Junk Food For Your Brain

As he jumped and spun around the ice his first thought was “I should be wearing skates.” His second thought was “I probably shouldn’t have killed that guy.”

Do you ever wonder why they call them “skiis”? I think a better word would be- no, nevermind, “skiis” is pretty good.

If I had a choice between winning a gold medal or a bronze medal, I’d choose the gold every time. Or the bronze.

Do you think the judges decide ahead of time to give someone a high score if their performance is really good?

It turns out that the rocket she had attached to her bobsled didn’t slow her down at all. It sped her up!

Read the previous entry of the “Bad at…” series here. Or start from the beginning.

The water roared in Sam’s ears and propelled him over the edge of the falls. He fell, picking up more and more speed until he was falling at exactly the speed of the gravitational pull of the earth and it was impossible to fall any faster. At that moment space-Zanzibek the space-cyborg of space-space blasted in driving his converted SEApodster (Secondary Equivalent to Air podster) and flew down towards Sam. What made this SEApodster unusual was that space-Zanzibek had hyperextended the wallen planks, with the help of the Lucians, to create a downward tidal thrust that enabled multifaceted hyperspatial anulment. Translation: he could warp anywhere or anytime in the known universe, but couldn’t do both together, unless by accident as according to the uncertainty principle. This time he happened to get the “where” right but was off by several hundred years. Nonetheless, when he saw a humanoid being swept to his certain death, space-Zanzibek’s moral codec kicked in. Even though the original codec left no place for morality, it too had been supercharged by the Lucians, albeit before the Grot war when artificial stimulants were readily available, leaving space-Zanzibek no choice but to try to save Sam or risk certain Xyllxyzyn council infringement for such failure to plotz.

Space-Zanzibek pushed his SEApodster past plank 5 and zoomed down following Sam as he fell closer and closer to the rocks below where, failing a total body maladjustment common in space-Zanzibek’s time, he would surely meet his death. Just at the last second, space-Zanzibek activated his hilated portal mechanism. The blue ray of light shot out from the sequenced aural opening, colloquially known as the “front”, and zapped Sam, beaming him into the back cockpit of the SEApodster.

Sam opened his eyes in surprise and uttered a shout of approximately 80 decibels. Fortunately the sound waves were absorbed by the rectium fabric which cushioned Sam. He looked around in surprise, both surprised and happy to be alive.

“Greetings earth human,” said space-Zanzibek and his words were translated and transmitted through the vibrating aural mechanisms located adjacent to the automatic neural receptors on the side of Sam’s head. Sam covered his ears as the speakers blared space-Zanzibek’s voice.

“I will let you off anywhere or anywhen you wish.” space-Zanzibek continued, unfazed by Sam’s apparent static reception.

“Let me off right here, right now,” Sam replied.

“Would you rather be here or now?” space-Zanzibek responded.

“Right here.” Sam replied, unaware of the a-chromatic irregularity such a request would have on the time continuum, much less the havoc such a request would cause to the Berillyium Council of Agates, who were in charge of any temporal abnormalities whether caused by humanoid, manganoid or vascalate. Non-agates of course falling under the supervision of the Glatiatiors, who had split from the council over the decision three thousand years ago to allow space-pollops into the Galactic Federation of Federated Galaxies. A decision which caused a rift between the Centauri system and the Mustaphoid system until the Great Re-Areckoning under Overloard Zazazazazazazazazazaz.

“As you wish, I will let you off here, some time,” said space-Zanzibek and he pushed the Matter Transmitation button.

Sam disappeared from the back of the SEApodster and Zanzibek continued on his journey to find the source of the All-Seer.

To be continued…

Dear Diary,

It has been three days since I washed ashore on this island, and still no sign of life. This entire island appears to be one vast desert running from where the waves crash onto the shore all the way up to the edge of the forest. The sun beats mercilessly on my head as I try to take refuge in a hole I dug in the sand. Alas, if only I hadn’t ripped off my shirt and flung it into the waves in anger over the loss of my pants, which I flung away in anger earlier today over the loss of my underwear. Which I flung away in happiness this morning over the loss of my hiccups.

