Jarrod was somber because of this conversation he'd just had with a co-worker. 

'Hey look, I store at a letter in a store'
'That's not a word you tool'
'Those are so all words' 
'No, 'store' isn't'
'Ha ha 'store' isn't a word? Then where are we working?' 
'No not that store the other store' 
'How can the same word be a word and also not be a word, don't be an idiot' 
'You 'stare' at something, you can't 'store' at it'
'It's a different tense, you 'stare' at it in the present, but you 'store' at it in the past'
'No, you 'stared' at it in the past'. 
'So you're telling me, that if I go over to the dictionary section which we still have even though people just use their phone dictionaries, that the word 'store' won't be in there?'
'It'll fucking be in there, but it won't have the definition you desire'
'But it'll be in there. I win'
'You weren't even fucking talking past tense by the way, you were currently looking at the letter, present tense'
'Look I was just making a pun for fucks sake, I was trying to be funny, even though the reading of books has entertained billions of people for hundreds of years, and given people some of the most pleasurable experiences of their lives, people these days will actually BRAG that they don't read 'so look how cool I am, I purposely avoid one of the most consistently enjoyable experiences human beings have ever discovered', so no one comes in here anymore, so I'm trying to be funny to pass the fucking time ok'
'You're not funny Jarrod, don't know how you ever thought you were'. 

That's why he was somber. Not because of the letter, are we clear? Ok good. So then he opened the envelope. 

The envelope contained a letter from his girlfriend saying that she was cheating on him with his best friend and they were pregnant, and the conception had happened in his bed, and that she'd been lying, she actually never washed the sheets, and that she did actually find the mole on his nose off putting, so much so that when she wanted to get out of work she'd just think about that and her boss would always say 'hey Lizza, you look sick, do you want to go home' and that yes all this time he'd been calling her 'Lisa' when her name was actually 'Lizza' and that's why her friends always found him funny, 'because they're laughing at you right in your face'. 

Ok, now he was somber for TWO reasons. In fact he may have even been a tad 'miffed'. Jarrod wasn't having such a fun day. 

Sadly things were only about to get worse. Deeper in that mail pile was a postcard. From someone enjoying an adventure he was not. Those bastards. 

Friday, June 26, 2015

Reconstructive Criticism

Reconstructive criticism

Let's face it, giving constructive criticism is one of the great joys in life. I mean who among us has not been in the dentist chair and stopped your dentist mid tooth and told them - you're too gentle, if you don't really make me bleed I won't get the message that I need to take better care of my teeth, now make those gums pour please.

Or been on a the soccer field and told an opposition player - if you really want to get me sent off don't just pretend I hurt you, firstly punch me really hard in the balls, that way you'll be on the ground, I'll have rage in my eyes and he referee will assume I've done something awful. 

Or told your boss at work - you should set up smell detectors in the bathroom to make sure people are really going, that way I'll have to take dangerous levels of laxatives to continue having regular hour long breaks on the toilet.

Or told your hang gliding instructor - let me fall once or twice, if by some miracle I live you wont ever have to do the weekly safety talk again. 

Or told your bully - after you beat me I go and around the corner and cry over the physical and emotional damage you've done me, come get a photo and show it around, then I'll be completely destroyed way quicker so you can really focus on finishing off my fellow wimps.

It's awesome. But I know what you're thinking, while these efforts are all selfless, generous and helpful, they all have a tiny flaw - that's right, you really hurt the other persons feelings. Which is something no one likes doing. Because no one wants to find out they haven't been the best dentist, immoral sportsman, boss, hang gliding instructor or bully they're capable of. 

That's why I want to invent reconstructive criticism - that's criticism that's constructive yes, but honest and brutal also yes, but then has a tacked on compliment at the end. 

Take the above criticisms and tack on these complimentary highlights to them. 
- it's not like I don't hurt at all, I mean one time I even fantasized about screaming 'OOOUUUCCHHH', so keep on dentisting.
- By the way, one of the times you pretended I hurt you, you were so realistic that I had to sleep with your sister in revenge, keep on cheating.
- Sometimes when I'm at home and I have horrible diarrhea I think of you, keep up the bossing.
- Plus if I die it'll let you remember that there's more to life than this practically dead sport you've dedicated your life to, keep on strapping yourself to people! 
- You've hurt me physiologically so much that I had you registered as a sex offender, keep up the brutal soul destruction.

