“I think it’s you guys that are taking this too seriously. It’s just life. Life itself is so implausible that it probably isn’t even real. All matter was in a big ball and then banged, expanding into an infinite void and just so happened to congeal into fiery spheroids, destructively dense spheroids and planets, and the planets all just so happened to fall into orbit around the fiery and destructive spheroids instead of getting sucked straight in, and on those planets the surface matter just so happened to align into chemicals, meaning the little balls that were atoms formed little globs of chemicals, and all those globs just so happened to rub against each other and form stable proteins chains that could survive and reproduce, and all of those little chains of littler globs of still littler balls just so happened to keep reproducing and banging off the walls of probability on planets whose environments flipped horizontally and vertically, heat-wise and air-wise, magnetically and tectonically, and managed to come through that not only covering the surface of that planet, but some of life was actually developed enough to be aware of the nonsense that was going on. If someone designed it, He’s nuts. If nothing designed it, then it’s even more nuts. Don’t tell me I’m not taking things seriously enough. You guys are crazy to go through this with a straight face.”
And with that, Ropp returned to playing his tuba for the canaries.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Friday, August 29, 2008
Bathroom Monologue: Dear All Other Monsters
Why do I always get dragged into these things? All I do is fly! Sometimes I fly into things, which I guess hurts, but it hurts me more than them. If my exoskeleton cracks I’m pretty much screwed. If my wing gets clipped I’m pretty much screwed. And then my kids save the day, by spitting silk. Why can’t I spit silk? The lizard spits fire! Fire, which is bright and causes me to go fly into it. It’s not fair. Let the giant monkey fight the giant lizard. Let the giant three-headed dragon do the fighting. Hell, don’t tell them I said this, but let my kids go instead of me. They always get the job done while I die. Let me stay at home with my plants! I’m always there, pruning my new banzai tree, the phone rings, and I shred the thing. Do you know how hard it is to tend a banzai without fingers?
Being a giant moth sucks.
Leave me alone,
M.
Being a giant moth sucks.
Leave me alone,
M.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Bathroom Monologue: Dear Godzilla
I’m not afraid of you, you giant lizard. Dinosaurs went extinct for a reason. You’re the last of a dead breed and it’s up to me to finish the job. My ancestors survived the KT impact. You think a little radiation scares me? I’m a giant fucking gorilla. I probably have uranium in my morning cereal. You’re so big? You think that scares me? Maybe you haven’t been watching the remakes, but I took on three t-rexes at the same time and won with my 21st century ninja skills. It’s not just dinosaurs and savages on my home island, bitch. It’s ninjas. I’m a giant ninja gorilla and mama said knock you out.
For reals,
K.K.
For reals,
K.K.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Bathroom Monologue: Dear Kong
I don’t want to fight you. It’s going to end with me picking your remains out of my toes, and I really don’t want to do that since I can’t reach down there. I don’t have the dexterity of a primate, since I’m an antediluvian sauropod. I know you think you’re good in there against dinosaurs. I saw you fight a t-rex and you were very impressive, but you’ve got to understand that I’m not a t-rex. A t-rex comes up to my shin. You climbed the Empire State Building, but I’d probably just knock it over, or breath on it and set it on fire. That’s the size and power difference we’re talking about here, ignoring that I’m so radioactive that if by some miracle you did actually win you’d probably die of cancerous tumors days later. I don’t want that for you. Despite my reputation I am a peaceful creature. I have a son now and am trying to build a respectable life. So please, for your own health, back the fuck off you dumb monkey.
Sincerely,
G.
Sincerely,
G.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Bathroom Monologue: Gaming New Update
"360-exclusive GTA4 content to add 15 hours of gameplay. 95% of GTA4 owners suddenly reminded they didn't finish the game."
Bathroom Monologue: Innocence is Wasted on the Stupid, OR, A Crayon Note of Sincere Apology
Brianna was mortified to learn her favorite breakfast, scrambled eggs, were actually baby birds. She felt particular sorrow for the mommy bird. That afternoon she blew her entire allowance on a dozen eggs and left the carton in the robin’s nest outside her window, with a crayon note of sincere apology.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Bathroom Monologue: Deep Blue, the Master Chess Computer, VS. Timmy Wilkins, who passed Third Grade in two tries
Deep Blue: King's pawn to e4
Timmy: Queen's pawn to e5
Deep Blue: King's knight to f4
Timmy: Queen's knight to c6
Deep Blue: King's bishop to b5
Timmy: Optimus Prime to a4, a5, a6, b4, b5, b6; King's bishop captured
[Deep Blue is consulting the rules.]
