Can you see it?

Welcome to 'Ok, intriguing: Hell Yeah! Fleeting forever'!!!

This is the show where we're intrigued by things, oh hell yeah we're intrigued, intrigued by all SORTS of things, but especially awesome things, and especially, especially the things that are SO awesome they'll last forever! Or even the things that are so awesome that we love them in the fleeting moment that we encounter them. So to make it clear, are we intrigued by things that are either fleeting or lasting forever? Hell yeah we are!

On today's show - we're intrigued by the seemingly invisible yet in hindsight obviously purple glow let out by the amazement found in a realization of glee. Which means, you know what time it is? It's time to play another exciting game of - IS THAT A THE SEEMINGLY INVISIBLE YET IN HINDSIGHT OBVIOUSLY PURPLE GLOW LET OUT BY THE AMAZEMENT FOUND IN THE REALIZATION OF GLEE?'

Let's play...

'Is it a shoe?'
'Yes!'
'Then it's NOT the seemingly invisible yet in hindsight obviously purple glow let out by the amazement found in a realization of glee'.

Hell Yeah.

We've just played - IS THAT IS THAT A THE SEEMINGLY INVISIBLE YET IN HINDSIGHT OBVIOUSLY PURPLE GLOW LET OUT BY THE AMAZEMENT FOUND IN THE REALIZATION OF GLEE?'

Join us again next time where will we see if we can be intrigued by 'things making at least some sense?'

Hell Yeah we might be. Also monkey cryogenic gum trail!

Thanks for joining us. Cya then.

The jeannie is out of the bottle and she has a whole lot of being cooped up to shake from her noggin' so she's gonna dance till the caps of the highest knees touch the ice crisp sky

Oh, hey, um, I just saw you look down, are you noticing that my jeans have holes in them?

It's not what you think…

Like I am not trying to be cool or anything…

It's just that, well, I hate to admit this, but I got the holes today just because…

Well I got into a fight with a dog today...

And and and, you know, I hate physical fights; you know that, so obviously I had to make it a verbal fight…

Obviously...

And that is always difficult for me, because I only have strong to very-strong opinions on around 17.2% of issues that affect dogs personally. So finding an issue in which we both have strong-very strong opinions on, and one which those views are opposing, can be a tad difficult….

You know?

Like this one time tried to get into a verbal argument with a Collie named Simon, on leash politics, which we both agreed we had at least strong-very strong opions on, and so a verbal fight seemed certain, but we ended up being SO in agreement that we instead became friends, and even later mutually found an online profile for the greens keeper of a local 'leash only' park, and we trolled him so bad, that he eventually volunteered to spend three weeks in summer dominatrix camp to try and learn our point of view…

Which I guess was a positive outcome, yet we later felt so guilty about our methods that now we struggle to even like each other's instagram posts without following it up by liking a bunch of posts by our favorite charities to ease our guilt…

Today, however, I had none of those issues with Hannah, the Blue Heeler, as we had issues with each other immediately…

Strong-very strong issues even…

Like, for example, I was adamant that seeing as I had learned a conversational level of barking, that she should have learned more English, and she was adamant that ‘roof, roof, roof, roof’. Which I found childish and maybe even in poor taste, given recent newspaper articles on hurricane relief issues in some poor Caribbean nations, but then she pointed out that ‘bark’, and I had to agree that if you make most of your roofs out of bark then you are asking for trouble…

But that still didn’t make it ok to joke about…

So this of course, of course, opened us up for some long and passionate debate and discourse about the socio-economic struggles facing third world nations, and despite neither of us agreeing on the right methods or action plans that should be implemented to achieve what we felt were fair and necessary results for both rich and poor nations, we DID both agree that at the core of the issue was the first-worlds responsibility in lifting the ‘glass ceilings’ so to speak, to which Hannah added ‘roof’ and we both laughed and laughed…

In fact we laughed so hard that certain well placed sections of my jeans just evaporated. So now they have holes in them. I guess that’s science for you. You know? Anyway, I look cool now, wanna be in my band?

In between the middles

The man was pissed off.

But he wasn't pissed off for any illogical reasons.

No fucking way.

Illogic was for fucking assholes.

And he was NOT an asshole.

Fuck you if you even thought he was.

No. Chance.

But he WAS pissed off.

And the reason he was pissed off was because his parents had named him 'Illogically illegitimate'.

Which obviously was annoying as being an 'i' name both first and last, meant that no matter which way the alphabetical order was administrated he'd end up middling.

Plus he found math weird.

I mean if 2 + 2 was 4 then how come there were always at least 7 barnyard animals in his parents illuminate orgies?

And also why do icebergs not get frost bite? Or frost lung? Or even black lung? Are they racist?

And also if he was pissed off then how come iceberg lettuce was calm?

Yep, the man was definitely pissed off. In retrospect it was actually probably mostly from seeing that mule do 'it' to his mother.

And by 'it' I mean tell her she'd be kicked out of the illuminate if she didn't get her kid naming skills up to scratch.

Which he obviously said to her while fornicating with a candle medley shaped like a pentagram.

And if that's not logical then how come lettuce rarely holds press conferences to talk about recent changes in coal mine straw testing parties?

You know what, let's take some questions now, wait, how should we do this, um, I no, let's go alphabetically.

Aaron Zelcher, you're up first!

Wow, and I mean like... wow! - A Poem

Scontson,

The accountant

Had an epic epiphany. 

He suddenly realized that his name, Scontson, suggested that he was not in fact an accountant. 

But rather, perhaps, some sort of magic wielding master of illusion, creating spectacular alternative realities, and mastering the fine art of truth hiding in support of enhancing a beautiful myth of hope. 

This made him sad. 

As he'd obviously wasted his destined life.

So he finished wiping.

Counted the rest of the squares of paper on the roll.

And went back to work.

Breaking News - Exclusive PROOF of intergalactic Aliens being in America, that literally goes all the way to the TOP!

#BreakingNews #Exclusive #Aliens

If you look at North America from space it is CLEAR and OBVIOUS that the USA is wearing a Great Lake hat saying 'PC' like a tiny French Beret! 

Here is some more undeniable undoctored photographic evidence:

You can see it from this angle.

You can see it when it's warm but the lakes are cold.

You can even see it when it's cold but the lakes are warm. 

So what does this mean? Well Clearly Trump is NOT in bed with Russia after all, but rather in a nice cool futon with Politically Correct obsessed French Intergalactic Aliens that like to swim, but probably only right in the heart of summer, unless they like cold water, which they might! 

This raises some particularly important and scary questions:

 

- Why have the Aliens stamped this one great nation with this such epically polarizing PC label? 

- Can we build a wall to keep THEM out, and can the people of the cloud nations be made to pay for it? 

- Just how involved were the French Canadians in the lakes construction? 

- Is there any good fishing that way, and if so anyone know any good flight deals? 

- And does wearing your tiny beret on the top right rather than the top left make you gay? 

We'll hear more from this to come I'm sure. In the meantime stay tuned to Brave Dave's Brave New News for more exclusives, depending on whether I procrastinate on Google earth again later, or possible even if the PC loving aliens get mad at me for that 'gay' question above!

In the meantime watch out for clear space aliens in your neighborhood. They may look like this:

Or they may look like this:

But either way, we know a couple of things for sure, they're real, they're PC, and they mean business, and the scariest type of business there is - LAKE business!

Perspective Infective - a Poem

Goliath really wanted to go the zoo

But he couldn't afford it 

So instead he watched the pigeons in the square 

He had a swell time 

But he gnat living in his left eyelashes cried itself to sleep 

Today in questions - tears?

Today in Questions - tears 

There are so many answers out there man, but who's asking the questions?  And are they the right questions? It's like there's like so many questions yet to be asked, right? Like, just for an example, what's up with tears man? You know? They come out of the eyes, but if you don't cry where does that water go? Into the brain? And if so can your brain drown? And if so can you give a brain mouth to mouth? And does it taste good? And is it right to wonder how it tastes when a life is at stake? And what if it was a steaks life at stake? And if those tears don't go into the brain how can you be sure the brain isn't overheating? And if it is can a brain evaporate? And if it evaporates does that mean rain is full of brain? And if so how come rain barely even tastes of scalp, let alone brain? And what if you DO cry, and the crying reminds you of sadness, and sadness reminds you of being sad, and remembering being sad leads you to BEING sad, so you end up crying TOO much, so all the water cries out, do you have to water your eyes to replenish the water supply? And how would you even do that? The funnel on most water spouts is probably too wide, can you narrow it? And if you can, what does that say about the water spouts construction? Why would they make the spouts amendable? Why not just do the research into optimal spout to eyeball ratio before going into full scale manufacturing? And what if you did, but the scale itself was off kilter, what does that say about your research department? And how does 'kilter' get completely off the hook here? Is it an escape artist? And if so why the fuck don't we know about this already? You got an established fucking escape artist out there then the public needs to fucking know, right? What if we had an evil kidnapping plot hatching in our brains? How do we know that if the spout we kidnap escapes it won't talk? And if that's because it CAN'T talk, then who the fuck ripped it's voice box out? I didn't even know they HAD voice boxes, why the fucking fuck wasn't I told? Am

I not good enough to be told this shit? I mean fuck you, is that what you think? Cause that makes me want to cry, and what if instead of crying out my eyes, I, I don't know, maybe miraculously developed some sort of 'tear duct'? Would that make me MORE advanced than the robots man? Cause I threw a water balloon at one of those once, and it exploded quietly all over it, and even though the robot had a complete shut down it barely even yelled at me, so who's the real hero? I mean the point is there's a steaks life at stake for fucks sake, has someone called the fucking cops? And if not WHY the fuck NOT? 

You know? 

I mean it's like a yes or no question man.

That's the real question. 

You know man? 

Yes vs no. 

Is the rain full of brain?

ANSWER ME!!!!

That was today in questions. Join us again to cover the next topic, will it be - shin guards? I don't fucking know, stop asking me shit. 

Drip Dried Loneliness

Down the road from the malicious witch’s house….

Over near the green fire lake….

Behind the chrome colored lightening shooting tree…

That sits next to the harpoon dropping giant magical robot, the one with the eyes made out of a thousand glued together tiny demons, each of which have been brainwashed to say nothing but a different dirty word over and over at a pitch rarely pleasant, if at ALL pleasant, and with nostrils which are slightly different shaped giving off a facial expression which is hard to read and yet always seems to be signifying some degree of anger, or at the very least pissed-offedness, and with arms which bend backwards in a way that make people who see them immediately suck air through their gritted teeth inwards in empathetic pain as if they have seen two viciously broken arms, until they realize that perhaps the arms were just ATTACHED to the robot on the wrong sides, and yet if you look even closer you realize that they can’t have been put on the wrong sides or else the screws would have had to be bent, and no one is going to go to that much effort, I mean maybe for a good robot, but this robot was evil from the get go, and yet despite this unlikely scenario no one can know for sure because the inventor cannot be located, so no explanation of why the arms we’re designed in such a pain inducing way is available, which is REALLY frustrating for those people who are concerned with such things, and yet completely irrelevant for those who have acid spat in their eyes by the demons, but still even for those with their eyes being melted off are still annoyed by the thought of asking the robot to hand them something, a towel to mop up the liquefied eyes mess for example, only to discover that due to the robots poorly crafted arms it struggles to hand people ANYTHING, which is a infuriating, I mean think about it ‘please hand me the butter?’ you may request of a close acquaintance who is presently located closer to the butter than you are at this given time, well then if the reply came as ‘sorry I have badly designed arms and therefore I struggle to hand people things’, well then you’d have to reach out to get the butter yourself, and did I mention at the time this began you had a warm roll in front of you, a WARM roll, any delay in getting this butter is going to drastically change how enjoyable this roll is, it doesn’t sound like a pleasant experience does it? Plus right after your eyes have been liquefied the LAST thing you want to be thinking about is melting butter. And lets also point out the giant grey beast in the room, if you see this giant robot, you’re immediately going to think ‘wow, next time I have to throw together a rag-tag bunch of football players to play against the local university team in a last ditch effort to save the farm, this robot will be the FIRST guy I pick’, but then you’d get him out on the field and discover that due to his arms he can’t even catch a football satisfactorily, which depending on the variety of football you are talking about in your particular scenario, and which position on that team you choose to play him in, could mean that you’d wasted your first pick on a player who potentially could not perform at level as high as you’d hoped. Plus what if the referee asked it to ‘hand me the ball please?’ Yeah, good luck winning the penalty count in THAT game…

And adjacent to the giant people slurping portal to Dimension Karlilk, known in dimension circles as the place Hell WISHES it could be…

Is where Luke lives.

