Disgusting Sayings Related to Offspring (and the Making of Them)

There has been lots of talk of people having children. It is a strange time when peers start considering reproducing, especially since I myself have not considered that an option yet (mostly because I'm immortal). Some go so far as to start bank accounts for their future child's college fund, collecting toys and furniture, and sniffing or kissing every passing baby hoping to cypher some of its baby magic. Then there is the other camp that vehemently protests the thought of ever having offspring. These individuals will often spit at you and shout at the mere mention of procreation, professing that they shall die alone in a cave scowling and gnashing their teeth. I would classify myself as violently in between these groups, which basically means I do not mind talking about babies or reproduction in general. However, there are some reproduction terms that I cannot stand and I will relate them here so you know to avoid them when conversing with me.

"Seed" when referring to semen. (Example: "You planted your seed in my daughter's belly.")First off, picturing seeds traveling through my tender areas is painful enough. Do you know how big seeds can get? Disgusting. Also I've planted my sperm in my backyard next to the hot dog tree I attempted to cultivate, and absolutely no plants grew.

"Fruit of your loins" when referring to offspring. (Example: "My son Oscar is the fruit of my loins.") Again with the plant metaphors. It's saying like this that make me terrified of swallowing watermelon seeds. I'm sorry, but if anything grows from my "loins" I will immediately see a doctor and hopefully get it removed. No "fruit" that grows from my nethers shall be called my son. Also "loins" is a gross word.

There are more terms for sure, most of them plant related ("fertile," "sowing," and "ho-blasting" come to mind)... which makes me think the terms came from farmers. To those farmers who coined those phrases: "Stop looking at my garden like that."

Gimmick Controlled: My Favorite Video Game

I was experimenting recording video game footage and I came up with this madness:



If it is at all entertaining it is purely accidental. I do however wish to refine this melding of game footage with other media.

Look Out!

I haven't posted in a couple days and hopefully the reason for this will be made clear soon. It should be posted either tonight if all goes well or tomorrow for sure. So check back tonight or tomorrow. Hell, just keep refreshing my site or see how many times you can watch Mr. Taffy before you black out and wake up in Montreal covered in blood. 23 for me...

Failed Movie Scripts

There was a point in my life where I didn’t think scripts needed a plot, jokes, a climax, or any kind of message. I wrote many movie scripts during this time, much to the dismay of anyone who read them. Although no movie studio picked them up, I still have copies and send them around as a joke, hoping one-day Hollywood will slip up and produce them. The following are summaries of those scripts for you to enjoy:

The Cat That Only Was

During the first half of the movie the cat just sleeps in his cat-bed. For five minutes of the movie the cat wakes up laps up some water for two minutes. During this time a mouse walks up to the cat. He frantically explains to the cat that his brother is caught in a trap and needs to be rescued quickly. The cat tries to listen to the mouse’s complicated directions to the trap, but soon gets frustrated by the poor word choice and grammar the mouse uses, and ends up killing and eating the mouse. The cat returns to his bed feeling guilty that he killed his mouse friend, and tosses and turns for a half hour. Soon the cat forgets why he is upset and falls asleep for the duration of the movie. The epilogue text informs us that the cat forgot that the incident ever happened and never thinks of it again.

END OF MOVIE

Mortuary

Two men go out to eat at a Dunkin’ Donuts for breakfast. There is an incredibly long line and the Dunkin’ Donuts staff is very inexperienced. They stand in line for an hour of the movie making small talk between long periods of silence. The man in front of them in line is very angry with the whole situation, but never leaves. The two finally receive their orders, but by this time they have lost their appetite and throw all their food away in the trash can outside of the Dunkin’ Donuts. The two men part ways but are hit by two different buses on two different streets. They both die from their wounds. For the last fifteen minutes of the movie, the camera focuses on their discarded meals in the trashcan. Circus music plays softly.

END OF MOVIE

Two twin sisters want to go shopping in New York City for clothes for their school dance. They find out that it is the day of Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade, and it is impossible to travel anywhere in the city. Instead they enjoy the day at home. One of the sisters makes tea. The other thinks she saw a dog in the alley, but she isn’t sure if it really was a dog.
END OF MOVIE

Gypsies...

