Po-tay-to/ Po-ta-to.

Below is the comment I posted concerning this article on sexual dimorphism in humans. Full article here. You will find the below comment if you scroll down. Have a read.

"it seems futile to post a ‘I wholeheartedly agree’, but I will.
I am happy that the ‘trap’ i am caught in at the moment, the biological pressure to dispense affections or ‘fuck the world’, is not brought on by megalomania nor perversion. having said that, as natural as these urges are, they are distracting, frustrating and extremely uncomfortable, to the point of utter despair.
i would urge the ladies not to roll their eyes thinking that this is a problem that men enjoy, but an uncontrollable aspect of their nature that, unfortunately, plays against our western culture, media and progressive thought.
we are meant to feel guilty for these leanings, which is unfair. it needs to be discussed and understood by the opposite sex, dealt with just as we have dealt with and accept their pms, obsession with toilet seats and the need to have their minds read and their insecurities coddled.
to often, the harsh realities of masculine nature are met with critizism and the cocked brow of detractors who believe ‘we do it because we want to’, not because of nature’s decree. i’m all for greater understanding of the sexes, so long as it doesn’t mean the emasculation of men and ‘having fun’ at their biological tendencies."

My Conquest So Far

Following the well worn lead of dear old 'A Consequence of Monkeys', I have decided to ape his second most recent post in a feeble attempt to introduce copious amounts of filler to titillate and maintain readership.

Below, hence, is a map of all the areas on our glowing blue orb that I have been to. This brings up more realizations than I suppose it should, such as: almost all of the countries I have visited are known as, or were known as, bloodthirsty and warmongering, with allusions toward world domination either financial or by force. There are huge swaths of the planet that have not yet known the delicate imprint of my foot, shown in a depressing and bleak 'grey' tone. The grey tone is apt, however, as they have yet to experience my shining, life-giving example. However, I have pledged to soon grace these poor, soul-less denizens with my gentle visage and stunning guidance as soon as I am able, vacation time willing.

I look forward to paying pennies for your earnest toil and efforts, shunning your toilets and bathing habits, and making off with your religious icons as trinkets. It's the least I can do.



Pathetic, hm?

create your own visited countries map
or vertaling Duits Nederlands

X3: X-men, The Final Stand: A One-word Review.

X-crement.

Yeah, I like Macs. I feel your eyes.

Maybe it's because I am an artist, or because i like well designed items, or maybe because i have opposable thumbs... but I'll take my Mac anyday.

Yeah, I am a mac bitch. Hey, I don't have the sticker on my car, but i have it in my heart. hell, I'd write a Haiku to my Mac if i was drunk.

...ah, what the fuck, I have some time.

I sit, at my mac
every pixel is complete;
no bluescreen.

tip your waiter.

German Ghosts and Other Inane Thoughts Brought on by the Rain.

I'm sitting here, just minding my own business, and every now and again... I smell the unmistakeable odor of peach schnapps. German ghost? Neighbor spilled a snifter? I dunno, but it is freaking me out.

Raining here for the last 10 days straight. Here I was, thinking the doldrums of winter would be dashed... rather they have been replaced with an even more insidious doldrum, the fruitless and frigid 'spring of no respite indeed'.

On the plus side, my neighbors have sex right next to my head at night, and my car is still in the shop. How's by you?

"Shaking One's Booty 101"

Do you like to dance? If yes, you are an idiot and need to feel shame. If you like to watch others make fools of themselves, you are a demi-god and should divert your attention here.

Ah, the sweet melodies of Mr. Vanilla Ice. Those were honey-dusted, magical times...

When Foresight is 20/73...

My friends' father is seeing a younger woman. Commendable? Depends on your leanings, i suppose. I've seen May/December things work before. However, I find this case more than a tad bizarre, it leans towards the ridiculous. She is 20, he is... wait for it... 73. This is beyond May/Dec. That's Devonian/Holoscene.

Am I missing out on something here, or perhaps I'm behind the times? Perhaps it is cool to date your Grandfather these days, I suppose being lulled to sleep in the arms of some tired Geriatric windbag is all the rage, enthralled by his tales of the great depression, Hitler's taste in cars and the day he discovered fire by rubbing two stones together... I'm sorry, is there something inherently sexy about men with excessive ear hair, or perhaps it is the plaid trousers wrenched defiantly up to one's armpits that gets the Gap set steaming?

That, my friends, is a colossal 5o-year difference. Now, I'm not one to meddle in the affairs of others, but I am tempted to fill up the Charger with dry goods and a change of clothes and go directly to the stage of this union and show them basic math! Perhaps, she, tired of all of the clawing, cloying habits of the 'younger man' has been lulled by his dastardly laid-back outlook and retiring demeanor? Not long before she discovers that by 'laid-back', I mean 'too pant-wettingly senile to care' and by 'retiring' I mean 'corpse-like state of eternal stupor'. On his hand, he must at times feel like he is conducting a pre-school class composed of the better parts of the 'glint in the milk-man's eye' and Ova#326. The post-coital conversation must be a doozy. To be a fly on that wall.

A blind, horrified fly.

Leonard and Steamed Spinach

For steamed spinach, use salt, just a pinch, and be sure to rinse thoroughly. Toss steamed spinach with pressed garlic, fresh lemon juice and olive oil. Sprinkle with a little Parmesan cheese.


In a related topic, last night, as I was strolling from my favorite haunt, I had the great fortune to come across one of my personal (though unbeknownst to him) muses, Mr. Leonard Cohen. As I am not one to gush, or even approach someone without an introduction, I merely offered a glance, which was exchanged, and allowed him to continue wresting the gumballs he seemed intent on attaining from the slot-fed contraption he was huddled over. I was stunned by his diminutive size, but oddly, he seemed larger than reality, like no earthly vessel could contain his spirit. He is now old, but he is radiant in that way we can never explain. He wore a hat similar to the image attached. Though I did not want to bother him with my thoughts, I want to thank him for his words.

"There is a crack, a crack, in everything... That's how the light gets in."
No-one else can say so very much with so little.

Phone Etiquette for the Discriminating Gentle-person

Not one to rest on his laurels and simply be a source for entertainment and pathos, I have decided to enrich your life with my well-worn and painfully useless knowledge.
Here's a handy tip when talking on the blower (phone) with pesky telemarketers, boorish co-workers or nagging family members. I call it the 'Talk, Hang and Hold' response.

1) TALK like you are actually interested in what the other has to say. Sound engaged, even though you secretly wish to impale yourself or set your hair on fire rather than to continue listening to the blathering sweat-flap on the other end.

2) HANG up the phone NOT during one of your guests' inane retorts, but rather whilst you are in the process of making an observance or query. This works on two fronts. Firstly, your captor will never suspect that you have 'hung up on his ass' as no reasonable gentleman would ever hang up when it is he who is making a point, would he? Secondly, it gets you off the phone post haste, no muss, and avoidance is what this is all about in the first place.

3) HOLD off answering the phone for some time. He/she/it may try a few different phones (cel, home, a friends) thinking perhaps it was his line that failed. Do not, under any circumstances, answer the phone, as you need to continue the charade that your line has become inexplicably dead. He may, in a wily and coarse fashion, get a mutual accquaintance to attempt to reach you. No dice, as you are not answering, for no-one, no-how, right?

Left alone, you may continue with your evening unmolested, free to sip martinis with that Spanish fashion model, or drive an expensive car, or watch television in your underpants. The next you meet, be sure to have a 'likely excuse' for the person you have sleighted, and he will be none the wiser.

You may thank me for this gem by wiring me a sum of money, if you wish.

What is this Thing Called, Love?

I guess it is dawning on me that the now-mythical horseshit I went through last year with the ex has scarred and twisted me more than I ever realized. Deep within, a hatred is roiling that I fear I will never quell, and I only have myself to thank for the mess.

All I had to do was open my heart when the first request came in. I did not, and the rest is history. No use bitching about it, I guess, and I'll move on. Just thinking out loud. Felled by my own axe. Insert cliche here, I am too weary to continue.

Masterpiece Theatre on the Cheap

Here is a triumvirate of DVDs I think you should all take a look at this weekend, plus a little review of each so you do not have to go on IMDB or worry that it may be soft porn. The latter, I understand, could become an issue if you have a movie night planned with your church or knitting groups. Actually, if you have taken up knitting, odds are you haven't seen a naked person in ages, unless you count that nutty guy at the retirement home in which you reside forgetting to don pants yet again.

The three recommendations I will post all have one thing in common, they all have the word 'blade' in the title. Otherwise, they are all quite diametrically opposed.

1) BLADE RUNNER.
The seminal thinking person's science fiction film. Less heady than 2001 and more palatable than all those other science fiction shoot-em-ups, this classic future noir created a niche that many films aspire to, but few will ever attain. Harrison Ford may have been nominated at the Academy for his work on Witness, but I think this is indeed his best performance. His nuanced, pained weariness oozes through; every step leads you closer to the discovery that he will never be the man he attained to be. 'What is Human?', this film asks, and you walk away with more questions about our path than you ever wish to answer. Slow, but worth every detailed moment. This future is happening, and it is worth taking a look at what we are bargaining for. It is the Nostradamus of science fiction.

2) SLING BLADE.
Before he was the nutjob, knife weilding toupe-jockey he has become, Billy Bob Thornton could actually act. His thoughtful and revelatory portrayal of a man newly freed, long in an institution due to a mini-massacre he commited within his family is one I shall never forget. The fragility of life in a small community is exposed when he is taken into the arms of well-wishers, and he realizes that his place is elsewhere, where his heart may never be broken. A real heart-breaker, though it is done in a manner that is not manipulative nor crass.

3) BLADE.
As far as actioners go, this is one I recommend wholly. As far as the whole hackeneyed half-vampire crap goes, it's fairly palatable in this film due to the portrayal of the lead, Wesley Snipes. Where The Matrix' effects sequences and bland portrayals have become dated and cliched, Blade rises above all that by having fresh, interesting portrayals of unique characters, and, importantly, a bit of a sense of humor about itself. Nothing worse than a Vampire flick that tries to take itself too seriously. Throw in some nifty martial arts, good production values and a cool-looking Dodge Charger (I am a '72 Charger owner, myself...) and you have the makings for a memorable flick. You definitely need popcorn for this one.

Wedded Blissful Ignorance.

On a more personal note, it turns out my ex girlfriend, who is now with my ex-friend, are getting married. May I be the first to wish them both to go take a flying fuck at a rolling donut? I believe I will. I wish you both paunch and hairlessness, and that your horrid children are born two-headed and with cloven hoof.

She's 27, dresses like a Bangkok slut and is a terrible, incompetant receptionist with a neurotic demeanor that just screams 'eternal victim'. He's 47, and a drug-addicted, unemployable, alcoholic douchebag with the personal grooming habits of a drunken flophouse Hobbit and the mental acuity of a tea towel.

The reception will be held at the communicable diseases walk-in clinic. Dress accordingly, as this is a White Trash Event.

Don't get me wrong, mind you.

Robots, whether real or imagined, are coolness. I think about robots often during an average workday. I think, "What would Robby the Robot, or perhaps even Tobor the Great do?" when faced with a moral or pedestrian dilemma, like, say, filling a stapler, or reloading the toner in the photocopier, or 'offing' my know-it-all assface co-workers. RoboCop is my hero, I have seen the film 73 times. I wish I was like him. I would love to have one long, black strip of glass instead of two eyes, and no penis.

"Kiss my shiny metal ass", indeed. I love robots. Just not asinine, six legged, minefield traipsing shoe robots (see last post). Those kinds of robots are retarded. RoboCop may have no penis, but he is not retarded, just penis-less.

Shoes For Walking in Fucking Minefields!

Jesus H. Crispy Christ. This could be the dumbest invention ever, Right after the 'cut-and-suck' and the 'Adult Diaper'. Shoes for walking in motherfucking minefields!.

I have a better idea!

...don't.

My Colon Hates Me.

The past three days I have been conducting a little experiment. Due to a crushing workload and poor constitution, I have been consuming coffee as my only source of sustenance. A few notes at this point:

a) The jitters, heart palpitations and paranoia I can deal with, but the twitching eyes make it difficult to drive, especially since the only speeds I can deal with at this point are 'impending doom' and 'full screeching stop' . The fact that the vibrations in my orbits give everything a '2001' slit-scan-stroboscopic impression makes it difficult to discern friend or foe before me, or, more likely, in the rear view mirror.

b) It is true what they say, it most definitely IS a potent diarrhetic. I am a human fetid sluice-gate... toilets of the world, cringe in fear. However, time spent on the porcelain throne has been halved. So, not ALL bad news here.

c) My mouth tastes like paint stripper and urine. My sweltering, dog's-ass breath could be used to de-louse death-row inmates. (Wow, hyphens, like in the old-en days. Lost is the art of the hy-phen. L-ost.)

d) My sleep patterns are all discombobulated. I wake at odd hours and drift off during phone calls. It has activated my Night Terror reflex I had as a child. ...Instead of an imp on my chest with 'hypno-toad' eyes, it has evolved to Carl Rove brandishing a dry sausage rifle, wearing a hat made of felt flower cutouts and a papier-mache matrix mixed with yogourt.

e) I DO get my work done, but when I hand it over, it's like I'm handling snakes or something. It is gingerly accepted and those accepting; back away cautiously. Maybe my jitters make me look like a malfunctioning pinball machine. However, seeing as I do not have four legs and blinking lights, nor am I surrounded by thirty-something high-school dropouts wearing 'Slayer' jean jackets, I may be mistaken in that assumption.

f) I go to the gym and work out like a redneck on a mission. You know what the hell I'm talking about (see Ghost World). It's like being fit will matter. But, no mullet. I even shaved and oiled my chest.

g) I'm starting to 'get' Robin Williams. That scares me. It should scare you, too. And, I spend hours on 'Kittenwar', like some kind of idiot (not sure which 'type' of idiot as of yet, though).

h) Where I used to get headaches before my first cup o' the day... I get migraines between sips.

Now, what the hell do I do to de-tox? At this point, I think switching to eating lead paint chips is healthier. Or, drinking Lemon Pledge.

Chakra Schmakra

Just as my weekend was something of a marathon of pleasant experiences, this Monday has been a parade in polarity. Whether or not it is nature's way of balancing Karma, chakra or, uh, Shakira, I will never rightly know. But know this, I am not amused in the very least and will take unholy vengeance upon the fates for this cosmic testicle-slapping.

Work, love, life; all have taken the express train south. Amazing the difference a day makes.

So, I will write a country song, I think. That is what people of poor breeding do when the fortunes of life are dashed upon the unwavering rock of fate, correct? Or should I sit near-naked on my balcony drinking cheap domestic beer and yell at passers-by? I always fancied the genteel and distinguish'd manner of those heros of the working class, the proud and flatulent 'Beer-swilling Balcony Ape'. Perhaps I will go work on my car in nothing but a pair of red adidas shorts from 1983 with my friends in a public parking lot, blasting Ted Nugent and the very best of Whitesnake? Perhaps I should just call Sink Chicken, A.K.A 'The King of Pain'? Perhaps I will bake a pie? No, I couldn't roll a crust if my life was at stake. A fantasy pie?

What the hell am I going on about, again?