Friday, December 31, 2010

About Willoughby



Willoughby is a pig. He is no ordinary pig -you know, the kind that you see in the grocery store, or in an animated movie. Willoughby is an exceptional pig.

All throughout school Willoughby's teachers would say, "Why don't you apply yourself, you have so much potential!" Willoughby would say to himself, "Why don't you get out of my way, it will reduce your chance of being trampled."

"Potential," Willoughby thought. "Is the difference in pressure in a system. Hmmm...that gives me an idea."

Many years later, the name Willoughby was said in fear. He had never hurt anyone but he had invented a doomsday machine. "Achieve your potential! Convert your matter directly to energy! Smile!" read the large logos on the boxes that Willoughby would leave laying about. "Just push the button!" read the label that was just below a shiny friendly button. No one had ever pushed one as the Willoughby task force collected and stored the machines as fast as they could be manufactured.

Willoughby was getting frustrated. Not one of his quantum devices had been activated. The universe had not been reduced to a flash of light, not even once. Back to the drawing board. Visions of self-pushing buttons danced through his head.

Things do not always work out as planned. Willoughby (who always read before bed) picked up "Death on the Nile" by Agatha Christie. He was hooked. After finishing one Agatha Christie book, he would pick up another, then another. Instead of building a self-pushing button, Willoughby was chain-reading mystery books. Suddenly the idea struck him. He had to deactivate all of the hundreds of doomsday machines that he had built. To do this he needed the help from the wind, the light, and stealth personified: Earl Gray - Ninja at large.

End part 1. Stay tuned for part two.

Thursday, December 30, 2010

Propinquus ut tribuo versus.


Is est duco tenus meus natalis. Is est meus tantum duco down quod EGO diligo is carus.

Discuss.

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

It will all become clear soon.


And a few random movie quotes:

A man is defined by his actions, not his memories

Gentlemen, you can't fight in here! This is the War Room!

The word itself makes some men uncomfortable. Vagina.

The central message of Buddhism is not: "Every man for himself."

No, it's pronounced: Fronkensteen.

The suspense is terrible . . . I hope it'll last.

Look at me, jerking off in the shower. This will be the high point of my day. It's all downhill from here.

Fill your hands.

Well, he should have armed himself if he's going to decorate his saloon with my friend.












Wednesday, December 22, 2010

This is not the blog that you are looking for.

I was going to post about the cruelty in the Peppermint Bark industry (poor peppermint dogs) but then I saw this chart and decided to post it instead.

Sunday, December 12, 2010

You have termites in your smile



You’re a mean one Mr. Grinch
You really are a heel.
You’re as cuddly as a cactus,
And as charming as an eel,
Mr. Grinch!
You’re a bad banana,
With a greasy black peel!
You’re a monster, Mr. Grinch!
Your heart’s an empty hole.
Your brain is full of spiders.
You’ve got garlic in your soul,
Mr. Grinch!
I wouldn’t touch you
With a thirty-nine-and-a-half foot pole!
You’re a vile one, Mr. Grinch!
You have termites in your smile.
You have all the tender sweetness
Of a seasick crocodile,
Mr. Grinch!
Given the choice between the two of you,
I’d take the seasick crocodile!
You’re a foul one, Mr. Grinch!
You’re a nasty, wasty skunk!
Your heart is full of unwashed socks.
Your soul is full of gunk,
Mr. Grinch!
The three words that best describe you
Are as follows, and I quote,
“Stink, stank, stunk!”
You’re a rotter, Mr. Grinch!
You’re the king of sinful sots!
Your heart’s a dead tomato,
Splotched with moldy, purple spots,
Mr. Grinch!
Your soul is an appalling dump-heap,
Overflowing with the most disgraceful
assortment of deplorable rubbish imaginable,
Mangled-up in tangled-up knots!
You nauseate me, Mr. Grinch!
With a nauseous super naus!
You’re a crooked jerky jockey,
And you drive a crooked hoss,
Mr. Grinch!
You’re a three-decker sauerkraut
and toadstool sandwich,
With arsenic sauce!

Sunday, November 28, 2010

Christmas aggression and that bastard Santa



Parking has just become much more difficult with the soccer moms flinging their SUVs  around looking for the perfect parking spot that they feel entitled to. The blood is in the water now, the sharks are all out. People who are polite before thanksgiving will now cheerfully cripple you if you are between them and the pepsi display.

I blame Santa.

Just who does he think he is, self-righteously ignoring international law, spying on you, and catagorizing you based on a set of rules that he made up. I think that John Ashcroft and Santa are related or something.

About these rules: Naughty.....Nice.....whatever. There are only two categories. Are your deeds judged by severity? Quantity? Morality? If you pet your dog once for every time you kill a hitchhiker do you break even? What if you are a do-gooding saint but selfish in bed? Let's say you bugger a sheep. Texas; nice, NYC; naughty? WTF!

I think that Santa uses his vast surveillance network for his own sinister purposes. For him all the world's peoples are just a jerry springer show.

I say Revolution! Don't give the fat man his kicks. Sit and stare! Don't do anything worth watching. Not even in the shower. Embrace stillness, silence, and calm. We will ruin Christmas but regain our privacy. I'm starting now.

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Yuk

I'm a slacker at updating this blog. Perhaps it is your fault.

Anyhow: