i woke up and knew the answer to everything i've wondered about life, myself, the universe is oxidation was my revelation more helpful than 42? the answer lies in oxidation....
well it took a little longer than last year, but "generation bob" is once again in first place of the fantasy fantasy league. this year my fantasy fantasy roster includes:
* albert einstein [manager]
* igor stravinsky [secretary]
* the cast of both offices [undersecretaries]
* a banana [independent counsel]
our mission was to mulch 40 hectares of raccoon paintings.
today i daydreamed that i volunteered at a japanese zen garden.
when i awoke, i didn't know if i was a computer worker day dreaming about zen gardens... or a gardener who was daydreaming about computers.
i am awkwardly aged. my peers are old enough to get married, but too young for their first divorce. ergo, the dating pool is dryer than my wit.
[t/j]im in the office [up and coming] deals with this reality by pining for the secretary [engaged, co-worker]. is this good tv or the social norm? reality shows have blurred my judgment.
when, if ever, are people off limits? dating someone else? engaged? married? dead? a co-worker? relative? healer of computers?
note of scientifics: this this question has a 0.0 correlation to my valentine's day plans.
i carry 2-5 matches in my coat pocket.
a blond lounge singer reaches for a cigarette. before she can say, "do you have a....", a robust flame will roar between my fingers. a few puffs later i'll be gone. who could ever date a smoker?
warning: minnesota was thrust in an arctic desert.
mn air moisture and precipitation is currently less than phoenix, az.
do not fall for the arctic desert mirage. my grandpappy is not beating nanna fargis at ping-pong. i repeat, previous generation[bob] is not beating nanna fargis. you are actually witnessing a 35mm photo of arctic air.
let it be known that today is the day to air all grievances against lambs. they stubbornly bleet despite fully developed vocal chords and when they are silenced it's really, really scary and i need to cover my eyes.
The gingerbread factory is just starting up.....
I wish more large, ridable animals were cute and fun loving. elephant? wrinkly. hippo? fatty mcfatter pants. rhino? stupid ice-cream-cone shaped horn. I'd ride a dog to work if there were a place to park him... and nobody throwing huge beach balls along our route....
three cold tonights ago, after applauding myself for finally throwing back the last of an i'll-quit-after-this-one glass, i brushed up against the doll of a friend of mine. she was scaring me, really wigging out, you know. telling me about a random job that went down at her pad that's just behind the track.
i eyed her, took note that everything she was wearing looked suddenly quite tiny, and quit recognizing the off-the-indexes warning talk of my soul. she needed some extra love at this point, and I was ready to suck up the blows of my friend's scolding fingers if only i could keep her eyes and fingers on me for tonight. we slipped into the doorway of "The 3rd Because," and we were on. today's good luck, i thought. "don't count on it," Number 5 (my friend and the doll's real finger) suddenly said.
No comments, just questions.
attention straktopherians and citizens of bob: unauthorized collection of data.
denote your bigger starKRUSH: 1966 skippy peanut or contemporary mr.peanut?
Now, in celebration of disstraktor's rabbit, I submit to the world internets, my very own duck-rabbit....
The lamb may lie down with the lion,
But they will never be as close as this pair
Who share the very lines
Of their existence, whose overlapping is their raison d'etre
How strange and symbiotic the binds
That make one disappear
Whenever the other is spied.
Throw the duck a stare,
And the rabbit hops down his hole.
Give the rabbit the eye,
And the duck waddles off the folio.
Say, these could be our mascots, you and I--
I could look at you forever.
And never see the two of us together.
What comes to mind when I write "tomatoes".... please write comments, stories, words, etc that come to mind with the word "tomato". There are no right answers, only people who follow directions and comment, and those who don't.
Please use the comments section to give this picture a caption. The more the merrier. I googled it months ago... was cleaning out my 123 desktop icons and found it once again.... no idea about its original source...
Welcome to "Let's Make a Deal"....
Host: Pick a door, Steve... 1, 2 or 3....
Steve: Two, since it's the only even door....
Host: You've won a lifetime supply of good health.
Steve: Yeah (deadpan)
Host: However, you may trade it for what's behind door 1 or 3... keeping in mind that one of those doors contains 3000 days of paid vacation time to use at your leisure.
Steve: Ooooh, tough decision. I'll trade good health for door number 3...
Host: I'm sorry. You win two stalks of asparagus held together with a rusted paperclip.... and worst of all, we'll have to take away all your immunizations.
It's my only 'splination for my 3rd cold this season.
Last night I dropped off a baby gift for a friend who's due any day now....
My friend and I were driving to the park for a fun afternoon.... we were sitting in the back seat talking, but there was some strange, curly haired man driving us... I'd never seen him before. When I'd say, "There's our exit," he'd keep driving. All of my suggestions were ignored.... we went everywhere he wanted to go.... we did everything he wanted to do.... and I had to be quiet when he started talking....
My friend doesn't know the sex of his baby, but I bet 98 to 2 that it's a curly hair masculine chauffer.
Is it May? That kind of sneaked up on me....
Dream Snippet: Blair's Net
I was doing an expirament with wood thickness, density and boyancy.... but PoliSci Professors kept interrupting me to ask about my research. The expirament was for the first chapter of the financial advise book I was authoring. Too many of my friends had declaired bankrupcy, so I decided to write a book to impart monetary wisdom. I was going to start with the wood expirament and then demonstrate how that's a metaphor for my saving guide.
Wendy R. told me the book reminded her of Blair's Net, a finance book her brother wrote. I told her that book was my inspiration and asked her how he came up with the title. It turns out the author's real name is Mr. Blairsnet.
After a week of barely remembering what happened, I think I have determined that this was all a dream:
I was rollerblading in a busy downtown bustling with cars and buildings... There was one guy skating behind me holding a pepperoni stick trying to skate faster and jab it into my back(1). I stopped rollerblading near the front door of a large skyscraper that was roped off with a huge crowd around its base. I waved and decided to comicly skate in through the automatic doors (which doesn't go well and I get hit by many of the revolving, automatic doors)... the crowd goes wild with enthusiam.
Inside, I realize I'm in a church and my sister is just starting a comedic video I made(2). I sit down next to a 6-year old kid and watch me on screen swearing a la Larry David(3). Sitting there I wonder what I'll say next since I need to deliver a motivational speech when the video ends.
(1) No Freudian interpretation necessary, Sherman! I just watched Spellbound, a grand hitchcock thriller about psychoanalysts.
(2) Tomorrow I perform improv for a church youth group.
(3) Recently fell in love with Curb Your Enthusiasm... this month, I've seen half the eposides ever made.
It's over. Spring is here. A bulb (Texas Amarillo?) I had been ignoring all year started to sprout in my apartment. Time for a pod-free summer... better unearth my peas and re-plant carrots.
Part 4 of 4 (Real Media Format)
An anonymous little birdy asked when the rest of Flump will be posted. I maintain he was not an avid fan, but obliging a drunken debate:
Part 3 of 4 (Real Media Format)
The final installment ("the let-down ending") will be released on Sunday....
I now dread posting the rest of my podcast. I don't like them for the same reasons I don't like voicemail: there's no way to skim. When I get bored listening to a voicemail, I hit delete and hope nothing important was said after the 20 second mark. When I get bored with an email, I skim the rest to make sure nothing important was after paragraph 2.
I'm sorry: Part 2 of 4 (Real Media Format)
Vowing to bring this blog into the next millenium, I am going to radically pioneer the world of podcasting with an impromptu 22-minute story about Wilson Flump, P.I..
Last night I grabbed my water glass, donned my headset/microphone, put my feet up on the bed and began telling the story of Wilson Flump. It's 100% made up on the spot, 40% unprofessional, 59% uninteresting and 1% yellow 40.
Part 1 of 4 (Real Media format)
I woke up from a dream completely amazed that "hans" and "pants", two words in my blog's URL, rhyme. I just knew that these rhyming words were being underutilized.
One night, I was walking in a quiet neighborhood to my local branch of the National Archives. It was a quiet stone building with huge glass walls. I was doing a research paper and it was very important to get a copy of the original Articles of Confederation. The apathetic librarian directed me down the elevators to a huge, run-down warehouse, which reminded me a south american cocaine factory from Tom Clancey novels.
The basement was run by convicts because it was cheaper than hiring full time employees. My sister and I were told we had to go to a "back room" to get the Articles and that I had to change out of my jeans because they weren't "sterile"... as we walked to the back room, I realized that we were being setup by the convicts and that they were going to jump us once we were out of the guard's view. I spun around and started tussling with an inmate. I had him in a sleeper hold as my sister ran to get help. I began worrying about my jeans, not only because they cost $22.50, but the convicts could use them to disguise themselves and escape. Then roomie's alarm woke me up from the next room.
