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Wednesday, April 28, 2004

The Businessman

So I wondered to myself, "how did I end up here in this bare room anyhow?" Just then a loud booming voice spoke to me and said violently, "WE HAVE BROUGHT YOU HERE TO QUESTION YOU ABOUT YOUR BEHAVIOR IN SOCIETY. IT SEEMS... THAT YOU HAVE NOT BEHAVED UP TO PAR AS OF LATE."
"Well..." I started.
"YOU WILL SPEAK WHEN SPOKEN TO, SIR."
"Ok."
"I SAID SHUT YOUR MOUTH OR WE'LL INJECT NERVE AGENTS INTO YOUR BLOODSTREAM."
"..."
"NOW, WE WILL ADDRESS YOU."
"..."
"WELL?"
"..."
"ANSWER ME!!!"
"You haven't asked me a question yet, sir."
"BLAHG! YOU...... ARE RIGHT. WELL, WE HAVE TRACKED YOUR MOVEMENTS AROUND THE CITY AND HAVE NOTICED SOMETHING QUITE PECULIAR IN YOUR BEHAVIOR. YOU HAVE NOT STEPPED OUTSIDE YOUR HOME IN FIVE DAYS."
"..."
"UR, WHY IS THIS SO?"
"Well, I actually have been in and out of my house many times in the past five days, so I don't know what you're talking about."
"YOU SHALL NOT LIE TO US. WE SHALL INDUCE PAIN ONTO YOURSELF!!"
"I'm not lying. I went to work everyday, and to the grocery store a few times, and one time to the movie theatre. Oh yeah, I ate lunch with friends a few times, and also went to a coffee shop on Friday. I believe you are mistaken."
"I'M WARNING YOU! YOU SHALL NOT LIE TO US. MAYBE HE'S TELLING THE TRUTH. I DON'T CARE! EVEN IF HE IS WE CAN'T AFFORD TO LOOK STUPID IN FRONT OF MILLIONS OF AMERICANS! UH, TURN OFF THE MICROPHONE. I'LL TURN YOUR... ER... "
"I think you have the wrong person. I won't tell anyone about this if you let me go."
"WE'RE THE ONES DOING THE NEGOTIATING HERE, PAL. YOU WILL KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT AND SPEAK ONLY WH..."
"when spoken to, yeah yeah yeah. You know something? I didn't realize how unprofessional interrogators could be. And unintimidating. You are probably two scrawny guys back there using voice manipulation to make yourselves sound big and scary. Well I don't buy it. Now haven't you figured out that you've got the wrong man yet?"
"..."
"I don't appreciate being ignored. I asked you a question."
"...YOU ARE A PESTILENCE SIR. AND I WOULD RAM A CHAIR DOWN YOUR THROAT, IF MY PARTNER HERE WASN'T RESTRAINING ME. AS FOR YOUR SARCASM, IT HAS EARNED YOU A VERY UNCOMFORTABLE TRIP HOME. BUT DON'T THINK THIS IS THE END. WE MAY MEET AGAIN, SIR. AND THE NEXT TIME, THINGS WON'T GO SO WELL FOR YOU OR YOUR BIG MOUTH. MARK MY WORDS. YOU WILL LIVE TO REGRET THIS DAY. FWA HA HA HA!"
"Yeah whatever. just let me go."

As for the uncomfortable ride home, I slept through the whole thing, so I didn't notice very much.
I woke the next day, not thinking much about the previous night. In fact, I thought it was a bad dream. But then I noticed something strange in my apartment: a pair of glasses. "Hmm" I thought. "I don't wear glasses. And I've never seen my roommate with a pair of glasses..." DA DA DA!!!!!

Tuesday, April 27, 2004

Folly. Anything to rest our brains.

4.28.04 Well, here we find ourselves, on the brink of gladness

A lot to say about nothing, eh? Feeble minded field folk never understand. But am I above the laymen? No! So why are they collected together brandishing pitchforks and torches? Noooo!

Here we stand at the end of all things. But an end is always the beginning for another thing, so I'm not worried. Because the things that have ended will not simply become nonexistent, but will in fact become redefined and shifted or in some cases repeated. But repetition, at least on a universal scale, is simply theoretical.

I would like to quote a source only known as mud, who says that he reguritates. Yes, that is the actual spelling. Now, I don't know about the rest of you, but even I find it hard to figure out what that word means. I have never heard it in my living days. But don't remind me about supposedly made up words. I would be maddened.

The hair. Very strange situation I find myself in. I seem to be giving in to the peer pressure (ahem, Kendall). There are many benefits to long hair, such as sticking out in a crowd, knowing that you're hair is the longest it's ever been everyday. That's a gallagant feeling, almost as gallagant as visiting Metropolitan Community. But I won't point my finger in anyone's face, because if I do three laser beams are pointing at my cerebellum ready to slice it into shreds. Some downangles of my hair: Many times it gets in my face. It is very annoying when trying to see if traffic is coming from the opposing direction and your hair is blowing in your face. Ha! Your face! Actually, it is blowing in my face to be pragmatically obstinate. Kendall refuses to let me cut my hair as I wanted to get it cut on the one year aniversary of my last hair cut. She-ite. Things may not always be berrily.

Oklahoma! Jist two days away! Nervous as a veteran with shell shock. Constantly twitching and wincing from imaginary tomatoes and stuck keys. By golly, I shouldn't worry. After all, who has ever added a day to their lifespan by worrying?

Anyone? Anyone? chew on that for a while.

Just like a cow that commited acts of folly while trying to jump over numerous barb-wire electric fences. Or the clown who tried to feed the elephant a laxative. Some things in life should simply never be attempted. Like eating oysters. I don't care what any fool to the google power says, but they're sick. Almost as sick as the Ganges river, but let's not venture to that venue. Shikes. A new exclamatory rendition of utterance. Almost as cool as cripe. Creeping things may always have a place in my bedpost, as long as the chewing gum retains its flavor on the bedpost overnight. Paint repellant from Wal-Mart at o-two-hundred-hours. But we're not on the defensive here. Get out of my house, you cumbersome crackerjack.