Deep Blue: King castles with King's rook
Timmy: Optimus Prime fires missiles: Kings pawn and King's knight obliterated
Deep Blue: King's rook to e1
Timmy: The Dead Men of Dunharrow have appear along a3, b3, c3, d3, e3, f3, g3 and h3
[Deep Blue is consulting the rules.]
Deep Blue: Queen's knight to c3. Queen's bishop's Dunharrow Warrior has been captured.
[Deep Blue is consulting the rules.]
Timmy: Queen's knight's Dunharrow Warrior to c3. Queen's knight captured.
Deep Blue: Deep Blue suggests that the Dead Men of Dunharrow have fulfilled their oath.
Referee: The time for Deep Blue's turn is expired.
Timmy: The Dead Men of Dunharrow have left the board.
[Timmy is consulting the rules.]
Referee: The time for Timmy's turn is expired.
Deep Blue: Queen to d2.
Timmy: Optimus Prime fires missiles. Spring mechanism jammed.
Referee: The time for Timmy's turn is expired.
Deep Blue: Queen to b4. Optimus Prime has sustained significant damage and tipped over.
Timmy: Optimus Prime delivers monologue and uses Autobot matrix. All of Deep Blue's remaining pieces have been captured.
[Deep Blue is consulting Toys 'R Us.]
Timmy: Queen's pawn to e5
Deep Blue: King's knight to f4
Timmy: Queen's knight to c6
Deep Blue: King's bishop to b5
Timmy: Optimus Prime to a4, a5, a6, b4, b5, b6; King's bishop captured
[Deep Blue is consulting the rules.]
Deep Blue: King castles with King's rook
Timmy: Optimus Prime fires missiles: Kings pawn and King's knight obliterated
Deep Blue: King's rook to e1
Timmy: The Dead Men of Dunharrow have appear along a3, b3, c3, d3, e3, f3, g3 and h3
[Deep Blue is consulting the rules.]
Deep Blue: Queen's knight to c3. Queen's bishop's Dunharrow Warrior has been captured.
[Deep Blue is consulting the rules.]
Timmy: Queen's knight's Dunharrow Warrior to c3. Queen's knight captured.
Deep Blue: Deep Blue suggests that the Dead Men of Dunharrow have fulfilled their oath.
Referee: The time for Deep Blue's turn is expired.
Timmy: The Dead Men of Dunharrow have left the board.
[Timmy is consulting the rules.]
Referee: The time for Timmy's turn is expired.
Deep Blue: Queen to d2.
Timmy: Optimus Prime fires missiles. Spring mechanism jammed.
Referee: The time for Timmy's turn is expired.
Deep Blue: Queen to b4. Optimus Prime has sustained significant damage and tipped over.
Timmy: Optimus Prime delivers monologue and uses Autobot matrix. All of Deep Blue's remaining pieces have been captured.
[Deep Blue is consulting Toys 'R Us.]
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Bathroom Monologue: Prednisone, the little pill that ruined everything
Prednisone is a steroid that is frequently used on inflammatory diseases, which becomes quite ironic if you get one of its major side-effects: heavy swelling. Other major side-effects are extreme joint pain, increased likelihood of infections, insomnia, trouble thinking straight, osteoperosis, peptic ulcers and cataracts. A minor side-effect is nervousness. Is this hilarious to anyone else?
R.A.Q.
I'm not sure how much longer this wonderful adventure in daily words can last, but I've got at least a few more months of material. If it survives a few years, though, I'd like some annual traditions. It's with that in mind that I request any readers, frequent visitors, friends or people who stumbled on here by some erant google search, submit questions in the Comments tab of this notice. You may ask as many questions as you like and whatever you like so long as you have never asked the question before in your life.
For instance you may ask, "How long have you had shingles?"
To which I may answer, "Since I warned the neighbor to stop letting shingles piss in my front yard, and he won't get her back until I get my ransom money."
You may ask for an explanation of what the effect of fluids is on the traditional concept of a three-phase classification system for matter. You may ask which supervillain and which classical Greek character I would pair off on a desert island. You may ask which philosopher I'd pick to fight to the death (probably a pacifist). I'll take the originality of most questions on blind faith, but if I suspect one of your Rarely Asked Questions has been asked before, you're disqualified.
The deadline is September 3rd, and on September 4th I'll answer at least one question from everyone. It's a ridiculous game, but the 4th is my birthday, so humor me. It might be the beginning of a tradition.
Or maybe I'll be hit by a cropduster in November and it'll just be a funny thing you did that one time with that dead guy. You never know.
Feel free to ask why it was a cropduster.
For instance you may ask, "How long have you had shingles?"
To which I may answer, "Since I warned the neighbor to stop letting shingles piss in my front yard, and he won't get her back until I get my ransom money."
You may ask for an explanation of what the effect of fluids is on the traditional concept of a three-phase classification system for matter. You may ask which supervillain and which classical Greek character I would pair off on a desert island. You may ask which philosopher I'd pick to fight to the death (probably a pacifist). I'll take the originality of most questions on blind faith, but if I suspect one of your Rarely Asked Questions has been asked before, you're disqualified.
The deadline is September 3rd, and on September 4th I'll answer at least one question from everyone. It's a ridiculous game, but the 4th is my birthday, so humor me. It might be the beginning of a tradition.
Or maybe I'll be hit by a cropduster in November and it'll just be a funny thing you did that one time with that dead guy. You never know.
Feel free to ask why it was a cropduster.
Bathroom Monologue: Good God
They treated God like an emotional thumb: a quick “Hail Mary” for a thumbs up, a “goddammit” for a thumbs down, and when a moral problem got stuck in their eyes, they rubbed at it with God until their vision cleared. That was the extent of their theology. The rest was up to good manners.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Bathroom Monologue: Even
I have this habit of feigning ignorance or even extreme bigotry for the sake of humor, and they have the habits of believing it. There is something hilarious in embracing negative values that those around you know you don’t hold – at least, when they recognize that you don’t really hold them.
Just yesterday I joked that the rise in anti-religious sentiment was because, “their religion isn’t a religion, you see. Theirs is just the truth. Yours is a religion because it’s false.” My friend of five years condescended to correct that their beliefs were probably as crazy to others as the beliefs of others were to— and so on. I was corrected back to a position I already held, and my joke was hit in the head with a sledgehammer.
Another time –two other times, actually-- my sister drove me home from college. We passed a stately boarding school. In total deadpan, I said, “I wonder who lives there,” suggesting one person owned the entire three-storey complex. I thought it was funny. She thought it was a cry for help, and explained that it was a school. I explained that it was a joke, and got a pity laugh. All would have been fine if I did not make the same joke to the same sister passing the same school the next semester, only to receive the same explanation that it was a school.
Now any time we pass a university I ask who she thinks lives there. She gets the joke now, but she hasn’t gotten it enough for my tastes.
There is normal condescension that we all experience and must endure: somebody’s hip intellectual roommate dissects the current political race with observations we’ve read a dozen times already, carrying on with an indignation that is purely his own. We've got to endure this condescension, or at least I do, since I'm pretty sure I've been this hip intellectual roommate before.
But this strikes me as a purely abnormal condescension, abnormal in everything except that it is incredibly common. These people – the ones who should know me better than anyone – can’t tell I’m just pretending to be an idiot. It’s starting to scare me. It may mean they’ve perceived another act I didn’t even know I was putting on.
Just yesterday I joked that the rise in anti-religious sentiment was because, “their religion isn’t a religion, you see. Theirs is just the truth. Yours is a religion because it’s false.” My friend of five years condescended to correct that their beliefs were probably as crazy to others as the beliefs of others were to— and so on. I was corrected back to a position I already held, and my joke was hit in the head with a sledgehammer.
Another time –two other times, actually-- my sister drove me home from college. We passed a stately boarding school. In total deadpan, I said, “I wonder who lives there,” suggesting one person owned the entire three-storey complex. I thought it was funny. She thought it was a cry for help, and explained that it was a school. I explained that it was a joke, and got a pity laugh. All would have been fine if I did not make the same joke to the same sister passing the same school the next semester, only to receive the same explanation that it was a school.
Now any time we pass a university I ask who she thinks lives there. She gets the joke now, but she hasn’t gotten it enough for my tastes.
There is normal condescension that we all experience and must endure: somebody’s hip intellectual roommate dissects the current political race with observations we’ve read a dozen times already, carrying on with an indignation that is purely his own. We've got to endure this condescension, or at least I do, since I'm pretty sure I've been this hip intellectual roommate before.