I was looking around the bathroom feverishly because I couldn't find any of my towels.... hand towels, face towels, bath towels.... they were all gone! I figured Roomie was at fault, so I went into his bedroom and sure enough all of my towels had been removed from the bathroom because he needed "filler" in his next laundry load. He had to wash a shirt and couldn't wash it by itself because the machine wouldn't "balance properly"....
Roomie got up early and was showering during my 6-minute getting-ready-for-the-day stage.... so I feverishly looked for a washcloth to clean my face before going to work....
I was in bed and saw four teranchulas (the spider, I don't wont to look up their spelling) the size of grapefruits sitting in 4 huge webs down the vertical blind closest to my bed. I walked to the livingroom to see if someone had relocated the 4 stuffed tarenchulas I kept on a verticle blind in there. Unfortunately, the fakes were still there, which meant the HUGE spiders in my bedroom were real. I looked for something to throw at the spiders to see if they moved (and thus verify that they were real). I had nothing I could live without, so I started rummaging through my change glass for a penny. Suddenly two of them jumped across the room at me. I awoke as they landed on me....
Today I got up early and checked my cheeses. My first batch of cheddar had aged to perfection and I had a slice to accompany my Lasagna Lunch.
In the afternoon, I had a brilliant epiphany. I suddenly grasped the mystery that is the universe and in a grand coming together of fates I began writing and writing and writing. The frases were poetic and balanced to the proper ph.
Before dinner, I picked up some 2% swiss style chocolate milk. While in the car, I found the blue pen I had lost many weeks ago. Putting the pen in my pocket, I envisioned a new strategy game that was not only fun but bustling like humanity.
After supper, I called to confirm my trip to Europe. The ruins were being undusted and waiting for my arrival. I smiled, look at my dog and knew it was time for a walk. The cool snow crunched beneath our feet as we gazed up at the stars on the still, dark street called home.
I had another dream about the elements of earth…
I was playing an amazing civilization building game (like Settlers of Catan or Sid Meier’s Civ) with “generic” friends. There was a tiled board with different types of terrain and we were all drawing cards from a specialized deck of natural resources. As various cards were played, we flipped over two-toned pebbles that were in front of each person.
I had a big pile of deep blue/blue pebbles, which symbolized water cards…. quite a few aquamarine/light green pebbles for air…. and a couple red/tan rocks which alternated between fire and earth depending on which side was up. The game was extremely tranquil and relaxing. Nobody won or lost (unlike the fine game of Hearts where you get to stick someone with Slippery Liz)… everyone was very content and tranquil. I would have loved to keep playing it.
Menacing surfer ninjas were jumping over my sandbag fortress near a small, seaside main street. Although something like this could sound scary, it was highly stylized and Hollywoodesque. I had tried flinging sand and fire at the ninjas, but nothing stopped their inevitable progress: I was going to die. Then a voice from inside me, or from God (possibly even the director's booth) yelled:
<booming>"Use your sign..... oooooooh...." </booming>
With that, I grabbed my glass of water and threw it in the incoming ninja's face. He was down for the count! I leaped over the sandbag wall and thought about flying to safety, but knew I would never make it.... instead, I dove into the warm, salt-less sea and swam to freedom.
Unfortunately, this is where the evil 8am alarm steps in.
The world waits as heavy fighting continues around Capital City.
The Ivy National Guard launched three major campaigns against the invading A'phid warriors, loosening their grip on the Southern Industrial Park, but failing to reclaim any of the ravished territories. Government officials hope to secure the Industrial Park this weekend so that crews can begin reconstruction next week. No plans have been revealed detailing new city layouts, but top officials have promised modernized infrastructures to the hardest hit regions.
A'phid battleships overtook naval blockades around both the Western Isle and the Eastern Colonies early Monday morning. However no civilians were injured due to a government imposed evacuation.
After weeks of planning, Aphids launched a major military campaign against Capital City, killing millions and bringing the city to her knees. The world-renowned Capital City skyline exists only in memory as communication systems, trade routes, sewer systems and power grids were completely demolished throughout the entire Federal District. The southern industrial park was the hardest hit and experts predict weeks before crews will be able to clear the rubble from the country’s once-vibrant heart of production.