As I will now yours, if indeed you are opening your mail on your personal computer, and it isn't portable. I believe I have all the appropriate bases covered.

Farefolly.

Don.

s.p. Things are backwards seemingly in my life these days, as I will try to find a remedy by jumping in a lake.

Monday, April 26, 2004

CCCC 4/26/04

4.26.04 CCCC ---- Team of the world's greatest hoax formulators

Hello adviseraries. I am enthralled to have such a fine collection of the world's greatest crop circle creators in one location. Well, I have a fine collection of news I want to sprout to you all, each and every one. So let's get it on!

Ok, first of all, I want to bring to your attention a sick twisted hate mail that was sent to me earlier this week. I did not know who the sender was, but he went by the alias of "b-d-r-u-d-o-l-p-h". I don't even know how to pronounce his alias correctly. This indicates that our sender is very covert and wishes to remain underground as he voices his attacks against our corporation. Here is a portion of the text which he wrote to me:

"Hey Don, guess what?Subliminally voluptuous hot girls really do exist. Unless, of course, a potato is stuffed in your "tailpipe"..."

The rest of the text has been edited out due to profane and explicitly sensational remarks. Yes, I mean what I say. As you can see, this has brought intense anger and evil thoughts to my head, and I feel like punching a brick wall. But I realize that my anger must be channeled to produce good instead of broken bones, so I will now go drink fermented grape juice. (Gulp) Ahh! Refreshing! That stuff hits rock bottom. Well, now I feel like an entire progeny of flapping finches. I shall continue with my address.

The same day I received a different email, the text of which contained benevolent and wise sayings. This friend and I go way back, back to the dawn of Mankind (at which your mom was present), and our relationship entails a tale of greed, forgiveness, and finding our way to adulthood and maturity. Indeed, you could learn a lot from an Immortal, I myself being one. Over the thousands of years that we have treaded through, we have come to learn a whole lot about emotion and relationships. Here is the first quote I wish to expound upon:

"Infatuation and desire die without emotional love, which collapses without self sacrificial unconditional love, which does not exist outside a relationship with God."I cannot agree more with this scholarly remark. Though some attempt to throw out love as a feeling, it is much more. True love is self-sacrificial. And the rewards of such a love are infinite, literally. Now we shall look on as the author expounds upon self-sacrifice and hard work:

"I would agree that relationships are some of the most important pursuits in life. Relationships take hard work. And hard work can be extremely rewarding. And accomplishment comes with work. But it seems to me that the extent to which an accomplishment is rewarding to us depends on the amount of work behind it. We would do well, especially as 21st century Americans, to learn the value of hard work. Seriously. And play, an important part of life, is a heck of a lot more fun after you've been working hard.”

Relationships, with others and with God, are the end, and work is the means. However, the character which makes one a hard worker can only come from God, so I guess you should say that a relationship with God is the means."

Well, once again, I am left with little to say. Well, my fellow crop circle fabricators, go out and sow your lies and deceit. Ha! We are the fools? No, I daresay. There will come a day where our secret is discovered. But until then, GOOD RIDDANCE!


This meeting is convened. Until the same time two weeks from now you shall not see my face. Neither I yours. Fare busts.


p.p.p.p.p.p.s. I have subjected myself to logical and grammatical correctiveness.

Friday, April 23, 2004

a premidsummer night's hallucination

4.23.04 Concerning plans for the summer

First of all I want to assure you that none of these plans are concrete, as in solidified conglomerate, but in fact may be referred to as sedimentary, which indeed gets swept away by the current of change. Ohhhh cripe I feel poetic justice coming on...

I tip my hat to the breeze
As the wind steals it from my head
So I scurry like a madman
Try everything I can
Fighting the violent seas and
Swimming through the leaves
The trees are dying
Stripped of their splendor
Tunneling through another winter
But with nail and tooth
Tactics uncouth
I'll fight the winds
To regain a lost emblem of truth

I quickly fall
Not to the ground
But to the sky
As the wind has found
My body like a kite
I'm tossed here and there
Carried by the wind
And nothing is clear
I don't know where I've been
Because everything blends into a shade of gray

But panic I decide not though
Security is swiped from my hands
Someone keeps me caught
From crashing to the land
The winds straighten out
The breeze I thought untamed
Now flows in patterns
I throw off the blame
Now free to fly
Higher than before
Though uncomfortable circumstances
Swept me off the floor

All my efforts, all my wants
Are taken away by breeze astray
But I remain on course
Never by my own will
Sustained by resounding power
Yet calmly soft and still
I see a faint resemblance
Of something dear I lost
It travels closer, closer till
Mine eyes are frost with
Amazement and joy that
Burst out seeing this old hat
It flies upon the very breeze
That I thought stole it from me
Now in the air, without a care,
I realize through all the painful change
My life is better now;
No doubt remains.


Yes. This summer, I plan to slack off. But what sense, precious, what sense? Well, pounds, and responsibilities, precious. Well, perhaps the second one comes more unintentionally than anything else. But we all wrestle with that for sure. Some in lesser degrees. Well, maybe I won't necessarily plan to slack off. That usually comes naturally. Then again, you can plan things that come naturally, like eating. Or planning to drink more water. It just depends what you want the results to be.

But let me get this one point across, whether or not you slack off, resting and taking time to reflect on life's circumstances is a definite positive. No human can constantly work and expect to have the same results. People put so much emphasis on time and the duration of work, but I argue that less time, with more effort and greater time to rest in between, yields better results. But let me get one thing straight: I don't consider watching TV or playing videogames as reflective resting. Resting, well, you could argue that, but your when your mind is disabled from thinking about what has happened over the past week, month, year, optimization is deleted from the list of accessible commands.

Now this is no atkin's attempt at fixing anyone's life for sure. I don't have any professional merits behind my name, and there are just too many things in my life needing fixing to try and tell people how they should live. But I do reserve the right to speak my mind and tell you of my thoughts and my theories. Whether or not you agree is your choice. But this isn't about confrontation or reservations with longtime friends, or arguing over the phone, so let's drop that part of the conversation.

