What If

Quick announcement

2011-03-04T20:50:00.000-08:00

I just wanted to inform everybody that instead of my website, I'm using my time to write an e-book of the same topic. It gets my information out there quicker, since I have limited knowledge of technology and even more limited business knowledge. I may still do the site, but my primary focus is the book first, because I believe the info itself has real value in it.

So, again I apologize for the silence, however if you get bored, I do have plenty of stuff over on Uncyclopedia.org. I'm user:mrthejazz. I suggest looking up "GIANT NOVETLY FOAM HANDS!!!" It's my latest one. I will return.

This is what "Non Sellout" music sounds like

2011-01-02T20:25:00.000-08:00

This is the first song of musician Pogo's new album. For those of you who don't know who Pogo is, he has made a ton of remixes of popular media. Then he got an even cooler idea: He decided to remix the sounds of the world. He doesn't have any corporate sponsors for this project, so he needs help in the form of purchasing his music. Basically, if he runs out of money to keep making the tracks, then he has to stop. Listen to the video and tell me honestly there's no value in buying his tracks. The video here is a remix of Joburg, South Africa. His next remix is Tibet.

And for the record, I'm not supporting him because I'm some kind of promoter or anything like that. It's just that his music really inspires me.

You can support him here.

Renewed Wonder

2011-01-02T06:15:00.000-08:00

Renewed Wonder is the name I've decided on for a website I've decided to create. I'm still in the early stages of design, making sure everything is in order before I go out and spend money on a domain and hosting. Also, I DON'T KNOW THE FIRST THING ABOUT WEB DESIGN. Needless to say, this will be fun at the least. I'm hoping this at least draws some serious interest. Here's the synopsis I plan on putting on the main page:

Renewed Wonder

The point of this website is to help you regain a sense of wonder in your life.

Do you remember what life was like as a child? Do you remember how everything was constantly new for you? Do you remember how amazing everything was and how you looked at the world in such a way that it seemed like everything was exciting? My child has this. Every night before bed time he insists on seeing the moon, and he barrages me with a million questions about it, usually the same questions every night. Either way, he loves the moon. It’s this big, mysterious object in the sky and it really is something to watch him.

Some of us experienced this as children, but have forgotten this feeling by the time we’ve reached adulthood. Others were put in unfortunate situations as children where they grew up too fast and never really had the chance to experience a childhood like this. Still, there is the group of people who saw the world that way as children and still do, every single day. To these people, it’s like the world is constantly changing. While that change may be for the better or worse, they still see the outrageous beauty of it.

If you count yourself in the last group, then you are very fortunate, because there are few people who experience this in their lives. You are certainly in the minority. If you are in the first or second groups, don’t despair, because it’s not too late for you to experience a life like this.

My name is Casey Young, and I have made it my personal mission to help people understand that the world doesn’t make sense, and that’s okay. I want people to walk the earth in a constant state of wonder. I want to help people free themselves from themselves. I’ve started this site for this reason alone. This site isn’t just about pointing out interesting things in the world and saying “Ooh, look at that, wow.” While that may be a component of my site, I’m also about changing the mind frames of people, and showing them the mental blocks and attitudes that keep them from actually enjoying life. I also am a fan of absurdism because it teaches people that life can be quite silly at times, so we might as well just sit back and enjoy the ride. I mean, you’re already on the roller coaster, right? Why close your eyes and shiver when you can throw your arms up and scream at the top of your lungs? Which is more fun?

At this site you can expect to see:

1. Wonderful, fantastic things – They’re only wonderful if you open your mind up to them.

2. Articles designed to help people shed their cynicism and fear- You’re better off without either of them.

3. Information aimed at self-improvement – because growth and wonder often go hand in hand.

4. Satire/blatant mockery – I only aim to satirize the little things in our lives that make us feel annoyed or disgusted at the world, things like terrible advertisements on T.V or radio. If I can make somebody smile and discourage boneheaded thinking at the same time, then it’s a win-win.

5. Analysis of Media – More specifically, the valuable lessons behind everyday media, or the terrible lack thereof.

“Yeah, but all of that seems somewhat trivial. I don’t want to be entertained. I want a better life!”

I know that when you see the above listed things this can seem like just an entertainment site, but I promise that I can help you in real practical ways. Remember: the point of this site is to feel wonder in your life again. Here’s how I can practically help you:

Career Satisfaction: There are three kinds of people in careers. The wealthy and unhappy, the poor and unhappy, and the wealthy and happy. I suppose there are those who may be happy with a minimum wage job, but I sure wasn’t. I can help you find the direction you need to do something that brings you both wealth and happiness.

Soul Satisfaction: My goal with this site is also to advise people and help them grow. I earnestly hope that any information I can contribute will improve the quality of people's lives and help them see the wonder of the world. I also give practical advice on how to do the things the heart really yearns for.

Relationship advice: I'm no relationship doctor, but I do know that some relationships, whether with significant others or other family, can really put a damper on your personal happiness and cloud your thinking - If you allow them too.

Other stuff: Um, anything else I can think of that's relevant.

So that's the basic pitch, sound out and let me know what you think!

Another interruption

2010-12-12T22:11:00.000-08:00

So, I've been contemplating a change here. A very radical change. I've been contemplating abandoning my blog and setting up a website with a very different direction. This has been after much soul searching and trying to figure out who I am and what I want to do in this world.

The name of the site would be Renewedwonder.com, or something along those lines. I haven't researched to see if the domain is taken yet. I also have no experience in web development...yet. But I do know that this is what I'm wanting to do.

