This site is a testament to not only my life but to the insanity of society. Dive into Psycho Carnival and you'll find tragicomic personal stories, wild yet honest rants, a little depravity, videos and a buttload of other goodies.

This site also contains adult like humor and ideas that could make you think. Consider yourself warned!

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Controlling Your Show of Emotions and Imagination

My last post was a video featuring Leonard Nimoy singing a goofy, weird song while being surrounded by hyper-happy dancing girls that were wearing groovy outfits from the 1960's or 70's. The video clip was odd for a lot of reasons but one thing, in particular, that seemed strange was that Nimoy, who all of us were familiar in playing the famous character of stoic Vulcan, Mr. Spock, was smiling, laughing and singing.

And seeing this started my thinking on a certain trek in my mind. But not a "Star trek". Har har har.

Try to follow me on this:

There were a few episodes in Star Trek where Spock's mind would be flipped and he would be showing different emotions, as a result of being drugged or being controlled by another alien or another reason but, for the most part, Spock didn't show his emotions. I also recall the episode where his best buddy, Captain Kirk had drifted out into space and was considered dead during the last 15 minutes of the show. When Spock found out he was alive, he laughed, grabbed Kirk's shoulders and damn near creamed his jeans (or whatever those pants were called) and exclaimed something like, "Jim, you're alive! I want to have your baby!" Well, not exactly, but you get the picture.

Spock had emotions, of course, in the Star Trek shows and movies. He just felt he had to be in complete control of them almost every minute of the day. Spock was a control freak when it came to that.

The first point I'm finally getting at is this: Spock changed over the years, especially in the last 3 or 4 movies with Nimoy's character in them. Not just age-wise, but in the way Spock was allowing himself to show emotion. In no other movie or episode was this more evident than in the last Star Trek movie with the young cast of actors playing the main characters of the original Star Trek series from the 1960's. In this movie, which I thought sucked except for the few scenes Old Spock was in, Old Spock was happy as hell to see his pal, James Kirk, again. Sure, the Kirk character was really young in this movie, but any version of Kirk was a thrill for Old Spock to see again. As far as Old Spock was concerned, as was everyone else, Kirk was dead. Old Spock showed his emotions throughout the movie in one scene or another and it seemed like he had finally let go of his stranglehold on his emotions.

The second point is this: I've known people that are as emotionally constipated as Spock or nearly as much. You likely know people like that, too, to a certain extent. People who are so afraid to lose control or bare their emotional hides, that they attempt to keep as stoic in expression and limit their revealing actions as much as they can.

When I was younger, I went through a spell where I kept my emotions hidden, as well. I felt it important that people see only the serious side of myself. I thought it to be of high importance to give off the appearance of being in perfect control. If I made a mistake or did something embarrassing (or what I thought to be embarrassing), I would be extremely critical of myself. Then a chain of events occurred in my life that taught me that this type of thinking was, in effect, being dishonest with who I was. Better yet, certain events showed me just how trivial it was to be that way. Life is too short and besides, it's a ridiculous mode of thinking to be in. Like putting yourself in a cage and placing shackles on yourself. I haven't thought like that for decades and I believe that is an example of emotional growth and courage. To thine own self be true. Shakespeare, of course.

Yes, indeedy, there was a time when I cared a great deal about what people thought but that seems long ago. Probably because it was. Say about 20 to 30 years ago. lol. The older I get, the more I just don't give a shit or rat's ass what this insane human race thinks. On top of that, I really don't respect what many think due to how most of the hairless monkeys on this planet seem to lovingly embrace war, money and nonchalantly pollute the world as if they had another planet to inhabit and... well... I could go on and on. How can you respect the opinions of a species like that? I know I can't.

Getting back to controlling emotional appearance: Now you see this every day with how some people interact with one another. They're very guarded. Very much in control of what they show and what they hide. They're either afraid of being hurt or wish to give off a certain appearance they feel that will cause people to take them seriously. Or some other reason. I mean it's okay to act tough in order to make others feel secure in a potentially hazardous situation. Like in a battle or a house fire or whatever. I get that. But I'm talking about the normal circumstances in our lives when some will go to either extreme in acting overly emotional and dramatic or not showing hardly any emotion at all. The most logical way to be, as Old Spock might say, is to just act the way you feel at the moment. Take the chance. Grow. Moderation is key, too, just like in anything else.

People, I've also observed throughout the years, seem to have lost their childlike qualities, too. I'm talking about their sense of wonder. Their imagination. What happened to reinforcing the idea in kids that it's alright to have an imagination instead of fitting them with certain items, like handheld electronic games or other things that tend to curb imagination. I know it's fashionable these days to copy one another but, damn it, people... what happened to original thinking?

Is that one of the reasons why Hollywood can't come up with any good movie premises or plots anymore and they're just going back and "rebooting", rehashing or "re-imagining" (I hate that term) older movies like The Wizard of Oz (it's true, they're working on a new version) or Superman or vampire flicks and so many others? I know part of the reason they do that is because of the almost guaranteed profit from name recognition but I think a lot of it is done from a lack of imagination.

I'm merely describing a few ways we place boundaries upon ourselves. We sometimes try to fit so well within the confines of society that restrict who we really are for the sake of what one person, one group or one species believes to be the correct way to express yourself. And who, better than you, should know how to be yourself? Answer: There is no one better. And that is my final point.

