I robbed a bunch of mimes at knifepoint and got away with it–none of them talked.
(I was actually miming a carrot, but they thought it was a knife–stupid mimes.)
I was recently asked if I ever get writer’s block.
Of course I don’t; it’s what’s great about having a blog as stupid as this one: I can write whatever nonsensical gibberish pops into my head.
Take for example, the following passage from a post about phobias:
Walloonphobia: the fear of Walloons. Walloons can burst at any moment making a loud popping sound and startling you.
(My apologies, I thought this was the fear of balloons. Walloons are the French-speaking population of Belgium; it’s perfectly normal to be startled when Walloons burst and make a loud popping noise.)
What kind of stupid scattered brain comes up with that?
I’ve worked very hard to set a low a standard as possible for this blog while still forming semi-coherent sentences.
But it hasn’t been just my hard work and dedication responsible for the ridiculously substandard tangle of words before you. I’ve been genetically blessed with an extended family of what could be described generously as complete imbeciles.
Aunts, uncles, and cousins so completely and impenetrably stupid, there was really no way for it to not to filter to me. Even as I’m typing this, I’m drooling uncontrollably and I have peed myself because can’t remember how to use the bathroom.
Have you ever seen a tree with most of its branches rotting and riddled with an infectious disease. A disease so heinous the tree needs to be cut down, chopped into bits, burned, and its ashes buried in a deep hole under three feet of reinforced concrete, just to preserve the rest of forest.
That tree is healthy compared to our family tree–we wish we were that tree. Sometimes we’ll get together, drool on ourselves, pee ourselves, and scrapbook about how much we wish we were that diseased tree.
I will give you this assurance: I long as I am authoring this blog it will remain awful. And if you should happen to run into any of my aunts or uncles, give them a hardy thank you.
But don’t touch them–they tend to be sticky.
Do you remember as a child, adults would bandy about that old saw that a bee would only sting if you provoked? Do you also remember the dissemination of that bit of information generally came moments after being stung by a bee?
I recall an instance in my childhood, sitting in my backyard, quietly playing in a manner that could be readily described as angelic, when a bee decided it had become sufficiently provoked. My youthful playtime came to an abrupt halt with the introduction of searing pain to the side of head.
I went in search of sympathy, only to find an accusatory tone. Unfortunately two of my aunts were visiting.
“What did you do to it?” The first asked in her typically snide voice.
“What did I do to it?” She was obviously confused by the sequence of events.
“You must have provoked it,” the other chimed in, with her less snide, but decidedly more mannish voice.
Note: my aunts’ inability to recognize a child playing in a manner that could be readily described as angelic, likely stems from their own entirely unangelic nature…they’re really bitchy.
Informed by this experience, I watched in amusement as a tour guide on a travel show condescendingly told Vinny from Yonkers, “don’t be alarmed by that stingray brushing against your leg, they only attack when they’re angry or provoked.”
Vinny from Yonkers response was to act alarmed. He then gave the tour guide a look that generally precedes a punch in the face.
Any animal in which the word “sting” is prominent in its name, is probably an animal of which to be wary. It is generally wise to approach anything with the ability to sting, with caution.
Things that sting:
Also, how would you go about determining the mental state of a stingray? I’ve never seen one that appeared happy-go-lucky.
It’s probably hard being a big flat fish living on the bottom of the ocean, always afraid that some fat tourist named Vinny will step on your back.
Stingrays have their mouths and nostrils situated on their underbellies; that cannot be a pleasant way to exist.
And have you seen what stingrays look like? They’re all crazy ugly; stingray sex must be just awful.
A stingray’s sting can result in extreme pain, illness, the amputation of affected limbs, and in extreme cases, death.
Note: if you’re a condescending tour guide, they can also cause you to get punched in the face by a guy from Yonkers named Vinny.
Any animal that on a whim can cause my life to end, is by my way of thinking, a source of alarm.
Or is it possible that you could run into a stingray with a sense of humor; a stingray that finds it amusing to sting a condescending tour guide.
Either way, you should be careful before you smugly tell someone not to be alarmed. You could be dealing with a stingray with a sense of humor, or guy named Vinny without one.
Millcreek Community Hospital has announced the grand opening of their new Leeching and Bloodletting Department. This new wing will be located within the current facility on Peach Street. Hospital spokesman Ross Sewitch says “We here at Millcreek Community realized the need to expand patient care in order to become more competitive with Erie’s two legitimate hospitals.” Sewitch went on to say that the leeches will be locally sourced directly from Mill Creek which runs just outside the facility and that the bloodletting equipment will be sterilized “every so often.” When asked what conditions will be treated by the new department, Sewitch answered “Oh you name it; cholera, consumption, rickets, dropsy.” Sewitch went to say that, “No other healthcare facility in this area has this kind of service. Does Hamot have the right equipment to cure scurvy? Can St. Vincent’s stop bubonic plague in its tracks? I don’t think so.”