The basic idea of the site is that people are cynical and they don't have to be. As we age, most of us lose our sense of wonder in the world, but the core idea behind this site would be that we don't have to. From there it would be part personal development, part discussion of media and how it either helps or harms our sense of wonder (with plenty of satire to be had by all), and the occasional artifact, either in picture, or video form, to show that the world is incredibly wonderful, no matter how much we've already seen.

If anybody else is interested in where I'm going with here, please give me feedback. I'm only contemplating it now, and it would take a lot of work, but I think it would be an excellent use of my time here on the planet.

What if...you Literally Obeyed Your Thirst?

2010-10-10T15:46:00.000-07:00

Thirst is a physical sensation that is triggered when the human body needs water. "Thirst" is not sentient and cannot tell you what to do. The nice man behind the bullet proof window keeps trying to tell you that, anyway, but you know better.

The other day, your thirst told you to kill your roommate Devon. You didn't really want to, but your thirst kind of talked you into it.

"Alright thirst," you said,

"Just this one time."

Now, you don't have any roommates anymore. They moved you to a different section of the hospital, ones with bars on the windows and televisions made entirely of plastic so you can't break the monitor and use the glass to slit the doctors' throats. The room is quite empty, except for the aformentioned television, a bed with no bars on it so you can't give yourself blunt head trauma, and a plastic cup of water sitting on a padded stool in the corner. They put it there so your thirst would have less of a bad influence on you. You like the company that your thirst brings, however, so you never drink the water.

At this point, the effects of dehydration are really starting to get to you. Your skin is very flush from the lack of water. The nurses don't know what to do with you. They want to hook up an I.V. to you, but you're surprisingly strong and don't want you to pull out the needle and impale them. Your thirst would totally tell you to do that, too. Your thirst is just hardcore like that.

You have to call for a hospital attendant if you want to use the bathroom. Usually though, you just shit on your hand and paint the walls Marquis de Sade style. Your thirst likes it better that way. Sometimes the smell bothers you, but lately you are too busy passing in and out of consciousness that you don't really notice it. If your thirst wants things that way, who are you to argue with it? Your thirst seems to know what it's doing.

Deep down you have a secret. Even if your thirst didn't pressure you into it, you probably would have killed Devon anyway, because Devon stole your last pudding cup, and you were really craving some chocolate. Don't worry, it's understandable. I won't tell anybody. Have you thought about killing more people yet?

Now you know.

You give me an idea...what if?

2010-10-09T02:14:00.001-07:00

All of my ideas are rubbish, let's be honest. So I'm offering a new idea to you.

You give me an idea to write about, I'll look through the ones I get, pick the ones I like best, and use that to write my stories.

That's right. You, the reader, get to help me write my stories. Shoot away folks! You can post your what if ideas either in the comment section of this blog...or you can @ message me on my twitter account.

www.twitter.com/mrthejazz1

Trolling the onion part 3, the resume

2010-10-06T21:50:00.000-07:00

In my last post, I said that I would show you the resume that I attached when I trolled The Onion editorial staff. Here it is:

Mr. Harry Wong (Ex Millionaire)

523 Broadway,

New York, NY 10012

212-627-1971 (Cell)

OBJECTIVE

My goal is to obtain a responsible position where my experience, accomplishments, and proficiency in wrestling all different varieties of bears in front of large crowds for the purposes of entertainment will allow me the opportunity for growth.

EDUCATION

Sven’s Large Animal Wrestling School Боровск, USSR (Now Russia)

M.A. Bear Wrestling

Graduated Spring 2008 4.0 GPA

Little Rock Community College Little Rock, AK (United States)

B.A. Jizz Mopping

Graduated Fall 2005 2.3 GPA

QUALIFICATIONS

1 Lit animals on fire during childhood.

2 Wrestled my dad on many occasions in youth.

3 Knowledge of Spanish

4 Can type 20 WPM

5 Frequent steroid user

6 Dresses like “Zangief” from Street Fighter

EXPERIENCE

2009-current Tex’s Rodeo and House of BBQ, Waco TX

Rodeo/Restautant

Bull Wrestler – Frequently risked life wrestling bulls both with and without clothing. Cuddled with bulls after whooping their ass.

2008-2009 McDonalds, St Michaels Church, WV

Restaurant

Burger Wrestler – Used spatula to wrestle multiple hamburgers on grill. Choked burgers into submission using clever combination of special sauce, pickles, and a sesame seed bun.

2005- 2007 At home

My Apartment

Unemployed – Spent the majority of this time jacking off.

REFERENCES AVAILABLE ON REQUEST. I CAN BACK THIS SHIT UP.

Trolling The Onion Editorial Staff, Part 2

2010-10-03T00:06:00.000-07:00

I recently wrote an E-mail trolling The Onion editorial staff. If you want to read the entire post, you are welcome to go here. Otherwise, I've included the trolling letter in quotes. The basic idea was that The Onion has such a reputation for ignoring their E-mail, especially from wanna be writers that I figured that instead of trying to write from them, I'd just have fun with them sending silly E-mails. Here's what I wrote last time:

Subject:I'm legally required to tell you that my dead uncle wants to give you money

To the Editorial Staff of The Onion:

Greetings, my name is Harry Wong, and I am well aware of your reputation of not reading your E-mails, due to the high volume of junk mail and resumes. In fact, I am counting on this.

You see, recently, my late uncle Ted Albatross passed to the other side in the middle of reading your article, "Man Already Knows Everything He Needs To Know About Muslims". He laughed so hard that he had a heart attack and died in his favorite lazyboy. My uncle Ted was quite well off, but nothing gave him more pleasure than opening up one of his many Onion anthologies or going online and reading one of your articles. He was so much a fan of your publication that he decided to leave all of his worldly possessions, including his Ford Coupe and mail-order bride, TinaLisa, to be divided among your on-staff writing team.