I have searched in vain for water, yesterday walking almost five minutes down the beach but all I saw was a small trickle of a stream, no wider across than a 3 foot pole and only deep enough to submerge myself up to my hairline. I gulped some down and it sated my thirst, temporarily. Yet mere hours later I was thirsty again. I know soon I shall have to return to the water and drink anew. Ah! If only I hadn’t defecated upstream, but I really like hearing a splash when I relieve myself. It is one of the few comforts remaining to me.

I have yet to see a worthy vessel sailing the seas. No masted ships of Her Majesty’s Navy.  Nor even a schooner of the Spanish Armada.  So far, only a handful of motorboats and a cruise ship or two have even come within shouting distance. But I will not shout! No matter how dreary my situation gets, I will keep the last vestiges of my dignity and refuse to raise my voice. I am still a member of polite society and shall be until the day I die. Even when the inhabitants of said ships have come onto the island I fought them silently. Not raising my voice even while delivering a barrage of karate chops, until they gave up and left me.

I fear that this may be the end. If not tomorrow then the day after, or the year after that. At most I have 50 or 60 years left. Oh, curse you fates, that dooms me to die before my time. Before I can see my son again. Or for the first time. Or even have a son. If you find this diary, please do not read it. It is private. Perhaps I should have written that upfront. Well, then, take it as a warning and heed my diary or be cursed to die a slow, nasty death!

Hugs and kisses.

-Henry Worthington

First of all, I’d like to thank all the members of the media who are covering this event for covering this event as there are is a persistent rumor that I would like to address. I have not, I repeat, not, ever literally stolen candy from a baby. There is absolutely no evidence for my alleged candy stealing, nor should there be as it has never happened. Ok, everybody’s murmuring, why is that?

Oh, really? You’ve never heard that rumor? Ok, well let me put to bed the rumor I have just started that I constantly steal candy from babies. I do not and have not. In fact, could you just edit out that whole part and I’ll start again? I don’t want to start rumors that I quite literally steal candy from babies. Oh, we’re live? Except for Channel 5? Good, Channel 5 could you- Oh, you’re going live now? When did you start so I can- Ah, just the last part of that sentence. So the first words you broadcast were “I quite literally steal candy from babies”. Ok. Well. That is not true, I do not steal candy from babies nor have I ever stolen candy from a baby, nor will I steal candy from a baby and that rumor, that I have apparently just started, is false. I would also like to remind people that there is a big difference between a baby and a toddler. Now, then…What’s that? Oh, you hadn’t heard that until I just said it? Please ignore it.

Ok, then.

I’d like to address the persistent rumor that I am wanted in three states for murder. That is not true, it is patently and demonstrably false and as soon as I get clearance from my lawyers to discuss what actually happened I will. Suffice it to say that there are many degrees of murder, most of which I did not engage in. Some have even spread the scurrilous rumor that I engaged in a brutal gangland style slaying of many innocent victims including women and children after which I wore their skins like a winter coat. Without going into detail I can assure you that parts of that rumor are a lie and other parts are half truths, plus there was a very good reason for everything that I did so please do not speculate and spread vile rumors because it’s possible you may be wrong about some parts. What’s that? You hadn’t heard that rumor either? Dammit.

Ok, did you hear the rumor that I make my aids chew all my food for me? No? Good, because it’s not true and you can ask my aid once he gets back from his vacation at an undisclosed black ops location. Maybe the rumor you heard is that I am actually an alien from Alpha Centari sent here to destroy the earth from within? No? Blee-blorx. I mean…phew, then there’s no need to address that one.  How about that I sold secrets to North Korea? That I’m infected with a rare form of monkeypox? That I performed secret radiation experiments on members of my local daycare center?

Well, what rumor is everyone talking about?

Ah.

Yes.

Well.

I can say, without a doubt, that there is no evidence that I have now, nor have I ever been, in a grade school production of “You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown.” Thank you very much. Vote Quimby.

So all the bloggers are making lists of their favorite posts of the decade now? Ok. Here’s my favorites:

I found a copy of the first draft of The Matrix.

I also found a transcript of the recording of the Beverly Hillbillies Theme Song.

I wrote about detectives who explain too much.

I reviewed a porno film. (NSFW)

I took part in a street battle.

I solved a mystery.

I took a deadly cavern tour.

I heard some scary, scary stories.

I began an adventure series using literary devices, badly.

And had a relationship expert give advice.

Happy New Year! More to come in the aught thousands and tens through twenties.

I’ve always thought that when Arnold Schwarzenegger was running for governor and pledged to “terminate” the budget problems and took the legislators to task for making up “true lies” he should have ended his speeches by asking the voters to help him “jingle all the way” to Sacramento.

Times sure have changed in the novelty t-shirt business. Why, i remember it wasn’t so long ago that you could get mustache rides for only a nickel. Now I’ve seen them offered for up to 25 cents each! That’s inflation for you, I guess. It just seems a shame that it’s no longer enough to give mustache rides just because you love it, now it’s become just another money making scheme.

I can also remember a time before your parents went to Hawaii and all they got you was this lousy t-shirt. Yep, used to be your folks would get you a nice rock with some eyeballs glued to the side. Or even an actual Hawaiian shirt. Or even not go to Hawaii at all, just stay home and watch the window. Times sure are changing. You kids today. It’s like your bitches are constantly falling off allowing us to read this. In my day, our bitches hung on. And we wore our knock off Simpsons shirts with pride. Now it seems all you kids are doing is having a cows.

And who could ever forget the legions of bikini inspectors put to work by FDR’s New Deal? Hard to believe the government actually paid for young men to travel up and down the coast inspecting bikinis. And a damn good job they did, too. You bet your sweet bippy there wasn’t a shoddy bikini in the whole country. Now anyone can be a bikini inspector and to hell with the standards. There’s no pride anymore. I guess that’s how things change. Sometimes I just wish everything could be like it was. Now where can a person go to see veiled sexual references and worn out quotes from movies? The internet I guess. But it’s just not the same.

-Vance Buckenwald

Vance Buckenwald is a contributing writer who died after typing that last sentence. The editors had to push his body out of the way to hit the “Publish” button. The editors regret having to touch a dead body. Oh, and condolences to Vance’s family.

Our guest writer today is Karzkat Selvonian. He’s from Latvia and he calls himself a “Professional Advisist on the Relationship”:

Sexy ladies! Now that I have your attention let me tell you about sexy ladies. Sexy ladies are just like you and me, except sexier, and ladies! A lot of people ask me “Karzkat, how can I pick up sexy ladies like you?” Let me tell you about the answer to that question.

The first thing you need to know is that sexy ladies can be found everywhere you are- the gymnasium, the churchyard, even the cemetery- anywhere you are frequently going! Anytime you go out is a good opportunity to talk to a sexy lady. Make your goal to be seeing sexy ladies. I do not go home until I have talked to at least 3 sexy ladies a day. I can see what you are saying now “But Karzkat, now that I have seen a sexy lady, how do I meet her?” Let me give you a very good answer.

To meeting a sexy lady, I always like to wear a very funny t-shirt. That way the sexy lady knows you like to be laughing, and sexy ladies love a good humor sense! One good funny t-shirt is one that say “Bikini Inspector”, that way the sexy lady thinks you have a job as doing that. And sexy ladies love the men with jobs! Once you have your funny t-shirt on, approach your sexy lady and say something like “You’re a very sexy lady” or “I like you sexy lady, let me show you about having a good time” or “You are the sexiest of all the ladies. Come with me”. That way the sexy lady knows what you are wanting right up front. Sexy ladies do not like to be beating their bush around. Once you are talking to the sexy lady now is the time to be finding out about her life. Is she married? Does she have a boyfriend? Is she engaged? These questions all show an interest in your sexy ladies, and let me tell you, sexy ladies like that. Okay, now that you are talking to a sexy lady, what now? Let me tell you.

After cooking and cleaning the house for her family all day, your average sexy lady just wants to have fun. After the introductions, it is time to invite your sexy lady out to somewhere. Be sure to invite your sexy lady to someplace romantic and equal to her sexiness. Some good ideas include the gymnasium, the churchyard, even the cemetery. I like to take my sexy ladies to the rock on top of the hill behind the orphanage. If you are lucky maybe you will see a shooting star! That is the time to wish about something sexy ladies like to hear. Make sure your wishes include good things to make happen. Some good wishes are “I wish everyone had toys” and “I wish the orphanage were not so big” and “I wish that shooting star would fall on an evil man and kill him dead”. By this time the sexy lady should be like a handful of putty.

Congratulations! If you have followed all of my advice you should be now with a sexy lady. Next time I write to you, I will tell you what to do with your sexy lady now that you are with her. Until then I am wishing you much lifzenki!

Ok, I’ll admit it, sometimes I talk to my cat. I know people talk to their animals all the time but it still seems a little weird. But sometimes he just stares at me so I feel I have to ask him “What’s up?”. I’m just wondering where to draw the line. I mean, I don’t expect him to talk back to me or anything, but sometimes he will meow as if in response and it feels like we’re having a conversation. It’s just the two of us alone in the apartment all day, should I just let this awkward silence drag out? Of course not. That’s why we talk.

Ok, I’ll admit it, I sometimes sing to my cat. You know, pop songs, rock, anything that happens to be stuck in my head, or made up songs, whatever. Sometimes I’ll sing whole songs about my cat, to my cat where I’ve replaced all the words with my cat’s name. I’m sure everyone’s done this at some point. What else should we do with so much free time and just the two of us staring at each other? We’re not lovers, we’re not going to get physical or anything, don’t worry about that. Our private bits and bobs are incompatible. Oh, and also bestiality is gross.

And, yes, on occasion I have quoted movie lines at my cat and replaced the character’s names with my cat’s name but so what? Who hasn’t done that? And I know I can’t be the only one who spends weeks writing adventure stories about me and my cat going skydiving or spelunking or fighting pirates. Most of the time I then turn them into scripts and film them but I assure you I almost never watch them alone, over and over on a Friday night. Hardly ever. Seven nights a month at most. And why shouldn’t I? I’m sure my cat likes wearing his pirate costume as much as I like wearing my saucy school marm costume. And we both love going on grand adventures, just the two of us in a world made for cats, by cats.

And while it is true that, like most pet owners I’m sure, I have investigated using plastic surgery to turn myself into a cat I’ve come to realize that it’s super expensive and not very realistic looking. Plus there’s no way for them to attach my tail to any muscle so now it just drags on the ground. And the full body hair graft has just become itchy and uncomfortable, especially in the summer. So, you see, I do realize there are limits, but again, I’m just trying to find where to draw the line. I know there is no such thing as a machine that turns people into cats or magic sorcery that turns people into cats or even genies who grant cat related transformation wishes. I’m a cat realist, not a cat fantasyist. But please contact me if science ever figures out how to turn one animal into another animal that’s a cat.

I love sitting on a leather sofa every night watching a 60″ flat screen TV and drinking milk straight out of the carton. And I love it even more because it costs me no money at all. Zero. I have never paid a dime for any of it. What’s my secret, you ask? It’s simple: None of it’s mine. Did I steal it? No. I simply watch houses until I see one that looks empty then break in and live there like I own the place. Now you may say that’s crazy, but who’s crazier? Is it me because I break into houses and pretend like I live there even if it means occasionally stabbing a large, angry dog to death? Or you who build up large amounts of debt to sustain your ever growing lifestyle? I know what my answer is.

I’ve learned that in this economy especially, it’s important to downsize. And living from house to house gives one an excellent sense of what’s needed, and what’s merely desired. I’ve boiled my life down to the essentials and I’ve come to love my roaming lifestyle and the freedom it brings. Every day is a new adventure. Where will I sleep? What food will they have there? Will I need to tie anyone up and lock them in a closet? My frugality has brought me a freedom and a wealth of life experiences that no money can buy. I’ve learned more from living outside of society than I ever did in jail. For instance, did you know that most people just use their address as the key to their security code?

Sure, sometimes I miss sleeping in the same bed as the night before or not having to lie to people about who I am and what the hell I think I’m doing in this house, and sometimes I even regret burning down a house with the occupants inside just to hide my tracks. But it’s all worth it when I look at the sobbing faces of my terrified hostages and realize our positions could easily have been reversed. That could be me trapped in a dull, endless consumer lifestyle, writhing on the ground in pain, my face scarred with bleach, a dark figure in a hood hovering overhead, urinating in my mouth both literally and figuratively. I thank my lucky stars every day that I escaped such a nihilistic hell.