The future... Today!!!

I just saw a BMW commercial saying 'experience the ideas of tomorrow  today'. Sounds exciting right? 

Really fucking exciting. Tomorrow is the future for fucks sake, that's almost time travel! In a car. How did no one ever think of such a thing before?

I was about to drop everything and sprint to the BMW shop as fast as possible (apparently they don't deliver. Um if I had a car to drive to the store why do I need to buy one dicks?) 

But we're talking the future here people! How could I possibly wait. Wait for the future to arrive? 

A little bit of history for you all: Until now waiting has literally been the only way to get to the future. The definition of 'wait' should literally be - 'how you get to the future'. Which actually makes the word 'wait' seem kind of badass. 

Until you've done the waiting that is, at which point it doesn't matter how long the wait was, if you ask someone what time it is they will never ever say 'the future'! They'll only say the time is 'now'. 

Yep it's all a scam. The only way to get to the future is to 'wait' and it doesn't matter how long you wait the only place you can get to is 'now'. 

It's a problem that has tarnished the previously good name of almost every scientist from Newton to Einstein to Socrates to Dylan. No one could figure out how to get to tomorrow. 

But now BMW had solved it. The dicks wouldn't deliver, so I looked up the bus schedule, there wasn't one for forty five minutes, to get to the car that could let me experience the ideas of tomorrow today I'd first have to wait. The irony was so biting that I immediately had to mop up blood from my tongue. So I hit pause on my DVR and ran to the bathroom. 

Then it hit me, I'd hit 'pause'. This show isn't live? 

I ran back to my living room, blood running down my chin both literally and figuratively. I leapt forward in a swan dive across my rug towards the remote control that was conveniently left on the floor. 

With fresh rug burns covering most of the front of my body, I hit 'info' on my remote, the tension in the air was so biting that I cut my tongue off with a knife to stop the bleeding....

Seven days old. 

Seven whole days old. 

Seven whole long fucking days old.

BMW had promised the ideas of tomorrow today, but that today was seven days ago, and that tomorrow was six days ago, which means their future was so outdated that it was almost laughable. 

I say 'almost' because it turns out it's practically impossible to laugh without a tongue. 

BMW could no longer offer the ideas of tomorrow today. Only the ideas of seven days ago six days ago. The devastation was so biting I deep throated a spongecake to stop the bleeding. 

Then it occurred to me - medical care. I called up the hospital and asked for directions, they said not to worry that they had ambulances, medical care that they... Delivered! 

I'd say 'now THAT'S the future today' but I can't talk because I no longer have a tongue, and have a mouth full of spongecake, the irony is so biting I bet the ambulance vehicle will be a BMW! 

A mountain of advice

'Just because a man has never climbed a mountain, at least not one of any outstanding reputation for difficulty it relation to grades of gradient in regards to ascending said mountain, does not make them THAT much less of a man, being a man comes from fucking whores' He said, to the small boy sitting next to him on the large train. 

Large compared to the boy at least. Size being a very important detail when dealing with small people, small being right there in their description - 'small boy' - and this particular boy turned out to be self-conscience and worried about his relative size. 

The man had started out attempting to tell an inspirational tale to inspire the kid, a story about how size didn't matter, using mountain climbing as an analogous, but he'd accidentally gotten off path, 'much like mountain climbers who would soon be dead from exposure to the elements, as in the elements that pissed off the bears so much that they ate the climbers FEET first! "Ouch, um, ouwwee, my face is delicious, I swear little bear, grunt, try my face please, ouchie' they'd be quoted as saying, as the bear polished off a foot and started munching on shin bone. 'I don't know why the ranger was so determined to write down the quotes accurately, including every ouch and grunt, instead of using his tranquilizer gun on the bear, yet he didn't seem to care about writing down how that bear enjoyed the shin bone. For some reason I think shin would be one of the least tasty bones, but then maybe the marrow makes it worth it'. 

The man was still far off what was appropriate to say to a small boy, especially when attempting to inspire him. But bears eating humans was better than talking to him about whores. 

'I once made a whore eat out my asshole' he concluded. 

Oh man, I spoke too soon. 

'What's a whore?' Asked the small boy. 