There, now doesn't everyone feel good. 

Thursday, June 25, 2015


Cameron, a tuxedo salesman, was on his way to a lavish affair.
The invite said ‘black tie optional’.
He opted for yes.

At the party Cameron studied the other men’s outfits and took great delight in wearing what he was sure was the best-fitted tuxedo worn by any man there.
His expertise, his excellence, his mastery of the fit, was finally going to pay dividends.
Surely he would be a hit with the ladies. 

He was right too.
In fact six different women formed crushes on him at first sight. 
He truly was the master of the fit. 

However every one of them saw the way Cameron was studying the way the other men were attired and assumed he was gay.
A guy in a cheap ill fitted rental was the one who ended up shagging the swimsuit model.

Tuesday, June 23, 2015

A Magic Poem

'You need to work on your misdirection' said the master magician to his young apprentices mannequin filed pants, which had successfully fooled his master. 

Meanwhile his apprentice was stuck in the woods outside his masters not yet looted house, unable to circumnavigate the magicians sensor lights. 


‘All the decent mega-mansions are in really boring neighborhoods’ said the sad billionaire with tears in his eyes.

‘Why can’t I just find a nice twenty bedroom plus place, with more than one pool, a full sized cinema, a banquet room, tennis courts in more than one surface, and a side pool house bigger than most upper middle-class people could ever dream of owning, that I will personally use to store all the art I own by household name known renaissance masters, that I don’t currently feel like looking at, in a neighborhood with nice restaurants, theaters, bars and a twenty four hour convenience store?’ He practically pleaded, now with tears streaming down his face.

He then pulled himself together, dabbed his eyes dry with hundred dollar bills, and went to sleep in a bed so big that both of his teenage mistresses were able to find space beyond his reach.

Monday, June 22, 2015

Heroic Teachings

As a comedian I'm not always all that serious. I like to take the piss. Make fun of stuff. Have a few laughs. Use my heightened wit to cruelly undermine the confidence of innocents. That's the job. 

But not today, I want to talk about something serious today. I was talking to an old school friend the other day. Clive. And he has a problem that he needed help with, it was weighing him down and making him feel foolish, and having put my mind to it, and heroically helped solve his dilemma, I thought perhaps I should help anyone here with a similar problem.

Oh by the way, Clive goes by the name chewbucca these days. Join the rebel alliance and you get all fancy apparently. But he was a good friend at school. Clive used to be really self-conscious about his voice, but I was the one that told him to listen out for people saying things like:

- I feel sick, I don't even know how to put it into words. 
- The weathers so 'blah' I don't even know how to describe it. Or 
- I think I'm about to get my period, I want to yell but I don't know WHAT to yell. 

And if he heard any of those said he should jump out and let off one of his trademark yawny bear roars. And every-time he'd get a laugh, sometimes people would even hug him and say 'yes, you nailed it Clive!' Which admittedly reminded him of how some of his family had been tortured, slaughtered and sometimes crucified by the Sith, but he said it was worth it for the laughs. 

In return, knowing I hadn't started puberty yet like all the other boys,  he'd sometimes give me some of his hair to glue onto my completely naked pubis area so I didn't look like I was a freak who hadn't entered puberty yet, and instead I could pass for a well haired in the genitalia person with a freak tiny baby dick. 

Anyway, Chewy, as his mates call him these days, was upset, saying our other mate Han, was making fun of him because his bowcaster blaster gun was dirty, and that he should probably wash it. And that's when Chewy broke down crying, and he told me 'I didn't even notice that it needed washing, in fact I NEVER know when it needs washing'.  

And before anyone fucking laughs at him, remember HE can smell an Ewok from 50 galactic miles, can you? No, we all have different skills ok. 

So, I'm not sure how many people here have the same problem of not knowing when your blasters need to be washed, I'm guessing maybe half, so here is a handy guide to tell if your personal bowcaster blaster or phase blaster needs to be cleaned: 

- It's really old. I'm telling you guys you may think 'my bowcasters old, I just want a new one' well no, it probably just needs scrubbing. It'll probably come up as good as new. Trust me. This actually works for grandparents too, fun fact, a few years ago I was going to trade my grandmother in for a younger model, but instead I decided to scrub her instead, she's been amazing since, now goes by the name Scarlett Johansson. 