Plans for summer: (and it isn't always bad to "reflect" on the future as well as the past, although we don't know what's going to happen) Well, this could end up being a long list. I'll start by thinking about outdoors activities. There's Creation Festival up north somewhere, not exactly a trek through the woods, but a great experience for sure. But that's a one-time event. One thing I could (and will) do constantly is mountain biking. An extreme rush of adrenaline to the brain and the protein fibres (ask Paul for the details). And there's hiking, another favorite. And then, a more daring possibility, camping out for a few days. Yes sir. That would be a not bad use of one's time, as if you are stealing someone else's bad time and taking it for your own, also inverting the bad to good, because your own time left you when you exited the so-called comfort zone.
And then there's work. I better apply for surveying today, and if that works out, I'll probably be making more money than at Sheetz. And I could still keep my Sheetz job. But that's gonna be very difficult, maintaining two jobs. And having to put my foot down and not let the latter schedule me every friday and saturday night. I deserve better than that, being treated like a ragdoll and thrown here and there wherever they wish. But I also need to become a more upstanding employee if my foot is to hold any authority. Because anyone knows that my authoritY needs to be respected, although I'm a JERKFASCIMILE! But who really knows who that is?

Noone, except a monkey's great-grandmother.
And with that I shall abrubtly end.

Thursday, April 22, 2004

jerks anonymous

August 22nd, 2004... a date that will live... in inflammatory.

Has anyone ever known a big frightening jerk, namely, myself? [Begin nonsense text]: Sometimes I even surprise the camel by throwing him through the eye of a needle. Bug of course, we all know that there was a gate in Jerusalem called the "needle" gate, and if the camel got on all fours, it could get through. But have you ever located the eye of a gate? I didn't think so. Thus, moving on would be a brilliant idea.

Yes sir. I am a jerk face. A face that acts like a jerk. And the eye of the jerk couldn't even fit through the eye of the needle. Go chew on that. Yuche! Squid! Get it out! Get it out! Now it's in my bloodstream! But you know that probably the most painful way to die is infestation of the bloodstream by termites. Or fire ants. Whichever probably doesn't play that big of a role on Broadway, which, of course, featured OKLAHOMA! as opposed to CANNIBAL! as one of its earlier plays.

And, of course, remember to boycott Canadian syrup, and the "jaws of life". Hmph!

Because high fructose corn syrup clogs the neurons.

...so that would explain the... Why yes! Birth defects, demoralization, and making people stupider in general. Just think with me for a second... what could possibly be the cure for this epidemic of biblical proportions? could it be...... Pickle Octaline! Ding ding ding ding ding ding!

Johnny, TELL THEM WHAT THEY'VE WON!

An all expense paid trip down rt. 460 during RUSH HOUR!
Rt. 460, also known as ORANGE AVENUE, is well known for its retarted drivers and people who don't know how to merge! You'll be on the verge of laughing with RAGE! And on top of that, SLAMMING ON YOUR BRAKES TO ACCOMODATE OLD DRIVERS! But wait, THERE'S MORE! Gas prices that CONTINUE TO LOOM! Ahh, feel the nice breeze of car exhaust in your nasal sensoraries while maintaining an average speed of fifteen miles per hour. This paint fading paradise is sure to turn the most upholding citizens into MADMEN!

But never forget: your vices will backfire into your shenanigans! Unless a potato is stuffed in your tailpipe. If indeed subliminally voluptuous hot girls really do exist. But then again, there is no spoon, so if I say, "there is no wife," then perhaps I can shape and contort her to make her indeed into a subliminally voluptuous velociraptor. Why the heck is it a velociraptor? As if it has a lot of velocity, which may or may not be true, but isn't the main characteristic ferociosity? Why then aren't they called ferociraptors? Either way, Jurassic Park three failed to fail to s(hrink). Actually, the plot line would have proved realistic if the survivors had been eaten within minutes of the plane crash. And more fun to watch. "Heh heh, look at those losers! Loser! he he ha!" chomp! crowcggguguhgg aarrrggghhh! neowgurghtcgehcgn! scratch rip rip chompf------ The following has been edited out to preserve this email's pg-13 rating. Sorry for any mishaps.

Go chomp a hambone and gnaw for hours on end. Then and only then will the reality that nothing separates us from the animal kindom sink in. Because oddity only remains oddity if the hunk of meat is afresh and sparkling. But not all sparkling beverages contain alcohol, mind you.

[End nonsense text]: Well, am or am I not a jerk? I certainly know I am. I am quite a sore loser when it comes to board games. I'll admit that. But you've caught me on a rare occasion, my ever-undivided audience. You've caught a rare glimpse past the painted pristine shutters and into the windows of my soul. I, as many others are, am human. And who ever said humans were perfect? Well, um, eh, c..., t..., just..., cripe! Noone, are you happy? Now ya done went and made me look like a fool in wool.

This email was suddenly and deliberately attacked (ended) on August 22nd, twenty O four.
p.s. bye -DiggyDon

p.p.s.- The reason Oklahoma! keeps popping up is mainly because I played the piano for the production for my alma mater. Just thought I'd do you a favor and letcha know.

Tuesday, April 20, 2004

Oh, the ripeness

4.20.04 ... Eleven days till my doooooooom! Or my time to shine. Discipline, good sir.

In an effort to sound comical, I almost always come across as a random word generator or a madman doped up on Dramamine. Whatever the case, this email was originally meant to be serious, and also short. So I will try to hold true to that effort.

gulp. (heh heh) This will be difficult.

First, many of you have fell abashed by my comments on "warmth, rangers, and putrification." Well, I do admit that many of the comments contained therein were greatly affected by sleep deprivation. And monkeys. Oh cripe this must be serious. Oh, very well then.