'Well son, that's a woman with a huge  worn out vagina' the man replied, trying to help, and making use of that size detail that I agree that I had pointed out was important to small boys, but still, wildly inappropriate. Just be fucking inspiring. It's not that hard. 

'But love comes in all shapes and sizes' he added, again using size as a point of reference, and admittedly getting closer to wise words. 

'But never fall in love with your whore boy' he continued. Really just totally failing in pretty much the only rule in the world that surely no one could fail in - don't talk about whores with stranger's kids. Or any kids. 

'Just climb fucking Mt Kosiosko for fuck sake. It's the tallest mountain in Australia, a huge continent, but piss easy, I know a whore with meth teeth who's done it' he said. 'And I'm sorry I keep talking about whores, but I'm an angry little man, with little going for me in life, only a tiny home, small cock, and minuscule existence, they're all I've got' he said, with small tears welling up in his little eyes. 

He'd now said it all. The little boy knew it for sure now. Size was all that was important. He'd taken a big chance and run away from home, hoping to see a huge hole - a valley. He was already doing better than this man. 'Plus maybe I could fuck a whore on this trip and lose my virginity in a smaller amount of time than anyone else at school' he thought, having learned all he could from the man. 

I'd been watching this all go down. For some reason concerned with writing it all down instead of using my tranquilizer gun on the man. But for once I felt part of something. I'd learned something. This was my mountain. 

The train pulled up at the mattahorn, which is right next to a valley. The old man met a whore who gave him syphalis and his nose fell off. The kid took a small fall on a little slope, fell between a tiny crack and died of exposure, exposure being the what pissed off the wolf who ate him.

Dying and Dusty

When the carousel stops. 

It's gears rusty. 

It's horses dusty.

It's memories musty like an old man's cigarette and whisky phlegm coughed into an jar of mustard hoping one of his grandchildren will beg for yet 'another fucking hotdog grampa'.

'In my day we didn't say fucking to elders you little shits.'

'In your day you were too busy hoping a dinosaur wouldn't sit on your last fucking rock pile which is what you called video games, now make with the hotdogs or we won't have time for ice-cream you cranky old cunt!' 

When the carousel is silent. Its poles slimy. It's carnies Limey. Its music whiney like a pool boys night on the town after his day when the dirtiest pool he had to scrub was cavernous, wet, and between the legs of a demanding and scary housewife.

'Come inside for some lemonade, there are no leaves to scoop but there is something crusty'. 

'What did you say grandpa?'

'Whoops, sorry I was just fantasizing about your future career, want mustard on that dog?'

When the carousel stops, the times changed, the nights cold, the moments small, the glass murky, and nothing good on TV, at least not on the free to air channels, and the fucking cable is out again, we are left with just us. People. Folks. Skin and boobs and shins and hair and spleens, you know, people. And it turns out they can be interesting sometimes. 

Case in point two middle aged ladies sat next to me at lunch today and had a conversation that went exactly like this:

'I didn't know you died?'

'Oh yeah, I've been dying for a while, I like it, but it's messy' 

'I don't want to die. Well I do. But I don't have the space for it'.

'Oh you must die, it's wonderful. It doesn't take as much space as you'd think'.

'Really, to die?'

'Trust me, once you've died you'll want to keep dying'.

This went on for a while. Boy, ladies discussing arts and crafts sure are morbid fucks. 

Prominent Truth

'The envelope is full of mystery' she said. And truer words HAD never been said. Not because of what she literally said of course. There was a letter to the editor in there. No fucking mystery there. Those are pretty standard things. 

- Prominent person claims that we need more helmets in jousting competitions. 

- Equally prominent person, says 'no, it's spinal injuries not skull injuries you fool'

- Slightly more prominent person says 'but what about the cost you idiots?'

- Epically prominent monkey says 'you know that it's clear that it's the joust wounds to the chest that kill 99% of jousters right?'

- Politician says 'I'll fund the helmets with a joust tax you retards.' 

- Child molester writes a letter to the editor complaining about cameras at playgrounds. 

No there was no mystery at all. That's not why truer words had never been said. It we what she had figuratively said that mattered of course. 

I mean learn to use email you assholes, it's not that hard. 

Death under

No one has ever died of armpit aerobics.

Because that didn't exist till I invented it right now! 

Which means if someone dies of it soon it'll be MY fault. 