Inside sources tell the Ivy Star that Aphids had been planning this attack for years from the Palm Beach region of the Southern Trades. Government officials were aware of heightened Aphid chatter, but had no credible knowledge of specific terror plots.
At 7:00pm tonight the Ivy National Guard launched a counterattack with special Ortho parachute troupers, who will hopefully be able to infiltrate many Aphid strongholds by morning. The National Guard expects to regain control of Capital City by the week’s end.
Fortunately, the Aphids were unable to penetrate the Western Isle and the Eastern Colony’s superior naval defense system. However, as a precautionary measure Ortho Paratroopers have been deployed nationwide.
Last night I was preparing chicken and my little squirrel friend from the forest came looking for handouts. I didn't like giving them to him (because he would forget how to hunt nuts), but I forked some food over anyway because he was so cute.
The next day I registered for Military Boot Camp. I was one of the last people to arrive and was immediately put off that we were sleeping in little tents surrounded by barbwire. Not to mention, they had made everything grungy and muddy like in the movies. Even the sky seemed grayer.
The first activity was an independent hike around the complex. While others were shooting and killing things, I ran across my squirrel friend who had been injured (presumably by military men). Since I had deemed my pink satin pillow as "essential for the boot camp," I put the pillow on the ground and the squirrel climbed on it. I walked back to camp carrying my squirrel on my pillow and told the commander I’m out. I thought he would yell, but he just let me go calmly. (Although there was an undercurrent to his voice that implied anyone who can't make it through registration hour is a real pansy.)
Squirrel and I went back to my house and I finished preparing the chicken dinner (which I had sanitarily stored in the fridge before leaving). The End.
We (humans and any other animals with internet connections) are wired for stories… they’re ubiquitous. Every culture has developed (eerily similar) myths… oral stories (Illiad) that have been passed down for generations… major religions that teach with parables… and that doesn’t begin to mention the billions of dollars we pump into movies each year (albeit some of the money is misguided).
Thus, I want to take this opportunity to create a story with my griends (blog friend or non-marshmallow “peeps”). Please read the story I have started and add to it… add a word/phrase/sentence/paragraph (but nothing more than that in one sitting)… check back and add some more later. Write what comes to mind… don’t struggle—stories are natural! And maybe leave your final sentence incomplete to make it more fun for the next person. (X-rated and blatantly offensive comments with be edited out). I’ll type a grand finale in a day or two to put an end to this crazy internets experiment.
Read on for the story…
Sally Fortrain was frail, but surprisingly mobile and spry considering her 80 years of age. She lived alone and every night at exactly 9pm she would gaze upon her pride and joy in life: a gold-encrusted toothbrush she had received many years ago as a gift from…
Retiring for the night in my parent’s basement, I saw a spider on the bookshelf above my bed. I hate the idea of smooshing other living things, so I made a pact that we’d leave each other alone.
Lying on my back, I looked up into the blackness and wondered about my life, the color black, and why a ripped, handsome guy had been grocery shopping with a plain, uninteresting woman (some sort of community service? Was she really funny?). Next thing I knew, a spider (I assume the same one) landed on my open right eyeball! As I blinked and (quickly!) swatted at my face, the damn thing bit my eyelid and caused it to swell up. At least it didn’t bite my cornea… can they even do that?
Yesterday, I met a coworker’s dog, who was much more disheveled than I had ever imagined. “Ron” is a single man with no children and I had always assumed he would treat his dog like a spoiled kid: well groomed French poofs on the tail, nicely-ironed button-down shirts for every occasion, Sunday trips to the ice-cream parlor wearing miniature Rockport shoes to match his brown walking shoes. Ron would turn his dog into a four-legged mini-him.
Today at lunch, Ron was quite taken with a cross-dressing can collector. The way he looked over her checkered mini-skirt and sideways blond quaff was signal enough for the rest of us to “go get more food.” After we left, their hands met for a moment as he presented her with an empty Fanta can, which (s)he instantly crushed--like his heart--before throwing it into a dirty, plastic bag.
Watching those size-12 heals sashay away, I finally realized why Ron hadn’t dressed up his dog: he was probably afraid of what people would think if they saw him in a sundress and Alfred at his side, wearing a Persian Kitten outfit.
Last night I dreamt that I was on a cruise of Antarctica (not very strange since I have been drooling over Antarctic cruise brochures for two days in hopes of combining it with a trip to Incan Ruins in Peru). Anyway, the polar ice caps ended up being a sham and Antarctica is actually a large rock sitting on a shallow ocean floor. The temperature is warm and I was in my swim suit. As I swam around Antarctica, I realized that it was the brain of the Earth, which controlled the entire ecosystem. As I got closer to the cerebellum, I threw a penny onto the brain for good luck. Lord only knows why I did that. Suddenly I realized I had disrespected the Earth and that a highly advanced tribe of beings would now have to kill me (and that the Earth would also be trying to kill me). I woke up in a cold sweat and had to walk around a bit or I never would have been able to fall back asleep.
How do you do explain 'maginary Numbers to someone who screams bloody murder when her toes gets near the numbers pond? With chocolate.
Checking out of the grocery store, you see a wrapper that says "Reese's Peanut Butter Cups".... how would someone make that candy bar? Simple. They would take two identical peanut butter cups and cram them into a wrapper. Not too hard, is it?
But you scan the shelf a little more and see a wrapper that says "Reese's Anti-gravity Livercoated Margarine Balls".... how would someone make that candy bar? They can't! RAGLMBs don't exist. They're an imaginary candy bar (Thank God!). However, based on the wrapper, we know that you would take two identical Anti-gravity Livercoated Margarine Balls and cram them into a wrapper.... just like we did with the Peanut Butter Cups. Even though packs of RAGLMBs don't exist, we can still figure out how they're made by using imaginary components.
And that's basically what mathematicians do. It was impossible to solve certain problems, so they invented imaginary numbers. Who said mathmaticians weren't creative?
This morning I dreamt that Lorelai Gilmore (a long-term TV crush) and I were cleaning dishes in our sink. I was teasing her that she couldn’t get chocolate milk stains off of the glasses. When we were done, our brand-new yellow dishrag had splotchy chocolate stains on it resembling Sponge Bob’s face. We (Lorelai and I – not Sponge Bob and I) were in love and it was a wonderful dream.
Is this dream considered cheating as far as Sarah is concerned?
Since the beginning of time, Underblog has insisted that Ax-Man Surplus Store is an excellent place to take a date. It's a wharehouse of parts, gadgets and hoo-haws being sold at low, low bulk prices.... with everything from mannequins to iron lungs to 1950's TV cameras dotting the store as decoration. Sarah and I went last night and agreed it can be a really fun date place so long as it’s not your first… second… third… or fourth date. An isle of gears is not geared to "I'll love you forever", but the signage is great and the products are ripe with satire.... including the orange shoelaces she got me so I no longer feel self-conscious about my footware. Now my shoes are supposed to be as bright as the smile on my face after an evening with her (or after my semi-annual visit to the dentist).
Sarah and I met through a mutual friend (Carrie) who had strangely enough been trying to set us up for months. Unfortunately, every time Carrie planned a group event one of us cancelled. There was the pool party while watching Jaws (a dive-in movie night) that I couldn’t attend because of an open wound on my leg.... and there was the bbq party that Sarah left early from because the smoke inflamed her allergies (which was too bad because she missed my perfect burgers). But we finally met a few weeks ago and it has been FABULOUS ever since.
This weekend we watched Annie Hall and there’s nothing quite like the nervous butterflies of fresh love. Alvy Singer was killing a spider the size of a Buick and I knew this was the time to make my move. My fingers haven’t wanted to blog all week: they no longer understand why they need to type when they could be the sugary lard intertwined with the chalky black powder of summer’s sweet love.
I only subscribe to The Economist ("What's that about?" The economy, stupid.)… so I had no need for other subscriptions. We were invited to share a magazine, but unfortunately our lease together is done in 1 month.... or donate a magazine to a charity, but she refused to give Maxim to a children's hospital... After offering to play us in "Super Darts" for a loser-buys-a-mag, she left... forgetting a bit of her foul stank in our apartment. She might have had better luck offering sexual advances for magazines, since that's how I initially learned how to read....
CNN is reporting that "Darth Tater", a Darth Vader style Mr Potatoe Head, will be available for purchase this year... which got me thinking: if I had to cast fruits or veggies in the upcoming star wars film, who would I choose: