Deep Fried Teens

It is best to keep your turducken in a plastic bag even if it is in the teens. Bugs? Not a problem until they evolve anti-freeze in their primitive little circulatory systems, but there is the ever present threat of tigers and in northerly latitudes, bears. We all know they won't eat what they can't smell. So keep it bagged, folks. For your own protection.

Texas has this weird latin-judeo-christian mix going on, so one would believe that turducken and HPV inoculation would be antithetical. Though like Werido Al is fond of saying, everything you know is wrong. You'd be wrong about Texas as well. Turns out you CAN have your turducken and teenage HPV innoculation after all! Could it be time to re-think creationism? A flat-world? Perhaps the time has come to consider that maybe those cherished beliefs are not sacrosanct after all.

Hey though, I am for mental extensions. Cyborg like. RAM-BUS for my brain. Fiber to my femur. IR, X-RAY eyes, ultrasonic ears. Metallic infused buckball oxygen delivery to my tissues. Sign me up. Now. Human viruses?

Those are so like bacon. Yesterday's news. The news today is deep fried turducken wrapped in bacon garnished with pork-rinds, drizzeled in chocolate ice-cream and frozen with liquid nitrogen. After all I'm sporting a hafnium powered, titanium lined composter for a stomach.

The End

"In deference to you I shall.", Simon intoned.

The daylight was fading. The face of a older man who'd seen more than his share of worries was replaced with something younger. Something more innocent. Something transitory before the night took hold.

"That's the way it is going to be then?"

an imperceptible pause, followed by

"Yes. Yes it is."

Turning, the two parted ways. Gravel crunching underfoot, brightening stars overhead.

Rant On, Ranters

I HAVE SOEMTHING IMPORTANT TO SAY.

Can the pplz delievering my Nigerian Sp4M plz hurry up?

My +INBOX is decidely not full. Probably it is that damn Bayesian filter screwing things up again.

• Dont read your mail
• Dont open your mial
  
• Dont EAT your mail

and KIDZ don't do drugs. DRUGS ARE BAD.

Take me for example. I AM FUCKED UP BEYOND ALL RECOGNITION. AKA fubar'd. Know how that happened? I watched a bunch of drug commericals and smoked a towel.

1. Towels are NOT effective anti-drug spokesmen
2. Towels ARE effective galactic travel gear, along with a proper bath-robe.
3. Towels COULD be made so as to not shed all over the inside of my drier.

Let this be a lesson to you my dearest reader.

Don't send spam, and don't forget ur towelz.

Which Side?

Which side of the planet do you live on?

The outside. Unless you're a Morlock.

If you are a Morlock consider this your eviction notice.

Using my superior technology I'm going to travel back in time and stop this loop of time and prevent your species from ever starting. How's that for genocide? Though technically it isn't, at least relatively speaking. In the entire scheme of things maybe, but since temporally bound sentience is generally incapable of viewing time in that manner it isn't. Notable exceptions being the quasi AI machinamania intelligence of SkyNet, and one Homer J. Simpson.

Crossing paths with these two in multiple instances sure has been discordant... with all the liquid metal, cyborgy stuff and donuts and beer smells eeking out of the resident time locus. Supposing we intersect some champagne and wd-40 maybe in order. I always enjoy being the white-trash party-crasher.

Oh, back to it. Later Morlocks...

and I have half a mind to wipe out your Murlock cousins later this morning, so don't get to thinking your gonna rise up in a sub-species 260K years from now and get your revenge that easily.

Occlusion

Who was it that decided that rather than being into star-rises and moon-sets we'd all spend our time looking at sunrises and sunsets and composing sonnets, songs, and all manner of frivolity and sacrifice to sol? Its a good question. One I have posed to several different species. Most give me pretty boring anwers about nocturnal vs. diurnal and other garbage like that. My friend mr. owl told me 'whooo' though. That made sense. Then my good friends who like to hang out under the millenia olde trees of their cloud forest let me know that it really had more to do with a lack of bio-luminescence than anything else. They've grown up with the benefit of it, and their culture reflects it. Slow, steady, and getting stuff done 24/7. Almost something fed-ex or whatever other company they compete with would like. all except fer the slow part. Then again it maybe their atmosphere too, it's ok for humans, but GREAT for plants, and them being plantlike at a cellular level apparently chilled them out much more than our weird out of the water that birthed us type of evolutionary path. Least that's what they tried to tell me. Not sure it really translated well.

Holler it Loud, Pl3eez

Dont now know, and know now that intrigue leads to more interludes of sanity within the spaces of time in which all is lost.

That my friends is the start of a great play. The playwright, while famous, shall remain anonymous... and should you want to learn or read the rest, well... you're going to have to find the obscure book I pulled it from. Good luck with that. It's not like I went to google and told it I'm feeling lucky after typing in a few words I heard a caffine crazed co-worker spouting about watching tv last night. nope. do it though, there is a chance that somebody will get lucky and find it. then again maybe a million monkeys given a million years wouldn't find it either. should get you to wondering about the nature of words. how many ways can you put them together. are the meanings all the same every time? what would happen if you tested the same sentence on the same person every year. chaos. mass chaos and upheavel. tower of babel type stuff.

Take the phrase, "Please, hand me the chisel." how's that hit you? How would it sound to you should you decide to hear it again in 5 years, 10, 25, 60, 99? What if you died were reincarnated and came back someplace like Peru, didn't speak english, yet heard some wild missionary type say it whilst he was building a new church in your andean village? That's the question. Probably you'd hand him a chisel. Then with forethought kick over the ladder, turn the church into a casino hall, sell trinkets and alcohol, and end up emigrating somewhere else to enjoy the twilight years of your life. All because of a simple phrase. Makes you think words have real power, does it not?

Oh, and ever hear the phrase, "Caught the flu in Chouteau?", now you have. Enjoy it.

DAFf 'o dDILS

Once a shaman decided he liked my living room. However, I did as well. So there was going to be a showdown. I could have told you how it was going to play out before it even started though he of course had his own misguided views of how much ass-kicking an dis incorporate astral entity is able to do, even in the dark and with a waxing gibbous moon in his favor.

Needless to say I laughed in his unmanifest face and dared him to do more... but the problem being that a disincorporate being lacking physical form has kinda a problem doing more than bluster, fear tactics, and showmanship in an effort to displace my will in my own living room. Time and space, my friend, learn them. They are bound up with gravity, and you my friend lacking time, space AND gravity are in a world of hurting when it comes to kicking ass. In the end he packed up and left me and my living room, and it was back to my irregularity scheduled trance session sitting in front of the stereo in the dark. Maybe he'll be back and bring friends. Maybe a pony of something.

Maybe a daffodil would be better. Charm me, regale me with Celtic tales of owls, love lost, revenge taken, and lessons learnt after banishment into flower form for all eternity. That might pique my interest long enough for you to hang in my living room, listen to some tunes for a bit, chill, maybe recline and learn to deal with all the dust mites in the rug, and perhaps achieve some semblance of happiness whilst waiting for the sun to rise.

Though sometimes a flower is just a flower, even when bought and sold on wall street.

Inside the Orange Peel

So apparently eating fruits and vegetables decreases your risk of cancer. Its because these things are so darn healthy for you. Or is it?

One day I noticed that pencils were not made out of wood anymore. They were some weird pseudo bizzaro world type of material which kinda looked like wood. It sure as hell didn't taste like wood to me. Termites, pine-beetles, and anything else which eats wood such as beavers should totally be sad. In fact, if I was a beaver and found out about pencils being replaced with synthetic nastiness I'd likely go chew down a whole forest, build myself a little beaver style bunker under a lake somewhere and hole up for the rest of the century. Though I must admit, beavers are beavers, which I know means they will continue to chew through trees, eat, swim, do beaver stuff and procreate and die. Meanwhile, I'll still be very sad I can't burn or eat pencils anymore without remembering the glory days of the wood pencil.

So now, I'm onto my point. You eat junk food. It replaces fruit, vegetables and other good things in your diet. You get cancer. You die. Now some chowder-heads come along and tell you that fruits are good at fighting cancer. Funny thing... think cancer would be a problem if you'd ever stopped eating real food and started eating the post-industrial slurry of cost-reduced food-stuffs which are passed off as edible and nutritious food these days? Try reading the ingredients list on your food. Trying getting one at all for fast food, and don't you dare buy yourself a beaver suit after doing so and join the "Furries" movement. That will get you into at least as much trouble.

Probably more.

I'm about to go Wikipedia

Flying home the other night I realized I wasn't on a griffin. Took a second though... the perspective, the light, and being a bit tired it all contributed. Course there was a few seconds of temporal dissonance while viewing the road I'd soon, or currently was, driving down while at the same time flying above it. Turns out I did both that night. In real life. Just at different times.