Fortunately for me, if the money is not accepted in two weeks, there is a clause that states the money instead will go to the executor of his estate (me).

I am quite confident that you will be far too busy driving around in your fancy Roles Royces and looking at your pretty Rolex watches to notice this single humble little E-mail, so I want to thank you in advance for your generous donation to the me fund. You have two weeks from today to reply to this.

Psh, good luck.

Sincerely,

Harry Wong (future millionaire)

P.S. That Jackie Harvey guy just cracks me up.

Two weeks have come and gone with no response, so it's now time to write them another E-mail! First, let's address this whole, "me being rich" issue.

To the Editorial Staff of The Onion:

I just wanted to thank you all again for your great generosity regarding my late uncle Albatross. You are all truly kind and/or neglectful individuals to allow a humble person like me to have all of that money even though he offered it to you. Already I have taken the Coupe out for many a joyride, and I had my dentist replace my teeth with diamonds. They're pretty awesome, except for when I bite my lip. Albatross's late mail order wife, TinaLisa, has been pleasuring me once a week per her contractual obligations, although I have to say she really doesn't seem to enjoy it. I believe that she was a little disappointed that she didn't have the opportunity to pleasure any of you, as she too is a great fan of The Onion. In retrospect, I think that's why uncle Albatross chose her. I can assure you his choice had nothing to do with anything "performance" related. She has all of the skill of a wet noodle. Still, normal, non-onion editors would probably be jealous, so props to you all on your self control.

And now let's talk about something else that The Onion hates. Applications. They hate it when people send their editorial staff resumes and writing samples...so...let's do that. But it has to be absurd to make it stand out. Bear wrestling will do.

I confess that the thank-you is not my only reason for writing you. I saw that you have a bear-wrestling position posted on your site, and they said to apply here. I am skilled in multiple types of bear wrestling, including grizzly, black, and panda. I have also eaten teddy grahams on multiple occasions, so I'm certain that you will see that I am highly qualified. I find it hard to believe that you would have a need for bear wrestlers, but then I'm not one to argue with your site.

I'm sure you find it strange that I'm applying for a job here when I just received a major windfall. Unfortunately, as of the time of this writing, I have all but lost the money, except for the diamond teeth, which I'd rather die than lose. You see, I am a bit of a compulsive gambler, and I bet everything I had against my friend Mitch that he couldn't shoot heroin directly into his eye. The sonofabitch pulled it off, and then promptly OD'ed. Now, neither of us have anything, as the money he won from me was directly used to pay for his doctor bills. He is now blind in one eye and paraplegic, but none of that matters because the bastard won the bet. He wasn't supposed to take me up on it, the stupid idiot.

Anyhoo, if you could help me out with that bear-wrestling position, I'd greatly appreciate it. I'm perfectly qualified, really hard up on cash now, and I know how to put on a real show, just in case the reason for the show is that you are all bored around your office. I have enclosed a sample of my bear wrestling resume as well for your further consideration. You can consider this letter your cover letter. Thank-you for your time, consideration, and money.

Sincerely,

Harry Wong (ex millionaire)

Enclosure

Stay tuned next time to see my "resume", and in the mean time, feel free to continue E-mailing The Onion about their bear wrestling position at this address: editorial@theonion.com

What if...you walked away in slow motion from an exploding giraffe?

2010-09-21T12:40:00.001-07:00

You desire to do something epic, something noteworthy, something that society will remember forever, so you've decided to gather a group of your friends, sneak into the zoo, and go blow up a giraffe. The three of you have been planning this for weeks, trying to find the best way to gather the necessary materials without attracting the attention of the Feds. Thermite, for example, is way too obvious, and they'd catch on. Plus, it wouldn't explode the giraffe so much as melt it.

This isn't going to be as easy as you thought it would be. It turns out that you can't just go to your local superstore, and buy TNT. Luckily for you, you have a close buddy who runs a fireworks stand, so that giraffe is totally going to have artillery shells blowing out of his ass.

Early on the appointed morning, you sneak into the zoo. The cameras see you but nobody reacts right away because really, How often does somebody break into the zoo to try to blow up the giraffes? One of your friends will break his leg when he jumps into the pen and misses the tree that he was aiming for. It's about a fifteen foot fall. Really though, it's okay, because he's just the camera guy, and can film the explosion from where he is.

You and your other friend sneak up to the giraffe with the home-made M-One million-billion. There's enough gunpowder in that sucker to restart the Vietnam War. The tough part is getting it on the giraffe. First, you try holding some leaves next to it to see if you can get the giraffe to swallow it. It eats the leaves and ignores the improvised explosive device. Next, you try sticking it up its ass, but for some reason the giraffe isn't okay with that either. Luckily for you, you brought your duct tape. You manage to sneak up close enough to the animal to tape it to its tail. That's going to have to do.

By this time, the zoo park guards have finally noticed you and are beginning to work their way into the pen shouting things like,

"Stop it!"

and

"Get out of there, you stupid idiot!"

The two of you quickly light the fuse, and then walk away in slow motion like you're in a movie or something. At the last second, the tail swings in your direction and the bomb explodes in your faces, peeling the skin off your cheeks and blinding you in one eye.

"Coooooooool."

You say.

You'll look over to your injured friend to see if he got it all on tape, but by then he'll have passed out from internal bleeding and shock.

Now you know.

What if...Gregorian chanters?

2010-09-17T19:48:00.000-07:00

This morning you going to win a contest that you didn't even know you had entered. It was from some unusual soda company that you had never heard of before called Bearoin.