Luke doesn’t get many visitors these days.

No one is really sure why. 

Hard to eradicate

Here's something not enough people think about often enough: 

"There are few individual grains of sand which have achieved enough in the fields of hairdressing, hair undressing or undressing hairless rug salesmen to raise the profile of things that mostly come in grain like forms to a level of household relevance, and yet MANY individual grains of sand HAVE raised their own individual profiles enough to warrant being personally styled by the hairdressers to the stars, at least for fancy sandwich-press grand openings! Which are events sadly ignored by the press.

Wow. The lessons here are clearly clear. 

'What are they then Dave?'

'What David?'

'You said they were clearly clear so what are they?'

'They're clearly CLEAR, I don't need to  share them, that's what being clearly clear means'

'No, being clearly clear means being so clear you clearly can't be seen, and if I can't see you then of course I need you explained to me'

'But you can see me, you're looking right at me' 

'I know that, but that's not clear'

'Of course it's not, I'm not a ghost you dick, how is that not clear to you?' 

'If it was clear I'd be looking through you, not AT you, you piece of shit'

'No need for name calling you motherfucker'

'Wow, wow, wow'

'Wow what?'

'Wow, this section of dialogue really has NOT made this blog make any more sense than it previously did'

'No it doesn't, but that doesn't explain the above' 

'Which bit of the above?' 

'ALL of it, every last fucking bit' 

'Okay, OKAY, I'll admit it. It doesn't mean ANYTHING, well except the obvious'

'Which is what'

'Sand is stupid'

'Oooohhhh, clearly. I mean shit, fucking hell, just say THAT next time' 

'Sure, of course'

'Cool, thanks, (smiley face)'

'Yay. So is this bit done?'

'I think so'

'Then why are we still talking?'

'I don't know'

'Then stop'

'You stop'

'No YOU stop cunt face'

'Seriously dude, I mean SERIOUSLY, it's pretty clearly clear that that is bad term' 

'I know, I didn't mean it, I just desperately want this section to end'

'So do I'

'Well stop talking then'

'YOU stop talking' 

'No you fucking stop fucking talking'

'No fuck you, you fucking stop fucking talking you fuck'

'Ohhhhhh, yeah, okay, yeah that'll work'

'Yeah I think so too'

'Let's try it'

'Okay'

'Done'

'Starting when?'

'Now would work'

'Oh oh, you know what would work even better?'

'What?'

'Starting n........'

Today's blog was brought to you by:

- Hairy sand, you think it hurts YOU to wax your bikini line? Well hairy sand is made up of ONLY bikini line, ouch. And 

- Dialogue sections that fail to either excite, enhance or even slightly explain the nonsense that proceed them. And 

- Decisions. Great decisions, decisions like deciding to walk places more, but also awful decisions, decisions like thinking 'I haven't blogged regularly in ages and I want to get back to it, just start writing something, ANYTHING, you'll find SOMETHING interesting eventually'. And 

- Eventually. A time period clearly not discovered in this particular blog. Wait wait wait 'Clearly clearly' not discovered in this blog, and if you can't see that, then that's what that term means"

Yep, people don't think about the above NEARLY often enough. And you know fucking what? I'm okay with that. 

Hole lot of hate

Today's sponsor is Buddha Brand Bitumen. 

Are you a bitter angry man or woman? Do you walk down the street with a furrowed brow, and a veiny neck, and scream bloody murder at skateboarders, garbage trucks, and even at the heavens and the meteorite chuckers? Are you pissed off, rage filled, filthily raving mad, aggravated to the point of having a scorn in your heart, livid liverd, wrath wigged, and vexed to the point of being incensed right in your fucking solar-plexus? All because your street has pot holes that the fucking council just won't get around to fixing, I mean do they even know 'what that one hole did to my fucking suspension you piece of shit!' 

Well you need Buddha Brand Bitumen. Then you can fill the fucking holes in yourself you whiny lazy bitch. 

You may have holes in your hate filled soul, but you don't have to have them in your street. 

Buddha Brand Bitumen. 

Buy some today.

Ride em

Thinking is good. I like to think that I think at least once a day. Possibly even twice now that I think about it. And on TOP of that sometimes I even THINK about thinking! 

 I'm serious. 

Oh you think I'm lying? 

Well check this out. I'm PRESENTLY thinking that I like to think that if I were currently smiling at a retired horse saddle on 'official business' the following would also be true: 

- I'd be living in the NOW. I mean obviously, I couldn't be doing that 'currently' if I was living in the nineteen sixties, because I wasn't even born then you idiots. 

- I'd never had anything drop from a tree on my head heavier than a nut, or possibly an antique iron furnace, but UNLIKELY an antique iron furnace, because antique iron furnaces are terrible climbers, and I HATE to be surprised from above by bad climbers. Sure, if you can't climb well then surprise me from below all that you want, you've earned that, but stay out of the damn trees. 

- I'd be on planet earth, or a competitive planet that I'd PERSONALLY signed off on, I'm talking about a serious matter here, I don't need speculation and heresy fucking with the rules of my universe okay, got it!

- I'd currently be employed by a company which sends me on official business I don't yet fully understand, and one that possibly, at least occasionally, sees me deal with horse saddles, or possibly even saddles used on a variety of animals, including, but not limited to - moose, donkey, wildebeest, spider monkeys, Sasquatch, giant robot spider legged bananas, mules, and spiders stepped on by mules. 

- However the special saddle I'm dealing with now would mostly, if not exclusively, have been used by horses. Not that it DEMANDED for it to be that way. I mean it may have even requested to be on a spider that had been stepped on by a mule once or twice, or even a camel that thinks it's a dolphin, even though, ha ha, that's a little implausible, camels don't have thought, but the point is that this saddle has a sense of humor, and a complete lack of prejudice, okay, or else I would NEVER have agreed to be anywhere near it.

- That I got paid per smile, not per thing smiled at.

- That my job would allow me to smile at a VARIETY of things. I mean you can't honestly think I'm going to take a job where I only get paid to smile at one specific thing, I'm not a saddle, I don't even contemplate the implausible. 

Unfortunately however, I'm only presently thinking of thinking of smiling at a rookie saddle. So far from retirement. So much ahead of it. So much of it likely to be painful. That's why my smile is fake. Yet I 'think' that's beautiful. 

Yep thinking is good. Possibly even great. Think on THAT for a while or two...

Speaking of things so true you can take them to the bank, today's blog was sponsored by - light! 

Light, always sneaking through fucking gaps in shit.

Fuck you light! 

And you think YOU got it bad?

Look you've had a shit week haven't you. Or a great one. Or an average one. I don't know, there's tones of you out there, I can't predict all of your weeks and how they have been in relation to excreetment defication - I can't even spell either of those words, let alone predict them, but I'll tell you this - you think YOU got it bad? Well check this out - I got it bad TOO!

Check that out - we're the same - assuming that you answered yes to that above question, but if not, then I've already explained how I can't possibly predict all your weeks, and I hate having to repeat myself, so I won't tell you again about how I can't predict all of your weeks and their relationship to feces, I won't even HINT at saying that again.

The point is that, hi it's Dave here, CEO, head writer, guy who's never eaten an entire phone booth (the copper wire is too hard to chew), head copper miner, and minding me own business about the copper crises leader of Fleeting Forever, and I got it, and how have I got it? I hear you ask? Bad - that's how. And I'll tell you how...

I fell down this week.


To the ground that is.


Physically I mean.


Like I don't mean metaphorical or anything, I literally fell down.


To the ground.


Here's what happened.