On a completely different subject, I've decided to challenge myself to a duel. Well, not really a duel but more like a game or test just to see if I can do it. For the entire month of April, I plan to write up a post each and every day. If a family emergency or some prolonged family obligation should take up most of any given day, the challenge will be paused. But for now, it seems like it's a doable feat. Hell, I just wanna see if I can make it happen. Some of these posts might be tiny. Some, not so much. A few might only show a picture of two flies fucking on a big heap of dung. Who knows? So, if you can keep up with the coming barrage of posts, that's better than swell. If ya can't, then I will be forced to show some emotion and cheerfully press a high voltage stun gun against your genitals and give ya the juice. Zzzzt. Zzzzt. Woo hoo!

Just kidding. Smiles, everyone, smiles!

Monday, March 28, 2011

Leonard Nimoy's Ballad of Bilbo Baggins

Perhaps the lowest point in Leonard Nimoy's career. Somehow, this video clip made me laugh and frightened me- all at once. Where was thou logic participating in this "quality" production, Spock? lol.

Alright... I admit it. I danced to it the whole time.

Sunday, March 27, 2011

I See That You Have a Horn Growing Out Of Your Head

I've often wondered how it would be to visit any bloggers who I've had the pleasure of interacting with for awhile now. Though it sounds like a quaint idea, this could be a dangerous action to take with serious consequences in the end. I mean- What if you surprise me by throwing me a party? Or a parade, in my honor, even? Or drug me and take advantage of me in my slumber? Gosh, my humble and modest self wouldn't know what to do except blush and act all embarrassed and stuff.

And let me tell you, when I start feeling a little disconcerted, I tend to break a mighty wind and juggle my brightly colored balls. Yes, I carry them with me in my Suitcase O' Fun. I just so happened to buy these balls off of a circus accessories type website one day. What? You didn't think I was talking about my own cojones, did ya? Nah! The only time my jolly, friendly trouser bells are brightly colored is when I paint rainbows on them. Makes me feel all peppy, festive and stuff.

So... when should I come over?

And then there's always the chance I'd come over and I would get the surprise of my life by finding out that you have a horn growing out of your head. Talk about your awkward moments. I wouldn't be able to look away, either. I mean- you might have a unicorn horn growing out of your forehead or have a kooky looking horn like this woman down below.

You could be eating a baby's leg, too, while I'm standing there, attempting to make conversation. Then what am I supposed to do? Tear the other one off and gnaw on it so you don't feel awkward eating alone, in front of me?

You could be a religious psychopath, too, pushing your beliefs in the powers of the Almighty Bullwinkle on me.

Or you could pretend to be normal for awhile and we're sitting there, all cozy and shit, in your living room and you suddenly jump out of your refried bean bag chair and shout, "Holy Toledo! I forgot to introduce my cross eyed, drooling retarded cousin, Alfonso, to ya." At that moment, Alfonso peeks around the corner at me, widens his retarded eye at me and stumbles into the living room with a bloody meat cleaver in one hand and his festering pecker in the other.

Running out the door without so much as a goodbye may be an act of rudeness to you, the generous host, but I would likely be inclined to do it. After all, I don't wish to take the chance that Alfonso gets too close for comfort and allows his pus-oozing pecker to drip into the cup of freshly brewed coffee you made just for me.

I'm all about good manners, you know, but you have to draw the line somewhere in the landscape of picturesque penile disorders.

Seriously, who's to assume exactly what to expect when visiting a fellow blogger. Still, since I'm curious about such things and I wonder if they're just as funny, interesting (in a good way) or intelligent as they portray themselves in their blogs, I would take my chances and do it. If there should be some awkward silence between us, at any point during my stay, I could handle it. There's no need to have our mouths yapping about, in a constant state of vocalization. In fact, that kind of thing can be just as bothersome to me as the quiet times.

And if you're somewhat crazy, in a non lethal way, I would likely get along better with you. I find people who are slightly touched in the head to be interesting and humorous. People who are too humdrum or try too hard to act "normal" cause me to become frustrated around them. Unlike the slightly unusual folks, they don't interest me and, in fact, kinda annoy the shit of me because they're boring me. I'm never sure if it's on purpose or just because they severely lack in the personality department.

I've actually left people standing at parties or other public places while they're still jabbering away about the most mundane of topics. You can look at this gesture as being rude but I look at it as being rude that they're taking up my time by talking about something that any ol' flesh and blood, conformist droid could and will talk about. Those that engage in that type of conversation should consider themselves just peachy-keen lucky if I come up with an oh-so-incredible excuse for leaving you with your jaw dropped in mid-sentence, too. I might offer an "I have to leave now to take a shit" or something smooth like "Your face gives me a stomach ulcer from hell."

Signs that I may be bored with those things you call words that won't stop popping, incessantly, out of your mouth would be:

Fidgeting from foot to foot
Falling asleep
Watching the clouds in the sky
Choking the living shit out of you

But, chances are, that since we are either interacting with each other between our blogs, exchanging fascinating messages on Facebook, twittering our twitters or trading emails, I will most likely enjoy your company in person and you'll be able to keep my utmost attention. Gosh, good news for you, huh? I can feel the radiant, heart-warming glow of your excitement from all the way over here. Oh, that's just a belch you just burped from all that rancid unicorn meat you've been eating. Ah, well. Sometimes we get mixed signals from one another.

So, like I said before... when should I come over? Heh heh.

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Fun Things You Can Do By Yourself

Discovering fun stuff to do when you are alone can open up a world of possibilities that will help you find out more about yourself. Listed below are various ways to cheer yourself up and/or relief boredom that are usually affordable. Ways that don't involve your ever reliable computer. Ways that might require you to actually raise your sweaty buttocks from the chair you find yourself in. Depending on how deeply attached you are to the computer, the task of separating yourself from it, alone, may kill a few hours.

Try any of the following activities or combination of activities:

Take a walk outside
Go for a drive or a ride on a bus
Read a book
Listen to music
Watch a movie
Build a birdhouse

Create a painting
Create a song
Dance merrily, barefoot, on broken glass
Hypnotize yourself
Eat a bug
Plant a tree
Take a shower (you could use one)
Cut off your hand
Accept yourself for who you are
Kiss yourself in the mirror
Try to invent something using only the following: a sheet of aluminum foil, a rubber band, a paper clip and a decapitated head
Take a trip to another place in your mind and then get up and go there
Make plans to go skydiving
Get outside, look up at the stars and shout
Stick a carrot up your rectum
Choose wisely (or else don't)
Ask yourself a question and quickly answer it before you can think of another question
Create a card trick
Go to a museum
Cook something (Start with water and work your way up)
Go to a park
Organize stuff
Conquer a fear
Roll your eyes to the back of your head and scream
Try your hand at flagpole climbing
Go to sleep
Pretend that you're riding a wild bull, while yelling, "Yeeha!"
Put as many articles of clothing on that you have in your house and let yourself roll down a flight of stairs
Set up a tent in one of your rooms and act as if you're camping (Don't forget to bring marshmallows!)
Put on a helmet and run full speed into a wall
Tell yourself a bawdy or cheesy joke
Laugh- just for the heck of it

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

The Cat and The Butterfly Girl

I was having the darnedest time getting open a trash bag, yesterday. It was one of those plastic bags where you can find no apparent groove in which your forefinger and thumb might separate one corner from the other. Doesn't this drive you to utter madness?

Now, I had the idea to lick my fingers so that I may gain purchase when I finally discovered the secret spot in which to open the bag but I thought, That may not be the best idea. I mean, I just petted my pussy cat's head a minute ago and although, he might be a clean pussy, as pussies go, he might have a smidgen of dry pussy pee on his noggin. After all, we have a big dome-covered pussy box in which he will go inside to use and perhaps, just perhaps, his urine spray might have ricocheted off one of the walls and landed on his head. Imagine.

Instead, I got the idea to put my forefinger and thumb under the water faucet, get them a little wet and try that. Well, wouldn't you know it? It worked! I got the trash bag open and placed it inside the trash can. Glory be! What a wonderful day it was to become!

Now, when I went downstairs to get rid of the full trash bag, I encountered another cat. I looked at him and noticed he was drinking a bottle of beer but I didn't think much of it at the time. After dumping my load (my bag in the dumpster), I went back toward the door and the cat put his paw out, saying, "Hey, would you mind a bit of company for awhile? I'm feeling kinda blue."

The cat took a swig of beer. He added, "Your cat buddy upstairs won't mind, will he?"

I said, "I don't know about that but you're welcome to come up for a bit before the Mrs. comes home from work."

When the cat, who called himself Marco Polo, came up the steps and into the apartment, he immediately folded his paws and commenced praying.

I had to ask, "Are you Catholic or Protestant?"

Marco Polo said, "Neither."

I had to ask, "So... Why are you praying?"

"I'm praying to The Superior Entity in the hopes he will offer me a sign or words of wisdom that will guide the humans on this planet to stop making so many wars, causing unnecessary life loss in order to appease the powerful and the rich."

I stood there as he continued his prayer and interrupted him, inquiring, "So you believe there's a Superior Entity that will give you this sign or words of wisdom through prayer or any other means?"

Marco Polo went back on all fours, belched and then said, "Beats hoping that humankind will come to their senses, pull together for better causes and try to get along. Heck, I'll try anything at this point."

No sooner than this was said that The Butterfly Girl flew in through my open window.

I marveled at her beautiful, flawless skin and soul searching eyes and silently wondered how it would be to poke her in her butt.

The Butterfly Girl's wings ceased fluttering and she positioned herself in an upright stance.
With arms outstretched, The Butterfly Girl said, "Though the minds of a portion of mankind have allowed them to achieve dominion over their own species and other life they consider less superior to their own, it may be that this world you exist upon has other plans for you. A scenario that is expected when smaller, mischievous living things aggravate and cause injury to the bigger living organism."

I said, "Does this mean you wanna do it?"

I made my tongue flip flop in my mouth, repeatedly, while I made a sexual, somewhat rude noise that one might consider an expression that I wished to lick the Butterfly Girl's labia and much much more.

The Butterfly Girl said, "Those who wish to dominate will do so by first attempting to manipulate your way of thinking."

When she said this, a picture formed in my mind. I'm not sure how it got there but I suspect the Butterfly Girl communicated it to me, telepathically.

Marco Polo rubbed up against The Butterfly Girl's leg and pleaded, "Could you please take me away from this world of pain and ignorance?"

The Butterfly Girl said, "There are no certainties that the next world will hold a better life for you than the one you have here."

Marco Polo said, "I'll take my chances."

Butterfly Girl picked Marco Polo up from the floor and caressed the pussy until it purred.
Before she abruptly vanished, with Marco Polo still in her arms, Butterfly Girl gave me a magical vagina mouse for my computer. She said that with it, I could find the answers that would lead the way into understanding our minds and unshackling old concepts that bind us and keep us in a state of stagnation or worse.

I plugged my vagina mouse into a port, went back and sat it my computer chair. I observed that when I pressed the middle love button, the mouse squirted an enticing, aromatic liquid.

"Juicy," I concluded.

