January 25, 2008
It's a hell of a drug
Ryan says: In the P-B today: "Researchers seek to cure cocaine overdose."
Caroline says: Oooo. Toughie.
Ryan says: Cocaine abusers REJOICE!
Ryan says: I wonder how you can become a test subject for that study.
Caroline says: I was just wondering how you become a researcher on that study.
Ryan says: It might be fun up until the point you're actually asked to overdose.
Caroline says: "Oh, c'mon. Just a little bit more. It's for the study."
Ryan says: "Jeez, guys, that seems like a pretty long line you want me to snort."
Ryan says: OMG.
Caroline says: Heeee
Ryan says: Our brain waves are apparently fine tuned to the same frequency this fine Friday.
Caroline says: This has been a pretty fine Friday. It all started with "Grief is a funny thing."
Ryan says: Yeah, our handbasket to hell was pretty well on its way by 10 a.m., wasn't it?
January 24, 2008
Anyone else notice?
Am I the only one who sees a kind of general growing disinterest in blogs, er, ThunderJounals?
I'm not talking about myself. I'll keep ThunderJournaling until the Reaper lays me low, if for no other reason but because I like having a journal and, as a writer, it's just good practice to have something like this to sharpen my craft.
I'm talking more generally. Like, Fark seems less lively somehow, and some of the usual sites that seemed like they were poised to take over the world two years or so ago just strike me as quiet nowadays, by comparison.
I don't know, it could just be the general "blah" feeling of January and February. Maybe I'M not taking other sites as seriously any more.
Did I mention it was -15 (-34 with wind chill) on the way into work today? This has been one brutal, mean-assed winter, and there's still A LOT to go.
January 23, 2008
Batman. . . Or Something
Ryan says: Any bets on Dark Knight being the biggest blockbuster ever to hit the movie screen?
Caroline says: I expected it to be big even before he died.
Caroline says: I wonder if he could be nominated for an Oscar even though he's dead.
Ryan says: Movie execs must be crying into one hand and whacking off with the other.
Caroline says: That's not easy to do.
Ryan says: I thought Oscars could only be won by the living.
Caroline says: No
Ryan says: No, that's the Nobel.
Caroline says: Same diff'.
Caroline says: Gore has both.
Ryan says: Now THERE's a guy who cries into one hand and whacks off with the other.
Caroline says: shudder
Ryan says: They call the maneuver the "Gore Weep-N-Wank."
Dumbest "Letter of the Day" Ever Printed
If you want to start up a good discussion about how "green" the Green Bay Packers are, the Star Tribune should do an article about the energy required to heat a football field in open air to 50 degrees in 1- below conditions with a 23-below wind chill. I think that the fans and the public would be amazed at the amount of energy consumed to accomplish this feat! They will also find out that the Packers really aren't that green.
BILL HOWE, NEW RICHLAND, MINN.
Yeah, if you WANT to start up a good discussion about nothing. If you have no life whatsoever and you WANT to delve into something as nonsensical and pointless as this. If you really believe heating a field for a single game in a blistering cold climate in any way, shape or form has even the most minute impact on global climate. If you have nothing better to do in the middle of January but to scream "GREEN" at the top of your lungs in an indignant manner.
Look, I dislike the Packers as much as the next rational person, but this Bill Howe guy could use a good cornholing with an environmentally safe horse brush for being such a nattering and pointless idiot.
January 22, 2008
Today's Random Observation
People who call other people idiots in YouTube comment threads are typically idiots themselves.
And no, I don't know why I continue to subject myself to the abysmal spelling, grammar and dialogue of YouTube comment threads. I guess it's kind of like a literary car wreck; you just can't look away.
Six Degrees of Luscious Bacon
In honor of Blog for Bacon Day 2008:
O Bacon! my bacon! our tasty breakfast is now nigh;
The pork has been shorn from every rib, from the hip, back, legs and thigh;
The pork is near, the sizzling I hear, the taste buds all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady meal, the ribbony grissle flaring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the clogged arteries constrict,
Where in my chest, my aorta cries,
An eventual coronary, I do predict.
O bacon! my bacon! You greasy siren meat of sow.
Rise up—for you the pans are heated—for you the doctors won't allow;
For you forks poise and tongues await—for you arterial walls are clogging;
For you they call, the obese masses, with many of them even blogging;
Here bacon! dear breakfast slag!
This fork tine pinned through your grease;
It is some dream that on the plate,
My lifespan you will decrease.
My bacon does not answer, as it has no lips and cannot speak;
My bacon does not feel my stomach juices, as it's digested through the week;
The heart is anchor’d safe for now, its bacon doomsday all but certain;
From this day on, the bacon builds, to my coronary final curtain;
I exult, for now, my bacon fork held high!
But I, with creeping dread,
Know where my bacon future lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
January 21, 2008
Sometimes, A Post Just Writes Itself
During my many years writing this ThunderJournal, I’ve had to resort to numerous tactics when conjuring a topic for a given post. For the most part, I’ve been able to mine anecdotes from my own bizarre world of personal experience. Other times, I’ve resorted to finding news items that are generally odd, or specifically relate to bathroom and bodily function references. To be sure, if you’ve been following my ThunderJournal over the years, you may not be the most informed person on the planet, but you’ve most certainly read every toilet joke ever written.