But this strikes me as a purely abnormal condescension, abnormal in everything except that it is incredibly common. These people – the ones who should know me better than anyone – can’t tell I’m just pretending to be an idiot. It’s starting to scare me. It may mean they’ve perceived another act I didn’t even know I was putting on.
Friday, August 22, 2008
Bathroom Monologue: Of Fish and Men
Give a man a fish and he’ll eat for a day. Teach a man to fish and he’ll eat for the rest of his life. Teach a man to fish for credit cards in the pockets of passersby and he’ll eat salmon. Teach a man to fish for social security numbers and he’ll eat Alaskan King Salmon. Teach a man to fish for women’s insecurities and he’ll never eat that salmon alone.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Bathroom Monologue: Big Sports News Sees Gold for Mother Russia
Rumor has it there was trouble in the Russian Olympic camp following Nazyr Mankiev’s victory in the 55kg Greco Roman competitions. Mankiev won Russia’s first and only Olympic gold medal for 2008 and seemed exceedingly proud, thrusting his index finger in the air after the victory. He struck the same pose an hour later in his locker room, wearing nothing but the gold medal.
The naked Olympian spent the rest of the day strutting around other Russian athletes’ rooms asking them what they had done for Russia today, supposedly striking even more degrading poses each time. He was imitating the Volgograd Mother Russia statue (no confirmation as to what served as the sword) in front of Alexei Alipov, Russia’s first 2008 male bronze medallist, when an aid finally tackled him and forced him to wear a robe.
It was not until Mavlet Batirov won a gold medal for Russia in the 60kg freestyle wrestling event and confronted Mankiev wearing his medal in a fashion that has been called “an Adam-inspired loin cloth” that Mankiev finally consented to wear pants in public.
Russia currently has thirteen gold medals, and many victorious athletes who have little or no trouble remaining clothed in public. We at Big Sports News congratulate them.
The naked Olympian spent the rest of the day strutting around other Russian athletes’ rooms asking them what they had done for Russia today, supposedly striking even more degrading poses each time. He was imitating the Volgograd Mother Russia statue (no confirmation as to what served as the sword) in front of Alexei Alipov, Russia’s first 2008 male bronze medallist, when an aid finally tackled him and forced him to wear a robe.
It was not until Mavlet Batirov won a gold medal for Russia in the 60kg freestyle wrestling event and confronted Mankiev wearing his medal in a fashion that has been called “an Adam-inspired loin cloth” that Mankiev finally consented to wear pants in public.
Russia currently has thirteen gold medals, and many victorious athletes who have little or no trouble remaining clothed in public. We at Big Sports News congratulate them.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Bathroom Monologue: Don Quixote, Book 3, Chapter XXGI: Of an Adventure Most Inopportune and Unremarkable
So Sancho and Sr. Quixote came across the haunted glade, residence of a foul demon. They brought with them three people in tow: the lady Mariane who claimed to have seen the demon; the seer Charlemagne who spoke of its power; and Pedro, Charlemagne's hapless squire. Pedro and Sancho commiserated as Charlemagne extolled the powers of the demon: its great size, its frequent spiriting to the inferno, and its lascivious nature that had taken that greatest and irrestorable jewel from many a local virgin in the guise of unpleasant dreams.
All of these charges were false. The demon was actually rather disinterested with matters of coupling, and when interested in it at all, was uninterested in the fairer sex altogether. It had never been to the netherworld, and it was so tiny that even the eye of the abyss would not have perceived it. Its power was not in force or warping reality, but in knowing and amending characters. It recognized all but one of its visitors immediately: Pedro and Sancho as the whiny toady types, Charlemagne as a shameless huxter, and Mariane as a women who was helping hold back her gender moreso than the chauvinistic establishment. The demon heard Sancho pray for someone to right the head of his master, and the demon almost answered that prayer, before assessing his visitors. He recognized the entire party, save Sr. Quixote
Pedro and Sancho complained and criticized all the way to the glade. Charlemagne blustered and sweated, wishing his work could be done so he could retire to the inn. Mariane shook with terror. In these circumstances all canny folk were uncomfortable, yet Quixote was excited.
He challenged his fictitious demon. In some nook of his dementia he stood straighter for wearing heavy armor, and pushed harder for the discomforting heat. The delusional man was the only one who enjoyed a challenge of certain death.
The demon hesitated, and then let them pass.
As dusk fell Quixote mistakenly identified a bush for his enemy, and slew it until Mariane praised him from reducing the Devil to kindling. Sancho and Pedro carried the metamorphosed corpse back to the inn and used it to the keep the home warm. Sr. Quixote was flushed to the scalp long before they struck the fire, heated by pride.
