Calm Ladies Solve Your Problems

Who are we to each other?

Caravan to Crazy-Town

He's Got Your Number

On opposite ends of the continuoum but standing in the same room these clods size each other up and down. They guardedly grip miscalculated digits but only one remains untouched by the other.

One clod retains the advantage of course. It only stands to reason. No two clods are exactly alike.

And, since it follows that each clod will fit differently into this most inflexible frame, one will fit more aptly.

Sadly, neither will understand which, how or why.

Also, nobody cares. And that's okay because that's the way it is.

Changing Wants

If I could just have a receding hairline to emphasize the swoosh of my greasy pompadour, strong forearms, and a pencil moustache I might be happy. That's a thought I'm pretty sure I had sometime just before my hormones kicked in. Probably like 1981.

Since that time I've come to understand rationally that nothing much actually matters in the long run. Of course this is no excuse to go about doing horrible things because when nothing really matters in the long run what matters most are the moments of the life you live. All you have to bargain with is what you put out-there. That is to say, if one wants to live in a world surrounded by pleasantness one's best effort to that end is to be pleasant. Spending the bulk of one's time screwing around and flipping people off will leave one with no right to complain about the lack of productivity and surplus of incivility in the world.

Of course even with the best of intentions we're only essentially animals. A good idea, I think, is to forgive other people their humanity even as they condemn you for yours. They'll call it weakness or some such drivel, but you'll know it as humanity if you give it just a moment's attention.

So in the end (of this pointless thought) I guess I embrace the idea that there are things more important than the self because the self is fleeting but we hope that the best of our society will not be. I say we with the assumption that you agree with me. And as with the assumption that these words mean something in any context to anyone I embrace it, intentionally ignoring the irony of the self-indulgence from which it was created.

Nothing Will Ever be the Same Again

Of course that's just a silly semantical trick. Once anything is it cannot be as it was again because when it was partially defines what it was. Right? But since I'm no guru, and you're not seeking enlightenment anyway, this episode is best forgotten. Please move on to the illustrations.

This is an old man, daft with power. He holds authority over all the government issued number two pencils and is not afraid to give you a very very dull one if you displease him. This is not a work of my imagination, but rather, it is TRUTH!! (The capital letters and exclamation points signify emphasis AND sincerity.)

This picture represents my relationship to my cellular telephone as well as the physical discomfort I feel in my stomach when I recall being spanked in public as a child.
This is supposed to be Carl Rove, but unfortunately does not look enough like a pig. (Carl Rove looks like a pig, and not at all like Morton Downey Jr.)
I often imagine people casually pointing at major disasters. For instance, this person is pointing out that everyone in the theater (he's in a 500 seat theater) is gushing blood from their faces.

This is the most recent example of ugly-monster-face.

Real Things

Sometimes I feel like this guy, all underground and ready to pull myself up into the unobstructed sunshine world of clean-air-possibility. Then prematurely exhausted from breaking the surface I rest my cheek on the clay gunk from which I am incompletely extracted. Exhaustion is a flaw, but resting reveals the event as an installation in the museum of eternal futility.

Before my irrational fear of flying there were gracious ladies pouring cocktails in the clouds. During my irrational fear of flying the ladies were replaced and the cocktails dried into crusty public blankets alongside innumerable snotty-sneezies. Now I specialize only in rational fears.

Who likes___? This guy! (the witless, wimpy jokester rides again)

I want paint under my fingernails and glue in my hair.

Please Mail Me a Break

What can I do to turn this thing around? Whatever it is I'll do it. Just give us a hint. Please.

ex pal, ex pat, ex lax

I can't really wrap my head around how pulling Bill Richardson out before the Obama crew even takes power is supposed to reflect badly on the administration-to-be. Whether or not Richardson is found to have been connected to any shenanigans this seems to be a classier move than claiming executive privilege and immunity for all in the name of Jesus.

Richard Wolffe has an extra ~f~ in his last name. He also has a clever accent, which goes to show that people come from far-away lands to make careers out of reporting on American political goings-on. Plus, so what.
You're never too young for cardiac arrest.

Shhh... tick tock.

In true silence watch batteries cannot exist.

He'll tell you there is a best way to do everything.

Can't we learn this virtue from a more fortunate clam?

I Enjoy Drinking Beer

Beer is good. Try and tell me it's not.

It's delicious. Mmmm... beer.

I sometimes drink it in big gulps because it's so damned good.

Sometimes I sip it. Usually that's only if I'm really full though.

I think it's great with peanut butter on crackers, if you want to know the truth.

When I used to eat chicken wings I drank beer while eating them.