There are trace amounts of poisons in hot dogs. If you ate enough, you'd eventually die. So you know what I'm going to do? I'm going to commit suicide by hot dog. My master plan is this- By simultaneously committing suicide and eating mass amounts of hot dogs, I can break the record for most hot dogs eaten, and then die afterward, thus securing my place in a record much more prestigous- people who died while setting a record, which will remain in the record books indefinitely, because nobody is going to try to break the record somebody else died doing.
Jen: I cut myself shaving.
Irv: That's a bummer. Where at?
Jen: My vagina.
Irv: Your vagina? You shaved your vagina?
Jen: Yeah, and I cut it! I'm going to have a scar right there on my vagina! (drops head in hands)
Irv: So you're going to have a scar on your vagina. What's the big deal?
Jen: What's the big deal? How am I supposed to explain that?
Irv: Say you lost a battle with a razor blade.
Jen: Yeah, that's great. My vagina has battle wounds. "Hello, guy. This is my vagina, the warrior."
Irv: Might work.
Jen: Would you want to have sex with a warrior vagina?
Irv: (Looks a little spooked) Sounds scary.
I like to think of Jesus getting stoned. 3 or 4 guys, sitting around a table with Jesus, getting ripped. Imagine Jesus, Saul, and Samuel ducking behind a tree to smoke a bowl before the sermon on the mount.
"Jesus, that's a big mount. Do we have to go?"
"Samuel, of course. You guys are my Apostoles. We roll together. Don't bogart the weed."
"Hey dude, Jesus, My eyes don't work."
"You're baked, Saul. Of course they don't work. Here, use my Godly tears to heal them."
Which is how we got Visine.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
John Travolta and I Are Ridding the Earth Of Aliens
I am so joining Scientolgy!! I took their personality test online (a $500 value, for free!) and the results were sent to the nearest Scientology Representative in Witchita, KS. All I have to do is drive down there, let them hook me up to a lie detector test, ask me 200 questions, then I pay them money so they can rid my soul of ancient alien remains that make me do awful things like drink alcohol and have sex. If I keep paying them, I can move up the Scientology levels and become an "Operating Thetan," which is sort of like Enilightenment in Buddhism, except for instead of reaching for a peaceful state of mind, my main focus will be fighting the aliens, which are knows as "Body Thetans."
Apparently, 75 million years ago, the ruler of the "Galactic Conferderacy" was an alien named Zenu, and he was in charge of 70 or so planets, including Earth. The problem was that the other planets were hugely over-populated with their alien residents, and those planets were starting to die. So Zenu solved this problem by informing millions of aliens that they were being audited for tax purposes. When they all showed up at the tax auditing center, they were knocked unconsious, pumped full of alcohol and glycol, and cryogenically frozen. Zenu then loaded them all into a Douglas DC 8 airliner and flew them to Earth, where he unloaded their frozen bodies around the volcanoes in Hawaii. He then blew them to bits using Hydrogen Bombs, thus taking care of that pesky population problem.
After he blew them to bits, Zenu set up traps along the Earth to capture the alien's souls. Souls cannot be destroyed, you see, they will live foe all eternity. To finish his evil plan, Zenu put all the alien souls into a giant movie theatre and made them watch 3D movies to implant false reality into them. They were fooled into thinking that things like God, Jesus, and Mohammed were real. Zenu also made sure that these "new realities" were easily exploited in these souls as a form of social control. Finally, he let them out to cluster and join the souls of regular Earth inhabitants (i.e. Us), thus sending us into a world were everything is false reality, because of these aliens clining to us, thus controlling the entire Earth using his demon Body Thetan aliens.
Luckily, Zenu was overthrown by the "Marcab Confederation," and now resides in a prison locked up on a faraway planet. But his army of Body Thetans still reside here on Earth, enslaving us into a false reality, and making us do bad and sinful things.
Thank un-real God for Scientology! They are here to help everyday people like you and me rid ourselves of these alien Body Thetans and acheive spiritual reality. Although once you acheive spiritual reality, you aren't aloud to tell anybody about it, I'm sure it's wonderful. And while I think it's strange that Zenu's spaceship was a DC 8 Airliner, like the ones used today, I'm sure that's only because our technology took 75 million years to catch up to theirs. But I am so ready to get rid of these Body Thetan, they kind of itch!! I'm also quite excited to give birth to my children without any knid of pain medication, and also without me making a sound. See, when children are born, it's very traumatic for them, and this kind of trauma leaves an inprint on the child's soul. Which the Body Thetans feed on, which makes the child do bad things later in life. By not making a noise and keeping off the meds, the mother can ease the trauma involved in birth and prevent her child from fire-bombing an elementary school when it's 25.
The total cost to reach the Operating Thetan level is $360,000, which is a freakin BARGAIN!! If that's all I have to pay for spiritual reality, then count me in! Then again, maybe that's why it's all celebrities like Tom Cruise and John Travolta who join Scientology, they can actually afford to blow money trying to kill space alien souls. And since Scientology believes that psychiatry has wrecked everything from schools to wars, they can't get professional help when it turns out that Zenu was just a made up story by a self-proclaimed science fiction writer.
Bummer.
Apparently, 75 million years ago, the ruler of the "Galactic Conferderacy" was an alien named Zenu, and he was in charge of 70 or so planets, including Earth. The problem was that the other planets were hugely over-populated with their alien residents, and those planets were starting to die. So Zenu solved this problem by informing millions of aliens that they were being audited for tax purposes. When they all showed up at the tax auditing center, they were knocked unconsious, pumped full of alcohol and glycol, and cryogenically frozen. Zenu then loaded them all into a Douglas DC 8 airliner and flew them to Earth, where he unloaded their frozen bodies around the volcanoes in Hawaii. He then blew them to bits using Hydrogen Bombs, thus taking care of that pesky population problem.
After he blew them to bits, Zenu set up traps along the Earth to capture the alien's souls. Souls cannot be destroyed, you see, they will live foe all eternity. To finish his evil plan, Zenu put all the alien souls into a giant movie theatre and made them watch 3D movies to implant false reality into them. They were fooled into thinking that things like God, Jesus, and Mohammed were real. Zenu also made sure that these "new realities" were easily exploited in these souls as a form of social control. Finally, he let them out to cluster and join the souls of regular Earth inhabitants (i.e. Us), thus sending us into a world were everything is false reality, because of these aliens clining to us, thus controlling the entire Earth using his demon Body Thetan aliens.
Luckily, Zenu was overthrown by the "Marcab Confederation," and now resides in a prison locked up on a faraway planet. But his army of Body Thetans still reside here on Earth, enslaving us into a false reality, and making us do bad and sinful things.
Thank un-real God for Scientology! They are here to help everyday people like you and me rid ourselves of these alien Body Thetans and acheive spiritual reality. Although once you acheive spiritual reality, you aren't aloud to tell anybody about it, I'm sure it's wonderful. And while I think it's strange that Zenu's spaceship was a DC 8 Airliner, like the ones used today, I'm sure that's only because our technology took 75 million years to catch up to theirs. But I am so ready to get rid of these Body Thetan, they kind of itch!! I'm also quite excited to give birth to my children without any knid of pain medication, and also without me making a sound. See, when children are born, it's very traumatic for them, and this kind of trauma leaves an inprint on the child's soul. Which the Body Thetans feed on, which makes the child do bad things later in life. By not making a noise and keeping off the meds, the mother can ease the trauma involved in birth and prevent her child from fire-bombing an elementary school when it's 25.
The total cost to reach the Operating Thetan level is $360,000, which is a freakin BARGAIN!! If that's all I have to pay for spiritual reality, then count me in! Then again, maybe that's why it's all celebrities like Tom Cruise and John Travolta who join Scientology, they can actually afford to blow money trying to kill space alien souls. And since Scientology believes that psychiatry has wrecked everything from schools to wars, they can't get professional help when it turns out that Zenu was just a made up story by a self-proclaimed science fiction writer.
