Dance, Monkey, DANCE!

Eating is for Pussies. I Eat. I Must Be Pussy. I am Fried. Fried Pussy. Everything Tastes Better Fried. Eat Me. Tastes like Chicken. Or Fish. Depends.

If you are "eating it" or eating it.

Crude, I know. But there is a method to my madness. (I know, again, I use terms and phrases that are overused...In case I wasn't clear, I said pussy tastes like fish and so on and so forth. It's a trend.)

It has come to my attention, and maybe you as well since I heard about this a little late in the game, that the Japanese are at it again with their crazy shenanigans. I feel like there might be another "n" in that word somewhere. Where is my Vanna when I need her? Flip the tile, DAMNIT!, FLIP the FUCKING TILE! YES, I BOUGHT THE FUCKING VOWEL ALREADY! FUCK, I'LL BUY ALL OF THEM!

Anyway, what I was getting at can be witnessed here.



For those of you out of touch with Japanese culture or Japanese tv programs, let me explain although I'm sure it is quite self explanatory if you actually watch the video (I know some of you skipped over it and to you I say shame on you.) Go watch and read everything in the sequence it was given unto thou. And then go back and mix it all up and call it your own. Some say plagiarism, I say staying true to the original voice.

What you are seeing is an aquarium. An aquarium that is attached to a deep fryer. You can fry the fuck out of anything. Chicken, lobster, Mars bars, goldfish, sweatpants, toe nails, really just about anything will taste good as long as it's battered and fried. And there are real live fish down underneath the oil. If you remember your basic chemistry when you were a kid, oil and water do not mix. Which is why people say sex and condoms are like oil and water. They don't mix. Wait.

Yeah, they don't mix. They're a good idea and should be used at practically all times. But truth be told, not much fun.

In any case, the fish feed off the crumbs and random shit that flakes off the subtlely crisping food product. It kind of reminds me of Ally Sheedy in the Breakfast Club. But she did that out of teen angst. We do this out of deliciousness.

The fish can live unharmed as long as they don't charge themselves headfirst into a gooey vegetable oil heaven while idly swimming around in the deep blue. Sure, if given an easy way to end it, you might really consider it and we have to account for the fact that fish are stupid. You stick a finger in a fish tank and they come nibbling along (If you haven't tried it, you should. It's a magical experience one can only equate to watching a live birth or feeling the tickling urge to sneeze for the very first time...what movie was that in?)

Finally, you might also be questioning the fact that hot water and hot oil might be a disasterous situation. Watching little fish heads explode right out of the tank might not be something you would want as you bite into a ball of fried ice cream. Which also brings to question why fried ice cream is almost always an Asian restaurant delicacy.

Oh well, what I wouldn't give to see a deep fryer explode and watch water and oil and pork rinds and fish and shrapnel spew forth while 26 (and specifically 26) Japanese people stare wide-eye and say "Sugoi!" in a hushed tone. It's all really anime if you think about it. (Whoever knows the Japanese word, I give you 5 dollars. Wait. Boo. You give me 5 dollars. That way I have one less john to get off.

Anyway, sharing time is over. It takes a lot of work to be clever. And I think this time around, I've buckled under the pressure. What can I say? It's hard to be quick on your feet when you have a full grown salmon jammed up your ass.


So I've heard.

Figuratively speaking, of course.

There Is Only So Much I Can Bear As the Weight of Oscar Gold Rests on My Weary Shoulders.

Juiceboxes, hamsters, undeserving Oscar winners. Things I love.

Seems bizarre but all will be revealed. Like a young girl being exposed to weird Uncle Sal’s genitals. Unwillingly.

Growing up eating paste, pretending to be superheroes, and pinning your tail on a donkey is something we can all relate to. Most of you do this before college, but I is late bloomer. Cut me slack. (Bitch.)

So with the memory of youthful exuberance, you understand that juiceboxes are love -- yummy, sweet, packed with vitamins. Parents let you drink it because it’s healthy. (Watch it, too much rots your teeth. It’s a deceptive world we live in.) And taking care of that hamster is love. (Also a plot by your parents to instill some voodoo hooey about responsibility, yadda yadda, eat/drink/smoke/shit/sleep/eat more/shit more/no-mom-and-dad-it-didn’t-yes-still-don’t-have-a-real-job.) Just to have it plowed to death by the lawnmower or car or your sister’s fat pimply ass. Never solved that one... But, yes, I still hold the memory of Chuckles close to my bosom.

However! Understanding the love for Oscar winners is as complex an undertaking as life’s great mysteries. God, what makes string cheese so string-like and cheesy?

Let’s start at the very beginning. A very good place to start. (Curse you, Sound of Music and your hypnotic effects on impressionable children!)

The Oscars began in 1928.

70 years later, Jack Nicholson (who is awesome) and Helen Hunt (who is Jamie Buckman from TV’s Mad About You) won awards for As Good As It Gets. Cute movie, I guess, but that’s one meek American lady against four Brits. Helena Bonham Carter and her heroin-addled veins definitely reign supreme over Jamie Buckman from TV’s Mad About You. I love me some Marla. Scream at my boredom-induced alter ego who’s cleverly situated next to a gelatinous writhing dildo any day. (Kids say the darndest things. Cosby agrees.)

Then, the Oscars, much like my adolescence, spin out of control for the next ten years, churning out scraggly, greasy products that smell vaguely of cheese i.e: Halle, Julia, Jamie, Malcolm X. (the actor), Crash, Almost Famous, Return of the King, 2 Live Crew/Three 6 Mafia.

After this explanation, you perhaps share the same distaste and are thinking one of two things: Why puberty sucks and why does this bozo still love shitty Oscar winners?

The point is that “Catwoman starring Oscar-winner Halle Berry” and “Oscar-winner Jamie Foxx in Stealth” can exist. Hearing the voiceover guy spit these words out without irony is music - pure, unadulterated love melodies dancing in my ears like Keebler elves.

Plain and simple. There is something undeniably arousing about watching critical acclaim sink to rock-bottom depths. You know you’ve been there. Watching a bunch of image-obsessed actors flounder when their careers take a nosedive just makes you want to get it on.

~Fin~

In closing, as promised, juiceboxes, hamsters, shit Oscar winners -- what do you have in common?

I want to squeeze each and every one of you and watch fluids squirt out. With love. Baby.

