I want to talk today about relations and sips.
When you are a primary relation, you may sip once in the presence.
When you are a secondary relation, you could sip twice, but the second one must be assuredly done in 'secret'.
The third thing can sip the whole glass, as long as they have remembered to add salt.
Add Salt!!!
Saturday, September 3, 2011
so march loves
An intrusive mal-prediction once slipped as
a mistake by a father to fix the kid's broken yo-yo.
yo, yo,
you can never fix the kid's yo-yo, yo.
(don't even try)
but if you tried, here's a butter cookie.
the butter cookie envelopes the cookier parts,
making sure you never learn about puns.
"My God, I am so Smarty!"
a mistake by a father to fix the kid's broken yo-yo.
yo, yo,
you can never fix the kid's yo-yo, yo.
(don't even try)
but if you tried, here's a butter cookie.
the butter cookie envelopes the cookier parts,
making sure you never learn about puns.
"My God, I am so Smarty!"
Saturday, August 13, 2011
the big mess
yo yo yo yo yo yo i'm just sayin'
when that density props you to lorraine,
sensitivity to comments online is 'just playin''.
my arrogance i'm sure defies the lies that lie after
soaping themselves all this time with lye,
found in some backwater cultural artifact;
said with tact and no facts
slipping through the teeth.
Only facts both in your brain and heart,
veins and ateries, and neurons,
need to slip through anything, whatever it is,
just to get to wherever they need to
...wait ... did I say I was limiting myself to two things?
.
.
I'd really like to start, I want to part
with baseless accusations of demise of my soul.
I'm not absconded of it, simply playing with
its parameters because what else would you do?
If you saw your own soul, wouldn't you mess with it too?
when that density props you to lorraine,
sensitivity to comments online is 'just playin''.
my arrogance i'm sure defies the lies that lie after
soaping themselves all this time with lye,
found in some backwater cultural artifact;
said with tact and no facts
slipping through the teeth.
Only facts both in your brain and heart,
veins and ateries, and neurons,
need to slip through anything, whatever it is,
just to get to wherever they need to
...wait ... did I say I was limiting myself to two things?
.
.
I'd really like to start, I want to part
with baseless accusations of demise of my soul.
I'm not absconded of it, simply playing with
its parameters because what else would you do?
If you saw your own soul, wouldn't you mess with it too?
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Ad Guide
A common issue that pops up is that somebody, somewhere, had received the virus from their computer. Like, I was visiting the wards of AIDS patients the other day (don't ask me why), and I spoke to one of the kiddies, and they told me in great detail how the virus had been transmitted to them simply 'by proxy' during an interaction with the computer.
"It doesn't have to be like that," I said to the child, rampant in my own personal arrogance. "Why would it have to end up like that?"
The kiddie then explained to me that they were using a Windows Operating System and that that had been their primary preferred option.
"I need to have windows," said the baby, all choked up, to me--and that was when I suddenly experienced a surge of anger that had not been in me for probably aeons.
I immediately ran from the room and began writing my guide to the galaxy (of computer operating systems (for those who came before)). As a litmus test or control, I used two people who never understood why I needed a computer -- my parents. Herein is both the result of the experiment and the guide itself, all wrapped in one.
---
Parent: Hey, kid, computer is broken again. Go check in the vacuum tunnel.
Me (Distracted from epic battle on Street Figher): You wot?
Parent: You need to go and check the vacuum tunnel.
Me: We don't use vacuums anymore, parent. At least not in the house.
Parent (Insistent, demanding): Then why is all of this popping up in my face now?
Me (pauses the epic battle): Oh f ... .... bloody ... hell. What have you gone and done now?
Parent: I need to read an email, but something keeps popping up.
Me: You're using Windows
Parent: That's what 99% of the world uses
Me (laughs out loud, like something very horrible happened inside my stomach, ulcer-like): Statistics from 1999, my friend. Ask any random customer at Starbucks. They are all using Macs.
Parent: I've heard of these...'Macs', as you call them. Do you think I could replace the computer with that? A nice shiny new notebook? Then, maybe, I could finally read this email?
Me: You're starting to become Australian. Every statement sounds like the ending of a question.
Parent: I am not.
Me (sighs): Ok, ok. Yes, you could get a Mac from an Apple Store
Parent: Apple store? Oooo...I like the sound of that...
Me: Yeah, it's nice (grabs a Mac from an Apple Store). See? There's nice pictures for performing interactions with it? It shows you how to do everything? Do you see that?
Parent: I love it
Me: (Leaves parent and goes back to epic Street Figher battle)
Parent: Hey, it's still popping up, and I can't read the email.
Me: (Throws controller into screen -- it was a losing battle anyway). Alright, alright. Now I'm going to install something for you that will no longer invoke the wrath of all pop-ups.
Parent: Does it have windows? Remember, I need windows.
Me: Yes, it has f ... ... bloody ... windows.
[EDIT
Parent: And mouse? I need a mouse.
Me: You can have a mouse with the Mac, but only 1 button.
Parent: You wot?
Me: Just one button on a mouse if you use a Mac
Parent: I can't live with that. I'm going to get confused.
Me: That is the state of most people using that product.
Parent:
/EDIT]
"It doesn't have to be like that," I said to the child, rampant in my own personal arrogance. "Why would it have to end up like that?"
The kiddie then explained to me that they were using a Windows Operating System and that that had been their primary preferred option.
"I need to have windows," said the baby, all choked up, to me--and that was when I suddenly experienced a surge of anger that had not been in me for probably aeons.
I immediately ran from the room and began writing my guide to the galaxy (of computer operating systems (for those who came before)). As a litmus test or control, I used two people who never understood why I needed a computer -- my parents. Herein is both the result of the experiment and the guide itself, all wrapped in one.
---
Parent: Hey, kid, computer is broken again. Go check in the vacuum tunnel.
Me (Distracted from epic battle on Street Figher): You wot?
Parent: You need to go and check the vacuum tunnel.
Me: We don't use vacuums anymore, parent. At least not in the house.
Parent (Insistent, demanding): Then why is all of this popping up in my face now?
Me (pauses the epic battle): Oh f ... .... bloody ... hell. What have you gone and done now?
Parent: I need to read an email, but something keeps popping up.
Me: You're using Windows
Parent: That's what 99% of the world uses
Me (laughs out loud, like something very horrible happened inside my stomach, ulcer-like): Statistics from 1999, my friend. Ask any random customer at Starbucks. They are all using Macs.
Parent: I've heard of these...'Macs', as you call them. Do you think I could replace the computer with that? A nice shiny new notebook? Then, maybe, I could finally read this email?
Me: You're starting to become Australian. Every statement sounds like the ending of a question.
Parent: I am not.
Me (sighs): Ok, ok. Yes, you could get a Mac from an Apple Store
Parent: Apple store? Oooo...I like the sound of that...
Me: Yeah, it's nice (grabs a Mac from an Apple Store). See? There's nice pictures for performing interactions with it? It shows you how to do everything? Do you see that?
Parent: I love it
Me: (Leaves parent and goes back to epic Street Figher battle)
Parent: Hey, it's still popping up, and I can't read the email.
Me: (Throws controller into screen -- it was a losing battle anyway). Alright, alright. Now I'm going to install something for you that will no longer invoke the wrath of all pop-ups.
Parent: Does it have windows? Remember, I need windows.
Me: Yes, it has f ... ... bloody ... windows.
[EDIT
Parent: And mouse? I need a mouse.
Me: You can have a mouse with the Mac, but only 1 button.
Parent: You wot?
Me: Just one button on a mouse if you use a Mac
Parent: I can't live with that. I'm going to get confused.
Me: That is the state of most people using that product.
Parent:
/EDIT]
Saturday, August 6, 2011
stepgnostic by tall broom, flowers only to the shower
When I turn on the switch or switch on my
shower
either flip like interaction or pouring blood on my face
occurs.
"These are my bloods," says the Vampire Earth (forever the sucking soul),
"drench".
Wait wait, hold on, I say, "You're not giving me a chance to shampoo."
Let me shampoo.
"No," says the entire fucking Earth. "No. You have to come out now."
"Eject from me!"
Then I go to work
shower
either flip like interaction or pouring blood on my face
occurs.
"These are my bloods," says the Vampire Earth (forever the sucking soul),
"drench".
Wait wait, hold on, I say, "You're not giving me a chance to shampoo."
Let me shampoo.
"No," says the entire fucking Earth. "No. You have to come out now."
"Eject from me!"
Then I go to work
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Upon Meeting a New Woman
He covered her face with the cottage creamy cheese and raspberry *truffle* ice cream they had ordered together, and now he stood back to determine his artistic prowess.
"Please await a sexual harassment suit," she said, and then she said:
"Did you put any of the strawberrie-"
"Raspberries," he interjected.
She nodded, and peered into his eyes to check whether he was speaking the truth.
"Raspberry ice-cream, maam," he peered back at her. "Nothing less for your excellency."
"Don't ever tell anyone," she said.
"Don't tell anyone which aspect of this?" he replied. She was leaving him, and he deserved to get at least that edge.
"Don't tell them what we did with the raspberry ice-cream."
.
Years later he was staring into that same scene. He knew it was possible that he had started to emulate aspects of her. Hell, let's just be upfront about it -- he was emulating her entire personality every night. Every characterism, every bodily movement of hers, her thought pattern he had been able to grasp during their short time together.
"I will never tell them what it's really like," he said to her.
"Selfish," she said, being cheeky, but clearly feeling secure.
There was note by a flute player, and then she was disappeared.
...
"Bring it on, fiesty-tits, bring it on," he said, unconsciously.
"My job is just serving the coffee buddy," said the new woman. "Good luck."
"Please await a sexual harassment suit," she said, and then she said:
"Did you put any of the strawberrie-"
"Raspberries," he interjected.
She nodded, and peered into his eyes to check whether he was speaking the truth.
"Raspberry ice-cream, maam," he peered back at her. "Nothing less for your excellency."
"Don't ever tell anyone," she said.
"Don't tell anyone which aspect of this?" he replied. She was leaving him, and he deserved to get at least that edge.
"Don't tell them what we did with the raspberry ice-cream."
.
Years later he was staring into that same scene. He knew it was possible that he had started to emulate aspects of her. Hell, let's just be upfront about it -- he was emulating her entire personality every night. Every characterism, every bodily movement of hers, her thought pattern he had been able to grasp during their short time together.
"I will never tell them what it's really like," he said to her.
"Selfish," she said, being cheeky, but clearly feeling secure.
There was note by a flute player, and then she was disappeared.
...
"Bring it on, fiesty-tits, bring it on," he said, unconsciously.
"My job is just serving the coffee buddy," said the new woman. "Good luck."
Friday, July 29, 2011
Cherry Tomatoes
A tear trickled down a cherubic cheek,
intimating this gross betrayal.
Quick to follow, the baby's painful shriek,
rejecting food 'cos of the tomatoes.
On halcyon days its mother had enjoyed
in groves of lemon thick as pies,
the largest of reddest fresh tomatoes
and fed herself slices from a glistening knife.
So panic now fully spread, who'dda thunk,
after those whole nine months bred?
That this baby would hate such tomatoes given,
'n weep with fury and see only red?
"It's a tomato, baby," says the mother,
trying to learn what the hell is wrong.
The baby flings the slice like a frisbee
that lands on his father's computer-side cheek.
Now both parents, panicking,
tend worriedly to their little king.
"Help me try and understand, dear God,"
says father, putting an arm around the mother's bod.
Finally, first words come from the baby's mouth:
not 'mama' or 'dada' or 'bubba boobboo';
but a pellet-like shot straight to their guts
it says, "I prefer the cherry tomatoes."
Curious, dumbfounded, they ask, slyly, "Oh, really?"
The baby just nods. Another tear down cherubic cheek.
"And why cherry tomatoes, not normal, nicely sliced
tomatoes like mommy likes?" asks the mommy.
"Cos they *pop*" says the baby, smiling happily.
intimating this gross betrayal.
Quick to follow, the baby's painful shriek,
rejecting food 'cos of the tomatoes.
On halcyon days its mother had enjoyed
in groves of lemon thick as pies,
the largest of reddest fresh tomatoes
and fed herself slices from a glistening knife.
So panic now fully spread, who'dda thunk,
after those whole nine months bred?
That this baby would hate such tomatoes given,
'n weep with fury and see only red?
"It's a tomato, baby," says the mother,
trying to learn what the hell is wrong.
The baby flings the slice like a frisbee
that lands on his father's computer-side cheek.
Now both parents, panicking,
tend worriedly to their little king.
"Help me try and understand, dear God,"
says father, putting an arm around the mother's bod.
Finally, first words come from the baby's mouth:
not 'mama' or 'dada' or 'bubba boobboo';
but a pellet-like shot straight to their guts
it says, "I prefer the cherry tomatoes."
Curious, dumbfounded, they ask, slyly, "Oh, really?"
The baby just nods. Another tear down cherubic cheek.
"And why cherry tomatoes, not normal, nicely sliced
tomatoes like mommy likes?" asks the mommy.
"Cos they *pop*" says the baby, smiling happily.
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