I was jogging along the street, racing from the supermarket to the vet to get back to my girlfriend and my cat, who was only getting a check up (she's fine - the kitty that is vets give medical care to animals, not humans, NEVER humans, EVER), but I'd had to nick out to get a toothbrush for the examination, and I was worried about her so I was running, as I'm not a self-involved person, I'm someone who exclusively thinks of others and never myself, and so when others need me I don't even think about me, I just get what they need and get back to them FAST, with no self thought at all, and I caught a reflection of myself and couldn't help but think 'hey Dave, you're looking pretty rock n roll today, you could be in a band, because you're so cool', as you do, especially when you're looking kind of rock n roll, like perhaps you could be in a band, because you're so cool, on the day you see your reflection.

An eighth of a second later I was on the ground.


My rare self love had cursed my foot to slip and lead my entire body right to the concrete - hard - and sure I got up again, but not before thinking somethings, including but not limited to:

- Holy fuck this is embarrassing, I hope not to many people saw that, DONT come and help if you saw, PLEASE, oh wait I mean...
- OUCH!
- FUCKING OUCH!
- Well, just OUCH really said it all if I'm being honest, I didn't NEED to add the fucking.
- But who turns down a fucking, you know what I mean?
- Then again, I'm currently on the ground and in pain, plus very embarrassed.
- Plus don't think TOO much, there's still the original planned list to write for this blog, so don't get stuck on this one too long.
- But seriously OUCH.
- No no no, FUCKING OUCH.
- I won't turn down a fucking.
- What's that red stuff.
- Oh shit, that's from my insides, oh.

Then I got up and bolted back to the vet where I nearly passed out on the floor, and the vet tried to give ME medical attention instead of my kitty, didn't she fucking hear me think to myself on the street for no one to help me please? Some people right?

Three days later and my severe shoulder pain is still kind of sore, and my minor leg pain is still noticeable occasionally, and my hand wound, the source of that red stuff, looks gross when I take the bandaids off, so I don't often, leaving it more moist and wet so that it's healing slower and grosser than need be.

So you think YOU got it bad? YOU don't! I do. Because I fell down. And it hurt please. And that makes me sad. Okay. So sod your shit week you shit heads!!

On the other hand, the fact I fell down this week excites me. And I'll tell you why

- The last time I fell down like this I was like 12, so that means I'm officially a kid again.
- I now no longer have palm prints, so any palm based crimes I need to commit are easy. Like check this out... if I ever want to steal a priceless work of art I can just palm it all the way home, and then when the cops come and find it and say 'you're under arrest', I can yell 'you ain't got nothing on me you damn copper, I don't have a single palm print on that whole painting!!!!' And after a long legal battle I'll probably only get time served! I'm a criminal genius. Woo ha ha!
- I'm in pain, which means I get to complain! Like watch this, I'm going to whine now, it shall be shrill and harsh, but I think you can take it, but if you can't fuck you, I'm the one who got it bad, and fuck you if you think you the one who got it bad - here I go, I'm about to start to whine - 'ouch, ouch, I hurt a bit, ouch, you don't have it bad, I got it bad! Ouch!'
- See, and that didn't hurt your feelings at all, because you feel sorry for me!
- Next time I lose a thimble or so of blood and only nearly pass out I know just the vet to go to!
- And I CAN go to a vet for my medical care, because I think I kinda look like a rock star in reflections sometimes, and rock stars can ANYTHING!
- Even ones that are clearly epic wimps.
- When I hug my cats they now stick to my gross moist hand.

So you think you got it bad, you DON'T, because I'm the one that's got it bad, not cause of the fall thing, because that was ace, but because I'm sick of minding my own business about the copper crises - so that ends now - 'I don't like the crises'. Boom. Now it's your business too. Oh and look now I CAN now also flawlessly spell excretment definicatuon - yay.

See, now don't we all feel better?