"Feel like a bear, drink Bearoin." Was printed on the label.

You were disappointed and didn't feel all too bearish. You had opened the soda cap, drank your beverage, and thrown the bottle away, failing to notice the small print under the cap stating

"Throw this cap away for a chance to have a choir follow you around all day singing Gregorian chant"

The chanters arrive at your house and start doing their thing right at dawn, waking you to the sound of holy ancient men singing ominously in what could be Latin. When you slowly get out of bed, crack your back, and scratch yourself, everything seems to be moving in slow motion. Everything seems more interesting, more dramatic. You strike a pose while you are brushing your teeth, and raise both of your eyebrows suspiciously as you theatrically devour your Lame-Os (TM).

When you finally finish dressing yourself, you head outside and see them for the first time. There are about twenty of them, dressed in old brown robes.

"Why are you singing?" You say.

"You won a contest."

"Oh. Okay."

You get into your car, and the choir all piles into a tour bus that they had parked in the street next to your house. They roll down their windows and continue to sing while they follow you. Throughout the heavy traffic, the bus manages to stay right behind you the whole way. Every red light, the dramatic music crescendos into a peak frenzy. A guy cuts you off on the road and the choir sings in fortissimo.

When you walk into work, the choir follows you from a distance, still singing. The building security guard attempts to stop them. You explain,

"It's okay, I won a contest."

They all cram into the elevator with you. AS you go up 20 floors, they sing from a low to a high pitch,

"ooooooOOOOOOOAAAAAAAHHHHHH!"

They stand outside of your cubicle and sing as you check your E-mail, as you try to make a phone call to a client, and as you walk over to the water cooler to talk about that one new Tarantino movie you haven't seen yet. Several curious employees will ask you what the deal is with the choir. You will be forced to explain the contest thing to them over and over. By the lunch hour, you'll just resort to telling people to go away.

Your boss walks up to you and attempt to have you get rid of them. You explain that you just don't have the heart, and besides, you won a contest. He threatens you with your job.

Your boss finally tells you to take the day off, to get rid of the choir. They follow you in the bus again. On the way home, you get into a terrible car accident. Your leg bends in ways that it shouldn't, and a scrap of the car's twisted wreckage penetrates just past your right eye socket.

The bus full of chanters don't get out to help you though. Instead, they'll stay on the bus, singing all the more dramatically of your pain. It makes your death solemn, memorable, and special.
The choir will not stay around for your funeral, however, because the prize only lasts for a day.

Now you know.

Now for something completely different - Trolling the Onion Editorial Staff, Part 1

2010-09-16T21:37:00.000-07:00

As you may or may not be aware, it is impossible to get a job as a writer for The Onion. For those of you even considering it, forget about it. Not going to happen. All resumes and cover letters are insta-trashed. The staff writers there are like sith, when one leaves, another immediately fills the void, and the writers who do step in have SHIT TONS of experience.

Due to my amateurish skills at satire, and tiny itty bitty puny resume, I decided I wasn't going to try to get a job writing for The Onion. I decided instead to do the next best thing: troll them. It's been said before that you don't kid a kidder, so I may experience some extreme backlash for this. I might be out-satired. But gosh darn it! I had to, man! I had to! I've decided to write some E-mails playing up to the fact that the onion never responds to it's readership. For one thing, I want to know if they do actually read their vast amounts of E-mail, and I also wanted to know how people with an incredibly well honed, piercing sense of humor respond to the bizarre. Chances are, they'll just ignore the E-mails, but I'm counting on that.

Here's the first E-mail I sent to them, and I'll post an update in about two weeks.

Subject:I'm legally required to tell you that my dead uncle wants to give you money

To the Editorial Staff of The Onion:

Greetings, my name is Harry Wong, and I am well aware of your reputation of not reading your E-mails, due to the high volume of junk mail and resumes. In fact, I am counting on this.

You see, recently, my late uncle Ted Albatross passed to the other side in the middle of reading your article, "Man Already Knows Everything He Needs To Know About Muslims". He laughed so hard that he had a heart attack and died in his favorite lazyboy. My uncle Ted was quite well off, but nothing gave him more pleasure than opening up one of his many Onion anthologies or going online and reading one of your articles. He was so much a fan of your publication that he decided to leave all of his worldly possessions, including his Ford Coupe and mail-order bride, TinaLisa, to be divided among your on-staff writing team.

Fortunately for me, if the money is not accepted in two weeks, there is a clause that states the money instead will go to the executor of his estate (me).

I am quite confident that you will be far too busy driving around in your fancy Roles Royces and looking at your pretty Rolex watches to notice this single humble little E-mail, so I want to thank you in advance for your generous donation to the me fund. You have two weeks from today to reply to this.

Psh, good luck.

Sincerely,

Harry Wong (future millionaire)

P.S. That Jackie Harvey guy just cracks me up.

What if...I'm out of ideas?

2010-09-14T19:41:00.000-07:00

There I sit, staring, trying too hard to think.

I must think of an idea, and fast. I must write something brilliant. Think brain think...I have a brilliant reputation to uphold. If I don't write something absolutely amazing, absolutely mind-blowing, everybody will laugh at me, and say I'm washed up even before I'm successful.

Oh wait, here comes something. It's seeping into my brain. Yes. I feel an epiphany any moment now...

"Poop."

My eyes light up as I write the words. It...It's amazing! Top that world. I print off the word "poop" and attempt to sell it at the Louvre museum in Paris, because I'm uneducated enough to believe that that is the only art museum in existence.