Friends. It is so amazing how the love of God could be portrayed--if only a fragment even--in friendships. Any close friendship. Two people interacting on such a familiar level, just hanging out, sharing difficulties, feeling each other's pains, helping each other through the hard times, but also laughing when the good times come tumbling down the avalanche, when everything in life seems to lock into place, and dreams become realized, when skies are blue and there's nothing to do but rest and sit and talk. Relationships, the most important thing on earth, I daresay. Not money (humph!), not accomplishments, not knowledge, not power, not fame; for our relationships will carry on past this life to the next, to the life that truly matters.

Bash me on these things. I do enjoy it. Well, at least when I get to explain myself. Haven't been caught dead wrong yet. But I better stop before someone in fact does fire a nail gun into my big toe. Because the man that speaks for a long time is bound to say something wrong. Therefore (and I do unblinkingly admit) I could have said some things that were out of place or flat out wrong. Tell me of these things. Because they are the weathering agents that will ripen my life.

If half of you reading these haven't figured it out by now, half of my words (when sending the usual crazy emails) are half made-up half somewhat intelligent. If one could go through them all and create a list of the made-up words I have spawned, I would be belchingly pleased.

To all the walnut gatherers out there, I don't feel your pain or your sweat.

And to the rest of the unseen world, I won't even touch basses with you, as none of my natural senses can sense you. Half-blinking eyes I sprout to you all. Along with two left-over chalupas in my ice box. Indeed, the hard fried shell on the chalupa is a plethora (ha ha that's a funny spelling, but the english language is indebtedly inconsistent) of grease, as compared to the banana, which indeed grows mushier with time.

And we all know that dihydrogen monoxide lubricates the innards of the [collection of mutual beneficiaries (sybiosis)], thus fueling the metabolic process within this [collection of mutual beneficiaries] to burn lipids and saturated monochlorides.

Translation: And we all know that water is to the human body as oil is to an engine, and in turn makes your metabolism speed up and burn fat.

**[The text above contained in brackets like so are actually not believed by the writer, they simply are included to make the writer sound smart, which may or may not be happening. Simply replace the terms in brackets with "body" and it will reflect the view of the writer.]

Errrr. I must convene this gathering to eat a banana, because a friend and I share a common ancestor and we must discuss our lineage. And yes, bigdaddy, I still disband even now. So ha.

Good well.

'twas the Don. You missed him about five seconds ago. Cripe! (And now prune is met)

p.s. I am now officially an unhomophobe.

p.s.s. Don't ever let me do this again. I shall indeed fire off exactly ten rounds of nail gun steel into each of my lower phalanges. Oh cripe, now the second effort has also been abolished.

Wednesday, April 14, 2004

crabbits.

The howle:

The rabbit wespt throught the hole and found a bodacious bonicle bearing tidings of cripe. And then it said "cripe" and a hole appeared and the rabbit went ker-plunk right down to the bottom of the hole (because the hole bearing tidings of cripe actually was meant to make one say 'cripe', and then the hole would move to under the individual saying 'cripe'). So the rabbit found itself at the bottom of the hole. And it said to itself, "well, I better not say 'cripe' anymore because if I do, another bad thing might happen. But then again, if I say 'cripe', the situation might be reversed...";:.,., so the rabbit stole upon that fancied notion and ventured to speak the syllable 'c' followed by 'ripe', and immediately the hole started a-sputtering and a-shaking and it spewed the rabbit out of its mouth (and if you could have heard what the hole was thinking, you would have heard a voice saying 'errr, that was lukewarm!') and the rabbit landed on soggy grass. Then, it said "I'm tired" in the expected falsetto voice and proceeded to slip into the secondary state on consciousness, and the rest of the story has been erased because the rabbit's dreams were baaaaaaad.

Just for ye-our information, it's not the kind of dream you're thinking aboot, sick person. It actually was a recap of the previous circumstance the rabbit found itself in, so because of redundancy's sake it was edited out. The following is the rest of the story:

So the worms started eating the pumpkin pie and everyone was happy.

THE END!

Hope you enjoyed that little children's tale. Perhaps some might want to sue the author for destroying a little kiddyling's mind. But you, the respective parental figure are responsible for that one. Heh heh heh.

Do you think it should be illegal to be able to publish a book on "how to build a home-made bomb"? On one hand, freedom of speech. On the other, safety. Hmm?
No, that's your responsibility, not mine. I convene. Rather, I disband.

dike! oye! (trunced)

aarrgghh! 10.14.04 (To the tune of “O What a Beautiful Morning!”, from Oklahoma! the musical)

There's a bright shiny dike in my forehead!
There's a bright shiny dike in my forehead.
The pressure's as strong as a bellowing gong................
And it looks like it's breakin as I sing this song...............

Oh what a fallacious notion,
Oh what a fallacious raid...
There'll be a fallacious ocean! of
Putrid lumps in a brigade.

I lie here in a fetal position!
I lie here in a fetal position.
I know I will die as the current sweeps by...........
And the shiny bright storm dike is still in my eye.........

Oh what a malicious notion,
Oh what a malicious raid...
They'll be a malicious ocean of
Putrid lumps in the brigade.

Oh what a Gregorian day!!!!!!!!

Hmm... shorter than usual... short n' sweet, just like pickles! Reap the reaper, and to meat goes the keeper. Because meat isn't alive, you fewl.

Cripe... the euphamism for c---!
Faresmell, good feelings. Don I am, and Don hast gone, therefore I have gone, but you sit here and think, "well if he were in fact gone, he wouldn't be typing this," but this here is not in fact reality Don, it is his pet gristhe, something that you wouldn’t want to fight!


p.s. Tell me your thoughts.

Tuesday, April 13, 2004

Warmth, rangers, and putrefaction

4.12.04 The days are getting warmer, and activity fills my beating heart once again

A hint: nachos.

So go on home despite the drone of silver singing popes
Who remind of the odd yet smeltering thought:
"All that's past is smote."

For in memory the melody of thoughts repeated 'gain,
Intrude upon the treasured fun and crush the helping hand
Of life's secondary theme quite done filed manifold times ten,
The Mr. Fooks stood up and spoke "you can't go home again!"