Bummer.
All While I Chainsmoke and Listen to Foreigner
Not that it matters, but I think that underwear is stupid. I was a big fan of the underwear, or pantie, as it has taken to being called, until the thong jumped in the scene like a giant shoe lace and completely ruined my sense of comfort. Why would a person want to walk around with a string made of cotton wedged between their ass cheeks?
Jen: What are you watching?
Irv: Brooke Shields brushing her teeth. Why would anybody want to watch Brook Shields brush her teeth? Look, she'd really going at it, too!"
Jen: Irv, if you don't like it, why are you watching it?
Irv. It's like a train wreck. I can't look away. It's actually reminding me of "the bowflex guy."
Jen: Who's the "bowflex guy?"
Irv: "Bowflex guy?" He's in a band.
Jen: What the hell are you talking about?
Irv: He's in a band. He's a 50 year old guy who got ripped on his bowflex and plays guitar with no shirt on.
Jen: Oookay. So what does a half naked pumped up guitar player have to do with Booke Shields?
Irv: I'd rather watch "bowflex guy" brush his teeth, and Brooke Shields work out.
Jen: How much time do you actually spend thinking about this?
Irv. Whenever a commercial comes on.
Jen: Okay, so what are you actually watching?
Irv. America's Next Top Model. Those girls are pretty, but they're deep man, they're fucking deep.
Jen: What are you watching?
Irv: Brooke Shields brushing her teeth. Why would anybody want to watch Brook Shields brush her teeth? Look, she'd really going at it, too!"
Jen: Irv, if you don't like it, why are you watching it?
Irv. It's like a train wreck. I can't look away. It's actually reminding me of "the bowflex guy."
Jen: Who's the "bowflex guy?"
Irv: "Bowflex guy?" He's in a band.
Jen: What the hell are you talking about?
Irv: He's in a band. He's a 50 year old guy who got ripped on his bowflex and plays guitar with no shirt on.
Jen: Oookay. So what does a half naked pumped up guitar player have to do with Booke Shields?
Irv: I'd rather watch "bowflex guy" brush his teeth, and Brooke Shields work out.
Jen: How much time do you actually spend thinking about this?
Irv. Whenever a commercial comes on.
Jen: Okay, so what are you actually watching?
Irv. America's Next Top Model. Those girls are pretty, but they're deep man, they're fucking deep.
Since When Does Lincoln Have A Ghetto?
Working at the 16th and South Street Brewskys is definitely some sort of an experience. Not only do we serve just about any type of person that could possibly exist, we are also across the street from a halfway house, an AA house, rehab, and the mental hospital. Down the street is South Street Liquor, and a fabulous little adult movie/sex shop. And in the mix, there we are, our humble little Brewskys, the first one in existence, the start of an empire. I'll be the first to admit that we are not in the most glamorous neighborhood Lincoln has to offer, but what it lacks in beauty it more than makes up for in character.
So here's the story. A lady comes in and wants to place a to go order. These take generally 15-20 minutes, depending on what the person has ordered. We offer her a place at the bar, at which she can wait, but she decides to wait in her car instead. 10 minutes later, she sends her husband in to pick up the food, but it not being within the alloted 15-20 minute time frame, he has to wait. Which must be some sort of an ordeal for these well-to-do types; they were both sharply dressed, and clearly not from this area of town; and he was not happy about the wait. In the end, after they had left with their booty, the lady calls back. There was some problem with the chicken wings, and she was hollering up a storm. But not only about the food. The wait was really what was bothering her, and she summed it up as such: "I had to wait for 20 minutes IN THE GHETTO!!!!!"
