Showing posts with label glass. Show all posts
Showing posts with label glass. Show all posts

Friday, May 4, 2018

Signs your shirt would make a poor plane (Don’t read this naked; well bottom half naked is ok)

 Congratulations, you did it, you put on a shirt today (please ignore this congratulations if you have instead put on some different form of top side of body practical clothing option. For YOUR personal congratulations please wait for the appropriate blog to reach your beautiful eyes shortly, or longly, depending on your top side of body clothing choice of choice). 

But is it a good shirt? I don’t know. I can’t see it. But also, of course it is. Shirts are ace. I wear them frequently. Sometimes even when I’m asked instead to wear a spray of tiny cut up pieces of glass. Which is, at best, only my third favorite type of top side of body cover. 

So let’s just brass tax this bad boy out down to the facts Jackson - shirts are awesome. 

Yet. YET. Would this kick ass shirt your wearing have made it so close to the top if it had have taken on a different profession? 

Probably, right? If you’re good at stuff you’re probably good at other stuff too. Like I’m good at writing random made up words which don’t fit the gulupital nature of the current sentence. So it stands to reason that I’d also be great at hiding giraffes under air conditioning vents, right? So I’ll probably just do that one day, and be honored for my contributions in helping giraffes live in homes without paying market rent. 

Still, I’m here to tell you, it’s not ALWAYS the same deal with your shirts. 

The point is, obviously, that before you reassign your shirt to be an airplane, here are some signs that this shirt in particular may, shock horror, make a BAD airplane. 

1. None of the buttons hold the current Federal Aviation requirements in regards to jet-fuel. 

2. The sunglasses dangling off the v-neck are NOT aviators.

3. You ask for a lift to the airport and the response is anything other than 'fuck off, it's my ONE day off'. 

4. Less than 80% of its seats armrests host working headphone jacks. 

5. If you spill poop on it, it doesn’t just suck it into the engine with a mighty force that seems to come from as deep as hell and then spray it all over the Atlantic. 

6. It’s sixteen tones of geniusly crafted steel and advanced computer technology, but shaped more like a boat than a plane. 


So there you go. 

If you ended up with a good plane congrats! Kaboom.

If not bad luck, but at least be thankful you didn’t end up wearing a spray of tiny broken up pieces of glass, you got a shirt damn it, and shirts are ace! 

Monday, February 1, 2016

Four - Green Through

Here's what pisses me off about glass, it's single only job is to be see-through, it's SINGLE ONLY JOB, and yet eat a shard of it and you can no longer even see it at all! You know, except the bit sticking out your neck, but then you have to break that off and eat it again, and it's NEVER the tastiest bit. I don't know why. 

The glass was the first thing I noticed when I stormed out of the cloakroom.  Glass windows, glass glasses, people looking at the glass glasses through their glasses. But soon I was distracted by more things. Things that had nothing at all to with glass. By the lights through the glass bulbs. By the people eating their food and drinking their glasses of wine. By Kev's wailing for an ambulance or at least a glass of water. By the glass fish tank left over from the old set up which didn't fit the current Mexican theme, I mean the fish in the tank were Cichlids, which are African, they should have had Mexican fish in there, like the ones that lay pinto beans. Stupid owners. By the the class of 78' reunion going on in the corner with the misspelled banner accidentally saying 'glass of 78'. And by the evil super-villain Glassman, who'd taken a break from super-villaining for an hour or two to eat some delicious glass shards and salsa.

Plus I was distracted by the fact that I was now staring across the room at a door which said 'cloakroom' on it. So where had I just been? And how come everyone else in there had knives, and pans, and buckets of corn chips and guacamole next to them? 

To be honest I was so distracted that I briefly forgot what I needed to do. The thing that was so important. The BIG thing. That needed to be done NOW. And forgetting what I am supposed to be doing has always made me hungry. 

Lucky I heard there was a good Mexican restaurant near by. I wasn't sure where exactly so I asked one of the waiters 'do you know where a Mexican restaurant near hear is'? He tipped his sombrero up, tilted his head back and looked at me suspiciously and sheepishly replied 'are you fucking serious?' 

I was.

Deadly serious. 

And when people ask me if I'm serious when the answer is that I'm deadly serious, things take a turn for the deadly, and when things get deadly they get serious - deadly serious. 

I grabbed for a knife, but instead got a glass, and I held it up into the air and yelled at the waiter 'it's ok, I'll just eat this'. 

And that's when things in the room reached a level they'd previously never been before - just as heated. How I would deal with this would affect the whole rest of the afternoon, and I needed to deal with it NOW, and in a BIG way!

To be added to* 

*Another alternative for continued, albeit a shit one. Someone really should look into that. 

Monday, September 7, 2015

So ARE you a cow?

It happens to all of us occasionally, some of us almost regularly, we wake up in the morning with grass between our teeth, with a bell around our neck and a hankering for a fresh glass of milk, and we think 'holy shit, am I a cow?' 

For most of us this panic lasts a few hours, we'll stare in the mirror for while trying to spot human characteristics, we'll jump online and do some research, we'll eat something and see if it feels like four stomachs are working rather than one. But you can never really tell, and you just want someone to give you a definitive list of ways to tell if you are in fact a cow, but it doesn't exist. 

Well that is, until now!

How to tell if you're a cow: 

- Your childhood education went basically like this: 
'Mommy, where do I sleep'?
'You're standing on it'
'Where do I shit?'
'You're standing on it'
'What do I eat?' 
'You're standing on it'
Then your mother got turned into a purse.
- Last time someone was sucking on your tail they exclaimed 'mmmm tastes like cow'.
- All 8 of your dicks are leaking milk. 
- Whenever you are racist people say 'ah I can't be mad, you're black AND white..... Although not brown, you racist'.
- You're named 'Daisy', or 'Driving Miss' or half of any Morgan Freeman movie, 'Shawshank' or 'Almighty' or you have Gwyneth Paltrow's head in a box in your closet. 
- When people do a Christopher Walken impression near you, you can't help but be all like 'more cowbell? I don't gotta have more cow bell, do you know farmers use those so they can keep a track on us at all times? And also that they're uncomfortable and sometimes smell like rust?' 
- When they inevitably switch to Walken's watch monologue from Pulp Fiction, you're now all like 'oh a watch in your ass? You know how I get artificially inseminated? Farmer sticks his whole arm in my ass, I've got like ten watches back there!'
- Whenever you're eating steak part of you is thinking 'why does this taste like that one time I vomited so hard flesh came out'?

So there you go, finally a definitive way of finding out if you are, or are not a cow.

So how'd you go? Are you a cow? If so can you stop texting me, I don't swing that way, anymore, plus your hoofy typing leaves you WAY over punctuating, oh also, your vomiting flesh? That's not right, go see a doctor, or a vet, or just a barbecue, let's face it, that vomit you did tasted awesome!! 

Monday, July 13, 2015

An Important Lesson On Bottles

Bottles... We all love them! They enhance and aid just about every fragment of our lives, we consume beverages from them, we stick candles in them, we use them for decoration in our Italian restaurants, we use them to practice aiming our new assault riffles, people use them as ashtrays at our parties, sometimes taking the hosts not yet finished beer and then leaving him the job of cleaning up the filth they left behind, we make movies like ‘The God’s Must Be Crazy’, ‘Sideways’ and ‘Bottle Rocket’ about them, and we put SOS notes in them when we're stranded on deserted islands and cast them off to sea, and a few weeks later realize that had we not done that six or seven times we probably would have had enough bottles to build a raft. Bottles are great.

Who among us doesn't have a favorite bottle anecdote that we bust out every chance we get? And have a favorite bottle that we make sure is the first thing we drink from in the morning, and the last thing we drink from late at night? And have details in our wills of which bottles we wish to be buried with and a list of their favorite songs? The answer is none of us doesn't, because we all do.

Yet, and here is where just a tad of sadness creeps in, how many of us can honestly say, that if quizzed we could regale an accurate and detailed account of how the humble bottle was invented? Twenty percent of us, maybe thirty in districts with well regarded school systems? Well I say 'for shame' we should ALL know this information, and should have it ready to go at all times.

To save you all doing the research yourself, although obviously I understand that many of you will do this anyway for the pure enjoyment of it, here is the story of the invention of bottles, with not a hint of important information left out.

Of course we can't even begin to tell this tale without first talking about how glass was invented:

The year was 1522, and a surfer named Corey and his mates were hanging around on the sand on a beach in Vanuatu, waxing up their boards, checking out the girls in Bikinis, and picking at their scurvy sores when Corey picked up a handful of sand, letting the grains flow through his fingers and rejoin their families.
'This is coarse, hard, tiny fragments of sandstone, coral and shells, right? Well I bet if I wanted to I could make huge panels of a solid, smooth and one hundred percent see-through-able substance out of this!' He said to his buddies.
'Have you been huffing the suntan oil again?' Asked Gummy, a fellow surfer known for his love of surf, sun, gummy bears and talking the truth.
'Nah Gummy, you know I'm off that shit, I still have a little nip of wetsuit rash lotion every now and again, but what I am saying is that sand could not be more different from what I am proposing, it's like saying I bet I can make a whale the shortest pope in all of the Vatican and have Egypt start building something we'll one day call Pyramids in its honor, only get them to draw cats all over them so no one will know WHY they were built right, and I think that if I come up with something like that then it's just destined to happen!'
'I'd like to see that?' Chimed in, Wetrag, a guy who loved saltwater so much that he carried around a rag soaked in it everywhere he went, on dates in fancy restaurants, to nightclubs, even to the movies, even though it put some people off their buckets of caramel popcorn, salted caramel being a taste not yet acquired by the mainstream.

Within weeks a whale was in fact sworn in as the new pope of all of the Catholic Church and some branches of a now dead religion called The Brick Eaters, who struggled to breed because girls back then didn't like dating guys with teeth broken all over the place and endlessly bleeding gums, tongues, throats, and intestines. The previous pope had died in a mysterious 'squashed by a big wet thing’ accident and his replacement was immediately very popular, even though it's handlers would only let it be seen from really far away so it looked small, and construction of the first great pyramid in Egypt began.

'Nah I meant the big smooth see-through panel thing' said Wetrag, when Corey began to say 'you said you wanted to see it, well boom I pulled it off'.

So Corey set to work on his second great, yet seemingly ludicrous idea. He named it 'glass', and he tried everything he could to invent it.

He tried yelling at the sand. He tried digging big holes in it. He tried making sandcastles. He tried sticking some up his butt crack and leaving it in there for weeks at a time. One day he even considered not going for a surf to focus on it. But nothing seemed to be working.

But unbeknown to Corey, half a world away, on an island off the coast of Indonesia a man named Darwin was going for his own morning surf. After he had caught some barrels, and had a couple of arguments with the locals over whether or not he should be allowed to surf there, he went and sat on the sand to catch his breath.

While sitting there he was looking at a shell when suddenly a crab crawled out of it 'ah huh' Darwin screamed 'that's what makes life! Shells on beaches must have portals to other dimensions in them and all the different species must have come through one by one over the course of history'.

That was the moment science was discovered, and when word of it reached Corey he yelled 'that's it' and within an hour he had used science to turn sand into glass!

These days people mostly remember Corey for also that day founding The Society of Sciency Stuff, still the world’s foremost scientific organization, but I personally think inventing glass was at least an equal achievement.

Still unbeknownst to Corey, half a year later, and half a world a way, his influence on the world was about to grow.

By now glass had swept the world, and staring out a window listlessly and aimlessly pondering had become the world's most exciting pastime. All sorts of new and amazing thoughts originated during this time, including but definitely not limited to:
- Why does head hair keep growing longer but pubes stop and yet grow back when you shave them?
- How can hip hop 'artists' call themselves 'musicians' if they can't play instruments? And.
- What's the deal with airline food? So the pterodactyl is allergic to nuts, so what? I want a snack damn it, who cares if a few die, it's not like there is an extinction danger.

But then, on a bitterly hot summers day in Istanbul, a guy named Toby found his aimlessness developing into something no one had ever dared even imagine before - aim.

One day this would lead to such inventions as archery, and wars that didn't waste lots of wood, but for now it had one specific target 'it's so damn hot, I wish the whole world was flooded with sarsaparilla' Toby thought, 'well if that's what I want then I should do it myself, for dreams are meant to be chased!' He added, filling his body with pride and motivation at having such a positive attitude.

He went and purchased the biggest sarsaparilla factory in all of Istanbul and said to his staff 'this factory is now open twenty four hours, we must make enough sarsaparilla to flood the globe'!

None of them spoke English, so they didn't know what he was getting at, but twenty four hour work days were pretty common back then so they just went with it 'we'll be dead by thirty regardless' they reasoned 'and apparently forty is the new thirty so we're fucked'.

The sarsaparilla production was furious and monumental, but as you may or may not know, the world never was flooded by sarsaparilla. In fact Toby made six attempts at it total, all massive failures. The closest thing to success he had was one time pouring out enough sarsaparilla to create a decent sized puddle, but then the local airlines started to complain that there pterodactyls were making detours to drink out of it, and passengers couldn't stand delays, add that to the peanut allergies killing off a significant proportion, and this ultimately would lead to flying dinosaurs no longer being trusted as aircraft and eventually the invention of man made plans. But that's obviously a whole other story.

Toby was upset. He was a failure. 'Why do people say follow your dreams, that's stupid' he thought 'it's impossible to make enough sarsaparilla to flood the whole earth, I could probably make that much orange juice, but that wouldn't be fun because it's sticky, I just wish the world was way, way smaller!'

He didn't realize what he had thought right away, as the effort had left him thirsty, but as he sipped on the orange juice he grabbed from his fridge it came back to him 'what if the world WAS much, much smaller!' He screamed with enthusiasm.

An hour later he had created a whole new earth, constructed out of glass, and in shape and dimension pretty similar to modern day bottles. Unfortunately Toby soon died of frustration after struggling to get the entire world inside his creation. After getting his sofa, radio and bed inside he thought he was onto something, but his local K-Mart just wouldn't fit.

It was left to his brother Stan to deal with the funeral and pack up Toby's things including his extensive sarsaparilla productions, and this is when had an amazing idea! He could go to the pub and clean this mess up later.

And at that pub he had another idea, the mugs they used were cumbersome and awkward, Stan had recently lost his lower lip in a fight with an angry pterodactyl that was pissed off at being fired, Stan being the CEO of Istanbul Air. And it occurred to Stan that that weird shaped glass thing at Toby's house with half a K-Mart sign sticking out of it could be filled with beverages and one-lips like him could potentially drink without so much spillage for once.

He went to Toby's and experimented. It worked. He named his new product 'a bottley' using the letters in Toby's name as a starting point for the name in his honor, and he figured there must be at least eight other one-lips in the world, and if he sold one to each he could make probably eight cents, a mighty sum in the day.

Unbeknownst to him though, a man named Blake Heineken saw this 'a bottley', thought he could sell a new product he'd invented called beer in them, and stole the design, changing the name to 'a bottle' and sometimes 'bottles' to get around patents, and what we now know as a bottle was born.


Ahh. Yep, bottles, we love them, and now you all know exactly how they were invented. So I say go and give your favorite bottle a kiss, and make sure you let it know you'll never let someone turn it into an ashtray at any party you ever throw.

Monday, June 8, 2015

Sand-eating Sandeater

'Here I am again, back into the non-overthinking mind of a sand-eating sandeater'. Clive said one evening out with friends while ordering dinner without overthinking it. 

Clive had recently invented an animal that he called a 'sand-eating sandeater' and having invented it he was now DETERMINED to have people think it was real and known. So he'd begun to drop as many mentions of them as he could into conversation, and to talk positively yet casually about them just as if they were a real animal. 

'So I was at the beach right, and that's when I saw her, over to my right, on a towel, wearing a one piece swimsuit that somehow was sexier than any bikini, near a small colony of sand-eating sandeaters, her hair wet, but in that beautiful salty, unkept, raw beach way' he'd tell people when asked if he'd ever thought of cheating on his wife. 

'I was at the bar last night, feeling terrible, trying not to bring everyone down, like a big bag of sand stolen from a colony of sand-eating sandeaters, but then we played darts and I felt better' he'd say to people when asked what his life was like now that his wife had left him, apparently because of some story he kept telling people. 

'I was looking out the window melancholily one day, it had been a hard week, my teenage daughter had runaway from home and I found her living with a pimp on the WRONG side of the tracks, I'd discovered that the lump in my left thigh that I'd always thought was an inverted mole was instead an enormous and enormously aggressive tumor, I couldn't pay for medical care because my life savings had been stolen by an aggressively cumaugerous miscreant charlatan and as I'm looking through the glass of the window it occurred to me that glass used to BE sand, that's remarkable, to be glass it had to first avoid the prison of a surfers butt crack, it had to not get swept out to sea and end up the beach of some lame desert island, it had to not get eaten alive by a sand-eating sandeater, and having survived all that, it gets to be magically transformed from a course, granular yellow into a shiny clear glass, and in realizing that I realized I might be ok' he'd respond when people asked if his life was beginning to turn around yet. 

Soon two things began to happen in Clive's life. 

1. People began to worry about Clive's mental health. Yes his teenage daughter did live on the wrong side of the tracks with a pimp, but she didn't run away, Clive WAS that pimp. And he couldn't possibly have a thigh tumor because a pissed off father of one of his girls had chopped his legs off from just above his dick down using a grass eating grass cutter (also known as a lawnmower). And he didn't have windows, he lived in an abandoned submarine that had been washed inland by a recent tsunami. The same tsunami that had completely eradicated all the beaches making his beach story totally implausible.

2. People began to think sand-eating sandeaters were something that Clive had just made up.

3. Which they were.

4. Clive realized he had referred to the sand-eating sand eaters as being not-overthinking, and that had no idea why, making him think that perhaps he HADN'T made them up after all. 

5. Clive was proven wrong about that, plus clearly he'd forgotten how to count.

6. And that ladies and gentleman is the story of how Clive decided to run for president.

7. Oh holy crap, I wrote that thinking it might wrap up this blog, but then I immediately realized that I could not possibly hate this more, fuck you Clive, this is all your fault, you're clearly a fucking asshole anyway.