My Eyes Are Smarting From the Tears Flowing Down My Face and the Noxious Fumes from the Rotting Corspe Under My Patio

Middle school sucks ass. It's a conglomeration of all that is wrong with the world. When children are hormonal and smell and sprout hairs and think they are growing up. And when social typing thrusts itself onto the unsuspecting kiddies like a dog on your leg. And then the dog blows his load and you're left with a sticky wet mess, not unlike the grimy, snot-nosed bastards who roam the halls with training bras and zit creams, voices cracking in screeches and moans, not unlike the sounds a dog makes in the throes of a back-breaking orgasm.

I used "dog and "orgasm" in the same sentence again. I need help.

Who says humans and dolphins are the only living beings that fuck for pleasure? I mean, a dog humps your leg with the same amount of passion one carves a hole in a watermelon and proceeds to...

I'll spare you the gory details of my imagination.

I guess not all of middle school is bad. Socialtyping isn't all bad, it's probably a necessary step towards self awareness. You tend to forget the times where everyone is trying to figure out if they are jocks or nerds or cheerleaders or theater kids or goths or well, the list goes on and on. It's at that moment when you realize that you are a different person. And you don't have to be into the same shit everyone else is. And you can find like minded folks all around. And then you realize that you live in Salt Lake City and everyone is Mormon and the fantasy is shattered once again.

Middle school- a welcoming committee at the gates of hell. Sometimes, I wish I could draw little cartoons to illustrate what I am saying on this blog. It might help. Like the New Yorker. But not as highbrow.

However, I don't really have the time to do more than what I am doing already. So stop pressuring me.

Uhm, sharing is caring. Which means one thing. Your money, your drugs, your material possessions, your gentials, are all mine.

Middle School Principal Charged With Buying Crack
By KEITH MORELLI
The Tampa Tribune

TAMPA – Van Buren Middle School Principal Anthony Giancola was arrested after police say he bought $20 worth of crack cocaine from an undercover officer in his office where he planned to smoke it.

Giancola, 40, is planning to resign, according to school officials.

Giancola told authorities he developed the crack habit in December after having some personal problems and was using $300 to $400 per day worth of the drug, according to Tampa Police spokeswoman Laura McElroy.

McElroy said Giancola made contact with an undercover officer a few days ago about buying $200 worth last night, but called and said he had a prior appointment and couldn’t make it. Giancola asked the undercover officer to come by the school with $20 worth of the drug.

The officer went to the principal’s office around 3 p.m. and sold Giancola the drug, McElroy said. The principal said he wanted to smoke it right there, but the officer demurred and said he didn’t feel comfortable and would leave. The principal walked the officer out to the school lobby where several other undercover officers were posing as parents, McElroy said.

They arrested Giancola on the spot and whisked him out of the school, McElroy said. He was charged with possession and solicitation to purchase the drug on school property.

McElroy said the officers tried to make the arrest as subtly as possible so as not to catch the attention of students. She said Giancola was cooperative and apologized to a bank of television reporters as he was led away.

School officials backed the police.

“We are being told the principal is resigning,’ MaryEllen Elia, school district superintendent said late Thursday. “We are in full support of the position the police took in handling this.’

“I’m very disappointed and upset,’” Elia said. “Obviously it’s unacceptable. Everything that can be done will be done relative to charges. I’m extremely disappointed.”

Elia said that Jackie Heard, a retired general director for the district will be sent to the school to help as will crisis teams of school psychologists. Elia said the principal had nothing negative in his record.

But some parents of students there were upset by the way the arrest happened.

“I can’t believe they would humiliate him like that,” said Shannon Bischel, a parent of a 7th grader at the school. “We all make mistakes and to embarrass him like that is cruel considering all he’s done for the school.”

Karen Bierce, who worked as a production coordinator in Van Buren’s cafeteria until three weeks ago, said she was shocked by news of the arrest, when informed by a reporter.

“It is blowing my mind,” she said. “Him of all people. He’s been great with the kids.”

How much is $20 worth of crack? Whitney Houston couldn't spend money on the good stuff? I can understand a Floridian middle school principal having a $300 habit but multiplatinum recording artist Whitney Houston?
So. Hmmm. His predicament is starting to feel oddly familiar...

And who's to say a crack addict can't be good with kids? You watched Being Bobby Brown, just to make yourself feel better about your life, and worse about your general views on society but we're selfish creatures...Ok, they weren't great parents.

I'm unfocused and frazzled. I blame many things.

A Pox on Your First Born Will Not Be a Problem Because His Genetic Predisposition Is All Sorts of Ugly.

It appears that I received a comment! YAY!!

Yes, "there are more Catholics than any other religion, including Hindu."

However, as I never stated that Jesus sucked ass at "reign"-ing in his followers, and only mentioned that Jesus had the following of " a wee population (in comparison to the global population", thus implying that many, many people in the world are in fact, not Jesus followers, I leave you with this riddle.

What do this:


and this:



have in common?


A:EAT FRESH!

It's a Knee Jerk Reaction But I Guess That Doesn't Negate the Fact That I Piddled on your Sandwich

I am attempting to move as quickly as I write this blog so that the words "enormous va-jay-jay" won't be on the top of the page. I'm a little conscious of who might accidently come across the page and think that I have a vagina, which would be a natural progression since I have a set of ovaries already but to boldly state that I have a vagina would be jumping the gun.

I feel that the past few times I have started an entry it always begins with "so I was sitting..." You'd think that I'd have a huge fucking ass and maybe some bed sores from all the sitting, but hey, why stop now? So I'm sitting here and my face is really dry. From the winter months which are just now gradually working their ways away until spring will offically grace us for...3 weeks and then it will be hot and humid summer.

Fuckers. The lot of them.

Contents of my fridge: Miso, tofu, pickled ginger, a grapefruit, broccoli, mustard, butter (do you keep butter in the fridge?), homemade broth stewed lovingly over hours and hours. a veggie burger, some mushrooms, a lemon, yogurt, salsa, cheese, heel of a loaf of bread, olives

Contents of my pantry: tomato puree, sugar (3 kinds), salt, flour, dark chocolate bark, Arborio rice, Sushi rice, canned black beans, chickpeas, quinoa, barley, cornmeal, polenta (same thing), nori, pinenuts, slivered almonds.