- It was given to you by a friend who's known for giving gifts jammed up with gum. I'm not sure if you have friends like this, but I personally love to buy friends weapons and just jam them up with gum. Then suddenly you're out and a droid army attacks and your buddy goes to shoot and his phaser blows up in his hands! Ha ha ha. It's hilarious. HA HA HA. But, BUT this is important, I only do this to friends who I know will be hanging out with Jedi Knights guaranteed to save the day. If you personally aren't regularly in the company of Jedi then just clean your weapon. In fact do it anyways, give your Jedi buddy a break. 

- It's currently submerged in mud riddled swamp. Look I know what you're thinking, this is amazing laser technology and a little mud surely will not hurt. But think of this - what makes mud? Storms. What else do Storms make? That's right. Storm
troopers. If you think that's just a coincidence then you're utterly fooling yourself. 

- It looks dirty. 

- You've been letting kids play with it. They ALWAYS have sticky fingers. And sticky weapon can lead to a less fun battling experience, just think about how much less fun you'd have next time your defending a satellite dish that's destruction could ultimately lead to the complete annihilation of several entire planets, including those that hold everyone you love, now do you want a fun experience, or a sticky experience? 

- You've been playing with Luke's lightsaber even though he asked you not to. For a Jedi he is surprisingly petty and spiteful. 

- It smells bad. It might still work fine, but no one likes a stinky battle comrade. Here's a trick, submerge it in a bowl of good quality Greek yogurt, then rinse it off with Jawa blood, works every time. 

Alright guys. Get to work. Clean your bowcaster blaster or phase blasters if need be, if you need some Jawa blood in happy to go hunting with you, and yet still - you're an adult now, you should always keep Jawa blood in the house, and if not let's hit the Catinina, Saber Glow is playing tonight, and I'm told their new drummer is green! Ha ha. Can you believe that?  

Sunday, June 21, 2015

Profound Thoughts - A poem

'You can never ever see your own face' thought the small boy, one night while lying in his bed, looking up at a glow in the dark universe of stars stuck to his ceiling.
'Oh yes, in pictures, and reflections, but those are reversed, two dimensional, flawed'
'Ok, well if I scrunch my face up I can see the top of my cheeks. And I can see the tip of my nose'.
'And yes if I protrude my lips forward so I can see those. And my fully extended tongue is quite visible.'
'And of course I am an identical triplet, there are two other identical faces out there, in those rooms adjacent to mine'.
'And the three of us did just star in the latest 3D blockbuster where we got to see huge three dimensional version of ourselves and our identical brothers.'
'But other than that, I'll never see my own face'.
'Kind of weird'.
'Sort of profound'.
'Beautiful in a way'.
'Outward appearance may dominate much of my existence and yet I'll never truly know my own'
Just then a grizzly bear broke through his bedroom window and ate off his face.
Only his brothers were in the sequel.

Saturday, June 20, 2015

Inspiration - a poem

Scott was a novelist
One day he went to an art galley
Inspired by the experience, he decided to take a leaf out of visual artists books
And he hired a nude model to be his muse
The resulting novel was an abject failure
Yet countless other male novelists still felt the experiment warranted copying

Thursday, June 18, 2015

Free points

Eric, an insurance claim adjuster, was having a tough time adjusting to claims that he wasn't as good at tennis as he thought he was. 

'What do you mean?' He asked, when it was first mooted. 
'Look it doesn't matter, just I wouldn't boast about it so much, is all' replied Kevin, his regular tennis opponent, and recent recipient of a twenty minute reenactment of how Eric had recently pipped him for his third straight win'.
'No tell me, I'm dying to know, how is three straight wins not a sign of my burgeoning brilliance?'
'Well, let's just say that sometimes your serves go long and I call them in because it's more fun to have a rally than call double fault. And on that note, double faults are actually when you miss only two serves in a row, it's not "when you miss two it means you get only one more" like we've been playing, which I made up so you wouldn't just double fault almost every bloody point. Oh and technically you don't get twice the points for playing double-handled backhands, I just made that up because when you go one handed you ALWAYS hit it into the net. Oh and you know the rule where the first person on to the court that yells "honey-dew melon" gets to hit it within the doubles lines and have it still be in, that you always seem to manage to say first, that's technically not in the rule books. Oh and you know how I'm a left handed tennis player, have you noticed I'm right handed in every other way?'
'So basically you've just been bending all the rules this this whole time?'
'Well yeah'.
'So I'm playing with YOUR rules and STILL winning! THREE IN A ROW, THREE IN A ROW, THREE IN A ROW!'