And now here is an artists impression of what my hand wound looks like under a microscope:

Thirty Six - Lighting The Pose

I find success a tough pill to swallow. For one thing the safety packaging of the bottle the pills come in seems particularly hard to open, what so people with deformed lobster hands aren't allowed to get success you dicks?  Then there is that ball of cotton wool in the way for some reason, I get it, you're about to inundate me with praise to the point where I need to put cotton wool in my ears to get a break, but you MUST know that when I see cotton wool it reminds me of the time I cottoned on to the fact that my parents were the adults that lived in my house, and therefore my parents were not the painting on the wall of a small Buddhist horse that was trying to unveil the new headquarters for the secret society of socially awkward actuaries, but was having a dilemma over whether this new center would help or hinder the actuaries efforts to have people feel sorry for them over their social awkwardness, while the small horse was also feeling it's own personal shame at recently discovering that when it was sitting in the lotus position and saying the word 'ohm' the pressure on its groin occasionally made its voice break, which was very embarrassing, and making this discovery made me furious at my parents for not teaching me the fine art of being an actuary until I was almost completely potty trained, those dicks. YES, I'm serious, I thought being an actuary was only a broad art until I was nearly fourteen. 

But then even once you've swallowed this pill you then have the next ordeal of trying to decide which celebratory swear word you want to put before 'yeah' - 'hell', 'shit', 'fuck' would do fine, but when you, like me, coin a new swear every couple of days, the process can be quite difficult. Consider these new swears I coined just in the week before the past week:

- Klant

- Tilp

- Qamvaxinaxe

Disgusting right? So you think I WANT to think about words like that? I don't. That's why for the most part I avoid success. But sometimes you can't avoid it. Like NOW, and this success was BIG! 

'Oh my god' exhaled the manger as he walked in the door and saw what I'd done to his restaurant, as I've already mentioned before, which is in no way NOW. 

And that said it all to me. I WAS a success. So I definitely didn't need to listen to the rest of the praise the manager now yelled and screamed at me. I'm no narcissist, and I assume that most people are yelling and screaming praise at me almost all the time, so I don't even bother to listen to other people most of the time. Besides he kept showing me one single finger, saying non-verbally over and over, almost violently - 'you're number one'. Yep, number one, which is way above god, who most of the time isn't even a number at all, except for occasionally when you're chatting around a camp fire and say to your friends 'imagine if god was the number 12' and for the next few hours everyone can barely speak because they're laughing so hard.

So I still think the manager was definitely overselling god's part in the process, I felt I personally had more to do with it, and yes, my talents may have been God given, but I CHOSE to have them God given! So suck on that manager, you dick. Plus you look a lot like that weirdo in the restaurant library who put a picture of himself with kids in there and then hangs around, so my god you suck, and by 'god' I mean 12!!! Ha ha. Burn.

They looked so alike that they may even be twins - so that makes sense actually, twins are always evil, and if I were evil the FIRST thing I'd do is hang around restaurant libraries - there's tons of cool books in there, sometimes there's old food lying around, its ace, as I always say restaurant libraries are THE oft forgotten wonder chest in a restaurant.

He also said he was going to call the police, which I thought was excessive, I didn't need a police lights, we had fire places. But I could see how he wanted the party atmosphere. 

Still, party lights or not, that was enough for me. I'd done my job. This restaurant was FRESH as NEW, and while the party was sure to be BIG, it wasn't my place to enjoy it, at least not NOW. So that's when I left the restaurant. As I left I did hear the manager said again 'I'm going to call the police', which was nice but excessive, I also didn't need a police escort to get me where I was going, but I said 'go for it' anyway, as I thought maybe the manager just needed someone to tell how awesome things had gotten, and when something awesome happens to me I always call the police to tell them about it.

And so that was it, that was the end of my experience at - Big Fat Juan's Mexican Mexican Mexican! 

So I guess you know what time that makes it time for, where by time I mean in the clock sense, and by clock I mean 'teller of time', in the timeless sense that only certain things can have, things like tennis, professional ant boxing over FIFTEEN rounds, time, and trying to not scrape your knee while trying to find an ant that has both the physique AND the mental fortitude for real ant boxing, and I'm talking about having it in BIG quantities, and talking having it NOW, I mean who has space in their ant boxing gym at the moment, the waiting lists are out of control - that's right, it's time for ratings!

Rating rating rating

Can't be hating 

Won't be taking 

Cause this score I'm making 

Needs my rating 

Rating rating ratingssssss!!!

So...

Big Fat Juan's Mexican Mexican Mexican!