Contents of my soul:







Iceberg lettuce.

So I read this the other day and I thought I would share because my verbal flatulence needs to be contained and I have found the solution.

Berlin - German scientists have developed a pill that stops cattle breaking wind.

Methane emissions from cattle are responsible for four percent of harmful greenhouse gas emissions, and any reduction would be a major contribution to reducing global warming.

Scientists at the University of Hohenheim in Germany say they have now tested a pill which in combination with a special diet and strict feeding times should make cattle less harmful to the climate.

The pill, which is still being tested, breaks down the methane in the cows' stomachs, and also has health benefits for the cattle.

Winfried Drocher, head of the faculty for animal nutrition at the university, said: "It will make this energy available for the cows' metabolism. The cattle can use the methane to produce glucose instead of just passing it out and it will enable them to produce more milk."

The only problem at the moment is that the pill is about the size of a fist, which is hard to persuade the cows to swallow.

"It needs to be this big as it dissolves slowly, releasing active ingredients over several months. Our aim is to increase the well-being of the cows and to reduce the emission of greenhouse gasses," said Drocher. - Ananova.com

Apparently, cows are smarter than we think cause I've seen many people swallow objects the size of a fist and the outcome is usually pretty foul. (Thank you internet, Uncle Charles, and Aunt Mamie for your proficient, if not forced, guidance.)

Even a cow won't do that. Hindus worldwide nod in agreement. They just relax sphincter muscles until apocolypse comes crashing down full force on our heads. Which is my favorite part as I'm sure as is yours. We, as a race, are going to collectively burn to death from the sun's rays, drown from rising water levels, or just pass out from all the cows farting us into oblivion. Harbingers of death - cows. The second coming was not Jesus coming back to say hi, was not the Devil coming out on top in the eternal war between heaven and hell but just the California cows in that commercial, busy stinking up the world and wondering what snow is.

If the above article has truth, then first off, we have to admit that domestication and farming animals is a double edged sword. Secondly, this is a lobby to eat as much cow as humanly possible to prevent greenhouse gases, preferably while it's still raw and bloody or seared to perfection with a cold center.

I realize the cleverness of this posting just now as I make the connection of the contents in my kitchen. If you look carefully, no meat at all. Not a bit. (There might be some animal by products for all you knitpicking, doubting fuckin' Thomases, but being vegan is not a lifestyle I choose to lead. In fact, I can't. I have gout.)

And then all of sudden with keen wit, I have 180'ed the whole deal into an advocacy statement for the consumption of live animal flesh, which tastes like happy fritters in my mouth. Made of leperchauns. Or just lepers. Tasty.

So,

Would you rather die from skin cancers or feeling your heart explode inside your chest?

EAT MORE MEAT, AMERICA, YOUR LIFE DEPENDS ON IT.

I Will Swallow You Whole With My Enormous Va-Jay-Jay and You Will Quiver In Delight and Pass Out From the Exhilaration.

Okay, not really.

So I was sitting around this morning in my underwear...wait. Nope. Just a blanket, lasciviously wrapped around my body...wait. Nope. There was a lot of fumbling involved, some tripping, some trudging about in a haze, some ass-scratching, and I stepped on the dog and he yelped like the sound one makes at the high point of an intense orgasm...wait. Nope. Don't have a dog. "Dog" and "orgasm" should also never be in the same sentence.

SO I was sitting around this morning, eating some leftover eggplant roll (still kind of cold), wondering if this blog is really worth keeping up. I mean, I'm not really sure who reads it, potentially no one, and I could say that I'm doing it for myself, but that wouldn't be truthful, not that I have a serious problem with lying. I don't have a drinking problem. See? Easy.

So, any of you faithful listeners out there, if it gives you something to do while you are at work, brilliant. If it gives you some great jerk off material, so be it. If it gives you conversation topics with your grandmother, even better. If it gives your grandmother some great jerk(jill?) off material, then I'll give you 5 dollars for your troubles. So you let me know, ya hear? Oh yeah, submissions or suggested topics are also very much welcome. The ranting is a lesser problem than the topic of rant.

While we are on this whole thing though, if you recall Dan Savage held a nationwide search for a gross sexual term to be tagged to "Santorum" as in Rick Santorum. (Wikipedia works wonders for people who have trouble differentiating between the numerous politicos that will inherit the earth.) The winning definition was "the frothy mixture of lube and fecal matter that is sometimes the result of anal sex."

Now, as you read earlier, I had trouble finding a good term to attach to female masturbation. Whoever comes up with the best term, I will post it on this site and advocate the use of said term to describe the act of little girls touching their dirty parts, sometimes shamefully in the back of the rectory, sometimes with the man in the clown suit at birthday parties, you know the variety. And I will do so for the rest of time. Advocate the use of the term, that is. Not practice my balloon animals.

IT IS ON!! HIT ME WITH YOUR BEST SHOT!

What I was really getting to before I began the contest and the self-doubt portion of my post stems from my conscious thoughts as I sat on subway this morning. Hentai tentacle beasts.

I love you.

You bring glee in my heart because I know there are fucked up people in the world, just like me. And there' something about tentacle beasts, although strange, I find, rather exciting.

Not in a way where I actually want to be penetrated by a squid, or in the way a farm boy might bed an animal...or is it "barn an animal" or "haystack a goat?"

But it is this perverse, twisted, animalistic behavior that really lets you know that you are alive.

I mean, if you are going to get assaulted, best it be a strange animal that just runs amok trying to stick it's grubby little fingers into any hole it can find (like that cousin that you don't really know but are acutely aware of) rather than a living breathing human being making the conscious decision to plug your orfices with a random assortment of household objects and/or body parts.

Am I right or am I right?

I'm going to stop now before I get a little too involved in discussing the merits of beast abuse over other abuse. It's just not pretty. Or is it too pretty?

Only time will tell.

If you haven't realized already, I've been vamping this entire time to bring you to this newsitem. Giant squids are fascinating. Underwater, gigantic, squiggly. They are perhaps the scariest motherfuckin' thing you could possibly encounter. And therefore the most sexually stimulating.

WELLINGTON, New Zealand - A colossal half-ton squid, believed to be the largest ever caught, may be destined for the microwave oven.

But researchers say they don’t want to cook the massive creature — just defrost it so they can study it better.