Before the curator can even speak a word in Frenchy-babble to me about the sheer brilliance of my work, I demand a specialized payment. I tell the man that I will only accept payment in the form of toy poodles. There's a reason I want that many poodles. You know those ball pit thingies like they have at Chucky Cheese? Well, I always wanted to have one of those, only with poodles instead of balls. Ideally, there would be enough poodles in there that my weight would be evenly distributed amongst them, and no single poodle would be crushed. I mean, it's not like I'm some kind of monster or anything.

But yeah. "Poop"

Comic gold, amiright?

Now I know. (Seriously, I do)

What if...That Monk Over there is really excited?

2010-09-12T04:19:00.001-07:00

What if today you decide to make a visit to your local monastery, because you're one of those types of people who have that much time on your hands? For you, the "local" monastery is about a 16 hour flight, so make sure you bring some reading material.

When you arrive at the monastery, you will be filled with wonder and awe at the sheer calmness, the utter focus and concentration, as well as the happiness of these ascetics. All except that one guy.

One of the oldest monks approaches you and speaks with you. You can tell he's older because he has an eye-patch. You ask him if he's a pirate.

''Like I haven't Heard that one before,'' He says.

He explains the monks way of life to you, how they have taken a vow of mostly silence. How they've learned to live without excess, and learned to let go of the things in life that bog them down. Finally, he explains that this life has brought many of them a great inner calmness.

Then, you will see that other monk doing cartwheels over there, jumping up and down like he just won the lottery.

''Oh yes, and then we have Lenny. Don't worry about him. He's always like that. He's kind of new.''

Lenny will run around in circles screaming at the top of his lungs:

''OH YEAH! I LOVE BEING A MONK! DID YOU HEAR ME GUYS? I SAID I LOVE BEING A MONK!''

The elder will sigh, and give himself a facepalm.

"Lenny...he still has a lot to learn..."

The elder always carries a small clay bottle with him wherever he goes. You wonder if it's filled with whiskey. If it is, you don't really blame him.

Now you know.

What if I want to sleep on the bedroom floor?

2010-05-18T20:19:00.000-07:00

I deserve a little change, a little variety in pace sometimes. She'll be in bed already when I get home late. My soul will be in a pseudo whimsical, pseudo daring, pseudo defiant mood. My entire being will decide that I want, no need to lay down on the cold linoleum floor.

But what will that look like to her? She'll say I'm being silly, stupid. She'll ask me why I am doing this. She will make it about her, see it as a personal rejection, as an insult. She will see it as, "I would rather sleep on the floor then next to her."

She will think I'm crazy. She will scream a hushed, hysterical whisper about how I'm ruining her inner peace. She will cast a curse on me (oh yeah by the way, she's Wiccan). She will cause me to get audited. (She also works for the IRS). She will eat me alive. (I'm actually married to a dinosaur).

No. If I want to follow the deepest yearnings of my soul tonight, I'm going to have to make my floor sleeping seem as "accidental" as possible. I roll off of the floor as naturally as possible, pretending not to wake up. There will be a short pause of glorious proud silence. I will believe myself successful, but it will not last.

"Sweetie?"

Oh crap, I'll think.

"Sweetie? Are you okay?"

Terrified, I'll jump back into bed, pretending to still be asleep the whole time. She'll laugh a confused laugh to herself shortly, and then cuddle up next to me. I'll shudder at the sensation of her skin, because dinosaurs are cold-blooded. She'll rub my back with her tiny, T-Rex arms, and I'll eventually fall asleep in spite of her terrifyingly close, dagger-sharp teeth.

In the morning, she'll have a funny story to tell me about what I did "in my sleep" last night. I alone will know the truth.

Now I know.

What it...Ice is the new cheese?

2010-05-15T15:51:00.000-07:00

Let's buckle down and face the truth here: cheese is SO 2009. Everybody knows that ice is where it's at! That's why resident fasionisto, Fupar, is going to use ice for all his cheese-related meals for now on, you know, for the sake of art or something.

On Monday, he'll eat macaroni and ,~~cheese~~ ice. After boiling the macaroni and draining the water, he'll add a little bit of milk and butter, and then dump in the ice. It will give his meal a very fashionable, cold, soggy, lumpy texture, but the presentation will be fantastic.

On Tuesday, he'll create a grilled ~~cheese~~ ice sandwich. He'll chip a tooth, but later that day, it will all pay off because when he goes to the bathroom, his pee will be a little clearer than it otherwise would have been, although the amount of ice he consumed is barely negligible enough to make a significant difference there.

On Wednesday, Fupar is going to try chips with melted nacho ~~cheese~~ ice, but all it will do is make his chips soggy. Fupar doesn't seem to be the kind of guy who likes soggy chips. Soggy chips aren't fashionable. At this stage in his replace-cheese-with-ice journey, Fupar will question himself. He will wonder if he's doing the right thing. Fupar cares about fashion, but to get his mind off of fashion for a change, he will turn on the television.

Moopie, the world famous style expert will inform Fupar that ice is no longer the new cheese. Suicide is now the new cheese. Feeling hungry, Fupar will kill himself.

Now he knows.

What if Franz Kafka's ghost crashed my birthday party?

2010-04-07T13:02:00.000-07:00

There he is, Franz fucking Kafka, floating around, eating my birthday cake, and scaring all the guests. Way to go Franz. You had to choose today to haunt me, didn't you?

I march on up to him.

"Franz? Franz! What do you think you are doing?"

Franz Kafka's ghost gives me this big smile. "Hey man," he says "Great party you're having. I was just telling some of these people some lawyer jokes I know. Did you know I was a lawyer?"

"Yes Franz", I say. "Yes, I know you were a lawyer."

"Hey, hey want to hear one?

The ghost raises his spectral eyebrow at me, then drinks some of my Miller Light. I don't even like the stuff though, so it doesn't bother me as much as it probably should.

"Not really," I say, "But I don't suppose that's going to stop you."

"Okay," he says, "Here it goes."

He pauses to make sure I'm really listening. Despite Lady Gaga playing in the background, I reluctantly give him my full attention.

"Okay. So there's these two lawyers who just got done working with a difficult client, and they are standing talking in private in one of the lawyer's offices. It's a real nice office. There's a black leather swivel chair, and one of those dunking wooden bird thingies that pretend to drink a glass of water. There's also these amazingly fabulous curtains that make the lawyers look big and powerful, and..."

"Franz, Franz. You are telling me a joke, right? Not giving me a lecture on interior decorating?"

"Oh, yes yes, right." he says. "So anyway, one lawyer looks at the other, and says 'how's life treating you?' And the other lawyer, he says, "Life is irrational and horrifying, and I want to kill myself.'"

I wipe my hand across my face. "Is that the punchline?" I ask.

"No," he says. "It gets better. So the first lawyer says, 'Do you have life insurance?' and the second lawyer, the suicidal one says, 'Where I'm going, I won't need it.' Then he jumps out a twenty story window and plunges to his death. The first lawyer walks away and life actually becomes better without the second lawyer. GET IT?"

I look around me. Everyone has left the party now. Kafka's ghost nudges me a little in the ribs.

"I mean, that guy really underwent some trials, amiright?"

Really Kafka. A pun...

I turn to the spectral author of brilliant dark art. Slowly, anger begins to seep into my brain like the smell of boiled cabbage seeps into a busdriver. When I can control myself no longer I turn to the ghost.

"Kafka, I'm afraid you lost your touch. Not only that, I know about your porn collection, you sick sick man. Did you honestly come back from the dead just to ruin my birthday and tell lawyer jokes, or are you still hung up because you think your old man neglected you?"

Kafka withdraws from me a little. He hides back into the twisted catacombs of his ghostly little mind.

"You're pathetic," I add. It seems like the appropriate thing to say. As if I pushed a little button inside of his brain, the modernist writer's apparition begins to cry.

"Oh, man, c'mon. Don't do that." I say. The crying does little for putting life back into my party, although come to think of it, it's long dead.

"Hey," I say. "What I said was a little harsh. I didn't mean it, at least fully. You aren't pathetic. You were a great writer. I used to look up to you."

"I...I know." Says the spirit between sobs (good alliteration, right?) "That's why I came. I was going to wish you a happy birthday. I thought you'd like it, since you liked my writing so much and all."

Great, now I feel guilty. I hate when that happens. I crack open a Miller Light and down it quickly. (Screw it at this point, right?)

"Hey, I didn't know." I say. "Hey listen Franz. You really did inspire me. I didn't know you came here to celebrate."

"Why else would I come here?"

"Well, you know, to haunt people and stuff. But Kafka...thank you."

I reach over to pat him on the back, forgetting that he's immaterial. I fall through him into a big tub full of ice and alcoholic beverages. The ghost laughs, wipes away an immaterial ghostly tear, and then notices I'm not laughing.

"I better go now," he says.

"That would be a good idea."

I cut the cake and celebrate the rest of my birthday alone, and everyone else is better off without me.

Now you know.

What if the cute blonde at French Fry palace gave you your receipt again?

2010-03-04T20:43:00.000-08:00

You can't help but think that she's flirting with you. The last two days she did the same thing. You came in, ordered your food, and then instead of just throwing your receipt away or even asking you if you wanted to keep it, she personally handed it to you. The only logical conclusion is that she wants you. You can almost sense the want emnating from her as she unenthusiastically pushes a bunch of complicated buttons on her register.

She seems like a real rebel. She chews gum on the job even though she probably isn't supposed to. She has her nose pierced in such a way that it looks like she has a wart, which her boss probably isn't happy with because it probably turns away a lot of customers. Also, instead of wearing a hat like the other employees, she wears a hairnet, as though she's saying "screw you" to the man.

Most importantly, she's giving you all this extra attention. She asks you if you want to upgrade your drink today.

"No thanks,"

You say, and then you smile and wink at her.

She hands you your receipt once again. Not only that, she scratches her left ear, which is probably totally a female code for something. You're sure now. You are certain of it. She's practically begging you to ask her out. The question remains though, how will you ask her?

For someone as subtle as her, someone so sublime, you decide that you cannot just be direct. Just the way that she dropped hints at you, you must return the subtlety. When she brings out your food to you, you say thank you, look her in the eyes, and then you rub your nose while winking at her.

"Um sir," she'll say, "Are you okay? Do you need a tissue or something?"

Even more hints. Nobody gives a tissue without wanting to go out with you. You insist that you are okay, and then tap on the nearby table seven times to represent seven O'clock. She thanks you and then turns to the person behind you and decides to make it difficult for you.

"Hello, welcome to fry palace. How can I help you today?"

She's playing hard to get. You decide to assert your persistance by scratching your chin. After a long pause, you'll finally move out of the way so the person behind you can order. After taking the order, she'll call out somebody else's number, and then pull out a Gameboy. She will seem irresistable with her old school gaming device. You'll walk up with a gallant stride and say.

"So, a Gameboy, hunh?"

"Alright," she'll say. "Seven O'Clock. Just quit begging me already, sheesh."

She'll ask you where you're taking her. You'll say French Fry Palace because you are cheap and a douche. The date will appear to go fine until half way into it, she'll start working and hand a receipt back to another guy. Try not to worry about it. Love is fickle like that.

Now you know.

What if you were "sshh"ed by the girl at the gas station?

2010-02-15T14:58:00.000-08:00

Man, look out, because today you are in for the "shh"ing of a lifetime. You will pull your SUV into the gas station and fill it up just like you do every week. You will be humming a tune from the band Chicago because you were listening to their greatest hits CD in your car. You'll decide to get a pack of smokes.

You walk in the door and walk up to the girl behind the counter.

"One pack of s-"

"Sshhh."

She'll say. She'll put her finger over your lips and stroke them down past your chin. She will smile at you will a look of wistful confidence, as if to say "Hey, it's okay."

You'll be annoyed because you just wanted to buy some freaking cigarettes. You will tell her this.

"Look, I just want-"

"Sshhh."

"But-"

This time she'll just press her fingers even closer to your face, as if she's trying to get your attention or something. She won't say the words, but it's a nonverbal sshh. You'll look around briefly to see what it is, but there won't be anything. It will just be her with that understanding smile on her face. You'll point at the cigarettes. You'll give her that "Hey, I just want some cigs, lady" expression where you raise a single eyebrow. She'll ignore you. After a while, you'll try saying something once more.

"You know, this-"

"Shhh."

She'll stare at you for a while, and you'll put up with this for only a little while longer. Eventually you will leave without your cigarettes. She will watch you with a wide-eyed expression as you walk out the gas station door and let out a barely noticeable sigh.

Now you know.

What if you had a false sense of efficiency?

2010-02-02T10:35:00.000-08:00

Today you are going to try to keep your personal resolution to yourself to be more efficient, but everything you do will backfire.

First, you will try using your dirty laundry to wipe yourself after your morning dump. When you go to wash your clothes later, the colors will run. Next, you will try to save water and time by doing your dishes during your morning bath. Neither you nor your dishes will get quite clean, and you'll end up spending additional time bandaging yourself due to a few stray steak knives.

This pattern of failed efficiency will continue throughout the day. In fact, the only marginal success will come when you try to brush your teeth during your morning jog, but even this will result in you almost choking. The final straw will be when you try to cook a souffle while practicing sword swallowing. You will wait too long to take the souffle out of the oven, and remove your sword too quickly, just lightly slicing your internal organs in time to watch the souffle deflate.

You will sit there and sob softly on the kitchen linoleum.

"All I wanted was to be efficient," you'll say with soaked eyes.

It's a shame you were sitting there crying. You could have used that time to get something done.

Now you know.

What if the rug caught on fire?

2010-01-31T08:13:00.000-08:00

You've really enjoyed your rug in the past. Once you stuck it in your mouth for creativity's sake. Another time you pulled at its delicate fibers as you OD'd on heroin. Today, however, all that history is going out the window, because your rug is gonna catch on fire.

It will start innocently. You will be blow-torching cool whip to see if it has the same consistency as golden-brown campfire marshmallows. You won't find out because some liquid flaming cool whip will drip on your rug, and your rug will start on fire instantly, thanks to your failed attempt at "scotch-guarding" your rug with hairspray.

At first, you'll dance around in an excited panic, saying "Oh geez, oh geez, what do I do?"
You will then decide to grab the rug with your hands, giving yourself second degree burns in the process, and dump the rug in your toilet. You will forget that you had attempted to clean your toilet today with rocket fuel which you bought at a pawnshop yesterday. Your house will burn down in pretty short order because somebody thought it would be creative to build an entire house out of matches.

You will escape your house with your life, but afterward you will return to your house and stick your finger in the rug. It won't taste like golden-brown marshmallows though. You will only taste hairspray.

Now you know.

What if the sun decided to come out anyway in spite of you?

2010-01-27T22:53:00.000-08:00

You've been a real jerk to the sun lately. You've called it names. You've vainly thrown buckets of water at the sun, telling it go stick itself where itself doesn't shine. You even wrote a strongly worded letter and taped it to the back of an astronaut. You aren't sure if the sun will be able to read it, but you don't care.

There isn't really any reason for your hate. The sun really didn't do much to you, but that's not stopping you, because somebody somewhere has to hate something, and the sun will always be there for you to hate on.

Some days, you half wonder is the sun is going to wuss out and not show up, but every day it does, and you lay it on thick. Once a week, you complain about it being Sunday. "Why does the sun get a day? What's the sun ever done for me? If you ask me, the sun is lazy."

Today the sun's just about had enough of your trash talk. It didn't spend 5 billion years in sun school to hear this kind of lip from some life-form on a planet who's life he's sustaining. Instead of coming out this morning, the sun just hides in the clouds, like some kind of embarrassed child on his first day of school.

"What's the matter, sun?" you say. "Too chicken to do your regular job of warming the planet and burning various gases?"

The sun will think for a minute. Then it will watch a movie, Terms of Endearment in case you wanted to know. Finally, the sun will realize something. He's not doing this for himself. He does this every day to take care of the little people on that little blue planet, and it doesn't matter what one idiotic little person thinks of him, just so long as the sun thinks that the sun is doing a good job.

When the sun finally does come out, he's strong, and there's nothing you can say that can make him go away.

"Hey sun," you'll say. "I just wanted you to know that you're a stupid bastard, and I hate you."
Of course the sun will stay out in the sky, unwavering, ignoring you, but deep down you and him both know that that one really hurt.

Now you know.

What if your dentist forgot to remind you to floss last time you visited him?

2009-09-18T10:54:00.000-07:00

It's time for the dentist again. You always hate going there. Last time, you had a root canal, and just the sound of drilling almost drove you crazy.

But now you're back for your appointment and a little wary.

"Open please."

says your dentist.

"So, how's your new job coming along?"

