Swine Flu is a terrible name for a virus. And not because it contains the word "swine" and makes me think of greasy animals rolling in their own filth. It's a terrible name because it's unoriginal. How are people supposed to be afraid of a virus with such a mundane title?
My suggestion would be something that would rival the "Black Death" of the Renaissance. How about "The Bloody Eye Socket Full of Unidentified Larvae Virus" or "The F*** You Up Until You Die A Miserable Lonely Death Virus"? We have a beautiful language full of amazing adjectives.
One country is slaughtering all of its pigs just to be on the safe side. I think that's a great idea. We should also slaughter all people in a one hundred mile radius of any suspected human case and burn down their houses and fields. Eventually twelve of us will be left to live as nuclear mutants in a barren wasteland. Problem solved.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Friday, April 24, 2009
Question of the Week April 24
So... no one is responding to my weekly questions...
I've decided that maybe people are still reading them and considering their own answers. Maybe someone is reevaluating their life right now because of my questions. Maybe someone else is joining the peace corps. Maybe someone else is invading a neighboring country.
I was eating my "Tuscan Style Chicken Sandwich" at lunch and thinking about how exotic that sounds. Suddenly I felt myself thrust into an Italian vineyard, playing a lute, and romancing the local married women. And that, for some reason, got me thinking about cannibals.
What would be considered exotic for cannibals?
I've decided that maybe people are still reading them and considering their own answers. Maybe someone is reevaluating their life right now because of my questions. Maybe someone else is joining the peace corps. Maybe someone else is invading a neighboring country.
I was eating my "Tuscan Style Chicken Sandwich" at lunch and thinking about how exotic that sounds. Suddenly I felt myself thrust into an Italian vineyard, playing a lute, and romancing the local married women. And that, for some reason, got me thinking about cannibals.
What would be considered exotic for cannibals?
In Memory of "In Memory of" Stickers
People are stupid. We all know that. Or maybe some of us don't. In that case, you're part of the problem.
It's become an epidemic: "In Memory of ______" stickers on the backs of cars. And it makes me want to suffocate a kitten.
Do these people know that the item on which you write "In Memory of _____" becomes the dedicated object? Why wouldn't you donate a bench to a park in that person's name? Or donate some money in that person's name to build a school? I should hope that when I die someone doesn't commemorate my life on something that needs routine tire rotations and oil changes. The car represents the memory of that person? Every time the car is driven we're supposed to think about that person's life?
This sort of thing not only reminds me of the amount of ignorance in the world, but it also makes me think about how I want people to think of me after I leave this world. The following is a list of things I want in death:
1. An epitaph on my headstone that reads "Avenge Me!"
2. A donation made to zombie research
3. Ribbons made for "zombie research awareness"
4. A holiday in my honor on which people give gifts and don't go to work
5. A statue of myself in the village square with a historically inaccurate list of my achievements
6. Instead of a cross and flowers at the site of my death, I'd like a white flag of surrender
It's become an epidemic: "In Memory of ______" stickers on the backs of cars. And it makes me want to suffocate a kitten.
Do these people know that the item on which you write "In Memory of _____" becomes the dedicated object? Why wouldn't you donate a bench to a park in that person's name? Or donate some money in that person's name to build a school? I should hope that when I die someone doesn't commemorate my life on something that needs routine tire rotations and oil changes. The car represents the memory of that person? Every time the car is driven we're supposed to think about that person's life?
This sort of thing not only reminds me of the amount of ignorance in the world, but it also makes me think about how I want people to think of me after I leave this world. The following is a list of things I want in death:
1. An epitaph on my headstone that reads "Avenge Me!"
2. A donation made to zombie research
3. Ribbons made for "zombie research awareness"
4. A holiday in my honor on which people give gifts and don't go to work
5. A statue of myself in the village square with a historically inaccurate list of my achievements
6. Instead of a cross and flowers at the site of my death, I'd like a white flag of surrender
Monday, April 20, 2009
Roland Emmerich: Catnip for Humans
This morning at work I’m reading the news on the internet, and I come across Roland Emmerich’s new movie: 2012. For those of you who don’t already know, Roland Emmerich is my arch Nemesis. I’ve filed a restraining order against him, and his movies aren’t allowed within one hundred feet of me.
“Alright,” you say, “I can understand where you’re coming from. His movies are big-budget, over-the-top pieces of crap that have no scientific credibility, and he preys on the fears of the public and profits from it.” Then you say, “But they look f***ing amazing!!!”
Yeah, I know. I must be jealous of his ability to make crap shine like diamonds. Blah blah blah.
I just have a simple request for my readers: PLEASE DON’T GO SEE THIS MOVIE!!! If you have any respect for history and science then PLEASE don’t go see 2012.
"Letter to God Part Five" was a request to have Roland Emmerich trapped under a gas truck, but I can't publish it for legal reasons.
Sigh.
“Alright,” you say, “I can understand where you’re coming from. His movies are big-budget, over-the-top pieces of crap that have no scientific credibility, and he preys on the fears of the public and profits from it.” Then you say, “But they look f***ing amazing!!!”
Yeah, I know. I must be jealous of his ability to make crap shine like diamonds. Blah blah blah.
I just have a simple request for my readers: PLEASE DON’T GO SEE THIS MOVIE!!! If you have any respect for history and science then PLEASE don’t go see 2012.
"Letter to God Part Five" was a request to have Roland Emmerich trapped under a gas truck, but I can't publish it for legal reasons.
Sigh.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Financial Meltdown... and Subsequent Luncheon.
"There are signs that the economy is on the upswing". At least, that's what I hear from my fortune cookie. It's strange when your food knows more about financial news than you do.
It gave me an idea.
I took my financial adviser out to lunch to discuss my investments and planted messages in his fortune cookie (i.e. "Your customers are going to kill you if you don't pull their money out of AIG and GMC" and the more obvious, "What were you thinking?") He asked me about the messages, but I calmly stated that my fortunes said I will be coming into a large fortune. He then asked why his fortunes appeared to be written in the same ink I just used to sign my credit card receipt. I chuckled and replied that many inks look alike.
He went on to tell me that my "coming into a large fortune" probably won't be happening any time soon. I simply told him that it's already happened. While I was treating him to Panda Express my evil henchmen were robbing his office. "Now if you'll excuse me I must be off," I announced and dramatically pulled my cape around my body. Then I turned into one hundred bats and flew back to my castle in the hills.
Phil 1, Big Business 0.
It gave me an idea.
I took my financial adviser out to lunch to discuss my investments and planted messages in his fortune cookie (i.e. "Your customers are going to kill you if you don't pull their money out of AIG and GMC" and the more obvious, "What were you thinking?") He asked me about the messages, but I calmly stated that my fortunes said I will be coming into a large fortune. He then asked why his fortunes appeared to be written in the same ink I just used to sign my credit card receipt. I chuckled and replied that many inks look alike.
He went on to tell me that my "coming into a large fortune" probably won't be happening any time soon. I simply told him that it's already happened. While I was treating him to Panda Express my evil henchmen were robbing his office. "Now if you'll excuse me I must be off," I announced and dramatically pulled my cape around my body. Then I turned into one hundred bats and flew back to my castle in the hills.
Phil 1, Big Business 0.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Easter Icons: Part 1 in a Series of 1
I already know I'm going to get a lot of hate mail for this one.
I love Easter. I love dinner with family and springtime in Arizona. I love everything about it... except for one thing.
It's a holiday that celebrates resurrection, and we celebrate it with... egg hunts? Rabbits? WTF?
Don't get me wrong. I love Paganism. Fire, fertility, dandelions... it's all great, but we need to update our religious celebrations. How long have we been mixing Pagan and Christian ideas now? A couple thousand years? Christianity needs to move on. They need to ditch the Pagan crutch and embrace pop culture.
From now on, I suggest that we replace rabbits and eggs with an icon that better represents the idea of resurrection. What's the first thing that comes to mind when we think of someone coming back from the dead? That's right. Zombies. And what better way to celebrate zombies than with zombie walks.
You can read about future Easter Day Zombie Walks here at Viva La Revolucion! in the near future. Please send any hate mail to the e mail address listed in my profile.
I love Easter. I love dinner with family and springtime in Arizona. I love everything about it... except for one thing.
It's a holiday that celebrates resurrection, and we celebrate it with... egg hunts? Rabbits? WTF?
Don't get me wrong. I love Paganism. Fire, fertility, dandelions... it's all great, but we need to update our religious celebrations. How long have we been mixing Pagan and Christian ideas now? A couple thousand years? Christianity needs to move on. They need to ditch the Pagan crutch and embrace pop culture.
From now on, I suggest that we replace rabbits and eggs with an icon that better represents the idea of resurrection. What's the first thing that comes to mind when we think of someone coming back from the dead? That's right. Zombies. And what better way to celebrate zombies than with zombie walks.
You can read about future Easter Day Zombie Walks here at Viva La Revolucion! in the near future. Please send any hate mail to the e mail address listed in my profile.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Question of the Week April 9
My question of the week: Why isn't anyone responding to my questions of the week?! If no one starts answering my questions then I'm going to strike by simply writing about absurd things off the top of my head that have absolutely no credibility... wait...
Yorkies and Cannibalism: Both Bad for Children
I’m driving down the road, which I like to do when I transport myself somewhere, and see a little dog with an ugly face in the lap of an old woman driving an Altima. Aside form the potential danger this woman is about to unleash on other drivers, I begin wondering why this woman and other women like her choose to bring their dogs with them on every mundane errand. Then I have my answer. Old women love little dogs because it satisfies their empty nest syndrome. Since their ungrateful kids don’t want to have anything to do with them, they want to have something that still needs and desires affection.
That’s an obvious one. The real question in my head was, “How long have older women been doing this?” I recently set out across Ethiopia to study ancient symbols and cave drawings, and I was shocked by my archaeological findings. I was asked if I’d like a guide or a translator to accompany me, but as we all know I’m an expert in ancient script.
As it turns out, women have not always kept small dogs after their family has moved out of the village. As a matter of fact, it had been tradition (all the way up until the 1950s) after the family has moved away for the mother to actually capture and cannibalize the children of a neighboring family. It was believed that she would absorb their souls and therefore always be “full of the love and fear of the innocent”. This is according to Sumerian text.
One more mystery of the world has been solved. You can all relax just a little bit more.
That’s an obvious one. The real question in my head was, “How long have older women been doing this?” I recently set out across Ethiopia to study ancient symbols and cave drawings, and I was shocked by my archaeological findings. I was asked if I’d like a guide or a translator to accompany me, but as we all know I’m an expert in ancient script.
As it turns out, women have not always kept small dogs after their family has moved out of the village. As a matter of fact, it had been tradition (all the way up until the 1950s) after the family has moved away for the mother to actually capture and cannibalize the children of a neighboring family. It was believed that she would absorb their souls and therefore always be “full of the love and fear of the innocent”. This is according to Sumerian text.
One more mystery of the world has been solved. You can all relax just a little bit more.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Men: Not Unlike Velociraptors
Today’s inspiring tale comes from an experience I had this morning with a coworker (as usual).
“I hate men,” Cordelia (name changed to protect my career) mumbled as she passed me this morning. Then I did what I normally do when I need to ponder a comment or question: I sat on the toilet for a few minutes.
The Revelation According to The Post Apocalyptic Cowboy as described to Cordelia:
It’s not that most men are scoundrels… we’re all scoundrels (potentially). Men are hunters. Men are warriors. That is, we used to be these things. In today’s world we’ve become Abercrombie and Fitch wearing pansies. What happened to us?
Because of this sudden (in the eye of time) transition to a comparatively mundane existence, our chemicals are going nuts. We’re supposed to be routinely strategizing and killing things with our bare hands.
Men like sports because we all want to be beating someone to death on a battlefield.
Ladies, when we become combative when we’re asked to do something trivial like take out the trash it’s because, in reality, we know we should be wrestling an elk to the ground. We should be plundering a village. We should be creating and destroying empires. Alas, we are separating recyclables.
It’s not that we don’t want to confess these feelings and be held in your caring arms. We’d just rather be held in the cold arms of death in a wintery field and clutching our intestines that have recently been spilled by an enemy’s swift attack. It’s just not the same. You understand.
“I hate men,” Cordelia (name changed to protect my career) mumbled as she passed me this morning. Then I did what I normally do when I need to ponder a comment or question: I sat on the toilet for a few minutes.
The Revelation According to The Post Apocalyptic Cowboy as described to Cordelia:
It’s not that most men are scoundrels… we’re all scoundrels (potentially). Men are hunters. Men are warriors. That is, we used to be these things. In today’s world we’ve become Abercrombie and Fitch wearing pansies. What happened to us?
Because of this sudden (in the eye of time) transition to a comparatively mundane existence, our chemicals are going nuts. We’re supposed to be routinely strategizing and killing things with our bare hands.
Men like sports because we all want to be beating someone to death on a battlefield.
Ladies, when we become combative when we’re asked to do something trivial like take out the trash it’s because, in reality, we know we should be wrestling an elk to the ground. We should be plundering a village. We should be creating and destroying empires. Alas, we are separating recyclables.
It’s not that we don’t want to confess these feelings and be held in your caring arms. We’d just rather be held in the cold arms of death in a wintery field and clutching our intestines that have recently been spilled by an enemy’s swift attack. It’s just not the same. You understand.
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