Scientists at New Zealand’s national museum, Te Papa Tongarewa, have taken possession of the beast that took fishermen two hours to land after it was netted by chance in Antarctic waters last month and was frozen soon afterward to preserve it.

Expert Steve O’Shea said the squid had weighed in at 1,089 pounds and measured 33 feet long — heavier but shorter than initial estimates of 990 pounds and 39 feet.

It appears to be by far the largest specimen of the rare and mysterious deep-water species Mesonychoteuthis hamiltoni, or colossal squid, ever caught.

Experts say the creatures, which have long been one of the most mysterious denizens of the deep ocean, may grow even bigger — up to 46 feet long.

Aggressive hunter
O’Shea said scientists at the museum are considering using a giant microwave oven as a possible way to defrost the animal so they can study it.

The mammoth squid could not be left to defrost at room temperature because the process would take days, leaving the outside to rot while the core remained frozen, he said.

At the time it was caught, O’Shea said it would make calamari rings the size of tractor tires if cut up — but they would taste like ammonia.

Colossal squid can descend to 6,500 feet and are known to be extremely active, aggressive hunters.

O’Shea said the squid is priceless to scientists, and would be worth many millions of dollars if insured.

Squids are love...


Don't you just want to stick your finger in it?

Holy Crucifix, Batman! I'm All Tied Up! Thank God You're Here! Wait...What Are You Doing? Hey, That Hurts...Wait...Do It Again.

In the news: another representation of Jesus is bleeding. This time in a policeman's house in India. Officials say that the red paint is probably melting from humidity.

"This is indeed a miracle and shows that Jesus was in pain because of our sins," said John Chrysostom, a priest at the Anglican Church of Port Blair.

Dude, for once, can it not be about you and the entire human race? Thanks. I'd like to entertain the fact that there might be some underground society painting Jesi(?)(never thought about plural jesuses...makes you think don't it? It's all very complicated.) And these men (Jesus painters are way into sausage parties. Didn't you know?) had the foreknowledge to paint the blood with red paint...the likes of which would melt in extreme conditions.

I bet they are Irish. Swashbucklers.

However, that being said, I'm trying not to discount the fact that Jesus indeed has had a huge impact on my life. And yours. Jesus has been the port in the storm on so many occasions in the trials and tribulations that develop over daily life. The ones that usually are followed by "Perhaps that was a bad idea."

He tells me that in a reality that says influential people of all colors at some point will probably be portrayed as white.

He tells me "You're not a very good person and since I have a strong hold on just a wee population (in comparison to the global population) they all be chilling in my crib in the clouds. No room for you, sucka."

He backtracks and tells me that if I do start believing, and repent all my sins, and start being good, and stop wearing a condom (or if you do, poke a hole in the tip of it and continue full force with the unsuspecting victim), then maybe, I just might be able to climb on board. Jesus's reach is a Greek hazing.

He tells me that if I do horrible things and feel really sorry for myself afterwards, I'm golden.

He tells me that wearing women's underwear is okay.

He tells me that leadership isn't an easy task. Control your disciples, keep your sects in order. At least try. And if you can't hack it, martyrdom is the way to go. Absolves you from everything.

He tells me "Ah'll be bahk."

He tells me people are created in his image. Have you looked in a mirror recently? That's Jesus talking.


Or it could be the fact that all God's children have fucked shit up a whole lot. Yeah that might be it. Jesus, you a'ight in my book. No. It's not the Bible. Oh. Right. Hmmm. Well, sure, that might be true...but have you licked an eyeball? I highly recommend it. No? Right...White Castle? Now? Uhm. Yeah, ok.

Sorry, I apologize. He does that sometimes. You just have to humor him. Anyway, continuing on...I realize that what I've been writing is perhaps a showcase of my infinite unintelligence and shallowness. If only I can find a way to dig deeper and sink my teeth into something that is underneath the surface. If there is anything there. Its a crap shoot really.

Burrowing dinosaur unearthed
Fossilized family broadens picture of extinct reptiles.
John Whitfield
The discovery of a dinosaur family fossilized in its burrow could make us rethink where the animals lived, how they behaved, and even what wiped them out, say researchers.

Well, just hold on to your britches for one second...Dino goes off and digs a little deeper and is still fuckin' extinct? Shit then. So, shallow or deep, you're fucked in the end. I'll just stop obsessing about it.

David Varricchio of Montana State University in Bozeman and his colleagues found the jumbled remains of two juveniles and an adult together in what looks to be the remains of a custom-built hole in southern Montana.

The discovery provides the first evidence that dinosaurs could burrow, and the best evidence yet for long-term parental care in dinosaurs, says team member Anthony Martin, an expert in animal traces at Emory University in Atlanta, Georgia. "I imagine that two juveniles curled up in a small space with an adult," he says.

The team has named the beast Oryctodromeus cubicularis, meaning 'digging runner of the lair'. It belongs to a group of small herbivorous dinosaurs, and lived 95 million years ago during the mid-Cretaceous period.

The skeletons are incomplete, but they show that when fully grown, the animal was about 2.1 metres long, of which more than half was tail. The dinosaur had a broad snout and powerful shoulders well adapted for digging, and sturdy hips that would help it to brace itself as it dug. It could also run on its back legs.

Secret entrance

The burrow's presence was betrayed by a patch of rock that differed from its surroundings, in an area known to contain dinosaur fossils. The burrow seems to have been dug on the edge of a river flood plain and filled with mud during a flood, burying its occupants, the researchers report in Proceedings of the Royal Society1.

The den was just over two metres long, with a pronounced s-bend — making it harder for predators to enter — opening out into a terminal chamber. The close fit between the sizes of burrow and beast convinced the team that Oryctodromeus had dug its own den, rather than simply displacing a previous occupant. "It's not just a random attempt," says Martin. "It's very well constructed."

"It was generally assumed that dinosaurs wouldn't dig — they tend to be either runners or very large," says palaeontologist Paul Barrett of the Natural History Museum, London. "This is quite a departure."

Varricchio and his colleagues had previously found what seemed to be a family of dinosaurs in what could have been a collapsed burrow in China (see 'Fossil hints at devoted parenting in dinosaurs'), but no one had seen an actual tunnel space until now.