Which brings me to the point of this delightful little blurb of mine- Shut your Gucci wearing, WASPy yuppie SUV driving stuck-up ass up!! We are not ghetto, we are old school, the remants of a Lincoln that existed before your sleazy insurance rep of a husband made you move here. Your problem is that we are located in an area that represents all the people you don't want to deal with- the recovering drug addicts, people who have been to prison or are in rehab, people who work in the dirt and the heat, using their hands to build the things you take for granted. There is nothing wrong with where we are, but in your eyes, it must be a bad place because there's no brand new houses that look exactly the same, or giant shopping complexes that only serve those who like to buy stupid shit nobody really needs.
My guess is that she lives in a brand new house in a brand new development with no trees, and shiny new cars in every driveway, where everybody dresses the same, and acts the same, where they all work at the same place, and do the same kinds of things. There's no diversity there, and it's all safe and cozy, because she knows that only certain people can afford to live there, all the "uncomfortable" people are safely weeded out. Well let me tell you something, sister. That stupid development was a corn field 10 years ago, and those of us who have lived here longer than that are not impressed by your big stupid house and your big stupid car in your big stupid cookie-cutter treeless neighborhood. We're the reason you have all that shit in the first place. We have been working here for years, growing Lincoln's economy so you could afford to bulldoze the field to build your houses. Our sweat and labor have helped produce all that you have, and you have to audacity to come to a place that has remained untouched by your spoiled, arrogant hand and call us ghetto? Those people you wouldn't condescend to be in the same bar with built that road you drive to the mall on, and built the house you fill with useless expensive knicknacks. So take your uppity attitude and blow it out your skinny, malnourished ass.
We know of a Lincoln you've never seen. The beautiful old mansions down on D street, the legend of Hazel Abel's house, the parks and pools we haunted as kids because none of us had deluxe memberships to country clubs. We remember the blizzard that knocked out our power for a week, and we remember how the entire city banded together to keep eachother from freezing to death. We went to Lincoln High and Northeast. We drove up and down Sheridan marveling at the beautiful houses. We remember Air Park before it was just where the jail is. We shopped at the Atrium downtown, and watched our fireworks at Holmes Lake. There is such a history here that you'll never see if you don't make it past SouthPointe. As far as I'm concerned, you're just an implant, and until you decide to see Lincoln for what it truly is- a mishmash of different people living in one of the most beautiful cities in America, you can just kiss my ghetto ass.
So next time you're in the ghetto, I'm sending over some of my parolee friends. If they scare you enough to keep you safely tucked out of sight in your dumbass neighborhood, then that's good enough for me.
So here's the story. A lady comes in and wants to place a to go order. These take generally 15-20 minutes, depending on what the person has ordered. We offer her a place at the bar, at which she can wait, but she decides to wait in her car instead. 10 minutes later, she sends her husband in to pick up the food, but it not being within the alloted 15-20 minute time frame, he has to wait. Which must be some sort of an ordeal for these well-to-do types; they were both sharply dressed, and clearly not from this area of town; and he was not happy about the wait. In the end, after they had left with their booty, the lady calls back. There was some problem with the chicken wings, and she was hollering up a storm. But not only about the food. The wait was really what was bothering her, and she summed it up as such: "I had to wait for 20 minutes IN THE GHETTO!!!!!"
Which brings me to the point of this delightful little blurb of mine- Shut your Gucci wearing, WASPy yuppie SUV driving stuck-up ass up!! We are not ghetto, we are old school, the remants of a Lincoln that existed before your sleazy insurance rep of a husband made you move here. Your problem is that we are located in an area that represents all the people you don't want to deal with- the recovering drug addicts, people who have been to prison or are in rehab, people who work in the dirt and the heat, using their hands to build the things you take for granted. There is nothing wrong with where we are, but in your eyes, it must be a bad place because there's no brand new houses that look exactly the same, or giant shopping complexes that only serve those who like to buy stupid shit nobody really needs.