Just a reminder of a simple thought concerning memories. As a friend has recently reminded me, never trust an image in your mind from your past, as your mind will repeatedly exaggerate the event that happened many moons ago until the event is something totally different. Today is your best day, because you are learning something from your past, and as you are learning, your mind applies the good things of today to the things of the past, only the past rings out in a different tune. Contrast at first seems very pleasing to the ear, but soon we realize that the contrast, when prolonged, becomes simply harsh and nerve-racking.

There are many reasons that a person might look back and wish for the past, wish that he could relive his childhood years. First, adults have many more responsibilities and less pleasure (that is, instantaneous pleasure that doesn't take years to reap.) Another reason: our mind tries to over-exaggerate the good in our life rather than the bad. It could very well be that a memory of an event years in the past is looked at with fondness, but the mind simply blocks out the bad things that were happening at the same time.

New word of the day: convolution. Derived from the infinitive to convolve, convolution is closely associated with the word revolution. Both deal with turning. It depends where the focus of the rotation falls.

Enough serious talk. Has anyone seen my ruby steel-toed boots? Silly, the rocks appeared to shine and form a halo around themselves, a bright golden haze over the rainbow. But tedious meditating on that terrible kaleidoscope filled with razor sharp silhouettes of fallen ashes bearing the marks of tight black leather... I don't think they will rise like the Phoenix. Not in a million years, unless the frantic revolutionist concocts another frivolous theory in attempt to debunk God. Heh heh heh, try again big boy. You'll rue the day you cross me, and your friend here Mr. Muslim. And oh, by the way, that dark sillouette wasn't a predator in his prime waiting to pounce on a victim, it was the aftermath of nukular proportions, the remains of a person who received wrath.

Wrath, an intersting concept. I don't think we westerners have a very good concept of wrath. But that's something I'm not gonna use brainfarts to figure out. Figure that one out. If 10% of our brain is used, is the remaining 90% made out of brainfarts? I believe so. But then again, I didn't design the system so I'll let the owner do the talking when I see him next. When will this ever end? I believe my time to shine is coming soon. When utter glory in gutteral forms proceeds from my stomach. Huh? No, my talent doesn't lie there, unlike some who would eat a pumpkin-pie malt and a macadamian, and then shower. Don't worry, that last statement only applies to one individual that I know. And to the one who knows exactly to what I refer, I launch gutteral snickering in your direction.

If spontaneous human combustion is real (and I believe it is), it probably is either judgment or a withdrawing of protection (or judgement by withdrawing protection) from God. So could be many other tragic occurrences around us. But who's to point the finger? Who's to say whose fault it is? I truly believe Christians more than pagans are at fault for the demise of America's moral foundation. Aiy!

Withdrawing from the world of politics, claiming that all politics is immoral and sinful, Christians back in the day took our influence and our voice away from society. So when the "pagans" started to enact their agenda, we were surprised as Dorothy was when the witch put Toto into a meat cleaver. Awwww, that's mean. Get over it!

Nothingness limits something... the stupidest notion I ever heard. Because the essence of nothing is nothing, nothing is in actuality the nonexistance of something. And nonexistance is indeed nothing. But really I've said nothing more than nothing = nothing in logical terms, that's why the argument can't be defeated. Now... a negative absolute, that can easily be defeated.

Science is a tool. And there are many sciences. There are some things that science can establish a rock solid proof for, such as the law of gravitation. Things that occurred in the past can neither be repeated, nor measured, nor observed so I find it quite hilarious that any scientist can boast to find something that proves evolution to be true. In the field of science applied to interpreting history, such as archaeology, clues can only be interpreted and arranged to form theories.

Theories based on assumptions based on theories. That is what evolution is ("Macro" evolution, anyway.)

My brain is overheating right now. I better quit before someone gets hurt.

Yours truly,

Don



p.s> Tell me your thoughts.
To LPatkins, you're still the best.... at... g...gr...grooming llamas.

Saturday, April 10, 2004

Revision to The Theory of Smelativity

Dear friends, it grieves me to tell you that some of my calculations for the Theory of Smelativity were in fact flawed. However, a very close colleague of mine has recently submitted some corrections for my theory, and perhaps someday we can work together to form a new scientific law out of our research. I have simply included the text of his letter to me as follows:



"Dear Dr. Donalbain,


It has come to my attention that your calculations are incorrect.

First it is not the quantity of flatulent that is necessary but the concentration of the flatulent [F].

Secondly, the mass of a flea on the person with the perspective is not relevant except in the case you stated in which the equation is raised to the universal truth of life, the universe, and everything. The mass of the flea and the raising to the 42nd power is only necessary if the scenario is taking place in an improbability field. In all other cases the mass of the being expelling the flatulent is necessary. In proper flatulent equations all this does not add up to Dynamite but to the amount of Danger the flatulent poses to lifeforms over a given area.

Here is the proper equation D=(M[F]/A)K .
In this equation D is the danger posed by the flatulent. M is the mass of the individual expelling the flatulent. [F] is the concentration of the flatulent being expelled (100% being the most dangerous although it is possible to create superconcentrated flatulent in a laboratory setting). All of this is divided by the A area that the flatulent can expand into diluting its concentration. All of this is then multiplied by K the kinetic energy used in the release of the flatulent. It is worth noting that there is some correlation between the mass of the individual expelling the flatulent and the kinetic energy involved in its release. There are exceptions to this rule, however, and I do not have time to go into depth.

I hope that you continue your research in this field and that my corrections have been of some assistance.Your Friend,Dr. Felix Kat"



I hope along with my friend Dr. Kat that this new information brings more enlightenment to this area of study. Good night.

Opening the Pickle Jar

Pickle Barrel sealed 'n shut,
Best darn thing since ole king Tut
Even feed them to my mutt,
Always had a grande appeal.

Called the locksmith at his house,
Said he "busy with a mouse",
Heard a bang and then a pounce,
Big fat cat just made a meal.

“Be right over,” said the smith,
Rode his Jamis o’re a cliff,
Landed in a sea of pitch,
Said “now where’s dat pickle jar?”