Holy fucking shit eating fuck balls.

I'm not built for this type of pressure. 

Inventing stuff sucks. 

Plus armpit aerobics?

Ewwww. Whoever came up with that is obviously a fucking psycho. 

YOUVE BEEN POETRYIFIED! 

So alive

Kyle Thacter was ecstatic. He was about to execute a plan to achieve living out a life long dream he'd been coveting every moment he'd lived for his whole life. 

Man did he feel alive.

He was in the world's biggest furniture store in Omaha. The beautifully green and white behemoth known poetically by its actual name - Nebraska Furniture Mart. And let's be clear, you can't not be smart when you shop in a mart. 

Oh BOY did he feel like he was living in a way that made him feel alive. 

It was past the closing time as posted on the front door in the section that they had dedicated specifically to posting opening hours. They don't post closed hours, but yep, they sure as hell are implied.

God damn it he felt life was finally mostly about feeling alive. 

They'd made several announcements to 'finish your payments and please exit', one of the doors was already locked, and several others were about to join in on the fun, and while we're in the land of severality its an apt time to point out that several of the flat screen TVs had already been switched off, most people had left, a couple of others were heading for the door, and Kyle had totally not been noticed by anyone as he was playing dead next to a stuffed giraffe and a giant '&' symbol. 

Fuck him him this way to necrophilia he was living life was like a life affirming hero overcome with feeling alive! 

He was about to be in the store ALONE! 'I'm gonna sit in at least twelve recliners!' He thought to himself with bubbling glee, almost boiling over levels of bubbling, and glee almost dripping with ice storms of yippeeness! 'Maybe even see if I can fit in a fridge!'

But then it happened. Disaster. 

Shit full of blood for three or four days type horror. He'd fucked up. Possibly even fucked down. And worst of all, almost certainly fucked in. 

He realized that had he promised his dad that he'd come around and show him how to download jazz onto his laptop. 

What should he do? The options were as many, as they were variable as they were varied in the numeracy:

- Follow his dreams? 

- Follow through with his promise?

- Try and sit on twelve recliners, then maybe compromise and see if he could fit in an oven? 

- Something else? 

The potential results of these actions were as numerable as the were obviously dripping in obvious flames of numbered possibilities: 

- Diving headfirst into an end table hoping to dislocate his neck, before calling for his lawyer from a rolled up rug that he'd rolled himself up into all while screaming 'the mob did it, the mob did it', before making new friends with someone in the organized crime division of the FBI and hoping that they owned a jazz album he could borrow making the downloads unnecessary. 

- Bellowing 'the Egyptians invented furniture and now they're all dead! DEAD I TELL YOU'? Then inventing red paint out of rug fibers, before day dreaming he was in a factory copied painting of Paris, that was magically appearing in a mirror next to the fry pans, making eggs, flipping a bird like jackpot, and using this attention grabbing opportunity to ask an employee where the nearest exit is. 

- Try sitting in an oven that's SET to recline! 

- Stealing an employee's identity and escaping to Ohio where he could burn all his skin off with melted cheese and join a traveling freak show, masquerading as a stable freak experience, before taking a job at Goldman Sacks and firing their gold trader. 

Yep, he realized right then that he had options. 

He'd never felt so lived in a living life disc that was nothing but overwhelming feelings of being alive! Or, and this is where it gets even more exciting, possibly even something else! 

Ooohhh.. Satisfying!

The only way she could escape...

The inferiority 

The insincerity 

The third word starting with i and ending with y that this pattern asks for

Icy perhaps 
Ooohh efficient

Way better than say... Inexplicably  

Was to remember that inferior insincerity is the BEST kind of inferiority 

Way better than say 

Inexplicable iciness 

Which would be something almost impossible to escape from 

Unless she had like a warm coat 

Oooh convenient 

Wait she had a warm coat just ready to go?

Even though the iciness was inexplicable?

She didn't even need to escape did she? 

She planned the whole fucking thing! 

That evil fucking maniac!!

Way better than say...

Being a lazy indiscriminately incensed ill used idly impish ass! 

And let's face it, that where at the top of this story we all thought this girl would end up, right? 

Ooohhh.. Satisfying! 

 

The fucking song

I like to think that if I had my own radio show dedicated to country hits of today and yesterday my show would be called 'Farm and Barn', and my theme song would go:

Don't reach out your arm

To cause harm 

Or set off alarms

That'll ruin calm

So instead use that arm 

To turn on the best darn 

Show called 'Farm and Barn'  

The only problems I can see with this plan are as follows:

- I don't currently have my own county radio show. 

- Let alone one that has country hits from today AND yesterday. 

- They rarely have theme songs for country radio shows. 

- I hate the thought of alienating people who enjoy causing harm.

- Or calm.

- 'Farm and Barn' would be a stupid name for show, only picked cause I like that those are both country sounding words that rhyme. 

- The song kind of suggests that this is merely the best show of all those called 'Farm and Barn'.

- Which is maybe fifty shows world wide tops.

- Best out of fifty is not a goal enticing enough to put in the work that would be required to be the best. 

- And it'd be uncouth to lie in song. 

- Farms and Barns are places that often have bad radio reception. 

- So is Guam. 

- Which is a rhyme that didn't even make the fucking song. 

- I hate the thought of alienating the armless. 

Other than that I'm set, so, yeah... Send me your job offers now! 

All Praise

She was always on time.

It was her thing.

'I'm always on time!'

She'd reply. 

Upon being asked if she had a thing. And then being pressed about what that thing was. 

But that was before the clocks stopped.

She has a new thing now.

Glushgg scrubber in the post dystopian post alien invasion post democratic alliance of the post postmaster era. 

It's not as cool as her old thing, but as she always say. 

'Glushgg's ass stinks if no one scrubs it'.

Oh wait, maybe saying that could be her new thing? 

Cool. 

Turns out there's hope for us all. 

All praise Glushgg. 

Red Comfort

He wore a red shirt. 

He always did. 

'It's the only way to know there's not a bull stalking you ready to gore'

He'd regularly say. 

'But then if there is one you'll be the first gored' I'd reply.

'Exactly, I've been gored three times on land, and once on a cruise, it's a small price to pay for knowing for sure that if you were going to be gored there's a good change it'll already have happened' he'd state. 

'A bull on a cruise, that's interesting' I'd ponder. 

And that's how the Red Coats lost the war of independence.

YOU'VE BEEN HISTORYIED! 

Wombat or Saucy Socialist?

Time to play... Wombat or Sensational Saucy Socialist Scandinavian Serendipitous Party Trick? 

You put it in your mouth.... 

You put IT in you mouth....

One last time 

YOU put 'it' in your mouth.... 

Kazaaaaghkhh!!! Awwww. No winners today, but we'll be back again tomorrow. Thanks for playing everyone. Thanks for watching at home. Thanks to my lovely co-host Melon. Thanks to King Jurijg. Thanks to the heavily militarized militia that stalk my subconscious. Thanks to the 17.2% of the world's population who don't know how much to tip their private scalp masseuse. Thanks to my pet Moose. Thanks to miscellaneous millisecond millepedes. Thanks to the crime reporters from the 1820s and their tireless efforts to create a still beloved system of lightening horror with great puns, such as 'Your Chances of Enjoying A Night At The Movies This Weekend Have Been SLASHED' and 'Still Happy That Front Door Locks Have Yet To Be Invented? Find Out Why That's A Brutally Stabbed In The Neck, Skinned, And Then Turned Into Lampshadingly Stupid Thing To Think, Right After This Commercial Break'. Thanks to plastic for still being the world's best substance to make plastic bags out of. Thanks to suitcases for giving us all the opportunity to slyly whisper to someone 'I'm casing this joint' with them knowing full well you may not be planning on robbing the place, but merely planning on burying it in suitcases. Thanks to elaborated practical jokes for being so darn practical, and occasionally even elaborate. Thanks to toiletries for making actual trees feel less subconscious about being what die to make toilet paper. And thanks to moonshine for being the only good thing ever made of moon rocks. 

That's it from us tonight, but please join us again tomorrow for another exciting game of ... Wombat or Sensational Saucy Socialist Scandinavian Serendipitous Party Trick?  

Carry On Then

I should have known something was up when they announced that as the plane was full they'd be enforcing the two carry ons only rule we'd all agreed to at check in, and he didn't proceed to still carry onto the plane a full suitcase, three bags of shopping, two purses and a Buick. Something was up indeed. And for once it wasn't the raccoon entail soup I can't seem to remember that I do not enjoy eating. 