So the group left the haunted glade, one man claiming to have slain a fairy, the rest claiming the beast to be debunked. The demon remained in the glade, talking to shrubbery and trying to convince himself that he wore a fine hat instead of a bowl. It was a failing enterprise, but the demon pursued absurdity, convinced that it might finally enjoy itself if only it could be delusional.
All of these charges were false. The demon was actually rather disinterested with matters of coupling, and when interested in it at all, was uninterested in the fairer sex altogether. It had never been to the netherworld, and it was so tiny that even the eye of the abyss would not have perceived it. Its power was not in force or warping reality, but in knowing and amending characters. It recognized all but one of its visitors immediately: Pedro and Sancho as the whiny toady types, Charlemagne as a shameless huxter, and Mariane as a women who was helping hold back her gender moreso than the chauvinistic establishment. The demon heard Sancho pray for someone to right the head of his master, and the demon almost answered that prayer, before assessing his visitors. He recognized the entire party, save Sr. Quixote
Pedro and Sancho complained and criticized all the way to the glade. Charlemagne blustered and sweated, wishing his work could be done so he could retire to the inn. Mariane shook with terror. In these circumstances all canny folk were uncomfortable, yet Quixote was excited.
He challenged his fictitious demon. In some nook of his dementia he stood straighter for wearing heavy armor, and pushed harder for the discomforting heat. The delusional man was the only one who enjoyed a challenge of certain death.
The demon hesitated, and then let them pass.
As dusk fell Quixote mistakenly identified a bush for his enemy, and slew it until Mariane praised him from reducing the Devil to kindling. Sancho and Pedro carried the metamorphosed corpse back to the inn and used it to the keep the home warm. Sr. Quixote was flushed to the scalp long before they struck the fire, heated by pride.
So the group left the haunted glade, one man claiming to have slain a fairy, the rest claiming the beast to be debunked. The demon remained in the glade, talking to shrubbery and trying to convince himself that he wore a fine hat instead of a bowl. It was a failing enterprise, but the demon pursued absurdity, convinced that it might finally enjoy itself if only it could be delusional.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Bathroom Monologue: Ad Wars 29
The state of New York has not run any new advertising campaigns within the last 36 hours. Furthermore, the state of New York resents the implication that it could be drawn into a negative advertising campaign against another state, particularly when there is no competition with New York.
I <3 New York.
I <3 New York.
Bathroom Monologue: Ad Wars 27
New York
We didn’t print that.
We just thought it was you being unusually honest.
We didn’t print that.
We just thought it was you being unusually honest.
Bathroom Monologue: Ad Wars 23
New York
When the terrorists struck on 9/11 they flew planes into two of our many landmarks. When they sought to hurt America, they struck New York.
Osama probably doesn't even know there is a west coast.
When the terrorists struck on 9/11 they flew planes into two of our many landmarks. When they sought to hurt America, they struck New York.
Osama probably doesn't even know there is a west coast.
Bathroom Monologue: Ad Wars 22
We said we’d sue, New York. Last warning. Why don’t you spend some time fixing your ungodly airport system instead of making up assaults?
California
Our international airports aren't a nightmare.
California
Our international airports aren't a nightmare.
Bathroom Monologue: Ad Wars 19
New York
We’re the original American melting pot. We have a statue that asks for your tired and poor.
They have a wall.
We’re the original American melting pot. We have a statue that asks for your tired and poor.
They have a wall.
Bathroom Monologue: Ad Wars 18
California
With large Hispanic, Asian, African and European communities and an international governor, we’re not afraid of different people.
With large Hispanic, Asian, African and European communities and an international governor, we’re not afraid of different people.
Bathroom Monologue: Ad Wars 17
The state of New York can neither confirm nor deny California’s governor’s house, roads, or entire infrastructure was built by illegal labor and abused minorities.
Where’d those railroads come from, California?
Where’d those railroads come from, California?
Bathroom Monologue: Ad Wars 16
California
At least our governor’s house wasn’t built by illegal labor.
(Did you really think we wouldn’t see your billboard go up at 2:00 AM, New York? That’s primetime here. Time zones are getting to your heads.)
At least our governor’s house wasn’t built by illegal labor.
(Did you really think we wouldn’t see your billboard go up at 2:00 AM, New York? That’s primetime here. Time zones are getting to your heads.)
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