My guess is that she lives in a brand new house in a brand new development with no trees, and shiny new cars in every driveway, where everybody dresses the same, and acts the same, where they all work at the same place, and do the same kinds of things. There's no diversity there, and it's all safe and cozy, because she knows that only certain people can afford to live there, all the "uncomfortable" people are safely weeded out. Well let me tell you something, sister. That stupid development was a corn field 10 years ago, and those of us who have lived here longer than that are not impressed by your big stupid house and your big stupid car in your big stupid cookie-cutter treeless neighborhood. We're the reason you have all that shit in the first place. We have been working here for years, growing Lincoln's economy so you could afford to bulldoze the field to build your houses. Our sweat and labor have helped produce all that you have, and you have to audacity to come to a place that has remained untouched by your spoiled, arrogant hand and call us ghetto? Those people you wouldn't condescend to be in the same bar with built that road you drive to the mall on, and built the house you fill with useless expensive knicknacks. So take your uppity attitude and blow it out your skinny, malnourished ass.
We know of a Lincoln you've never seen. The beautiful old mansions down on D street, the legend of Hazel Abel's house, the parks and pools we haunted as kids because none of us had deluxe memberships to country clubs. We remember the blizzard that knocked out our power for a week, and we remember how the entire city banded together to keep eachother from freezing to death. We went to Lincoln High and Northeast. We drove up and down Sheridan marveling at the beautiful houses. We remember Air Park before it was just where the jail is. We shopped at the Atrium downtown, and watched our fireworks at Holmes Lake. There is such a history here that you'll never see if you don't make it past SouthPointe. As far as I'm concerned, you're just an implant, and until you decide to see Lincoln for what it truly is- a mishmash of different people living in one of the most beautiful cities in America, you can just kiss my ghetto ass.
So next time you're in the ghetto, I'm sending over some of my parolee friends. If they scare you enough to keep you safely tucked out of sight in your dumbass neighborhood, then that's good enough for me.
Somebody Get This Toilet Off My Head
I think I have a love hangover. Waking from a night's hard partying, with my head on the toilet seat, swearing off the sauce for good because of my current condition, that is the same yucky feeling I have about love. It sucks, it's fun while it lasted, but you always stumble into the day where the fun's all gone and your queasy arms are clutching the toilet, wondering how drunk you were to let it progress to this. When the urge to vomit passes, you're still stuck with the baggage, be it headache or heartbreak. You have to spend the whole day laying there doing nothing, and feeling like shit for the duration, pissed off at the culprits of your illness, nothing can be done. Time is the only thing that cures a hangover. And when you're feeling yourself again, you can't drink anymore. There isn't any drink out there that will look appealing when you think about your hair lightly brushing the inside rim of the toilet as you gagged up every ounce of bile and alcohol your stomach is capable of holding. Your social life is crap, because while everyone you know is out drinking and having a grand old time you're cursed to stay at home and be bored, listless, and generally unhappy because you remember the last time you had a hangover and don't want to repeat it again. Hoping that soon, you'll be able to forget about the hangover, want to go and have fun again. Knowing that right now, it feels like you're doomed to a lonely, boring life because you never figured out how to handle things like love. Or your alcohol.
The Watchword
The watchword of me is passion
The art of living is a painting
Of no discernable shape
Lines of color splashed upon the canvas
Crisscrossing without pattern or purpose
Confined by the edges of the canvas walls.
What if they could break free?
Fly from the canvas, so white and confining
And paint the whole world?
Color the lines that are already drawn
Splashing great shades upon dreary objects
Touching everything?
I want to paint the world
A child's paintbrush, free and innocent
Great strokes and gentle sweeps,
No rhyme or reason, just passion.
If I could break free of my canvas,
Paint the world, touch everything!
The watchword of the world would be passion
The art of living is a painting
Of no discernable shape
Lines of color splashed upon the canvas
Crisscrossing without pattern or purpose
Confined by the edges of the canvas walls.
What if they could break free?
Fly from the canvas, so white and confining
And paint the whole world?
Color the lines that are already drawn
Splashing great shades upon dreary objects
Touching everything?
I want to paint the world
A child's paintbrush, free and innocent
Great strokes and gentle sweeps,
No rhyme or reason, just passion.
If I could break free of my canvas,
Paint the world, touch everything!
The watchword of the world would be passion
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