First his bike needed some fixin’
Said “Well I’ll be Richard Nixon!”
Found he broke the blasted kickstand
He got his tools n’ began to start.

Tried and tried in different ways,
C-clamps, levers, ole lube spray,
Thrashing motions until dazed,
Still the lid on that jar stayed.

Locksmith chuckled and he said,
"A ha! Look what I'll do instead!"
Picked up something struck me dead,
Jawbone of a monkey's head!

Clamped it down all nice and tight,
Gave a twist and said "Good night"
River wild and I caught a bite,
Fifty pickles dancing swiftly:

Picking pickles, pouncing poultry,
Quite the opposite of sultry,
Raining down my precious tasty
To my mouth in utmost glory;
Pickles placed in pots of Pace
Prickling down a peachy face,
Weeding out the evil snakes,
Putrefaction laid to waste;
Purple mountains, flying pay stubs,
Granted lawyers win the case of
Proof with ever undying love
For the fruit I deem the best

Now you folks know how I feel,
That ole can was darn good sealed
Nothin’ stopped a blessed meal,
Save perhaps munching a seal;
Given hands you shouldn't deal,
Life may never come reveal
Nothin’ else but just a spiel
Of Pickles' glory laid to rest.

One shla-bob of a night. Great bye.

Friday, April 09, 2004

microscopic frights

Microbes!

They're everywhere
Under my chair
Beneath the stair
Within the very air!

Here I recall the event
That confined me to the tent
Where human tears are spent
Trying to rid fears, mind is bent
I shall recall in all
The time I saw
That murderous glob
Filled with malecontent:

A foolish fancied Francian mare
Gives the thought a frightful dare
That on my back raises every hair
My waking eyes are ever scared
The night may wake and give a stare
To the purebred eating my o' claire!

Who would'a thought in their mind right
That something with such strenghth of bite
Never wakes to see the night
Its lips sunscorched from lesser moonlight
Unless a different cause of all
Took its honor to its fall
Leaving us trapped with none to call
While organs gave way to devouring blight?

The night gave way
Into light of day
The cow fell down from the moon; Not
Until after it collapsed
From a heart attack
Did each and every one hear the boom.

The frightful scene,
Oh what a scream
The ladies let escape;
My heart I deem
Splits at the seams
A natural mistake.

We left the camp
Still hot and damp,
We went our separate ways;
Still none I think
Became like me,
Afraid of all that plays
On pieces of organic frays.

Now I shall part
And deem it smart
To run this weary path;
Where very weak
And easily steep,
I can do none but impart this:

Do not fear death
Because you'll be a nervous wreck.

Monday, April 05, 2004

The Theory of Smelativity: Pt II

The Fundamental Theory of Smelativity

In your various branches of life most of you who read this have come across many a case where your nasal passage tingles with sensation for - perhaps more often associated with the bad than the good - the breathtaking enchantment of all the different chemicals interacting and producing various vaporous forms that reach the nostrils. Now, one would be most disheartened if I was to tell him that this experience was in fact no more than an atrophic savage instinct that once enabled chimpanzees to run away from the sulfur laden lava that fumed forth from voluptuous volcanoes. Perhaps your proud, distinctive ego now crawls to the floor. But then you may ask in utter fatalism and existentialism, "What then gives my life meaning? What is meaning? What is truth?" And with that, my friend, I shall proceed to tell you my point.

Our basis for a sense of smell arises out of a preordained tendency to retain experiences undergone in our body after a scent passes across our nose. Let me put it in another way. Mankind was created in such a way that they don't continue smelling vapors after they have ceased. On quite the contrary, one may only remember the experience of having a certain smell, and even then, only the circumstances, not the actual smell, are retained in memory. One may jump out of his seat against this proposition, saying, "Well then, how can I smell at all if life is just a memory?" Well then, my friend, we must look at life not only as a past but as the present and also the flab. And the flab sure is bright, isn't it? (I wish I could go eat a cheese curd right now, ahem) And having made this point I will proceed to the next.

Let us say that an old beggar, who has the particular disposition of spending the night on a train station bench, one day gathers up enough monetary means to purchase a bag of pork rinds from the nearby Sheetz convenience store. One can only guess what effect those highly indigestible pieces of flaky stink have on the stomach. As we are walking by, this old man lays out a distinctly gurgling flatulent. Immediately the memory of the stench accompanied with that sound comes to mind. In fact, the actual smell is immediately conjured up from memory. But I remind you: the articulation proceeds the dissociation. And this brings us to the first main point of the Fundamental Theory of Smelativity:
The experiential recollection of a flatulent is relative to one's perspective.
For example: to the old man the flatulent perhaps triggers an embarrassing recollection, but to the bystanders, this action serves as a warning of a soon imposing stench. Take particular notice to the words "soon imposing" in the previous sentence. This implies a time frame. And in most - and I will soon argue that in all - cases the speed at which an aroma travels is always constant from one's own perspective. Let us look at a popular example.

Let us say that one man is standing on a train. Another man is standing in the train station as the train passes by him. Now, we need to make some assumptions before proceeding any further. First, we must assume that the particular aroma is that of a flatulent (please do not assume that I thrive on humour based on bodily functions. I simply intend to use a well-known example). Second, we must assume that the man outside the train is close to the tracks (Do not ask me if this man is attempting suicide). And third, we must assume that the sky is orange. With these respective assumptions made, we may now proceed to the rest of the example. The man on the train lets out a flatulent right as the train reaches the far end of the train station. Now, the distance of the train from the second man is the perfect time required for the fragrance to reach the bystander's nostrils. Finally, the stench causes psychological reaction from within and outside of the train at exactly the same time. However, from the passengers' perspective, the flatulent is highly concentrated and devastating, not to mention a chain of reactions which causes involuntary volatile vomiting from the entire section. Notwithstanding the second man's perspective, the flatulent arrives in a highly diluted form. Did the flatulent travel through more air? No, based on our third assumption. Does air affect the statue of liberty? I did not think so, you sick, sick man. Now, with the accumulated information we have, a simply equation can be formulated:
D=MF^42,
Where D=Dinamite, M=Mass (of a flea on the person with the perspective), and F=Flatulent (also note that F is raised to the 42nd power, because in fact 42 is a universal truth, matter of factly).
This, my friends dances as a highly electrifying notion in my mind, but I must not give way to these fancies, because I recently discovered that giving way to these fancies turns me into a dignified freak, but let's not circumnavigate the tangent (to the vector goes the spoils...). I must convey this pure genious to you, my colleagues, which reminds me to proceed to my next point.

Before I assert my next point, I must create a bridge of thought to anchor this matter. Let us say that in our previous example the old beggar from the first example lies at the scene and decides to rid himself of the exhausting pains of internal pressure. The situation with the pork rinds remains the same. He gives out an aggresively oscillating note that calls to the second man from the previous example. Now, based on experience, where do you think this second man expects the source of propagation to be? Of course, the man on the station bench. However, as both flatulents reach him at the same time, he wonders at how such an innocent looking beggar could let out such a blood-thickening bellow. But the fact remains that the source is not the beggar; it is the man on the train passing by him. This isn't part of our reasoning, but I definitely think the second man should whip out a discriminatory razor blade and stick it in either the train passenger or the beggar's left kidney.

All I have said so far can be deduced from facts of life, marriage, and Chuck Colson. I have made no outstanding statement that it demands a rethinking (and eating) of every physical law of the universe, such as 42 actually being 24. Neverthelass, I do intend to get on with my life, so can we please proceed? Thank you very much. Now, I intend to point out that the speed of a flatulent dissociation (you may refer to this as diffusion, but only if you prefer infidel terms) is in fact relative to the universe. "Relative to what?" you may ask. (Why, oh why must I continue to endure such stupidity? Can they not see the obvious truth? I am going to rip out a chainsaw and fly away on a dirigible!) - Relative, good sir, to the spinning of the earth's core. That may come as a surprise, but then again, who would expect incompetent fools like yourselves to understand this?

Finally, we arrive at our last point in the Fundamental Theory of Smelativity. Before I make this point, I must give a few examples to compose the soft and affectionate gazelles that flock my pastures. First, suppose we take a flower and throw it away from us, or take a stinky dog having been recently marred by skunk-gunk and drop kick it in order to remove the stench. Does not the speed of the stench slow down and deintensify? No, you contriving wrench of an obsoletarian! Do you not know that the speed remains constant but it is simply the fact that the distance between you and the object is increasing? I would argue that the orange sky assumption also deals with this issue. Take a hint and drop it. The final point is: The speed at which dissociation of a flatulent occurs remains constant to a frame of reference but is relative to the Coriolis Effect, also the earth's core spins.




Thus ends the Fundamental Theory of Smelativity

My words drip melting into my hands and onto my keyboard, as the wax starts to form a stalacmite on my desk. Thus I very much know that sleep fails to suck. and it calls... donalbain... Donalbain...Donalbain... DONALBAIN!

randodmmanesss!

I shall now fade into the west....

The Don Out.

Saturday, April 03, 2004

The Theory of Smelativity (abridged)

4.3.04 It's amazing what sleep deprivation does to the human condition.

I'm utterly lost in myself right now. Not egotistically, not trippingly or anything, just lost, but not lost as in depressed, unregenerate, or a bum on the street, lost as in knowing that every second I linger here I lose that irreplacable comfort of lady Sleep... And we all know how I am her most voiced advocate, and that if myself from half a year ago could confront the me today, who knows what superuniversal destruction of the space and time continuum would occur? I speak of the tragedy of sleep deprivation. Let it all fly to waste.

As the culprit lies in his dormant fix,
As the clock chimes seven and the fan count six,
A fear instilled right to the bone
Begins to play and strike a tone;
The people pass and the children play,
Each Second posing as a passing day,
The figure waits for the opportune,
The chance to release a thing of doom;
The balloons are filled and the turkeys stuffed,
Over the brim runs the nearest cup,
Thickening air and a crowd for sure,
But containment and pain he must endure;
Finally the music starts to play,
The rock band jams in an Irish way,
The moment is come, the cup is flopped
The turkey bursts and dirigibles pop:
Ah, most thunderous roar of bass ever felt,
The source of propagation where malice was dealt,
Impossible to pinpoint for so grande a scale,
The people thought the crevice was a gate to hell;
For a thousand mile fault line tore a-through,
Where the man in black ran off to no one knew,
The vents coughed and sputtered and sulfur filled the air,
And all the people panicked as the crevice belched flares;
The house of cards withstanding the impact of the blast
Had only fifty seconds before wall and floor collapsed
Into ten thousand miles of molten rampage at its core,
This image crazed the masses as they scurried toward the doors;
But as the door for one could scarcely fit even two,
Here a hundred people pressed choking from the fumes,
And as the hopeless ones gave in and lay upon the floor,
Emotions running rampid reaching to some distant shore;
Knowing that the death black carriage waited not far off,
They played a tune that filled the room with visions of a moth,
A moth that flew between the walls and through the souls of men,
Imbedding sweet deceptive lies entrapping in the den;
But lo! a man arose and drew a deep huge breath,
He sucked the filth into his lungs and took what fumes were left,
He picked the molten boulders up and filled the gaping cleft,
And raised his hands up to sky and held the ceiling's breadth;
The people cheered and lost their fear,
They saw the light so amazingly clear,
They formed a line and left the pit
Where Death objected in a raging fit;
They crawled out into light of day,
Their faces glowing as torches frayed,
No word was spoken but of praise
To the man who in his strength had saved;
But before the word could touch their lips,
The tunnel gave way into a sea of mist
A channel of dust scattered amiss,
Stricken as a dead man's grave;
But Death no more had overcome,
The man broke forth into the sun
And once again regained their hearts
Another day saved from a ruthless fart.

Again, again my friends, a tune, a transfixation from your reality into my subreality, which is in actuality my incredibly sleep-deprived mind, which spits out more and more random material than it would if it in fact had sleep. And this translucent state of subliminal neurological active recouping of the physical and mental and social aspects of all-around health, seems to elude me.