Yep, it had happened, there was a weird force of a man on my flight, the kind of man you hear about but never dream you'll share a flight with, a man as rare as Sasquatch taking a bath, that filthy animal (Fun fact: Sasquatch's long held fear of bathes is where the term 'you filthy animal' originated), the type of man who you would totally live tweet about, if the promised Wi-Fi actually worked, because this is the type of man so rare on a plane that EVERYONE would want to read about it - yep, I got to share a flight with another human being who was NOT an epic selfish cunt.

Now calm down...

- 'That's not a real thing'

- 'Your a lying filthy animal'

- 'I've flown before, EVERYONE, is a total selfish cunt, and I like to complain about it and yet still be really selfish and cunt like myself'

- 'Yeah, ok, so he was just a demanding prick then?'

I hear you all screaming. 

Well in response...

- It is real. 

- Nice try on using that fun fact but 'your a lying filthy animal' is not the same as 'you filthy animal' (fun fact: 'your a lying filthy animal' originated after it was discovered that Sasquatch is scared of using the correct simple contraction of 'you' and 'are') But it does exist I tell you. 

- You don't get to complain AND be a total selfish cunt, just treat other people like you'd like to be treated you dicks.

- No.

Get this - he didn't even attempt to board till his row was called, he only...  wait no, I'm not going to go ahead and list all the things that make being a decent fellow traveller entail, you know that, unless you're not lucky enough to fly places like I am, sorry I didn't mean to boast, plus 'entail' that's right it's Raccoon 'Entrail' soup  I like, not Raccoon Entail, no wonder my lunch hasn't been staying down. I might stop eating Raccoon soup all together till I can learn to pronounce simple middle of word Rs. 

 

Today was the best day of my life, because I got to fly from LA to Chicago with another decent human being. Although to be honest I made him up, and I'm a little disappointed in myself that even in my imaginary world I made him a him, but I can't be bothered to go back and change his sex now. Plus, when they announced four times that they won't be allowing extra carry on baggage, why the hell did the woman with a full suitcase, three shopping bags and two purses get let on instead of crucified against the wall as a warning to other potential cunts? 

Women! Am I right? (Fun fact: 'Sasquatch's long held fear of pronouncing 'women!' and then people not agreeing that he's correct about things right after pointing this out, is where the phrase 'Women! Am I right?' Originated). 

Great phrase originator that Sasquatch, bit of a sexist. 

Square on dispirit

Delta spirit trash can! 

Now that I've got that off my chest it's time for us to talk about your current strong sense of dispiritness angled firmly towards the sea urchin. 

Yes I know it's not angled directly towards the sea urchin, but it's close enough and I think we can stop this before its angled square on towards the sea urchin, which could be very bad, very bad indeed! Well not in any tangible way, but still, square on sounds bad. 

So here's what I'm going to offer you in return for your promise to lay off the urchins: 

- My thanks on behalf of the Sea Urchins. 

- A card entitling you to a silent declaration of sea urchin disappointment, that you can use at anytime no questions asked.

- A slice of ham.

- A Boyz To Men tape. 

- The Sea Urchins thanks on behalf of me. 

- $3.27 in small change (please note: if some of this turns out to be rusty then it is STILL legal tender, and it's not my fault if your local store won't accept it). 

- A kids toy that's both fun and educational (please note: how much your educationated by this toy will be at least in part dictated by how much you currently know). 

- A block of cheese, a SQUARE block! So that should satisfy any 'square' lust. 

- If you dye your hair a drastic color and then your roots grow out, and that contrast turns out to not be a good look for you, I'll give you at least a week to fix it before we mock you. 

- A full three weeks to pay back that $3.27 I lent you, before I start charging interest, which will only be a daily minimum of $5 so nothing to worry about. 

So lay off the friggin urchins you pricks. Dispirited feelings can be very dispiriting! Please note: if I miscalculated your feelings of dispirit towards sea urchins at any point in this blog them I am sorry, but if you didn't have any dispirit for me to bribe away please consider this list of generosity to unavailable to you. Oh and...

Alpha soul garbage heap!