I'm glad that I am not a Squirrel

Five reasons why I am glad that I am not a squirrel.

1: The hours. A squirrel has to be up all hours of the day and night fighting crime and preventing natural disasters. I need my sleep.

2: The fur. Most people think that squirrels grow their own fur. This is not true. PETA protests furriers for squirrels regularly.

3: The diet. I don't like fish. I also don't like cold water. Everyone has seen the films of majestic packs of squirrels hunting salmon in Puget Sound. This is not for me.

4: Language: Squirrels have 27 different words for kill, 21 different words for menace, and 33 different words for cuddle. I don't think I could master the subtleties of Sqeakish.

5: The smells: Squirrels have a very sharp and refined sense of smell. The average squirrel can tell what your cousin in Oklahoma thinks of Sarah Palin just by smelling the exhaust from your car. There are many, many smells that I do not want to get to know better.

I will stick to being a Lorax for now.

My plastic joy

I was tasked by Riot Kitty to share with the whole world 5 people I'd like to get jiggy with if I could, and apparently, my partner won't get mad and kill me with a shot gun. I'd need a time machine and some seduction enhancement medication.


My first grown up lust, Siouxsie. Hot goth.


Dana Delany: I saw Tombstone and many naughty and borderline illegal thoughts coalesced.


Isabella Rossellini: The first woman that David Lynch introduced me to. We had a short lived but torrid romance (in my head).



Jennifer Connelly: I dare you to watch Requiem for a Dream without loosing a bit of your heart.



Laura Harring: David Lynch again displays impeccable taste to my impressionable self.


Oh, there is a blogger that I have quite a crush on, although my thoughts are as pure as the driven snow. Really.

That is all.

An ode to my underwear

Dear underwear, you have faithfully done your service to me for many years. We were an instant match and we have always been comfortable together. There has never been an awkward moment.

I have never doubted your reliability or discretion. When I needed you, I was never disappointed. In return I have done my best to keep you clean and happy.

I am sorry for what I have been forced to undertake. As underwear you naturally age faster than I do so when I started noting your frayed elastic and thin spots I knew the end of our partnership was near. I'm afraid that in the interest of your state of mind I've treated you very badly.

The basket that you now reside in is not actually the Disnyland lobby. Instead of frolicking with a giant mouse you will be squeezed in with kitchen waste and used kitty litter. Instead of your promised luxury retirement you will likely be buried in a landfill along with many of your suffering kind. I thought that the empty promises would keep you happy for just another day.

Excuse me now, I need to go shopping.

It's not easy being Three

It's not easy being Three for me. I mean, it would be hard for anyone but as I sort of identify with it, I take it kind of personally.

My interest in numbers started early in life. When the Count would say "Three! Ah Ah Ah!" I would cheer and promptly turn off the TV. I did not want to hear anymore. It was a jealousy thing, I think. School taught me to count past three, but I was always stuck. One, Three, Six, Nine, Ouch! (a ruler on the knuckles)

As I progressed I learned about prime numbers. A new horizon opened as I could now identify with a single integer and a larger group of numbers that contained my personal symbol. In high school I experimented (as many have done) with identifying with Seven, Twenty-Nine, and even One Hundred and Thirteen. I felt really dirty after the last one.

After I was done with school I embraced the whole world. (in a completely wholesome way, wink wink...). At my lowest depth the only communication people could get from me was "twentyfoureleven - twentyfoureleven." It was then that I met a beautiful woman and soon to be wife.

She approached me and the first thing I noticed was her badge number: 3041. I was gently led to her patrol car (#839) and tenderly placed in the back seat. "Is it too hot or too cold?" she asked. I replied with an offer to buy coffee.

When I was released five weeks later we went for coffee. A wonderful few hours of caffeinated bliss before she had to go to work. I knew she was my soulmate when I saw her phone number: 691-449-7919.

Marriage has been exponential. It is much better than sitting in front of an Amiga punching out a new program to find the largest Mersenne Primes. I love her, especially when she talks in base-8. HOT!

I have no more time for you. It is 9:19, I must go cleanse myself.

Ducks and a flower.

If there is anything that you've probably seen before, it's a duck. Just sit and look in any direction and you'll probably see a flower. The relationship between flowers and ducks is not complicated. The pair do not interact in a mutually pleasing or satisfying way. There is no dislike either however. They co-exist.

As I was observing ducks and flowers today, I was suddenly struck- by a flying insect with bad eyesight. You probably don't really care though. Admit it.

On the happenstance that you are wondering right at this very moment what a duck or a flower look like you can either look out your window or glance down just a little bit.

No, I'm the sheet slitter's son.

I saw this on fark.com today and it made me break out in a rash. Enjoy!




You must slit the sixth sick sheet slitter's son's sheet, secure it next
to the toy boat from the Hackensack Socko Kicky-Sack Sack Kickers'
picnic in Secaucus, stretch it past the sack pickers' station and the
sock plucker's chute, and pick a sack, pluck a sock, and flick the plug,
so I can put the pea in the plucked sock with the picked sack for
ballast and bounce it off the rubber baby buggy bumper, into the Parker
Packard purple pewter pressure pump. Is that understood?

Inadequate Pudding

The pudding was insufficient. Through no fault of its own, the pudding cannot perform the function required of it. Perhaps in other circumstances the pudding could have excelled, but it has failed the only opportunity it was given.

Go now, Egg, and sit on your hill of beans and think about the suffering you have caused. And wipe that stupid grin off of your face!