Curse video games. They fragment reality into slices and pieces of experience to be consumed by the imagination. Later they are replayed by the sub-conscious while you're not paying attention. Then you live it again, but from a different perspective. Which is all fine and good. Except that the green earth was never ment to be digitized and stored on hard-disk inside some air-conditioned NOC in a nondescript business park with low-rent.

Should it be, and Gaia will weep and your roads will either be covered in freezing snow, sleet, or rain. Again with the dissonance. This time on a tropical beach in a foreign land. Except it wasn't foreign at all. It was the domain of the Gurubashi Trolls, however it was the wrong planet, wrong time and not at all digital. Other than that it would have been the same. Funny thing vacations. They all take place in the same place. Different physical worlds, sure. Different temporal instances, sure. Same region of experience and consciousness though. Marcus Aurelius said something once about wiping your imagination clean. Now *that* is a vacation.

So after all that you may be wonder what this has to do with wikipedia. Well, it's the same thing. Vacations, information, electricity, light, dark. The same. One is a collaborative effort put forth by individuals, the other is a collaborative effort put forth by individuals. Ever been on a vacation and got annoyed that the potholes were not filled in. Somebody does that. Wondered about the clean towels. Somebody does that too. Wondered about the wikipedia entry describing why 42 is the answer and why a towel is a good thing to carry everywhere? Somebody did that too.

Large Hadron Colliderz

Head for the hillz. Teh LHC is coming to a planet near you. Like it or not if Hawking and his crackpot radiation theory fail us and a stable singularity forms in the once beautiful swiss alps we can all bode adieu to life in our space/time continuum. Manifold space is indeed a strange, limiting, form-filled and mostly annoying place to live with brief periods of respite. However, the idea of being drawn irresistibly and for all eternity towards a single point in the universe doesn't sound appealing to me. Especially before lunch. Especially since before lunch. Especially before lunch. Wait... am I repeating myself? No, that's just a glitch in the matrix. Wait, no it's not. It's me going back in time and screwing with both you, me and everyone we know. Wait, I am not. You are. Stop it you freak. Why are all these people using my words and typing in my cyberspace? Whatever happened to a localized time and space in which everything was distinct, seperate, and made sense? I'll tell you what happened... it became an infinite amalgamation of all that was, is, could be, and will not but is... as we gravitated towards utter redemption at the bottomless pit of the a singularity. That my friends leaves me with one question. Where in the hell can I get a good grilled cheese sammich in eternity. I suspect the answer is Pi. Both the numerical and grammatical versions. I just hope that at some point the endless spouting of eternal numeric randomness generated by Pi and fed back into the feedback generator of the Matrix is enough to trick me back into thinking this reality is indeed stable, linear, and mostly harmless to my being. Oh, guess what. Time for lunch bitxchez.

Charo, Shall we Dance?

Cue the trumpets. Strike the steel drums. It is time to dance.
Consuela loves to dance. She also loves Charo.

Therefore one could conclude that Charo loves dance. However,
multiplicative properties do not apply to latin dancers, nor to
the enjoyment of Pelligrino. This lead to a rather embarrassing
and lengthy exchange between Charo and her Pelligrino last
Tuesday at a cozy, yet vapidly public eatery in Los Angeles.

Seeing it made me wonder what it was about The Love Boat
which made it, along with such shows as; The Power Rangers, ALF,
and The Dick Van Dyke Show, unable to offer a compelling alternative
to public radio. It could be argued that public radio itself is simply
Richardo Montalban becoming Michardo Raliban after review by
an inebriated dyslexic editor-in-chef with a strong dislike for my
writing style. Perhaps it is because Fantasy Island itself was a
chariot conveying the human dreams of immortality, greatness,
public adulation, and fame for an oppressive tax-hungry government
looking to placate it's populace, to other wild theories such as
brain parasites, spread by cats, feeding upon the opiates in our
gray matter. No matter, both are valid suppositions, or at least
as valid as the idea that you can buy a decent apple in the fruit
and vegetable section of your local supermarket. You can't.
(Don't believe me, try it sometime. Then ask Eve which she
liked better). The last truly great apple eatin to occur in recorded history
happened sometime a lot time ago when some greek dude
stole some super special apples from some freaky mad greek
deity type and ended up wandering the lands of the earth in
search of his own home for untold years, before waking up
in his own backyard in the 21st century and discovering that in
fact he had just experienced an interlude of spacial causality
resulting in his disappearance from 4386 B.C. and sudden
reappearance in late 2003, Los Angeles, CA, USA. Imagine.
It could happen to you. In fact, if there is a way for you to prove
it has not I'd love to hear it. Not that I'd believe you.