The rest of the day was spent searching for any signs of understanding, any words of wisdom, any paths that might help and that I could use to persuade humankind to abide by for their own sakes and benefit. At times, I did find such things. But, I somehow knew that mankind would likely ignore these things and they would have to find the paths to a better existence on their own.

After all, I thought, humans were well known to better accept something that they themselves discovered rather than something that was carefully pushed into their minds by subtlety or the direct approach. But then I thought, Nah, these dumb asses will follow anything if the bait tastes good enough. I laughed at this until I cried. As some will.

Thursday, March 17, 2011

Ruining A Viagra Moment

Well, Happy St. Patrick's Day and all that rot. Have you heard and seen enough green beer and leprechaun jokes to make you want to vomit green clovers and Lucky Charms? Is so, you're in "luck" and oh so fortunate to have stopped by here because I'll have a few Viagra jokes for ya later in this fine, upstanding post to substitute for all the St. Patty's Day jokes you'll be bombarded with today. I mean, gee, there's not many Viagra jokes circulating around, right? ;-)

Tingling or hard with anticipation? You bet you are.

Over the past weekend, my wife, friend and I went to Clifty Falls State Park in Madison, Indiana. It's a beautiful park with waterfalls, an interesting lodge with plenty of history and trails that vary from being short or relaxing to long or rugged for travel.

Above, is one of the waterfalls close to The Overlook. I have more pictures I took of Clifty Falls on my other, somewhat gentler blog, Pics For Kicks, if you to want to see more.

At one point during our travels in the 1,416 acres worth of park, we stopped at one of the scenic areas, got out of the car and walked next to an curious looking rock wall to look out and see another spectacular view the park had to offer. Behind us, above where we stood, on a large concrete base, was an excellent shelter to stand beneath. In this wooden shelter, was an elderly couple, holding hands.

Below, is a picture of the scenic point and the old couple in the shelter.

A couple times, while standing next to the wall, I looked back and observed how the man and wife gazed into each other's eyes and whispered words to each other that were obviously loving, in nature. I could tell they loved each other very much. It seemed to be a very romantic moment for them. When the older, white haired man kissed his wife, I couldn't help but to smile and hope that my wife and I still felt that way about each other when we reached their age.

During this instant of enchanting romance, my wife let an enormous, rich, bubbly fart erupt from her anus, audibly causing her butt cheeks to flap against each other. The aroma was so foul, it corrupted the air for miles all around us. I dared not look behind me at the old couple. I don't think I could have if I had desired, anyway. My eyes were burning... Really!

Throughout the coughing and wheezing, I wondered if the elder gentleman had went to the trouble to have taken the magical blue boner pill, Viagra, to ensure that his romantic moments in the park would lead to a successful sexual interaction at the lodge nearby. If so, I believe his Viagra moment was ruined. My wife was beginning to titter when I heard somebody clear their throat. Perhaps their throat was being singed with the acrid air or the victim was trying their best not to violently retch. Of this, I'm not sure.

Viagra, if you don't know already, has been attributed in the past and present to enhance the magical sexual abilities of a man. Magic acts in Las Vegas have entire shows centered around this phenomena.

When I looked back at my wife, after she cut loose her awesome anal cloud of death, she was blushing, slightly, with her cheeks (probably both of face and ass) glowing red. She may have seemed embarrassed but I knew better. She can be evil, at times, wishing to take the cherished, loving moments of an elderly couple, going toward the end of their years of life and flinging them into the pooper, so to speak. I'm afraid I've corrupted her, too well, over our two decades of marriage.

My friend, my wife and I, all three, unceremoniously turned around to walk back to the car. My friend said, when he briefly dared to look, that he noticed the old woman was crinkling her nose and wincing a bit. Likely from pain. My friend said he didn't want to glance at the old gentleman.

Meanwhile, as I walked back to the car, I was attempting to not burst from laughter but I quickly proved unsuccessful in the endeavor. As I chortled, uncontrollably, my friend was trying to keep himself from laughing, as well. My wife, on the other hand, God bless her, laughed out loud and proud.

Once upon a time, long ago, she was my innocent-of-heart student of depravity, delightful cruelty towards others and rude behavior. Now... a teacher. I can't help but to feel a little blessed and yes, a little shit-covered, too, my dear friends.

On the way home, after laughing and speculating on the thoughts and welfare of the charming elderly couple in the park, my friend reminded me of my own delightful incident that we had during our morning breakfast at Bob Evans restaurant. Before the three of us had taken off towards Clifty Falls, we were enjoying a scrumptious morning meal at one of our best local eating establishments. Pleasant conversation and delicious, fresh brewed coffee accompanied our meal and all was going well until the old people sat behind us.

The gray-haired group were talking loudly to each other, unable to hear clearly what each member of the group were saying to each other over the clatter of noise from the busy restaurant. My back was to them and I was slightly irritated by their loudness and the fact that one of them had their chair too close to the back of my own. Finally, I cut a boisterous fart of such high intensity, the elderly folks immediately dropped their eating utensils on their plates and left their table.

Serves them right for being so rude with their raised voices, oldness and stuff.

My friend, who was facing their direction at the time, said, "I thought they were going to hurt each other trying to escape." I silently wondered if one them had broken a hip before I went back to enjoying my delicious Western omelette of eggs, melted cheese, bell peppers and sausage with a side order of hash browns. I couldn't be bothered with such distracting thoughts with a breakfast like that sitting before me.

My friend joined my wife and I in a gale of nervous laughter as they left. It was a good start to the day.