Decor - 10, it's great, I especially like how fire rains on you. 

Staff - 4, wait staff give you cars, but they end up having flat tires, that's not great.

Food - 5, for Icelandic food its great, but Icelandic food isn't particularly good, I'll take a draw burrito any day.

Name - 9, AWESOME name, but a tad weird for an Icelandic joint - so I had to deduct a point. 

Cloak room - 1

Fresh properly sea harpooned whale meat - 0

So there you go. 

Thanks for reading my first BIG and NOW restaurant review - it been my life long goal for SO long to get into restaurant reviews, at LEAST three weeks, and it's been a BIG goal, so it's great to get to achieve it NOW.

I'm hoping to get one of my reviews picked up by Yelp or Trip Advisor or the like one day, I love their reviews, LOVE them, and I would KILL have the chance - so if you own one of those sites PLEASE let me put up a review, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE, where by 'please' I mean 'I'll owe you', and by 'please' I mean 'and I'll follow through on that' and by 'please' I mean 'don't make me stab you'. Also if you want me to review YOUR restaurant, contact me NOW, and I'll be BIG time semi-thankful, and if you don't want me to, then you're a dick! 

Sure writing a review on Yelp or the like may just be a pipe dream, but if you don't have pipe dreams how can you even dream of having pine dreams? Not that you'll ever achieve those, pine is hard to find, except in furniture stores, forests and air fresheners, and what kind of phyco wants their air 'freshened', fresh air is what criminals come up for once they've been on the lamb for a while, and lambs STINK! 

                       THE END 

*Conc

*Short for 'concluded', you know, to save time writing out the whole word 'concluded', because I REFUSE to be one of those restaurant reviewers write more than necessary, and who ramble on, and are overly repetitive, I'm going to FRESH and NEW, and I so refuse to do that NOW, and in a BIG way! Hence the name of my review site, which is BIG and NOW, and you can't refuse to being repetitive without refusing to be it BIG time, and starting NOW! 

*By the way, after I left, I went to visit my mate Kev in the hospital. He was of course full of praise of me. But this time for different reasons than normal. 

Kev, it turned out, had been declared the local hospitals eight hundredth stab victim of the year (it's a bad area, there's just no money for things people need for some reason, so crime is rife) and for being eight hundredth they gave him a prize of ten million dollars. He used some to break the locks on my old house and I got to move back in, so I'm not homeless anymore! 

Kev recovered from his stab wounds and went on to became the actor Kevin bacon, I like to think he chose the stage name 'bacon' to remember our restaurant visiting days, and as such I'm pretty sure he owes me, because Bacon was also his birth surname name, so that was very convenient for him, if we had of gone to petting zoos or something instead of restaurants he'd have had to completely change it to honor me. 

*Ol' Herb lives with me too now. And remarkably he understands EVERY metaphor the ghost monkeys' say. Plus he's befriended them so they no longer have to live in burlap sacks. 

*As for me, NOW that I live in my house again, I don't have to spend my money bribing other bums not to stab me! I used the money to invest in a dictionary, well make that two, I gave one to the restaurant. So the manger didn't even need to get fired! 

Oh and I found out what dilly dally means too - it means to 'not dally ones dilly'. What a relief.

*The ball of cotton went on to be promoted to being cue-tip and is awaiting its next job assignment, it secretly is looking forward to going in an ear, once again proving cotton is suicidal, and therefore success is overrated. 

*The lamb went on to have its tail cut off! Now monkeys, lemurs and girls dressed as catwoman for Halloween all make fun of it. 

*As for me again, I personally spent the next six months trying to discover the meaning of 'Willy nilly' this was because:

- I didn't know what 'willy' meant

- I didn't know what 'nilly' meant

- I didn't know what 'Willy nilly' meant. And 

- I was NOT going to let someone throw a phrase like that at me just casually without much thought! 

The search for the meaning was a grand adventure, perhaps I'll tell it one day, it'd probably be a BIG seller, but it won't be NOW, because I'm focused on restaurant reviews, so stay tuned, exciting things are to come, where by 'exciting' I mean 'exciting', and that's the type of excitement that's BIG and NOW!