Fridge Worthy

Saturday, December 30, 2006

help me storm the castle walls

we will use the rubble as money
things always go as planned

Friday, December 29, 2006

start of something, start something

I heard a number of news stories reporting James Brown's death. What I learned from many of these reports was the Godfather of Soul apparently battled many demons in his time with us. This was something I would have liked to have heard more about while he was still alive. Sadly, all I can do is imagine. Artist's rendering:

Thursday, December 28, 2006

Things to Blame it On Besides the Rain

The air
Genetics
Stubby fingers, webbed toes
Atmospheric pressure
Not properly understanding the rules of Russian roulette

Proof that Chinese Restaurants Want to Teach you Chinese in Fortune Cookies to Open More Chinese Restaurants

Come in, please: Qing jin
Sit down, please: Qing zuo
Order today's special, please: Qing yào cài jīn tiān tè chǎn
Stop crying, please: Qing chuò wā wā
No credit cards, please: Qing qiè wù xìn yòng kǎ
You are handsome/full of honor, eat this please: Qing chuài cǐ, nín shì xiù/zhēng guāng
Tell your friends about us, please: Qing gào yǒu péng
Come back real soon, you hear, please: Qing fǎn zhè lǐ, tīng
That is not blood, please: Qing ěr fú miè
You love Chinese food, please: Qing nǐ zhōng cān
I would like to secure a bank loan to open a Chinese Restaurant, please: Qing yù yào chēng dài qǐ ā zhōng fàn diàn

Wednesday, December 27, 2006

Dada killed the radio star

A Two-fer

I sure hope I'm mistaken, because the last time something drifted up to the lost Greek Heavens, the Gods were not amused.

"One more, and we will open a store," Zeus boomed atop Mount Olympus. He meant business. And apparently would go into business.

And it's so like a God to benefit from the suffering from the comman man. He only gave us these frisbees so we would know the sorrow when they were gone. They'd float higher and higher each time, directly proportional to the fun we were having that gray summer day, until they strayed too close to the clouds. It went up, over, and out.

"You know what, Zeus?" My best friend Skip challenged, "You go ahead and open your store. No one's going to shop there because we'll tell them all you're a Commie. Pinko scum!"

I'm not sure why, but the next 18 hours were filled with the torrential downpour of sheets of rain and ice. Although rain and ice are made of water; this precipitation was made of blood and car exhaust.

"Great, thanks Skip." I said sardonically. "Now it smells like blood and car exhaust. I'm pretty sure that's what is staining my 1970's bell bottoms and 'The Boss' T-shirt."

"Shh, shh, shh..." Skip motioned with his hand. "Do you hear that?"

There was nothing but silence.

"Exactly." Skip's mind hummed along like a perpetual motion machine. "With all this apocalyptic mumbo jumbo, no ones in the mood to buy stolen frisbees."

He was right. There was no sound of cash registers, cash machines, or cash being taken from divine wallets. All I heard was blood and car exhaust coming back to earth. And it was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard.

"And besides, we can open a blood and car exhaust store now," Skip said.

Monday, December 25, 2006

From the desk of my table, let's chair this discussion. Paperweight!

can i borrow $20

There was no Christmas

There was no Christmas tree in the Bible.

There was no slashing of prices in the Bible.

There was no tinsel in the Bible.

There was no aerosol snow in the Bible.

There were no stockings or fireplaces in the Bible.

There was no Yule log in the Bible.

There was no fruitcake in the Bible.

There was no figgy pudding in the Bible.

There was no man made of snow in the Bible.

There was no weeping tunnel, no crying viaducts, nor emotionally disturbed passageways in the Bible.

There was no mistletoe in the Bible, but rather a series of awesome fauna (some even talked!).

There was no Santa Claus in the Bible.

There were no “Secret Santas” in the Bible.

There were no department stores in operation year round counting on the Christmas season to get into the black in the Bible.

There certainly were no overweight men masquerading as magical bearded ones in red suits with white trim, listening patiently to minors demands for overpriced toys.

There was no Christmas goose in the Bible; but there were doves, chickens, eagles, ravens, peacocks, hawks, owls, quails, bitterns, cormorants, cranes, crows, cuckoos, falcons, gledes, herons, hoopoes, kites, lapwings, nighthakws, ospreys, ossifrages, ostriches, partridges, pelicans, pigeons, sparrows, storks, swallows, swans, turtledoves, and vultures. (This tradition was probably started by Charles Dickens in A Christmas Carol, as a method to employ more words than were necessary to further the narrative. ie, An old man wakes from an ether induced vision including three separate apparitions, not knowing which day it was, and commands a strange young boy to run into the town square and get a Christmas goose. The boy, terrified, chose not to challenge. This is most likely how most modern traditions have started)

There were no “Merry Christmases” in the Bible. People were just fine having their usual “nice days” in the Bible, as people considered themselves lucky not to be crucified, be caught in the plague, or find their drinking water mysteriously turned to wine.

There were no Christmas carols, carolers, or singers in the Bible. Everyone had lousy voices back then which is why there was only a written account and no book on wax cylinder or opera based on the Bible. Their penmanship was adequate at best.

when i died they said to keep on living, when i was out of money they said to keep on giving

I've Been Robbed Blind And Talked Deaf

You only did it because you thought I'd do the same.

Sunday, December 24, 2006

Everyone Come Out/spinning cabinets/kick that rabbit right in two/can you talk about the country i'm from in the same language. one i can understand?

Everyone comes out of the woodwork with their hands open. They seek shavings, they seek saving. I have nothing to offer them but the same played out old trick I've done for years as a consequence of my breathing. Sorry if you're looking for something new. It's just plain old me. And that wasn't enough for ages.

I raise what little money I can to send down the sinkhole the rest of life it can't live up and it's just a run on sentence wandering to find a meaning.

I've got a duck billed platypus to pay. He's waiting down by the docks and I'm guessing the nerve I'm on is his last. I slap hands to while away the time, but the sands have shifted. My allergies are in high alert mode. Can a light house spot the invisible man? When the calls are too close to make, who will answer the phone? Poppycock, slap dash answers.

The MD was empty, the concept on an unsound structure. The building codes were downloaded from the Internet. He turned his mind off in the ICU and smoked a verbal cigarette. He ate ashes as the patient spat vitriol (new: Vitriol from Calvin Klein) from an unchecked liver spot over his third eye's mind's dirty mouth.

Different hands on the same arms. That creek goes somewhere, but I'm not sure. I won't or can't say, and it no longer matters. The raft we made out of discarded rib cages no longer comforts me in the same way. Yes, it is comfortable, but it is aesthetically displeasing. I've got to eat my friends just to survive, and that's a surefire way to make some enemies. But I'm not dropping names, I'm dropping friends into a tasty bucket. What a shitstorm I'll catch if we survive. But I'm not naming names. I will make a great cannibal recipe book. Enjoy the monogrammed whiplash collar. I'm eating a collarbone.
The widow piqued long ago. She figured when he ran out of places to hide, he'd find what he was looking for. But it's doubtful this was it.

His ghost was so lazy; it was the least he could do after kicking off this mortal coil to ship off to another dimension. Nope. In death, much like life, he still hung around his usual haunts. He'd laze about on the couch after waking up on it. He'd watch TV, those awful daytime shows nobody but housewives and male ghosts get suckered into watching slack-jawed and glassy-eyed. Although admittedly, he did eat far less snack foods now that he was no longer among the living.

That tends to happen.

Different hands on the same arms. That creek goes somewhere, but I'm not sure. I won't or can't say, and it no longer matters. The raft we made out of discarded rib cages no longer comforts me in the same way. Yes, it is comfortable, but it is aesthetically displeasing. I've got to eat my friends just to survive, and that's a surefire way to make some enemies. But I'm not dropping names, I'm dropping friends into a tasty bucket. What a shitstorm I'll catch if we survive. But I'm not naming names. I will make a great cannibal recipe book. Enjoy the monogrammed whiplash collar. I'm eating a collarbone.

Anyway, if you count to 10 with me, that's all the time I'd need to sneak away.