You try to tell him that you've been working there for three months so it's not really all that new anymore, but it ends up sounding like this:

"I een rkeen er or ee on o i o eall al a ew aneor,"

He nods understandingly.

"Well, you know what I mean. Everything's good though?"

"eh-he"

"Well that's good. It looks like I'm finding a lot of plaque here between your gums. You know, you could get gum disease. Have you flossed lately?"

"I oppo o oss?"

"Well of course you are."

He stops picking your teeth with the metal thingy.

"Why would you think you weren't supposed to?"

You clear your throat now that you can talk.

"Well. You never told me to floss last time, so I didn't think I had to."

"WHAT!"

Your dentist pulls out the air suction thingy that he uses to clear the goop out of your mouth. He puts it up to your neck.

"Now I want you to listen very closely. Last visit, I reminded you to floss."

"No you didn-"

"I said I TOLD YOU TO FLOSS! Okay? Look, if word gets out that I forgot to remind you to floss, then I could get hit with malpractice suits, lose my job, and become the laughing stock of all other dentists. I'm not going to let that happen, so unless you want me to give you fake hickeys and ruin your marriage, I suggest you listen to me."

"Okay, okay!"

you say.

"Just finish the job and I promise I won't say anything."

He quietly and moodily cleans your teeth, puts on the fluoride, flosses you, and then sends you on your way. You pay your bill, set up an appointment in three months and walk out the door. About half way out to the car, you realize that he forgot to tell you to floss again. You decide that you aren't going to tell him, but you aren't going to floss, either.

Now you know.

What if you found the lost diamonds of Zarenzia?

2009-09-07T12:58:00.000-07:00

They all scoffed. They all told you there was no such place as Zarenzia, neither in history or even legend. They all said you were crazy, just like that time you swore that you were Sid Caesar's long lost brother, or the time you tried to prove the existence of space weasels. But they don't know. You are his long lost brother, and it's not like anybody ever disproved the existence of space weasels. Now, however, you have undisputable proof of your sanity.

It had taken a lot of work, and sometimes you had doubted yourself. Sometimes you had to stoop to unethical means to follow your dream. You deceived people. You offered money you didn't have. You even had sex with your biological mother.

"Anything to find the diamonds,"

you'd say.

"Anything."

It wasn't that you were greedy for the richness of the diamonds. It was more about the adventure, and proving everyone wrong. It was about finding a piece of the puzzle, a long lost icon of our earliest heritage. As a side note your mother is kind of a fox. More like a cougar.

You begin your long trek back. Back out of the ruins, through the amazonian trees, past the only friendly native village in miles. You ride a raft on the Amazon river all the way to the Atlantic ocean. Then, you travel north and take the first plane you can back to your university so you can rub it all in their faces. When you arrive there, you don't even bother to shave or shower. You just run into the history department, throw open the door and shout.

"Behold! The lost diamonds of Zarenzia! Now who's crazy?"

It turns out you forgot to take them with you.

Now you know.

What if your lawyer is also a trained lion-tamer?

2009-09-07T09:48:00.000-07:00

The back story behind your lawyer is somewhat fascinating and somewhat mundane. His father had wanted him to grow up and be a rich lawyer, but that wasn't what he wanted in his young, reckless youth. He wanted to be a risk taker, so he ran off and joined the circus, and accidentally knocked up the bearded lady.

Reckless as your now lawyer was, he loved the bearded lady, and wasn't about to leave her or his son. He couldn't afford to pay for junior with circus money, however, so he took a day off to himself to reflect and mourn the loss of his passion in life. He left the circus, took his father's advice, and became an attorney.

Either way, it sure is coming in useful now, because he is cross-examining a lion.

"Is it true that you were in the same house as the victim, one Mary Sue Linden, on the night of the murder in question?"

The lion roars. It sets its paws on the witness stand and looks like it is about to pounce on you.

"Your honor, permission to treat the witness hostile?"

"Granted."

He pulls out a whip and snaps it down in front of the lion. The lion sits back down in the witness stand.

"Answer the question."

The lion purs softly.

"That's what I thought." says your lawyer as he gives the lion some raw liver. "You weren't even there. No further questions, your honor."

You beam a wide, confident smile. Looks like you picked the right guy.

Now you know.

What if you're really good at bad analogies?

2009-09-06T22:24:00.000-07:00

You're really mixing it up at this block party. A daft punk tribute band is there, singing in autotune, and everybody is having a hopping time drinking and rocking out. Everyone except you. You're insistent on "proving" how smart or cool you are by comparing things as similar that really aren't.

"Oh, you swim?" You say. "I don't swim, but I play video games. The two are a lot alike."

The athletic woman you're talking to goes along with your bull crap, but only to be nice.

"You see, swimming is very graceful, but people don't realize that it requires a lot of work, like calisthenics and leg shaving. Video games are like that too. It takes grace, but it takes work. You have to stretch your fingers every day or they'll cramp up. I'm also thinking of shaving my nuckles so they can move faster. Real gamers are hardcore like that, am I right?"

She's gone. She left about at the word "stretch". She, however, isn't going to stop you in your quest to use bad analogies.

"Oh, you like drinking, eh? I don't drink much, but I fish. You'd be surprised how similar the two are. Like...like. When you fish, most of your time is spent waiting for the fish, but when it happens, boy oh boy is it awesome. Just like drinking. It's boring until you start to get buzzed, but watch out when its throw up time! That's no fun. That's how I know. If I throw up, it's time to stop fishing."

The guy was never listening to you. You just like the illusion that people care. But they don't. They never do, and you just keep telling yourself that there must be a reason. C'mon. Admit it. You know, don't you? You have to know why, don't you? I mean, how could you not? Just quit being a jerk already.

Now you know.