Wednesday, May 23, 2007


It started with this, and that led to me reading this. Now, the entire topic is very, very gross... But one wonders, and by one I mean me, what did lead them down this path? How the fuck did anyone decide that this was the way to go?

Head shrinking isn’t exactly the first idea that pops into a persons mind when faced with the body of a fallen foe man or with the remains of a random victim and the issue of its disposal. If the um…deceased is located conveniently far away then one can I suppose ignore the matter and let nature take its course. The world however, is far from perfect and follow up measures need to be taken.

Humans have been doing this since humans have been human, and even before that I suppose. Bury, burn, entomb, cover with a ton of rocks, heave into the ocean…all logical and efficient in the most part. The head shrinking…not so much. That comes under the inspired bit of stupidity, (Also know as “What in fuck’s name were they thinking”, and “You are fucking kidding me”. Colloquially known as, “Please, fucking tell me they did not do that.” (In that last sentence the word fucking is used as a verbal, a verb used as an adjective. I had to look that up, but now I know, and knowledge is always a good fucking thing.))

And so I thought about that a little more. And then there was light. A committee came up with this approach. That is the most logical explanation.

Circa…whenever. 400BC, or 1600 AD or yeah, whenever.

"Well, Gentlemen and Ladies, here we are, and there are ahem the yes, you know the recently departed from the mortal coil because of the harrumph actions of um us. lets...umm...ummm…Suggestions any body?"

“I know I know boss! Let’s shrink them. We’ll save on space and it’s good for the environment.

"Why, that’s a capital Idea Rupert, with a capital I, give yourself a raise."

(Rupert the headshrinker. Mentioned in the Doomsday Book and in Ye Olde Reader’s Digeste. True fact.)

“And boss, let’s not shrink the whole thing. Let’s just shrink the head. Why? Because it makes no fucking sense and you know that we’ll never run out of conversation topics at parties."

(And that’s true, mention that you are a headshrinker at any party and immediately find yourself the center of attention. In much the same way that Kaa was at the bi-annual Bandar Log conference.

Unless of course, it is a party comprised solely of headshrinkers, because, they’d all go, “Whatever, yeah, and for your next act you will be exhaling and then inhaling? Puh-lease” (Headshrinkers in groups larger than five or six are a surly bunch.) Kaa at the biannual meeting of Snakes Created by Kipling lacks any kind of dramatic impact. He’s just a face in the crowd.)

“Rupert double that raise. And you’re promoted. That is a fantastic idea. We have a course of action. Go forth my brethren, shrink away. Rupert, lead them.”

So, apparently I snarl when I’m lifting weights in the gym. Some people grunt. Loudly. They’re called the grunters. Some people count out their repetitions really, really loudly. If they’re on their fifth rep, they want every fucking person in the gym to know that and share in their joy. One lady literally sounds like she’s having an orgasm. No literally. I’m not exaggerating in the least bit. Honest. Believe me! The whole moaning bit get old when you’re trying not to drop that dumbbell on your head.

I snarl. I did not realize this until someone pointed this out. That didn’t stop me from snarling, but now I have the good grace to look slightly embarrassed when I do snarl. I originally conveyed the impression of a werewolf on a full moon night with the scent of fresh blood in the air snarling merrily as he hunts his prey. The embarrassed look changes it all. I now convey the impression of a werewolf who’s given up the hunt for nobler pursuits and organic meat from the local grocers, but whose ears still occasionally perk up when it is a full moon and the scent of hemoglobin permeates the ether, and who then realizes that this reaction is wrong and hopes that no one else has seen his ears twitching.

So, yeah, fucking headshrinkers. Weird shit.

Tuesday, May 08, 2007

The Joy of Music

Someone stop the world. I want to get off. I think this is my stop. It says so on my ticket. Look, "Dude this is your stop. Get off." You can't get any more explicit than that. Well I suppose you could get a lot more explicit if you played suggestive, mood music in the background, but I will not even go there. Spoils the whole illusion of deep, brooding thought. Nothing ruins the semblance of seriousness more than suggestive music. A speech about world hunger, global warming and incipient Armageddon. Your audience riveted by the impending doom, and then softly in the background, “Pyaunchikipyaunyaun pyaunchikipyaun yaun.” There ends your noble endeavour to rescue the masses from their fate…Coz’ y’know, suggestive music screws things up. In more ways than one.

That, sadly enough, is my Google Talk status message. I claimed that it was a stream of consciousness rant. And maybe it was. But doesn’t everybody do it? Play um questionable music in their heads when they’re stuck doing something boring.

And it works every single time.

Cleaning the Kitchen…Oddly suggestive music

Debugging code…Oddly suggestive music

Making yourself a nice cup of tea…Oddly suggestive music

Reading a book…Oddly suggestive music

Renewing your license…Oddly suggestive music

Shopping for groceries…Oddly suggestive music

Which only goes to show that everything is better with porn. It’s like cheesecake. You cannot go wrong with porn. Porn is like Superman, but without the underwear worn on the outside. Actually, without underwear period. Porn is like the first rain, that causes life to burst forth from the ground…except I think they use condoms. Unless it’s all women. In which case it’s all good.

So, yeah. I had absolutely nothing to say.

Driving home late one night, I realized that I hadn’t checked the back seat for stowaway axe murderers. That clearly meant that there was a stowaway axe murderer in the back seat and he/she would continue to be there until I glanced back and reassured myself that he/she had left. So I glanced back.

And nearly ran off the road.

Tuesday, May 01, 2007

Gigantic, Huge...


No. Really. Believe me. This is a huge post. I've just used a really small font.

...Rim shot?

Apparently not.

The worst thing in the world is being sarcastic and not having people get your sarcasm. “We have turned off the sarcasm meters. Your sarcasm no longer registers. Now roll over and die because your barbs cannot make it past our armor.”


Back to your regularly scheduled blankness.