Later on that night, before turning into bed, I did ponder what happened with the old married couple after we left the park. Was their romantic interlude completely shattered for the rest of the day? Did they commence lovemaking after all? Did the old fella decide to take another blue pill in order to get his boner back and pork the wife?

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

The Chaos in Japan, Priorities And a Beautiful Song

This is another one of my more non-humorous, thoughtful posts that tends to send a few bloggers and readers who are oddly addicted to only one type of writing either scurrying away or incapable of relating. Of the latter type, they will sometimes leave a comment that seems out of place with the subject(s) being written about.

Well, hell, now that I've alienated some of my readers...

Lately, I don't know if you've noticed, but I've been a little absent from the blogging world. I try to comment here and there on different blogs when I've had the time but I've been busy and preoccupied with thoughts on the devastation in Japan and meaning of life type stuff. I've been on the move, when I'm not watching the news, with traveling, celebrating birthdays and doing other enjoyable activities. Life is going pretty well for me now, relatively, despite a few problems and worries.

One of many things that bother me with the ongoing tragic events in Japan is that there is still a lot of media coverage on the exploits of celebrities. I don't know how it is in other countries but here in the U.S., anything about Charlie Sheen either gets equal amount of time on TV or trumps the amount of time that the news of overwhelming chaos and life loss in Japan gets. You may disagree with this. You may even provide an excuse for this, like I can already hear or see now... Well, we don't want to bombard the public with constant news of Japan's destruction and sorrows and we need to balance it out with the latest goofy thing that Charlie Sheen or some other celebrity has uttered or done so we don't bum or burn people out on what's going on in a country other than our own.

To those that say this, I say FUCK YOU with all of my cold, blackened heart.

I'll go even further to say it's too bad if you're bored with the news of a suffering people or you just want to look away because you can't handle it. I honestly cannot stand it, almost more than anything else, when idiots purposely ignore or deny the truths of life, others and themselves. Everyone needs to face the truth, no matter how much it hurts or how much it is unwanted.

Watching the morning news on CNN the other day, there was an anchorman and woman talking the entire time about how the radiation leak may or may not affect the U.S. Not much was said about how it could affect the Japanese citizenry. When they weren't talking about our safety, they were talking about the efforts to find any Americans in Japan and making sure they got back home, here, in the U.S., safely. Outrageous. I don't understand that. But, in a way, I do. People have their priorities messed up.

Celebrity garbage over real news. Our own interests over the crisis or interests of others. I could go on and on but why bother, right? And that's part of the bigger picture, too. We can't be bothered. The pain, loss and fear that someone else is facing seems distant and small to us because we're so hopelessly self-obsessed. I believe it's some type of mental illness, plain stupidity or societal brainwashing that is so apparent to those who are aware.

I can already see someone telling me in the comment box that the reason there is news on this and not that is because it's all based on what is more profitable to tell or show and... you know, I'm just so sick and tired of hearing that, too. I know the reasons why people do the shit they do. I just want them to stop.

And yes, I know that won't happen either.

Well, I'm done ranting. If you've gotten this far down, I congratulate you, I suppose. The truth is hard to swallow for some. That's why I will, at times, sugar coat it a bit with feeble attempts at humor. Some will get it or accept it or deny it or play devil's advocate just for the fuck of it. So, there you go.

The video clip below is of a band that I feel is incredibly underated. Their name is Filter and the song is called Fades Like a Photograph. Even though the video portrays the loss of a relationship, the song, itself, could be interpreted in different ways. Like the loss of a loved one, such as what is being experienced in thousands of cases in Japan now. To me, there is no worse pain than the loss of a loved one that you had a deep personal connection with, no matter how it comes about. To those who have had this experience, you can relate.

My next post will center around a couple funny incidents I had over the past weekend. Stay tuned for that. I just had to get what I said, in this post, out of my system. I make zero apologies for that. Take care, everyone and always remember what's truly important.

Red Cross: Donors can contribute to the relief efforts in JAPAN by calling 800-733-27677 or visiting Each text message is a $10 donation to the Red Cross, which will be added to the donors’ next cellphone bill.

Friday, March 11, 2011

I Believe Everything The Fortune Cookie Tells Me and So Should You

For the past six months or so, I've been collecting fortune cookie messages from the cookies I'm given at the Chinese restaurant I patronize every so often. I've decided to show you the ones I've received so far on this post. Some fortune cookie messages fall into the absolutely moronic category, while others offer semi-intelligent advice and then there are the absurd predictions which give me a chuckle now and then.

I've read various historical accounts in the past on how fortune cookies came into being and what seemed a little interesting about the topic at first, now seems bland as tepid water- or the flour, sugar and vanilla mixture that a typical fortune cookie is made of. Still, I found this absurd tidbit of info on and I thought it was worth mentioning here, if only to cause you to scratch your head in wonder.

'Although many people do not take the message in a fortune cookie as a serious oracular device many of them consider it part of the game that the entire cookie must be consumed in order for the fortune to come true. Variations on this idea include not eating the cookie if a fortune seems unlucky, eating the entire cookie as well as the fortune, eating the entire cookie before reading the fortune, or reading the fortune before any of the cookie is eaten. While some people believe the fortune will not come true if it is read aloud, or read at all, other people follow rules involving how the cookie is selected—including selecting a cookie with closed eyes, passing a cookie to another person at the table, or choosing the cookie that seems to be pointing directly at you.'

That's a lot of rules and procedures involving something that's made up without a lot of brain juice used and usually is vague and silly. But, with that said, they can be kind of fun at times, if you're in the right mind set and not too uptight to not enjoy the mild amusement of what they say.