Safe underground

Burrowing may have helped dinosaurs to survive in harsh climates, increasing the range of habitats available to them. No one knows exactly what the environment of this part of the world was like when these dinosaurs lived there, although it was probably semi-arid.

Related dinosaurs are known to have lived in southern Australia, which was close to the South Pole at the time, and South Africa, which was hot and dry. These species and locations would be good places to look for further evidence of burrowing, says Barrett.

The lack of an ability to burrow has also been suggested as a factor in the demise of dinosaurs 65 million years ago, at the end of the Cretaceous. Many of the mammals, reptiles and amphibians that survived a mass extinction at this time could burrow, perhaps sheltering them from whatever catastrophe caused the massive cull.

"The absence of burrowing has been proposed as one reason why dinosaurs didn't make it," says Martin. "You can't use that as a reason now."

Using one specimen to speculate about the dinosaurs' extinction is "quite a big inference", says Barrett. "It might be taking the data too far," he cautions.

Ah but a guy can dream can't he?

Period, Period, Period, You Are An Ellipsis. Which is Indicative Of My General State of Being.

Bloody fucking shit bitch, mucka mucka hi mucka hiney ho, turtles in the square need a line of blow...
There has been a certain amount of nostalgia resurfacing in my life over the past few days. I think it's okay to feel this way but I am still a little unsure about the details. There's a line where public and private is drawn and being in this whole mode of finding those who you once knew, once saw, kind of breaks it up. Or makes you feel like you need to draw that line with the biggest fucking sharpie marker you can find and then if there are any unwanted tresspassers, you can blow them the fuck up with some heavy artillery, like a cadre of angry penguins with blowtorches. That work underwater.(Have you noticed that these days as long as you have a movie about penguins, you win an oscar? Something about them and their heavy bottomed waddling is probably striking a familiar tone with many Americans around the world...face it, the USA is a heavy-set environment.)

However, is it really worth the effort to go into a serious discussion on the merits and faults of public and private domains in society? No. At least I'm no longer in the mood.

Let's further alienate ourselves. Shall we bring the subject around full circle to the menstrual cycle?

Some of you who had the pleasure of hearing me speak on this subject before will remember the feverish glint I get in my eye when doing so.

The period is awesome. On so many levels. On a purely biological level, where an egg is cultivated and expelled every 28 days or so. Yes, yes, I understand that some people are very irregular. But gestation periods are for the most part very definitive. So. It would be safe to assume that without all the crazy shit we do to our bodies, sorry, I don't mean "we," I mean all you girls who have your menses, but for sake of simplicity, we, without the drinking and the meds and the THC and the eating disorders and the fad diets and the free radicals in the air and the smoking and the chemical by products of household solutions and the stress and the (this is starting to sound like a Tori Amos rant...) and the depression and the study drugs and the birth control pills and the sex and the roosters we keep in the backyard for special occasions, would probably be much more on point with our periods coming and going.

And thus revelling like pigs in shit over the miraculous albeit, annoying, bloody, and painful nature that is the ability to conceive a child.

Furthermore, that is the one thing that will always have a superior stronghold over society and men in general. No questions asked when you have feminine troubles. Gym teachers, fathers, bosses, gays, all cower at the thought. (Jesus too. He told me.) There is something so undeniably taboo and disgusting about endometrium that make them turn the other way in a heartbeat, much like the words "Kids" or "Queer" or "Marriage." A generalization perhaps, but the meer utterance of "tampon" has enough power to make a grown man cringe in fear and cry for his mama (who is at this point probably experiencing the "change" and therefore exempt.)

And that's the beauty of it. I get a weird tingling in my prostate from thinking about a bunch of people treating the period like it's some sort of pus-oozing disease. Like they have to don a radioactive body suit and wade through the muck of it all. Like it's been sand blasted over the city in a red sticky mess and the men freeze, petrified in terror over what might happen if any skin contact or inhalation occurs. They start charging through all the home depots across the world tearing each other limb from limb for the last ventilation mask in country. You know, like SARS, but not just for the Asian variety.

Power, I tell you. It's hypnotic.

A friend, floating knee deep in the crimson tide, needed to stop by a rest stop in Maryland (which by the way is a harrowing experience) to pick up a tampon. As I was loudly discussing the merits of an applicator versus the kind that you just shove on up there with your finger, but then backtracking when I noticed that the applicator tampons they were selling were made of the material of a toilet paper roll, these two two huge burly men stopped by to look for something. One of the guys had these hatchmarks on the back of his neck, you know, big old prison tatts inked in with a ball point pen, where each mark represents each person he maimed along the path towards self-confidence so naturally, I look at them questioningly and wonder if I'm next in line. So there I am, coming up to about their waists, gesticulating wildly about heavy flow days, and there they are looking at first, then inching away slowly befor hightailing it out of there.

It's like kryptonite for anyone with a penis, not just Superman.

And I mean, really, who but a woman can handle the experience of having a period or carrying a baby and enduring monthly cramps? Can you imagine a guy having a period? They wouldn't know what the fuck to do with themselves.

I'm not sure if Margaret Cho mentioned this but you know you can definitely picture a guy reaching for a dirty sock to shove all up in there on that heavy flow day. And then forgetting to take it out. And developing a yeast infection. And then wondering what to do about it. And then baking bread with it. No. Just kidding.

Ladies, you have a stronghold. Use it. But remember, with great power comes great responsibility.

(Exposed to image above by Heather Fink)

The World is a Better Place For There are Scalding Hot Toaster Treats Enough to Share. I Hate Toaster Treats. They Taste Like The Growth On My Toe.

Uhm point blank. Read this.

Scuffle over strudel ends in stabbing
The Salt Lake Tribune
A man was stabbed Monday after a fight over a pastry in West Valley City. Roommates at a residence near 7200 West and 2680 South began arguing over who ate someone else's toaster strudel, said police Capt. Tom McLachlan. One roommate left the residence and returned about 11 p.m. with three friends. The four began assaulting two roommates, McLachlan said. During the melee, one of the roommates under attack grabbed a knife and stabbed one of his attackers in the side, McLachlan said. The stabbed man was flown to University Hospital in serious condition. McLachlan said the roommates were all in their 20s.

As is generally used in casual internet speak, WTF?!