Kevin, Eric's regular tennis opponent had just learned a valuable lesson, the 'free' six million dollars that he'd been able to steal from Eric's insurance company using information he'd slowly gotten off Eric over three months of tennis matches had turned out to come at a cost after all. 

Tuesday, June 16, 2015

The compliment

Malcolm, a plumber from San Jose, is a cumaugerous asshole. He was well aware of this and had no interest in changing, but since the growth in online review websites, he was discovering reviews for his work like this one:

'Excellent plumber, but he sure is a cumaugerous asshole'.

It was starting to affect his business. 

'Maybe I could TRY saying compliment to someone one day' he began to think from time to time. But he didn't know where to start. So he kept putting it off. And his work continued to slow. 

But then...

'Those are pretty shoes' he found himself saying one day, as he looked up at a lady whose sink he was working under.

'Where the hell did that come from' he thought 'who cares, you're doing it, just keep going'

'They're pink. Not sure if I've ever seen pink shoes before. Not that I pay much attention to ladies shoes, you know because of how stupid they are, not that you're stupid, just heels in general, you know because they look like they hurt, which is literally the opposite intended use of footwear, so that's stupid'

Malcolm's compliment had begun to go south. Which is a saying thats insulting to everyone who lives in the Southern Hemisphere, you know, just half the fucking world! (Depending on where India is?)

'You can do this Malcolm' he thought 'this is your first compliment, keep it going'.

'But brave too! Like it takes bravery to give into stereotypical ideals of beauty even when they are stupid. I couldn't do it. I'm too proud to do things just because they're popular, no matter how dumb and even painful they are. So good for you. And hey, I don't know, if you were ever afraid of minor, minor heights you seem to have gotten over it. And that would have been pathetic, so hey, no longer pathetic. I once got over a fear. I used to fear my fathers drunken beatings, but then one day I flung a beer bottle into his face. I felt guilty after though. Cause I threw it real hard, it smashed, and he lost his left eye. I ended up punishing myself for years after that. Is that what your doing? Did you ever take out one of your parents eyes and now you're punishing yourself with painful feat? That makes sense. Oh plus, I just realized, they're bright pink, which draws the eye away from your face, which is truly hideous!'

'Get out of my house' replied the lady. 

Malcolm packed up his stuff, and as he was leaving muttered 'Wow, that's bullshit, I'm never fucking being nice again'. 

When he got home he discovered that India is entirely in the Northern Hemisphere.

'And people wonder why I'm a cumaugerous asshole?' He thought. 

Monday, June 15, 2015

Two Friends

Two friends sat next to each other.

'I bet you'll get eaten out this morning' said one to the other one. 

'No I bet YOU'LL get eaten out this morning' said the other one to the first one. 

By the way, stop assuming something dirty ok. These friends happen to be nearly empty boxes of cereal ok. Not dirty at all. Clean your minds. 

They're boxes of cereal who happened to be owned by a guy who loves given oral sex to cardboard. 

Ohh, it's a double twist! 

Proof Of Hope And Happy Endings

'Oh no'
I thought as I was coming out of my evening slumber. 
I could feel it in my upper left temple.
It was coming.
It was imminent. 
It was horrible. 

A zit was brewing. 
And based on the size of the sore area this was going to be a monster. 

'Will it fit under a hat?' I pleaded.
But no, it was too far down my face.
'I could start leaving my fringe over my forehead?' I reasoned.
But no, I find that mildly annoying. 
It was hopeless. 

I was destined to be a stupid zit head once more. 
Left to scourge the dark alleys to hide my shame. 

But then.
Like a ray of brilliant warming light.
It basked upon me. 

'Oh that's right, late last night while trying to turn on the bathroom light, I friggin' head-butted the corner of the medicine cabinet'

It hurt a lot.
This isn't a zit growing. 
It's just a full on dong smashing my face into furniture bruise. 

And in that moment, my stupid bruised face said it all - hope is there for us all! 

Sunday, June 14, 2015

The Dangers of Ponytails

The dangers of ponytails 

I was sitting behind a guy on the train today. Because I don't discriminate when it comes to who I sit behind. Men, women, children, monkeys, I'll sit behind anyone. And judge them. Cause I'm a nice guy. 

This particularly guy had two specific things that I noticed. 