Do reindeer really fly? If so, I want to find out if they would suffocate in the stratosphere.

This has been one AMAZINGLY long email. Good night everyone.

The Don Out.

Friday, April 02, 2004

Your face will decide.

4.2.04 I'm lost in a maze of trivial attempts to shape my thoughts into something coherent for others.

Undecided
What this life should be
Where the paths will lead
How the apples should fall
But is that even my choice at all?
How can I try if not given a chance,
An opportunity to stand
And prove my self worth
Take my greatness and
Proclaim it to forth to the world?
But this is not me
I'll gladly reside in the shadows
As long as they contain
A few lifetime companions
Even as greatness dwindles from my mind
My time draws nigh
Shall I fade into the west
Or chase the sunrise?
Is it mine to decide?
I shall see in the end.

The dream times; respective to further events

So, it's becoming blatantly obvious that people, including myself, can't drive. You see, bad traffic is all based on slow reaction time and people following too closely. I have a theory that if drivers allowed traffic to slow down 10 or so miles per hour (probably closer to the speed limit) and allowed big gaps in the cars ahead of them, they wouldn't need to slam on their brakes at stop lights, thus forcing the person behind to slam on their brakes, and so on and so forth. Another thing that many drivers do, and, depressingly, I myself do on occasion, is look at accidents and strange occurrences (such as stacked cows) on the side of the road. But even as I write this pile of crap, I can't help but realize that that has no significance to your life right now. On the other hand (jerk!), gazing at accidents on the side of the road kill millions upon millions of ponies each year, the very fabric upon which this economy thrives. Therefore, the more one values his life, the greater this pile of crap applies to his respective mother figure.

For those of you looking for a quick laugh, I suspect this thread has left you wanting. Nonetheless, I do think it had a bunch of significance for newlyweds, because they would be stript of their fantasia when the honeymoon never arrives (caught up in post-mortem gazing). Noooo! Oh no! The tragedy befallen therein! I expect you feel the couple’s pain instead of reeling with bubblous laughter… jerk. On the contrary, we all need to stick together to create a pocket of bodily warmth when the cold piercing winds of the world try to strike us down. But on the other hand, that causes a strange and bizarre image in my mind so... let’s not go there, shall we? But, if we refuse to go that length, burnt ethanol will accomplish an hour's trip to the famed Liberty U (a waste of burnt ethanol). Let us commit the cardinal offense (hair) and die, because
ALL THESE YEARS WE WERE TRYING TO MAKE AN IMAGE OF OURSELVES! And then, of course, superkitty finds a way through the laser-screened box around my ego and sticks its superlaceration spectraclaw into the gelatinous fine-lined bubble, and everything else in my life simply EXPLODES! I do believe too much coffee is bad for dorkiness. It motivates you to the point that the lack of it is a killer. Just like nicotine. God save my restless soul.

Dreams, my friend. dreams are either spawned of God or spawned of devils. Or so it seems. Last night, in my mind was painted a dark and gruesome world where Gestapo-like "law enforcers" made it their duty to blow up a family along with a pack of refugee aliens or monsters, which it was I can't remember. But I did remember this: that even through the heartbreak and the terror, life was indeed a thriller. We met up with a man who worked on the inside, you know was friend to the enemy but in secret helped to make a plan where we could flee to the mountains, and we met up by a natural park entrance, or convenience store. He pulled up in his shiny silver corvette and got out of the car and put it in drive, rolling it down the hill (apparently he was avoiding the law), and then when a police officer pulled up this man started talking to the officer, telling him something. Immediately saw a hoodlum looking individual running toward us and the officer's bullet brought him down, and I knew that my time had come. As I ran toward a trail that swooped down into a ditch-like impression, I myself was struck from behind, but I tried to keep running. The trail itself turned sinister as the first step I took halted because my legs were being grabbed by talons and claws that sprung from the ground. I somewhat caught my fall when the rest of my body became wrapped up in roots of a nearby tree. My body fell to the gound, but the ground yielded a bone-crushing resitance to my fall, and as my broken body subsided to the side of the trail the ground gave way and revealed a green montrous mouth filled with blood stains and teeth. Instead of devouring me, it spewed me out and my smoten mass hurdled through the air as bullets began to strike again. Finally, my body took one last turn toward the ground and I braced for impact, and it was like landing in a bed of feathers, but yet remained the harsh ground that I had known. But, in my dream, I wondered if this body was really mine or someone else's, if that was me that had been shot down or someone else had that fate.

As you can see, my fate was wrapped up in the fact that that man perhaps betrayed us. I never thought of that until now, so am doing a little interpreting. But I still think that in my dream I regarded him as a friend to the bitter end. I had sensed that the hoodlum character was aiming to strike me down as he ran towards me. And it was almost as if the bullets weren't real, but more as if I was trying to see what it would feel like. So perhaps this isn't a real prophecy, but is an inquisition on my part to see how I would handle the situation.

It is interesting what the scriptures have to say on future events. Prophecy, highly waved away as the premeditated deception of some highly-influencial individuals, may have more importance in our lives than we may think. This has stepped on the atheist's toes. Now let me step on the Christian's toes. I haven't studied the Revelations thoroughly, but I lean to believe that the Tribulation may come before the Rapture. Hence the verses that Jesus spoke saying ,"Those who endure to the end will be saved," and so on. I don't believe the Rapture is mentioned in Revelations, and it doesn't really make sense that God would take away the opportunity for people to receive salvation during the Tribulation. I don't intend to write offensively, but would appreciate your thoughts on this issue, which is why I am opening this up to your posted comments.


And here, my friend, I shall drop the pen and close the case, figuratively speaking of course, and go tickle a monkey, as I enjoy a boiling concoction of chicken pot pie soup. Fare bye!

The Don out.


Thanks for pointing out the grammatical errors, jerk.
(by the way, this forum in no way intends to discriminate or hate against flapjacks.)


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