i wrote this from the perspective of some loud ass kid this morning at the bookstore

i lost my Chinese grandmother!

and now...
now...
now I can't shut the fuck up about it.

my eyes are crimson dewy.
my voice is stained and pleading.

she's not dead-
my Chinese grandmother-
i just wandered out of her view...
which, to most 7 year old boys, is nothing to cry about.

but i like to cry.
loud.
because i'm a stupid asshole.

i've found her just now-
my Chinese grandmother-
and if the world was a just place
(which it isn't)
she'd be hitting me with a big purse filled

to the brim

with Zen rock gardens and fine porcelain,
because even though now she's back and I can hold her hand again,
I STILL can't shut the fuck up.

I just can't seem to Chinese win.

SWMF

Single Waxy Monkey Frog Seeks Same.
I'm new to this, so forgive me if I come off like a dork! It's been a while since I've dipped my toe into the proverbial "dating pool", but hey, that's what the webbing is for, right? I know, I know, lame joke. Let's see...I'm a pretty normal guy. I lead a pretty active lifestyle. I'm more of a climber than a hopper I guess. And naturally I love swimming. My unblinking stare has been called both sexy and unnerving, but I just like to think it means I'm listening to what you have to say. I don't really want to come off like too much of a goof, so I'll stop writing. I'd much rather chat in person. Give me a chance, let's meet, chat, maybe dance 'til we croak! I know, another lame joke. Trust me, I'm much cooler in person! And waxier.

PROFILE:
Ethnicity: Waxy Monkey Frog
Religion: Waxy Monkey Frog
Body Type: Waxy Monkey Frog
Height: 80mm
Smoking: No
Drinking: No
Children: Thousands - heck, maybe you're one of them!
Plans for Children: LOL!

PROFILE OF DESIRED MATCH:
Maximum distance: 3 branches
Ethnicity: Waxy Monkey Frog
Body Type: Waxy Monkey Frog
Height: 60mm - 72mm
Drinking: No

A bear is nothing but a tiger thrown in amongst conifers and made to appreciate a more spartan wardrobe.



But then i'm no zoologist . . . which should explain my lack of worthwhile college education, string of low paying jobs and the fact that I *still* don't have access to the most exotic (and, hence, delicious) animals that the metro Philadelphia area has to offer.

I went to the zoo. Once. Gorillas sat motionless just out of view (or so I was made to believe) and the goats of the petting zoo area had an unhealthy fixation on my crotch area when I ran out of the bountiful corn/other crap mixture that flowed forth from a modified gumball machine.

I attempted to cure the wry goats by filling my hands with dirt, pretending to get more 'goat feed' and then dumping the dirt in their mouths when they came to beg and bleat.

I taught them.

Attention, COPRHSJWSRC members:

It is my sad duty to inform you that as of today, July 2nd, 2010, The City of Philadelphia Rush Hour Screaming Joggers With Smoldering Rucksacks Club will cease operations. This is for our own safety, as I'm sure you can understand. It's unfortunate. For the past 25 years, members of the COPRHSJWSRC have enjoyed jogging through Philadelphia rush hour pedestrian traffic while screaming and lugging smoldering rucksacks, for both fitness and fun, and it is sad to think that the actions of a few bad apples would make this wonderful past-time seem suspicious in any way. The tragic results of yesterday's annual Scream 'n' Lug made the decision to disband the COPRHSJWSRC a foregone conclusion. Some of you have dissented, insisting that we can continue as a club if we merely stop screaming as we jog while lugging smoldering rucksacks. Still others have pointed out that it's the smoldering we need to eliminate - that non-smoldering rucksacks would serve us just as well. And a vocal few have argued that the mere presence of rucksacks at all is the issue. Let me be clear. With the COPRHSJWSRC, it's always been all or nothing. For us to honor our club's history, and for us to achieve the full satisfaction and joy that we have always striven for, it is pertinent that our jogging be:

a) during rush hour

b) while screaming

c) and carrying rucksacks which are:

d) smoldering.

That's it. Until we can safely resume the activity for which our club is named, in its totality, we shall cease any and all club activity. I am truly sorry, and I wish all COPRHSJWSRC a happy and healthy remainder of the summer.

Sincerely,
Dan Cleets III
President, City of Philadelphia Rush Hour Screaming Joggers With Smoldering Rucksacks Club

P.S. This Sunday, I will be having a few COPRHSJWSRC members over for an informal smolder seminar, exploring what materials produce a good, long lasting smolder in a rucksack and so forth.

P.P.S. From now on, let's call them backpacks.

(special thanks to Dom for brainstorming up that fake name for me) 

Last week on Twenty-One Dollar Burger. . .

Dale 
You're shitting me.

Seth

No man, seriously.

We now return to Twenty-One Dollar Burger

Dale

How was it?

Seth

Awesome.

Tune in next week for more Twenty-One Dollar Burger!

Abusing the "Replace All" function has never been more fun.

Original post HERE

(CNN) -- After lining up for hours, or sometimes days, Apple fanatics on Thursday morning started to get their hands on the Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking off, the latest gizmo in that company's line of trend-setting Leprechauns who won’t stop jerking off.

The Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking off went on sale at 7 a.m. local time Thursday in U.S. stores, and at 8 a.m. local time in France, Germany, Japan and the UK.

At an Apple Store in Atlanta, Georgia, customers and Apple staff clapped and cheered when the store opened at 7 a.m. ET.

A 20-year-old college student named Seth Herren said he had been waiting in line at Lenox Square Mall since 10 p.m. on Tuesday. 

At a flagship Apple Store on Fifth Avenue in New York, more than 600 people had lined up to get a device that some were calling the "Jesus Leprechaun," according to CNNMoney. Vuvuzelas trumpeted. Fans cheered.

In London, Priscilla Lee and her brother, Alex, had come all the way from Dubai, United Arab Emirates, to get a spot at the head of the line for the new Leprechaun, which features video conferencing, a faster processor and a sharper cha-chi.

The Lee siblings said they had traveled so far because they had to have Apple's new gadget on the day it became available. "I've got a Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking off and then my Librarian throwing guns. And then a bad case of the mondays. This rash -- the list goes on," Priscilla Lee said. "Apple. What else to say?"

Gizmodo, a technology blog, pointed its readers to a Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking off app -- called Line Snob -- that helps Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking off line junkies know how long they will be waiting. Of course, as one commenter pointed out, you would need an old version of the Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking off to be able to use that app.

When Apple CEO Steve Jobs unveiled the new Leprechaun this month, he said the Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking off is "the biggest leap we've taken since the original Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking off," which debuted in 2007.

The Leprechaun will cost $199 for a 16-gigabyte version and $299 for a version with 32 gigabytes of storage space for photos, videos, movies and apps.

The Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking off has a higher-resolution cha-chi, which Apple calls a "retina display" and says is better than anything in the industry.

It is about 25 percent thinner than the most recent generation of Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking offs and features cameras on the front and back, which will allow video conferencing.

The Leprechaun comes in two colors: black and white.

Early reviews of the Leprechaun have been predominantly positive.

Some have criticized Apple's continuing policy of not running Flash graphics, websites and games on its products, as well as the company's deal to sell the Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking off only with an AT&T wireless network contract.

The size of the Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking off's cha-chi -- at 3.5 inches, measured diagonally -- has also come under criticism. Several Android-based Leprechauns who won’t stop jerking off sport larger cha-chis, which some analysts say are better for watching video.

Up the stairs he jostled, like a young jostling jostler on the jostle. He felt every blade of Astroturf between his un-socked feet as he blazed across the faux fairway of his faux St. Andrews number 17 situated in the friendly confines of his attic.

Not only was he fast, but he was rich enough that there was no one to race him. Not on this indoor golf hole. He'd found through his years of play at 'normal' golf courses that most patrons favored playing golf to racing from tee box to flag stick anyways, so it was near impossible to find a race.

Sometimes he paid young crack whores to race him for a razored rock or two but their technique was as lacking as their dental maintenance and to say they were fleet of foot was, indeed, a lie of the greatest measure.

A compatriot mega-rich acquaintance enlightened him to the quickness and relative ease in procuring preteen Arab boys for races and, for a time, he raced the brown youths until they cried for mercy and his feet bled from Astroturf burns . . . his hands from hoisting the flag stick skywards proclaiming his utter brilliance and insanity in a single shout of victory.

But those racing days were long past and in their place settled cold cans of corn niblets and bottle after bottle of cough syrup garnished with the same drink- worn tiny umbrella that once gave the gin rickeys and singapore slings of his youth a touch of whimsy.

Sadness permeated from every corner of the house. Profound sadness punctuated with exclamation points fashioned of kidney beans in the shape of famous kidney beans kept in a kidney bean shaped jar resting on a shrine to beans of a kidney variety made of an old desk with old issues of "Jet" magazine for legs.

Across the room: a toilet paper roll with a long spent glow stick taped inside serving as a shamefaced sham of a lamp.

Then, as if out of nowhere, I was hungry for a salad. goodbye.

The man with the bulging left pocket and the corresponding buried hand that manipulated it just seconds before you stepped into the viewing room flicks his possum eyes from corner to corner, fiddles with his headphones and lumbers out of sight (likely toward another mildew cornered Renaissance canvas with pink puffs indicating the presence of long dead nipples). The thick memory of his flushed face hangs heavy in the room like an elevator filled with soccer mom smells and hairstylist noise. Dead eyed teenagers stop dutifully while a teacher gestures grandly towards a well known piece and takes a few extended moments to enjoy the echo and play of her resonant voice in the expansive hall. A boy, just away from the crowd, scuffs the floor with his gaudy sneakers and blinks heavy and hard at the noontime light that pours endless through the one window in the room. He spins slow from the light on a heel, casually flicking a two fingers in front of his gaze as a stop gap shield.

His backpack is a canvas of his own and the paint-penned fabric is filled with whirling letters and dizzy figures. He stands away from the rest.

Fuck this shit.

You heard me. Fuck this shit. No, not THAT shit. THIS shit. Right here. Fuck it! How this shit can be allowed to go unfucked is beyond me. Look at it! Ooh this shit is so asking to be fucked it's ridiculous. Someone's gotta fuck this shit. Fuck! This shit. You know what? Forget what I said about THAT shit. Someone should fuck that too. Yes, both this shit and that shit should be fucked repeatedly until they are completely fucked and no longer need to be fucked. FUCK! I hate this fucking shit.


(note- In actuality I am not angry about anything in particular.)

Instruction.

GETTING STARTED

CONTENTS:
I. Installing On-line Shut-in on your hard drive.
II. Subscribing.
III. Creating your Shut-in.
IV. Navigating the On-line Shut-in "Introverse."

I. INSTALLATION:
Installing your new copy of On-line Shut-in is as easy as not dancing. Simply place the CD-ROM in the appropriate drive and follow the prompts that appear on the screen. On-line Shut-in will take up a tiny amount of space on the furthest corner of your hard drive. You'll hardly notice it.

II. SUBSCRIBING:
Stare at the On-line Shut-in icon that should now occupy the bottom right hand corner of your computer desktop (it looks like a tiny man hiding behind a sofa). If nothing happens, double-click on the icon. If nothing continues to happen, try again. Remember, a "double-click" means that the two clicks must be in fairly quick succession. Today's computer 'mice' are built to withstand repeated, firm clicks, so don't hold back. Once the subscription template appears on your screen, you simply need to fill out the appropriate billing information. Our unobtrusive automatic withdrawl option ensures that you won't have to walk to the mailbox or speak to anyone on the phone.

III. CREATING YOUR CHARACTER:
Three columns will appear under the banner "Creating Your Shut-in". Click on one icon in each column to choose your shut-in's gender, pastiness, and eyeglass prescription. Once you've set these parameters, click DONE to proceed to the bathrobe selection screen.

There are over 8,000 styles of bathrobe to choose from, with variable size, length, color, fabric, stain types and stain patterns. Make sure you pick the bathrobe that's right for your shut-in, because he or she will be wearing it for the duration of the game! Once you've picked a robe, it's time to determine how your shut-in makes a living.

The occupation screen has over 4 different types of occupations to choose from:

Freelance web designer
Novelist
Neighborhood curiosity
Famous physicist
Undiscovered corpse (this occupation will severely limit your playing choices)

Once you've created your on-line shut-in, it's time to start not exploring our vast, virtual world - the "Introverse."

IV. NAVIGATING THE INTROVERSE:
The Introverse is a gigantic virtual world, filled with thousands of virtual characters, each with unique personalities and objectives, and all of them interacting with each other to create a constantly-changing virtual "eventscape." However, your virtual shut-in will only be able to experience this world vicariously, as he or she will never leave their home. Your character can:

Cook.*
Clean.*
Peer through the curtains.*
Go on-line.*
Watch tv.*
Pace.*+
Play on-line games.*
Shout at passersby through the mail slot.&
Engage in on-line discussion forums relating to on-line games.*
Solve age-old mathematical and scientific conundrums and receive international praise.^
Send and receive both snail and e-mail.*
Decompose.**

*Option not available to undiscovered corpses.
**Option only available to undiscovered corpses.
+Option not available to famous physicists.
^Option only available to famous physicists.
&Option only available to neighborhood curiosities.

BFFs

So I bought "Plastic Beach" yesterday which means I can stop listening my torrented version - which always made me feel guilty for enjoying it so goshdern much and not having paid good official American currency for it.




I recently discovered Janelle Monae. It's like Sun-Ra Orchestra meets Outkast. I'm not mad at it.


I am the Record Industry's good, good friend. Such a good friend that sometimes we borrow from each other and I've slept over a time or two.

Ludittes

I officially own a "Smart Phone."
I don't like it.

Just say no.

Guys this "Faces of Meth" site is really scary and sobering.

Bless this mess.

I've been thinking a lot lately about making a bunch of classy looking framed, calligraphy placards that say "Here I sit so brokenhearted/came to shit but only farted" and secreting them into fancy restaurants in my Fair City, nailing them to bathroom walls in appropriate sitting and teeth grinding places and then chuckling to myself whilst I savour smoked trout mousse and swilling a fine sauvignon blanc watching poor befuddled Mr. Spalding/Winthop/Grumplesticks toddle out of the bathroom complaining loudly about said placard.

Well said.

". . . [T]ea baggers believe stupid shit because they want to. It’s willful ignorance. They spin outrageous theories because they know that the naked truth about what they believe would make them look like giant bigots and big meanies. So, instead of saying, “I don’t want health care reform because I like a system where poor people are shut out because that means I don’t have to see them in my doctor’s office,” they start yelling about the slide into socialism. Instead of saying, “I’m an incredibly selfish person who wants to keep my government-funded Medicare, but I don’t want to see that single mom down the street get health insurance because she’s a slut and I want to see her suffer,” they say that Obama’s trying to take their Medicare and that’s socialism. They’re not confused because they were badly educated and don’t have a grasp on critical thinking. In fact, I think a lot of us would be surprised to find that the person hollering ignorant shit about Obama’s birth certificate often turns around and is highly competent at a job that requires the cognitive skills they don’t bring to their politics. They’re willfully ignorant, and this distinction should never be forgotten when trying to understand them."

"It makes me feel sexy."

I think the kids are gonna love the glamour shots Mom got made.

On Comedy.

The following is an IM conversation I had with a friend on some rules or "patterns" of comedy.

like who's on 1st?

well
thats more of a paradox
the who's on 1st bit
basically
a series of events is occuring
and it's being interpreted with two entirely different meanings at the same time

got it

basically you laugh at Whos on 1st
because our brains fail to sort out the confusion inherent in the change of context
inversion is another component of comedy
its the reversal of expected roles
like in Bros in the year 3000
the humorous premise is that total tool bags are the brain trust of a futuristic society
that can be humorous in itself

idk man

like to make something funny?
take an idea or a norm or more
and flip it backwards
that's the first part
once you find the funny
repeat it again and again until its no longer funny
"No, you're the homo."
is an example of the first two
now
creating a paradox with that info
you mash up the funny with the noot so funny and the truth it reveals creates a third funny
like
"no, you're a ghey fag"
"No, you are."
"No, i'll prove it by docking my bing bong with your donger."
"See how much my bing bong is docked up in there? That proves you're a nancy."
i realize i just explained some basic tenants of comedy with a protracted gay joke

You're welcome.

Complicated Universal Cum - I can hardly wait from fakediamond on Vimeo.

Dear Shop Rite

I recently purchased some Evil Milk, as advertised in your circular. Please help me. My cereal is now evil. My coffee is now evil. My cookies, by association, are becoming evil. Plus, I have an evil milk mustache.

Sincerely,

Doris Fauser

New London, Connecticut


P.S. Oh my God no the pancakes.

By Crom!

A close friend of mine was laid off from her job, the same job I was laid off from almost exactly a year ago. I thought back to many of the friends I made over my five years there, which led to all of the idiosyncrasies that nagged and annoyed me.
Many of my co-workers were religious (read: SUPER CHRISTIAN) types. There's nothing wrong with faith, but there's everything wrong when your cubicle is over-laden with so many religious tsotchkes that it overflows into the surrounding cubicles.

And I wouldn't mind the little God-related affirmations posted all over the multitude of cubicles and desks if just one extra phrase was inserted into each of them:

AN ANGRY


So, instead of "Each Day is a Gift from God", the tiny little heart-shaped frame on her desk would contain the phrase:


EACH DAY IS A GIFT FROM AN ANGRY GOD!


Specifically Crom, the God of Steel and Battle.
























The implication being that we should cherish each day that we are allowed to continue existing, for at any moment Crom may fix his baleful eye on us according to his cold, capricious whimsy.
And blast us into oblivion as he laughs from his eternal mountaintop.


So yes, be thankful for each day. But do not pray to Crom.

He does not listen.