For anyone wishing to learn more about the fascinating history of fortune cookies, click here.

For anyone wishing to see the fortune cookie messages I've collected thus far, look several paragraphs below. My own profound comments sit neatly beside each one (for your easy accessibility, because I care a lot) and are nestled comfortably between parentheses- much like when a baby bird with a broken wing is placed in a basket and covered by a little baby blanket to keep it warm. Ahhh. Isn't that sweet?

Without further ado or anymore annoyingly insipid metaphors, here's the fuckin' fortune cookie messages!

Alter ideas and you alter the world. (I tried this but all I got from the hairless monkeys was expressions of confusion or an angry mob of them, holding torches, pounding at my front door.)

Happiness is enjoying what you got. Never from what you want. (I got an itty bitty clump of belly button lint and what I want is world peace so... HA!)

A brave man is the one that is not afraid to admit his mistake. (I admit my mistakes all the time so I must be a goddamn hero. Feel free to worship at my feet, for yes, I am a god. You're welcome.)

Luck is coming your way. (That's pretty humorous, considering what's been going on, lately.)

Good health will be yours for a long time.You have a strong desire for a home and your family comes first. (I have extreme diabetes, high blood pressure, 80% deafness in one ear, equinus foot deformity, two and a half inch heel spurs and more- so that first sentence may not be quite accurate. Hmmm. It could be, just maybe, that the magical fortune cookie fairies accidentally let that one fall into the wrong hands- namely mine. The second sentence shows that the last statement I wrote is most likely true, at least partially. I've never wanted a home. I'd rather have an apartment. If shit breaks down, it's of zero expense to me and the landlord fixes or replaces it. Plus, no lawn to mow and no property taxes to worry about. I could list a dozen other reasons but I'm not going to bother. My family does come first, though. The magical fortune cookie fairies got that right. Gosh, they must really know their stuff.)

Your present plans are going to succeed. (My present plans at the moment entail going to the bathroom and having a pleasant bowel movement within the next few minutes. I predict SUCCESS.)

You have an unusually magnetic personality. (I was curious as to why the cars on the street and the cutlery inside the apartment have been smashing up against me. I don't mind it too much, really, except for the steak knife embedded in the middle of my chest. The car that pinned my legs up against the building, crushing them into paste, earlier, caused my usual jovial spirit to dampen slightly, as well.)

Stop searching forever. Happiness is just next to you. (If happiness is a cat that knocks over the garbage cans every so often to drag out three day old leftovers and a couple pounds worth of coffee grounds all over the kitchen floor and then proceeds to barf up a hairball and some cheese later on beside my bed- then yes, happiness is, indeed, resting just next to me, perfectly comfortable with his previous activities and accomplishments. And now, I'm petting him on the head- which he will likely perceive as a reward from me for all the good works he has performed today.)

You will make a fortune with your friend.Your dearest wish will come true. (Although this fortune may, by some miracle, happen in the future, I'm slightly suspicious in the reliability of this prediction. My dearest wish will come true? Hahaha... You better hope not. On perhaps a related or unrelated note... On one occasion, I asked a few close, personal friends, who knew me pretty well, what their reactions would be if I were suddenly in charge of the citizens in the world. Without missing a beat, they said, in unison, "I would kill myself." I had to laugh at that. I wasn't sure if I was exactly surprised by their response. Then I immediately began having hilarious fantasies of impaled bodies and deviant, sadistic sex orgies here and there- you know, the usual. I mean everyone has those thoughts, don't they?*)

*wink wink, nudge nudge

You are very expressive and positive in word, ct and feeling. (That's true. I am expressive. But then, aren't most of us? Well, unless they're an uptight, robotic type of hairless monkey. Positive in word? Nah, not really. Well, maybe sometimes. What the fuck is ct? And the last one is really "opening up a can of worms"-or words- for me, so I'll pass commenting on that one.)

Success won't taste so good without Failure as appetizers. (That could be true. But I think it depends on what you think, as an individual, what success is and what failures are. To me, being a success could be being the best parent, friend or spouse all your life. For some narrow minded, superficial folks, the word "failures" might mean having jobs that didn't pay you what you thought you deserved in substantial sums of money, without regarding the importance or the fact if those same jobs gave you a sense of fulfillment or contentedness while performing duties in your work.)

So there you have it, folks. I'm done. End of post. Kind of abrupt, eh? I know. I'm as deeply concerned about that as much as you. Move along now. There are others waiting in line behind you. That's it... There you go. Move on to the next profound, astute blog. I'm sure you'll be intellectually stimulated by all that you see, hear and read. On the way there, have a fortune cookie and a smile. Tune in next week where I discuss Mathematical Problems in Engineering With Contributions Containing Formulations and Results Relating To Applications or some shit like that.

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

In One Part of The World

In one part of the world, there is a child, crying out to it's mother, wishing to be held. The mother, upon hearing the cries of anguish, runs to her child. The child sobs while holding onto his leg. A heartbreaking scene. The mother sees he has a scratch on his knee.

"What happened, Danny?," she asks.

"I ran and jumped on Woof Woof, then I fell off and he got me with his hoof," complained the boy.

Danny's mother bent down to inspect his scratch and pointed, with her index finger, saying, "I'll take care of this and you'll feel much better."

And with that said, she stood up and went into the house to get the first aid kit. When she came back out, she cleaned his scratch, put antibiotic cream on his minor wound and covered it with a bandage adorned with cute cartoon characters of orange dinosaurs and grinning unicorns. Her son's face brightened and was smiling.

After his mom was done, she kissed his forehead and stood back up. Woof Woof, the happy-go-lucky pig suddenly ran over and rubbed up against the mother's leg. She pat him on the head and was about to go back into the house to make an ice cold pitcher of fresh lemonade until she abruptly turned around with a large military weapon, calmly aimed and caused Woof Woof to explode in many pieces of various size. Bone fragments, blood, brain matter, other odds and ends and flesh scattered in every direction.

"There you go, sweety," said Danny's mother, "All better now."

The boy plucked a wet chunk off his face and ate it. "Tastes like chicken," said Danny.

Beside him, Woof Woof's mouth was lying on the ground. It opened up and said, "Rut roh." Danny giggled.

In one part of the world, a politician find himself in a tough quandary over cutting jobs in the fire department of his city in order to keep the budget from going into the red.

The middle aged man looks up towards the ceiling and says a prayer, almost whispering, "Lord, please give me strength."

That's when Tom Berkland had an idea that would solve everything. Quickly, he got up from his office chair, grabbed his suit jacket off the hook and went out the door of the mayor's office. He couldn't believe he had wasted this much time.

Minutes later, Tom was in church. The priest walked over to Tom, kindly placed his hand on the mayor's shoulder and asked, "May I help you, Tom?"

Tom looked at the church collection plate sitting on one of the stands. Hurriedly, Tom pulled down his pants, sliced off his genitals and gingerly placed his junk on the collection plate. Bleeding profusely, Tom groaned in pain while the priest smiled and followed that with the words, "A rather small offering, isn't it?"

That's when the circus clowns came in on their mini bikes, honking and cheering and pissing on the floor. Bright, multi colored streamers fell from the ceiling as the mayor collapsed to the floor, bleeding to death and shitting himself.

In one part of the world, a single man and his two married friends go to the only local pizza joint to pick up two large deluxe pizzas that had been ordered earlier on the phone. On the way home, they encounter a homeless person standing on a curb. At least, they believe he may be a homeless person. He's holding a sign that says he is hungry and has been traveling on foot.

The single man, who is driving, stops the car at the red light beside the curb. The panhandler smiles. The driver gets a digital camera out of his coat pocket, aims it toward the panhandler. The traveler sees this and decides to crouch down and strike a happy pose for the driver.

The driver takes the picture. The occupants of the car give him a friendly wave, thanking him for allowing them to take his picture. After the light changed, the car slowly turned right and continued down the road. One of them asked, "Do you think we should have let him have a piece of pizza?"

"Oh my goodness, I can't believe I did that!," exclaimed the driver.

"What?," inquired the other male passenger, "Take a picture of the homeless guy? Not offer him any pizza?"

"No," said the driver, "Forget to ask for extra garlic sauce at the pizza place."

The woman in the back seat put her hand over her mouth and snickered.

Then the others joined in and laughed just as a semi truck suddenly jumped over the raised concrete median strip. Laughs quickly turned into screams as the car, with no time to stop, plowed into the side of the huge truck, sending glass, metal, blood and body parts everywhere.

The truck driver slowly got out, visibly shaken and was about to inspect the damage of the crash and to see if he could possibly help anyone that was still alive. When he saw the destruction, the trucker shook his head. In that moment, the man who had just posed for a picture on the curb showed up. Carefully, the man picked through the mess until he found a pizza box. He opened it, took a bite from a pizza slice and frowned.

Then the panhandler remarked, "Those fuckers didn't ask for extra garlic sauce."

That's when a jumbo jet, without warning, crashed into the middle of the wreckage, exploded on impact, killing everyone on the highway in a substantial radius and engulfed property and people in the flames of death. That very same day, there was to be no more pizza deliveries or pizza carry out orders in town. A sad day for pizza lovers.

Somehow, they struggled on. And just as the townspeople adjusted to the reality of what had transpired and the fact they were unable to order pizzas, an atomic bomb was dropped upon the town and never again, would they be able to order a pizza. Neither pepperoni or the sausage variety. But... at least they had the clowns. And really, isn't that enough?

Monday, March 7, 2011

Work of Fart

Wow! This kid has talent. Due to writer's block, I am unable to come up with anything so I thought I'd at least leave you with a chuckle. You could also call this a cautionary tale.

Also: I've been told by some of you living outside the U.S. that you are unable to watch the video. I've had trouble with people (in the past), living outside the U.S., not being able to see vids from Spike TV, where this originally comes from. In regards to that, here's a link to the same clip on You Tube. Maybe you'll have better luck seeing it there. It's funny as fuck.

Work of Fart
Tags: Work of Fart

Friday, March 4, 2011

The Psycho Carnival Award For Originality

I'm more than just a little ecstatic and loopy with glee to present my first ever, created-by-me, award. You could say that I'm more excited than a upright-standing, three-legged weasel, twirling a baton and gnashing it's teeth to the beat of Metallica's Master of Puppets. In the three and a half years of blogging, I felt the urge to produce an award that seemed to represent a quality I admire most in a blog... ORIGINALITY.

This award is given to those I believe who stand out in their blogs by showing and offering one of the greatest qualities most of us enjoy finding in a blog- and that is true originality. I'm talking about the kind of originality that you can tell isn't forced to garner attention for attention's sake or some other trivial pursuit but the kind that is apparent, shown by fresh, inviting writing that is displayed simply for the enjoyment of the blog author and any random Internet surfer that is visiting.

It can be a blog of humor, world news, history, paranormal, erotica or one that does not fit with the supposedly normal (but not really) values of a truly fucked up society or a mixture of all of the above and then some. Whew! I think I popped a vein in my forehead getting all that out. For Christ sakes, call 911 or give me a blow job or something. Girls only, though. My swing only goes in one direction.

In the future, I will award other bloggers this fine, you-can't-sell-this-for-magic candies award another time but for right now, I'm going to offer it to these four fine folks. I won't bother handing it to the good folks out there who don't accept awards because there's no point.

Without further ado, I present the Psycho Carnival Award for Originality to the following bloggers, in no particular order (please save for your applause or masturbatory tribute until I've finished reading the recipient's names) :

(1) Rebecca, from the most excellent, humorous satire blog called The Snee: The Sometimes, Never, Eventual, Express. Very original, very clever. You'll ask yourself where she comes up with this great stuff until you finally blow a vein in your head. Then you'll be sad. But if you get your satiric news here, you'll be a happy weasel once again.

(2) Greg, from The De-Evolution of Man. Always some wild, original and hysterical writing to be found here. He can find the humor in the craziest or most mundane of things. Like the routine a man goes through each morning... such as showering, shaving, shitting and dipping a spoon in the soft, wriggly eyeball of a tied up retard who every so often shouts, "Akibba bu dilla!", without warning.

(3) LilPixi, from It's a Lollipop World. Brilliant, off-the-fucking-hook writing and photos can be found here. Laughs are what you'll get when you read her up front, in your face stories and ideas. The very epitome of originality are what you'll find on her site. You'll chuckle uncontrollably until you spooge.

(4) Gary, from klahanie. His blog promotes positivity with his non-abrasive, honest writing that is often spiked with humor, irony and/or kindness. His writing and photos are completely original and that is one of his qualities I most admire. Plus, his farts smell like cabbage. I know. He kindly sent me a jar of homemade farts for Christmas last year. Had a fancy bow on top.

People seem to enjoy making rules up for these awards that are passed around to show appreciation. I've never understood the rules concept in all that. But for fun, and because the devil is dancing and playing the ukulele by my ear, I feel compelled to come up with a few rules you may or may not want to act upon. Or make up your own. Remember... you're creative... and original. Just don't get too creative or the boring, normal ones will lock you up in a padded cell, in leather restraints, with no pants. That way, they can come and bugger ya in your sleep.

Here be for thee... The Magnificent Rules

First- Copy, paste and display these rules and this award upon your blog, if you so desire.
Second- Give this award to anyone who exemplifies originality, in some way, in their blog.
Third and Three Quarters- Answer this most important question: Ketchup or Pygmies?
Fourth- Write an original thought (or something that seems like a rare idea) or display a photo for everyone to stare at, in awe, that will cause the peeps to fall down upon their knees and smile with tears of profound realization. Or just say the first thing that comes to mind.
Fifth- Give a link to the one who bestowed the award to you. No, I don't mean a savory sausage link. That's the image I just saw in your mind. Amazing, yes?

Well, folks... there you have it. The Psycho Carnival Award For Originality. Winning recipients may place this award upon their mantelpieces with pride and enjoy for years to come. I must go now and twirl my baton.

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

G.I. Joe F*cked My Satellite Dish

G.I. Joe, America's hero, fresh from a tour of duty in Afghanistan, kindly asked if he could stay the week at my place. Since I have the highest respect for our nation's military, there was no way, I knew, that I would turn the poor, traumatized, soldier down. And as a result of shrapnel blast from a roadside bomb, Joe had received many injuries.

After several days, however, I noticed something amiss about G.I. Joe's behavior. One evening, while I had previously been in the living room, I went into the kitchen to retrieve my cup of coffee and was surprised to catch him in the act of fucking it. I shouted, "Stop it, you sick bastard!" Instead of ceasing his actions, he pressed on.

After not finding relief with the cup, the little bugger went after the stuffed gorilla to give him a bit more stuffing. I was outraged. I shouted, "I demand you stop or you will have to leave, immediately!"

He quickly got off the gorilla and ran away to hide. The next day, Joe showed that he was mad at me by taking a dump on my kitchen floor.

Immediately after his bowel movement, Joe quickly sprinted out the door to fuck my satellite dish. I wondered why the reception on my TV was fuzzy.

Unable to find sexual relief with the dish, Joe went to work on a book I had nearly finished. When the bastard was done, he wrote a note and placed it on the last page of the book. It said: Here ya go, Asshole! I finished it for ya!

I didn't see him for almost the rest of the entire day. Then suddenly, he jumped out of nowhere and he hurriedly bound up Piglet's hands with rope and began using the poor animal for his carnal delight.

Curious from hearing the shrieking of a bound Piglet, my innocent feline comes out to investigate the calamity. Joe is rude, as usual.

These words, DO NOT ENTER, mean nothing to that fiendish G.I. Joe. Look at what he's doing to the base of the sign! Oh, the humanity!

Finally, after days of no satisfaction, Joe took matters into his own hands. Being the gentleman, I shall leave it up to your imagination as to how he accomplished his goal. Clue: Look at his hands.

The next day, he left a happier man. Before he walked out the door, he attempted to shake my hand and thank me for putting up with him, but I stepped back and said, "Hey, that's okay, dude. Just try to get your act together and maybe go see a doctor or something." He chuckled a bit at that, then skipped out the door.

I have to admit... I'm glad he found relief, but damn, he created chaos at my place. Never again will I allow him to stay here. I learned a valuable lesson.
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