1. A t-shirt supporting the conservation boat The Sea Shepard. 
2. A long ponytail. 

The t-shirt had printed on the back the mission statement of the Sea Shepherd. 

Which read: 

Our mission is to end the destruction of habitat and slaughter of wildlife in the world’s oceans in order to conserve and protect ecosystems and species.

Although this guys ponytail happened to fall in a way completely covering up the words 'to end'. 

So to anyone reading it said:

Our mission is the destruction of habitat and slaughter of wildlife in the world’s oceans in order to conserve and protect ecosystems and species.

You ponytailed animal slaughtering asshole!!!

The point is clear - Yeah, ok, I'll admit it, if I was a professional goat herder then yes I WOULD be pissed that shepherds get all the respect, because that's bullshit, goats are WAY more temperamental than sheep - they'll eat a metal can if they find one for fuck sake, you ever see the hell a goat goes through shitting that out? So yeah, fuck off shepherds, plus why are there always monkeys on trains. 

Friday, June 12, 2015

Things I learned trying to think of Rhymes for Frosted Flakes

Cornflakes - they've been a staple of human existence for hundreds of years. They've been eaten by everyone from Kings to peasants, Princes and Paupers, and Presidents to people who didn't vote for that particular president and are bitter about it. They're tasty, and hearty, and value for money, and calling someone 'corny' originally meant that there were someone who made intelligent and well thought out breakfast cereal decisions.

It's no surprise that songwriters throughout the ages have, in a delicious bowl of Cornflakes, found a beautiful, inspirational and occasionally even erotic muse.

I'm talking about:

Cornflake Girl by Tori Amos
Flake Shake by Dr Dre
Orange Mornings By Cheap Trick
Crunch Mouth By Metallica
Box Of Love By the Bee Gees
Breakfast Romance By Dean Martin
Last Spoonful By The Beatles
Milk On Top By Miles Davis
Without My Bowl by Hank Williams
Deep In My Mouth by Bing Crosby
Overture For The Golden Crunchy Corn Flakes by Mozart

Yes Cornflakes, truly wonderful cereal, and extremely exceptional muse.

There's only one problem, I DONT LIKE CORNFLAKES. I actually prefer Frosted Flakes, cause Frosted Flakes are Cornflakes with frosted stuff, and that frosted stuff is yum.

But there are NO songs about Frosted Flakes. I get none of that joy of eating a cereal while listening to quality music inspired by that very same cereal that Cornflake eaters take for granted every morning. It's a miserable existence.

But I today, while attempting to remedy this situation, I believe I discovered why – it’s hard to think of good Rhymes for ‘Frosted Flakes’.

So here are things I learned while attempting to think of rhymes for Frosted Flakes:

- It's hard to think of rhymes for frosted flakes.
- 'Crusted Snake' is terrible.
- 'Moss Did Great' is ok.

Do you know any songs that were inspired by Frosted Flakes? Want to help me write one? We’ll turn the session into a world wide dominating rock band of extraordinary talent, skill and success if you want, only one rule, when we get to fill out our riders, we always write – NO Cornflakes.

Top Eleven Reasons I Love Butter Knives

11. They are arguably the best knife going around for the spreading of butter.
10. Yes, I know that’s controversial.
9. Yeah, I know, I agree - meat cleavers will typically get MORE butter on your croissant than a butter knife will.
8. Did I ever deny that?
7. That’s right, so you can suck on your friggin’ judgment.
6. I never fucking said that more butter isn’t better than less butter, of course it is, it’s fucking BUTTER, it’s seriously delicious.
5. Because a meat cleaver is hard to get into the tub THAT’s why.
4. Ok smart ass, yes I know about blocks of butter, but even if you do prefer a block of butter over a tub of butter, meat cleavers are also harder to control in terms of a butter distribution which most reflects your personal butter desires and predilections.
3. Croissant, dinner roll, plate of broccoli – I don’t friggin’ care what you’re fucking putting butter on, unless it’s the size of a cow, a butter knife will be BETTER than fucking meat cleaver in terms of delicate, dependable and superior butter distribution.
2. You know what? We may both be butter lovers, but you and I are NOT the same, and frankly I hope you friggin’.. just, you know expire, and hopefully from something completely unrelated to anything we have been discussing here, like blocked arteries, or having some form of huge cutting device imbedded in your head, you obtuse dick.
1. It’s easy to store a bunch of them in your cutlery draw.

That’s butter knives everybody, enjoy them today!