Experts will tell you that hiccups are a myoclonus of the diaphragm, that results in an abrupt rush of air into the lungs. You get them when the vagus nerve, which runs from the brain to the abdomen, is irritated. They are most commonly the result of digestive disturbances.
Well that’s just crazy talk–everyone knows hiccups are caused by gremlins.
There are some who will tell you that gremlins don’t exist; people who think they’re so much smarter than you.
They think they’re smarter because they have years of medical training, or they’ve read books, or they’ve never been described as “bat crap crazy” by a certified mental health professional.
Some think they’re smarter because they’ve never been arrested for slapping a mime in the face, or for urinating on a police car.
But does that make them smarter than you?
It Probably does, but you still shouldn’t listen to them: can you really trust a person who’s never slapped a mime in the face?
But now you have hiccups–how do you get rid of them?
After doing an extensive amount of research I’ve unearthed several potential hiccup remedies.
This is the point: hiccups cannot be cured, they are caused by gremlins. You simply have to wait for the gremlins to tire, or get bored–it’s science.
As promised in the previous post, the following is a conversation with Klingon speaking Ed.
His real name isn’t Ed. I’ve changed the name to protect the innocent. The innocent being myself; Ed’s a few sandwiches short of a picnic.
Me: So, what’s up with this whole speaking Klingon thing?
Ed: Isn’t it obvious why I speak Klingon?
Me: I dunno–have all the normal ways in which you repel women begun to fail?
Ed: MOK TUK BAH.
Me: Nope, (wiping the spit from my face) you’re as repellent as ever.
Ed: Klingon is the language of a noble warrior race.
Me: Of course it is. It just seems to me that it would be more useful to learn a language you may encounter on this planet, such as French.
Ed: French is hardly the language of a noble warrior race.
Me: Point taken. What about Spanish, a lot of people speak that language?
Ed: No. Mexican food gives me gas.
Me: Does it? I’m curious, is there a Klingon word for non sequitur?
Ed: I don’t know what that is.
Me: It’s a Latin word that means: it does not follow.
Ed: Why didn’t you just say it does not follow?
Me: So you think it’s more useful to use an English word than a word in a language very few people speak?
Ed: People don’t screw you when you speak Klingon.
Me: Really, you speak Klingon and people screw with you constantly.
Ed: That’s not true.
Me: Well, I’m pretty much screwing with you right now.
Ed: I don’t think so.
Me: It feels like I am.
Ed: Klingons are hyper-aware of their surroundings.
Me: You do realize you’re not a Klingon?
Ed: Of course I do; I’m not an idiot.
Ed: MOK TUK BAH.
I wiped the spit from my face as I watched him storm away in a huff. Real Klingons never storm away in a huff.
How many times has this happened to you?
You approach a stoplight as it’s about to turn red. Being a responsible driver, you slowly apply the breaks and come to a complete stop.
Suddenly you hear the screeching of tires behind you. You hear the sound of crunching metal as you feel the shock of your vehicle being struck from behind.
You stumble from your vehicle, slightly shaken, trying to rub the pain from back of your neck. As you survey the damage, you see the driver of the other vehicle stomping toward you from the corner of your eye. “Are you okay?” you ask as you turn to face him.
“Rah arg bah,” he bellows into your face. A blast of hot putrid breath startles you and sends you reeling. You try to steady yourself as you wipe the spit from you face. A sinking feeling comes over you with the realization that you’ve just been rear-ended by a Klingon.
“Do you have insurance?” you ask apprehensively, aware of the fact that Klingons are notoriously irresponsible drivers.
“Mok tuk bah,” he says as he jabs his crooked Klingon finger in the direction of the stoplight.
“Listen mister, that light was clearly about to turn red.” You call him mister hoping that he’s male; it’s so hard to tell with their weird wrinkled faces.
“MOK TUK BAH,” he screams at you with even more force.
“So that’s how it’s going to be,” you calmly reply, again wiping the spit from your face. This time his spit seems to contain chunks of something that was recently alive. You vomit in your mouth a little.
A lengthy argument ensues. Tensions flare. In the heat of the moment you say something unfortunate about the virtue of his Klingon mother being defiled by Captain Kirk. You soon discover–at ridiculous odds– this is the one phrase that translates directly from English to Klingon.
You find yourself staring at the end of a menacing Klingon weapon of war.
You swiftly make an attempt to apologize. You now discover the phrase “I’m sorry” in Klingon roughly translates to: stab me repeatedly and viciously.
As you lie on the pavement bleeding to death, you wonder if a better grasp of the Klingon language could have helped you avoid this grisly end.
So, how many times has this happened to you?
Allow me to answer for you: it hasn’t and it never will. Klingons are a fictitious race from a fictitious planet invented in the mind of Gene Roddenberry.
However, there is a Klingon language; a language that people endeavor to learn and speak.
Why would a person endeavor to learn and speak a language spoken by a nonexistent race?
I decided to ask a person who makes a habit of publicly speaking Klingon.
Next Post: My Conversation With Klingon Speaking Ed.
It is not a coincidence that the English language has not popularized the phrase ‘as useful as a dead weasel.’
In fact, if you’re on your way to do something and you think to yourself, I could really use a dead weasel for this, you’re probably about to do something that falls somewhere between foolish and felony. How many times on Cops has the arresting officer commented, “this would have merely been foolish, but you were swinging a dead weasel.”
If you’re on your way to do anything and you spot a dead weasel and think, I can use that, you’re headed down a dangerous path.
Which brings me to the point of this post.
A man in Hoquiam, Washington confronted the current boyfriend of an ex-girlfriend.
Generally a bad idea.
He confronted him swinging a dead weasel.
Always a bad idea.
“Why do you have a dead weasel?” the boyfriend asked him.
“It’s not a weasel, it’s a marten,” he replied.
(It’s a small distinction but an important one. Ex-boyfriends who display the proclivity to swing dead animals, tend to be very pedantic.)
He then punched the boyfriend in the nose and ran off. Begging the question: why in the world would you bother carrying a dead weasel to a confrontation if you’re not going to use it?
He was later tracked down and charged with assault and public stupidity.
When asked why he was carrying a dead weasel, he matter-of-factly replied, “what are you stupid, live weasels bite.”
In a weird twist, the authorities reported that it wasn’t a weasel or a marten, but a mink.
I don’t know if fur is murder, but it’s definitely felony assault.
The man was eventually acquitted. Evidently the prosecutors “failed to prove a link to the mink.” The prosecutors reportedly failed to do several other things that rhyme in a Seussian manner.
When asked if he had learned any valuable lessons, the man replied, “yeah, if you see something dead on the side of the road, leave it be.”
Perhaps if he had brought his girlfriend a mink when they were together, she wouldn’t have broken-up with him.
The mink had no comment.
He claimed he was acting in self-defense.
He claimed it was because he was fending off a vicious attack.
He claimed his girlfriend was wielding a weapon.
What type of weapon would pose a threat so great to an off duty police officer, that it would necessitate assault against a woman?
That’s right, he claimed she was wielding a Justin Bieber doll.
I imagine the interview between the arresting officer and his off duty colleague, went something like this:
Cop: she attacked you with a what now?
Suspect: you heard me.
Cop: I really don’t think I did.
Suspect: she attacked me with a Justin Bieber doll.
Cop: is “Justin Bieber doll” her pet name for a machete?
Suspect: no. She attacked with an actual Justin Bieber doll.
Cop: is it possible she hit you with a lead pipe, and in a concussed state, you imagined it was a Justin Bieber doll?
Suspect: it wasn’t a lead pipe; it was a Justin Bieber doll.
Cop: was she was wearing brass knuckles at the time?
Cop: could it have been a brick with Justin Bieber’s face painted on it?
Suspect: look, I have little Bieber face imprints all over my body. It’s horrifying–they’re just so smug.
Cop: was the Justin Bieber doll constructed of steel?
Suspect: no. It was just a regular Justin Bieber doll.
Cop: I don’t want to write that down.
I don’t know whether he was lying or not, but in the entire universe of possible lies, is that the one you would tell? Here’s a short list of things you could be attacked with, that bear less of a threat to your manhood:
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to downplay how terrifying it must be to have Justin Bieber’s tiny face, repeating crashing into you. That’s an experience that haunts you forever… just ask Selena Gomez.
I just want to share a conversation I had with a exuberant runner.
Runner: Do you want to know what I think.
Me: I sincerely doubt it.
Runner: You should start running.
Me: I would need a good reason to start running.
Runner: The cardiovascular benefits.
Me: That’s not a good enough reason to start running.
Runner: What’s a good enough for you to start running?
Me: If I were on safari in Africa and a pack of elephants stampeded toward me, I would run.
Runner: That’s ridiculous.
Me: No it’s not. If you were on safari in Africa and a pack of elephants stampeded toward you, you would definitely want to run.
Runner: I mean a good reason.
Me: Not being trampled to death by elephants is pretty good reason.
Runner: Don’t you want to have better stamina as you get older?
Me: Better stamina? I can climb at least two or three flights of stairs before the searing pain in my side renders me unconscious.
Runner: Is that how you want to live?
Me: Listen, I’m fine. I walk at least two miles every day–I get plenty of exercise.
Runner: But walking doesn’t give you the same high you get from running.
Me: I smoke crack while I walk, so getting a high isn’t really a problem.
Runner: Now you’re just trying to be stupid.
Me: I’m not trying–it’s really no effort at all.
Runner: Tell me what it would take to get you to run.
Me: Well, if I was in Tokyo and Godzilla attacked…hey, where are you going.
Evidently getting away from me is also a good reason to run.