Well, this post marks a first for me. Not only did I not have to resort to my usual odd news outlets to bring you my own brand of potty-related humor, I didn’t even have to work that hard to slide such humor into my craft; in this case, the media largely did my work for me.
According to a Jan. 21, 2008 news report out of Monrovia, Liberia, and filed by TIME magazine, no less, “One of Liberia's most notorious rebel commanders, known as Gen. Butt Naked, has returned to confess his role in terrorizing the nation, saying he is responsible for 20,000 deaths.”
See? I didn’t even have to TRY to make that opening sentence funny. Right there, right away, you have a notorious rebel commander, Gen. Butt Naked, terrorizing a nation, which at the very least should be the plot line for a future adult movie. As if that opening line isn't comedy gold all by itself, the article continues:
“Joshua Milton Blahyi, who now lives in Ghana, returned this week to face his homeland's truth and reconciliation commission, this time wearing a suit and tie. His nom de guerre is derived from his platoon's practice of charging naked into battle, a technique meant to terrify the enemy.”
I’m sorry, but if an article begins by talking about a notorious rebel commander named Gen. Butt Naked terrorizing a nation, that article loses any and all license to use a pretentious phrase like “nom de guerre.” That’s like trying to put a cherry on a cow pie.
As for the platoon’s practice of charging naked into battle in an attempt to terrify the enemy. . . well, let’s just say I’m not all that impressed with the military capability of Liberia. I mean, here in Minnesota, if I see a naked man charging at me, particularly in this January cold, I wouldn’t be so much terrified as I would feel compelled to rigorously defend myself. Transfer that onto a battlefield, with me holding a rifle, and you have all the ingredients for a pretty one-side victory for me and my clothed compatriots. Back to the article we go:
“‘I have been looking for an opportunity to tell the true story about my life — and every time I tell people my story, I feel relieved.’”
Great. Now Gen. Butt Naked is relieved. Who’s going to clean THAT up?
“Drugged fighters waltzed into battle wearing women's wigs, flowing gowns and carrying dainty purses stolen from civilians.”
Modern warfare meets “Project Runway.” Oh, sure, you may be gunned down, but at least you’d look fabulous.
“In 1996, while charging naked into a battle, Blahyi said God appeared and told him he was a slave to Satan, not the hero he considered himself to be, according to an earlier interview with The Associated Press.”
I’m trying to imagine what, exactly, God may have said to Blahyi at the time:
GOD: Blahyi, don’t you realize you’re a slave to Sa. . . I’m sorry, but you’re really distracting me. Could you maybe cover that up with something? Just. . . look. . . hold your dainty purse in front of it, I don’t know. SOMETHING. Look at yourself! Do you honestly think that’s a heroic look? You know what? I have a full length mirror you can use. Look at that. Tell me that’s not the work of Satan.
The Stages Of blogging Hubris
1.) Shock or Disbelief: What? You disagree with me? You don't think my take on politics or the proper disposal of cat feces is the one true way? I can't belive that! That's just not possible!
2.)Denial: You're just messing with me. There's no way you could have an opinion so completely different than my own. I don't believe it.
3.) Bargaining: Look, we're just going to have to agree to disagree here. You're liberal, I'm a conservative. You're anti-porn, I'm pro-porn. You like Dane Cook, I despise the hack. Can't we just get along? I mean, really, if we were to sit down and have a beer together, I'm sure we'd get along great and have some good laughs. Whadya say?
4.) Guilt: All right, I'll admit it; some of my arguments in the past were ill-advised. I'm big enough to admit that. I apologize if I may have made a little too much fun about a certain cum-guzzling boozehound. And maybe, just maybe, I've devoted way more time and effort into ripping on Nick Coleman than was probably necessary. I could have spent my time online doing more productive, thought-provoking things. I have nearly six years worth of content now. It can't ALL be literary gold. So, look, I'm sorry.
5.) Anger: You know what? No, wait, FUCK YOU! Who the hell are you to tell me what I should have been blogging about for the past six years?! It's my blog, not yours'! Actually, it's my THUNDERJOURNAL! That's right. THUNDERJOURNAL! You have a problem with that? Well, you can just go to hell!
6.) Depression: I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I was just venting. I guess I'm just coming to grips with the fact, despite six years of writing, most of my visitors come here looking for a picture of my hairy ass. I mean, what kind of legacy is that? I mostly started this blog to strengthen my writing skills, which it has, I guess, but there's always been a part of me that wanted to be the next Instapundit or James Lileks. Instead, I'm that one blogger with the hairy ass and tiger poster.
7.) Acceptance and Hope: Oh well. I guess having a famous ass is better than nothing. Hell, it worked for J-Lo, right? Besides, things might turn around over the next six years, provided I still have this ThunderJournal. I have outlasted most of the blogs I used to read regularly, after all. At some point, maybe I'll be the only blog left standing, so people will HAVE to read me. Well, here's to the next six years. . .