You know you have the general dispositions to exhibit a violent hankering for a toaster strudel if:

A. You smoked the entire contents of your friend's bong. You didn't buy it and therefore you don't give a fuck.
B. You just drank a shit load. You didn't buy it and therefore you don't give a fuck.
C. You crapped your pants while you were loaded but you jacked the pants off someone in the back alley of a drugstore and therefore, you don't give a fuck.
D. You live in or around Salt Lake City, Utah and your parents are brother and sister and you're too busy pounding the shit out of your first cousin anyway and therefore, you don't give a fuck.
E.You love toaster strudel.

So, I am not a fan of toaster strudel myself, as I am sure I have made abundantly clear to everyone here. I do not like jam or jelly or reconstituted corn syrup or frosting made out of...who the fuck knows?

But I guess at the end of the day, it's really funny and depressing all rolled into one. The fact that someone left his apartment to get his friends to come and jump his roommates over some Pop-tarts is seriously fucking awesome. It just goes to show that sometime small town/suburban life is a whole lot more exciting than one could intially perceive.

All this shit happens right beneath the surface. Makes me want to uproot to Connecticut and watch the free for all. You know there are a lot of freaks in CT. And Florida. And in my basement. You can call me about rental rates.

Can you imagine, though, telling your friends, "So dude, man, I got back home, I was all like, jonesing for my toaster studel and so I went and opened my fucking cabinet and you know what? The fucking toaster strudel was all fucking gone and I was like, fuck that!"

And then realizing that your friends wholeheartedly agree with the travesty that has descended upon you and are ready to go and kick the shit out of your roommates for you. That's what I call loyalty. You should shed a little tear. For the fact that your friends have your back. And that they are also stupid in a way that you can't really put to words. And the fact that you are therefore, probably just as moronic as Larry, Curly, and Moe over there mustering up the outrage that is TOASTER STRUDEL DENIED! YOU ARE TOAST, ASS-RAPISTS! I WILL GO LOCO ON YOUR JAM STAINED FACE!

Instilling fear and a craving for toaster strudel like nothing else in the masses.

Toasty and warm...gooey goodness. Damn it. I want toaster strudel now...reminds me of warm vagina. You know, in the way it gets all over your face.

(I found this photo. I deemed it appropriate. Thank you to you who did it.)

You've Come A Long Way, Baby, Now Strip Down and Go Back to Where You Started. You Know, Just For Kicks.

What's to say that I haven't said already. For those of you who have been exposed to the hideously disfiguring experience of going in for a 6 dollar smoothie at a Jamba juice or at least have been around to hear me shit all over it, I do not apologize. You did it to yourself. Deal. But in case you have no idea what the fuck I'm screwballing over, here goes.

You walk into this little environment.

You see the brightly lit interior, taking special note of the wheatgrass planters and the clear plastic cases full of oranges.

You look at the menu, daunted by the fact that everything in sight is an alliteration. Mango mambo madness...Root-tooting Raspberry Roofies...Asian Apple Assfart... you get the picture.

You walk up to the counter, anxious about the fact that when you order you will hear the words "pomegranate peach passion punch" escape your lips and die just a little bit inside.

(You have to use the name they gave it. You can't get away with calling it the red one. or the orange one. They are all red or orange. The oranges in the display case quiver in fear.)

You make your order and they ask you with a smile (Some, not all, and I don't reciprocate.) if you would like a booster.

You flounder for a moment. What the fuck is a booster?! Oh, right, powdered supplements that make you feel more alive to compensate for the fact that you died a little naught a minute ago. You ask for protein or immunity boosters and think about other powdered alternatives. Coke comes to mind, but most pills can be ground into the right consistency with the a bevy of household objects.

You look at them incredulously when they ask for your name. Why do I need to get personal with you? You consider picking an alias, but are so lost in thought that all you can come up with is your real name. You resign yourself to reality.

You wait.

You wait.

You pick the crud out from under your fingernails.

You wait.

You hear your name, feeling a little shamed and pick up your fruity beverage with your head tilted down.

You walk away, drink a third of it and realize that you aren't in the mood or it's too cold or you can't handle the 6 pounds of fruit in a cup or you feel like your life will never be the same...



i just realized I have half a beer that I was drinking from last night sitting on the kitchen counter. It's 10 in the morning. I'm thinking about it.

Oh yeah, so in random news in recent history...

OOH! Picture says it all.

What It Is, Right, Is That There are So Few Things That Can Get Rid of That Taste In Your Mouth.

So I polished off a bottle of cheap wine by myself the other day. Alone. I have to admit. Sometimes drinking alone is not a bad thing. In fact, it's pretty intensely fun if you're in the mood. To drink alone. At night. In your apartment. By yourself.

And then finding yourself masturbating on the hard wood floor. Gratifying. (In all seriousness, it's quite fun and is a good way to pass the time. Then again, when is masturbation not?)

But, then you wake up in the morning, and, given, I have some strange constitution that leaves me hang-over free, it doesn't help the fact that you have that weird sulfite, fermentation mouth that even a good brushing doesn't get rid of.

So I sit here, dry mouthed, in hopes that it will go away as the day goes on.

MECHANIC Chris Donald loves his work — he has sex with CARS.

And he admitted last night: “Some men like boobs and bums, but I much prefer curvy bodywork.”

Chris, 38, has a recognised psychological condition that makes him physically attracted to motors.

He has had sex with more than 30 different models in 20 years — plus two motorboats and a pal’s JETSKI.

Chris, who DOES have a girlfriend, confessed: “A nice car for me is a feast for the senses. It’s about smells, feelings and tastes. If I see a gorgeous Mercedes I know I’d love to jump into bed with it.”

His weird obsession mirrors that of electrician Karl Watkins, who The Sun revealed was jailed for having sex with pavements in Redditch, Worcs, in 1993.

Chris has his own website devoted to his bizarre fetish — and claims there are 500 other cranks like him, including women.

But unlike doggers who have sex with strangers in chilly car parks, the motor engineer uses a heated and carpeted double garage at his home for the strange liaisons.

He has met more than 20 people online who have driven their cars over for a service.

Most like to video Chris exhausting himself — while they are pleasuring THEMSELVES.

Chris said: “It’s all about imagination and creativity. There’s more to car love than exhaust pipes. Stroking the body panels and delicate touching makes excellent foreplay.”

And he bragged: “I did have the exhausts custom made for one car because they were too small. I had them widened and rounded.

“The firm never asked why — but I loved the view while she was up on the ramp and they were working on her. I love all aspects of cars. Some people even like to taste mechanical fluids, but that’s going too far.”

Chris, who lives in the West Country, has made love to top motors including a Bentley Arnage, Porsche and Jaguar XK8.

He has also owned a string of cars that have been the object of his affections — with the latest a black 2.5litre Jaguar X-Type with cream leather upholstery.

Chris writes stories about “auto-eroticism” on his website and has penned a manual called How To Make Love To A Car.

Now, cmon, really? It's not like the world isn't full of weird fetishes. I understand that. And I applaud anyone who has and willingly comes forth with their fetishes but there's something about this story that is just a tad awry. I read it with a thoughtful squint that many Asians are loathe to do lest their eyes become mere slits that make take on the appearance of joyful Buddha. Although not as joyful. Or fat. With less chance of heart disease.

I would now like to take note of a few comments made by this man as well as the press.

First and foremost, "a recognised psychological condition that makes him physically attracted to motors." Is that just a socially acceptable term for fetish? And since when have we decided to make fetish sound like disease? I have a condition. I like to stick my finger in rotisserie chickens. So if i get it psychologically recognized, I can call it a condition and not something I'm really turned on by and therefore less of a social taboo?

And did I say dead chickens? I mean. I like...people. Live people. Live people sex is lovely. Not chicken carcass...mmm...carcass...

And the fact that some newspaper decided that this was news is equally...well, who's surprised?

Secondly, "Chris has his own website devoted to his bizarre fetish — and claims there are 500 other cranks like him, including women."

Is it strange that women have psychological conditions? Judging from many women I have met in my life...they usually travel with more than one - some say equal to the amount of baggage they would bring on board a plane.

500 people do not a condition make. In fact, that's barely a fetish. Chris, get your facts straight. All you have is the rights to the Unrated DVD version of Disney Pixar's Hit Animated Movie, Cars featuring the voice talents of Owen Wilson and Randy Newman.

"And he bragged: 'I did have the exhausts custom made for one car because they were too small. I had them widened and rounded...Some people even like to taste mechanical fluids, but that’s going too far."

Uhm, that's fine and good. But nothing aside from my family's old Ford Taurus is going to experience that now are they. And why is tasting too far?



If you want to fuck a car, more power to you. But something about this guy irks me. And I can't tell what. Maybe it's just the photo of him trolling the parking lots.

Or the fact that he has the money to own several cars. Ass munch.

Atta Boy: Get Them When They're Vulnerable and Weak.

So I know my posting schedule has become slightly erratic as of late. And I have to attribute it to a shifting in social responsibilities. None of which I am very excited about. But you gotta do what you gotta do. Like a prostitute that doesn't want to give head to a greasy fella in the backseat of a Camaro but if she don't she gets pummeled from both ends. Literally and figuratively. With the back of a hand. Or a swift kick to her impregnated uterus. From her john and her pimp. All the while trying to feed her other child. And her crack addiction. So maybe not both ends. More like any end possible. Like an eye socket.

Whoa. It's a dark dismal day in my heart even though the sun is shining through my window. It's a good day indeed.

Anyway, just as a mid substantial post appetite whetter, I give you a couple images from the work of Atta Kim. This is from his series, "Museum Project." And it's fucking bril'.

Take a gander, cook your goose. Consume it. And shit it out the other side.

Once in a Blue Moon I Feel the Urge to Make a Community Service Announcement. Don't Hold Your Breath, I Hate Community.

In today's weirdness, aside from the double oinker, is a cow that eats chickens. In India. I love it.

But the real kicker today is the fact that there is a lady who is suing Planned Parenthood for fucking up an abortion. She went to get an abortion and they failed.

I mean, it's usually a 100% guarantee if you cross the border and have it removed by a little old lady with a coat hanger in the shower. And it also works well and is pretty much a sure thing if you throw yourself down some stairs.

So you have to ask how in the world did Carmen San Diego get away with that one?

There are these evil tinkering pro-life elves with pointy ears and mind melding powers hiding under the beds in the PP clinics with little single serving size jello pudding cups and when you strip down to your skivvies and your singlet, they burrow deep into your vagina and slather vanilla flavored pudding like spackle on the walls of your uterus so when the doctor is about to insert a speculum or whatever they do in a real clinic (i'm all for homegrown operations.) and are about to remove the little organism (That is a human life! That is your son/daughter! Forget the fact that his/her little stem cells will either save a life or get flushed down the toilet! It's a life! So, hold on to your unwanted offspring and wait for the day when you are like the girl in the joy luck club who stares off into space and let her unwanted baby drown. And then, THEN, will you understand what it is to abort a thing that has no consciousness without a conscience. And finally, FINALLY, like a scene in a Gus van Sant movie, can you move on with your life and continue cutting those coupons with Billy Bob while you are on the crapper in your "mobile living environment.")

Where was I? Oh yeah, the vanilla pudding eradicates the effectiveness of the doctor's tools so that little cluster of cells can cultivate and grow, glued solidly to your insides, into the brat-faced being you call your own blood.

And the elves triumph once again, and report back to Bill Cosby for their next mission.

And, why, you might ask, why is this a tale to tell? She went to another doctor when she was 20 weeks preggers. And they didn't detect it. Now, I dunno. 20 weeks is what? 5 months? You'd think there might be some nice physical indicators that there is a human growing inside your swelling uterus. But hey, who's to say how the wonderful world of biology really works when you have the supernatural thwarting your every move.

It's a sick, sad, strange world. I'm swooning...

Oh yeah, get this, the woman's name -- Jennifer Raper. I just thought it was cute. It's a cute name for a cute baby.

Baby Raper. Baby Raper was born in 2004. (Kid, ain't going to live that down, youse just a failed abortion, Baby Raper.)

And this is news in 2006.Baby Raper is now Toddler Raper. And soon to be Kid Raper, then Teen Raper, and finally, just Ms. Raper.

The law moves in mysterious ways (i.e. slowly), just about as mysterious (slowly) as, you know, conception and the rising popularity of I dunno, say, Go-gurt (which I hope to God above that that isn't true. do we really need to squeeze our food down our gullets from packets you can carry in your purse, coat pocket, or tampon case?

Hindu, we got a sacred cow for you.

It smells like aborted fetus.

Hola Mo'fuggers! Year of the Pig Rears It's Ugly Head

BORN IN CHINA!!! It's like Charlotte's Web, Asian edition. You know we'll eat it no matter what it looks like. That's some pig, alright.

One, Two, Three, Let's Make Up for the Sexual Proclivities of the Masses

I'm not quite sure what that title means but I just thought it sounded funny. If I really think about it, I think it is an attempt to overthrow the men and women who are "missonary for life" - a term I coined in the warm embrace of highschool pubescence meaning "someone who will always and eternally only have sex in the missionary position."

However, that really isn't the point of this little entry o' mine. It's just an entry point to the entry. Ha! Mind boggling, I know.

Sometimes, writing is hard. We all know that. And it can be painful. Like the sexual proclivities of the masses. So this was what I was going through, as evidenced by witnessing this chat transcript. You can almost hear my tortured soul crying out for help, searching for a friend, a shoulder to support my crumbling weight, and all I get is "D." He/she can't bear the weight, just look:

me: i can't think of something to rant about
D: how about grad school
and how you're not in it
how about small apples
can't stand small apples
or even worse, small oranges
like clementines?
why they gotta be sold in crates, i can't eat that many
And that orange webbing they put on it? misleading!
makes the oranges look really good but they don't really
although i guess you can make neat arts and crafts out of them
me: hmm
nah.
hmm
something. i need to do some research for topics.
D:I hate you
you're stupid
small oranges are super stupid
ok i guess i don't really hate you
i just hate small oranges
why do they have to taste so good?
me: i think i should just post your rant.
Dennis: I think you should reveal small oranges as the bitches they are.

So I am not going to talk about oranges or clementines but I will say that they are quite tasty and peel very easily, which in this day in age is highly necessary. Tell all the people having unsafe sex that a South African man has developed a condom that you can slip on in merely seconds - for you shooters in the express lane of life.

But, now that I have made this entire entry into a convoluted examination of life and love at large, I will swing it back to what I love most:

"UK Scientists to examine undersea "open wound" in Earth's crust."

(If you don't get the reference then we need to have a talk.)

A team of British scientists has set sail on a voyage to examine why a huge chunk of the earth's crust is missing, deep under the Atlantic Ocean -- a phenomenon that challenges conventional ideas about how the earth works.

The 20-strong team aims to survey an area some 3,000 to 4,000 metres deep where the mantle -- the deep interior of the earth normally covered by a crust kilometres thick -- is exposed on the sea floor.

Experts describe the hole along the mid-Atlantic ridge as an "open wound" on the ocean floor that has puzzled scientists for the five or so years that its existence has been known because it defies existing tectonic plate theories of evolution.

"We know so little about it," said Bramley Murton, a senior research scientist at Southampton's National Oceanography Center.

"It's a real challenge to our established understanding of what the earth's surface looks like underneath the waves," he told Reuters by telephone from the brand new, hi-tech British research ship RRS James Cook.

Mid ocean ridges are places where new oceanic crust is born, with red-hot lava spewing out along the seafloor.

What scientists are keen to know is whether the crust was ripped away by huge geological faults, or whether it never even developed in the first place.

The primary motivation for the project was to understand how the earth continues to evolve.

"The area that we are looking at is part of a mountain range that spans thousands of square kilometres, but we are beginning to realize that there are probably millions of square kilometres where the ocean floor is missing," Murton said.

The six week mission, led by geophysicist Roger Searle of Durham University and Chris MacLeod of Cardiff University's School of Earth, Ocean and Planetary Sciences, will recover sample cores of rock by drilling into the mantle using a rig lowered on to the sea floor.

Asked if the discovery posed a threat to the environment, Murton replied: "It's not problematic for the earth because it is a natural earth process -- but in terms of knowing how the earth works and how the world is put together it is important."

Murton also said the expedition would shed light on the composition of sea water amongst other initiatives.

Crust formation is a fundamental mechanism of the earth which affects the chemistry of the world's oceans.

20 men plunging into the deep dark secrets locked in an open wound underwater.

I smell a movie. One of those you can watch in a booth in five minute intervals for a quarter.

Not that I would know.

Oh, The Devil You Know, That One Inside You, Is Poking Out a Bit.

Thusly, (not a word), I will begin today by issuing an apology for several things.

First, I would like to apologize to the lack of posts for any of you who might actually get some perverse thrill from reading this. I have been rather busy the past few days.

If you look in my bathroom, you would understand.

Secondly, I apologize to a specfic person who's anonymity I have leaked on the internet. Unfortunately, his remarks were of the ignorant kind, so it casts he/she in a bad light (or just sightly dimmed.) However, we also must understand that it is a joke. We do not endorse the use of Injuns. Except in the development of casinos on the wastelands of the USA. So, in jest, I apologize, Dennis. Did I do it on purpose? You be the judge.

Last, and foremostly, not to be confused with the term "Last but not least," I apologize for "hurling on your rosebushes." What does that mean? I'm taking guesses.

What I did this weekend: paint the bathroom. That's right, you dirty pervs. Just a wholesome paint job. Nothing else that your filthy minds might have conjured up. Just a wholesome paint job. Naked. With some monkeys. Well, people in monkey suits. (Let's not anger PETA.)

And a case of Wine coolers. Mmm. Strawberry blast. (Which doesn' mean I drank them.) (Which means I did something else with them.)

Just a wholesome paint job.

And finally, you know, cause that comes after "Last." I give you a piece of mail I received the other day.

Hi, I hate to be the one to mention this, but people continue to talk about your weight issue and it just disgusts me. Whether you know it by now, people are always chattering about each other at work but you come up more than enough. I wasn't the happiest or best-fit up until a year ago or so but that did change. Thanks to my dam brother-in-law(of all people). Anyhow, it was for the best.

What I am saying is that you need to do something different and maybe you can make the same difference I did. Try this stuff I used. I took it on the idea it's just more junk but it worked great. I see more positive reviews on it nowadays and makes me feel even better. So, I am encouraging a change, not only in the chatter around here but in you personally.

-Anonymous for now
Using an anonymous email website to send this btw;) When it helps/works just send a memo out with the name "Angel" in it. Then you can take me out to lunch to thank you. Talk to you sooner than later I hope;)

BITCH, PLEASE! YOU WANNA GO?!