Many people ask me, "Hey EJ, how do you feel about Gypsies?" The short answer is, "F#ck gypsies." The long answer is this following story:

I was wandering about the Holyoke Mall located in Holyoke, Massachusetts for some reason or another. Normally this is not a nesting ground for gypsies, so my guard was down when a gypsy hailed me over from a booth previously occupied by a merchant peddling phone and iPod covers.

For those of you not familiar with gypsies and their wiles, let me impart some knowledge to you. Gypsies are wandering folk who will often tell your future whether you want to hear it or not. European gypsies are famous for not only predicting your future, but also being the cause of it, usually by whispering, "You will have a crappy time for the duration of your trip." as they deftly steal your wallet with all of your Euros and passport. It is a common misconception that gypsies spend the money stolen from victims On the contrary, gypsies are fed by the sorrow they cause you from the lack of your money and identification. They will sometimes eat your wallet or purse after stealing it, symbolically eating your sorrow. An interesting fact, gypsy babies are used in place of currency amongst the gypsies. Babies often traded for jewels or other things, until the baby itself reaches an age where it too must feed off misery.

You can only hope that it is only that bad as in some cases a gypsy will run at you with a baby wailing and howling, thrust it into your arms, and immediately disappear. Baffled you will bring the baby back to your hotel, and reach for the phone to call the police or someone who can tell you how to reach the authorities. Instead of reaching for the phone, you'll find yourself falling into a deep sleep. When you awake the baby and your wallet will be gone. In addition you will try to call your relatives and they will not recognize you. Your mother will have no recollection of giving birth to you, and there will be no proof of your existence. Little do you know this is exactly what the gypsy was wailing to you when she first handed you the baby.

American gypsies are slightly less devious often just predicting your future using cards, peddling vinegar as love potions, and causing their tents to disappear in whirling tornadoes. American gypsies have a different tactic than simply stealing your wallet; they attempt to have you willingly give them your wallet.

In any case, I have much knowledge of gypsies and have half a mind to avoid them. This Gypsy, far far away from the flowing tents of the fair grounds, caught me off guard.

"Shall I tell you your fortune?" yelled the Gypsy.

"Not today, Gypsy, I'm busy." I retorted. I walked briskly toward my destination, the Best Buy in the corner of the mall.

"You don't seem like the fortune type... no... no." A smile crept up onto the Gypsy's face, I just thought of wolves bearing their teeth. "You seem like someone who wants super human powers!"

This was true of course, I have always wanted super human powers (besides my chainsaw magic of course), but my life travels have always told me that gypsy wishes were always gypsy curses in disguise. Promising wishes is a common tactic by gypsies and genies alike to cause misery. I decided to bite, "Oh yeah? What kind of super human powers are we talking about? Super vision?"

"Oh yes! Not only super vision, but super strength and lasers... shooting from your fists! Only for one hundred dollars." croaked the Gypsy.

Normally I would say no to gypsy wishes, but I had an idea: I wouldn't give her payment until I knew the gypsy wish wasn't a gypsy curse, only then would I return with payment... or just shoot her with my laser fists and never pay. She agreed to these terms, threw some rose petals, mumbled some spells, and said, "It is done!"

I decided to test my new powers in the parking lot. First I tried super human strength on the nearest pickup truck... but no avail. I thought that maybe the super strength wasn't that strong so I tried to pick up a nearby Camry. Nope! I couldn't even pick up a Yaris for goodness sakes! No matter how hard I squinted and strained, I could not see anything other than my normal vision. Also, my wallet was gone. I decided to storm back into the mall and give that Gypsy a piece of my mind.

The Gypsy was surprisingly still at the booth, so I stormed up to her and said, "What's the big deal? I have no super human powers! No super strength. No super vison... and my wallet is gone!"

The Gypsy said, "Oh course you have super human strength. You can pick any object made of lead that is exactly 2 tons, no more no less..."

"Useless." I said.

"... and you can see ghosts with your super vision."

Now I assumed by ghosts she didn't mean our dead ancestors walking amongst us, but the large, furry, spherical creatures by the same name. Ghosts are invisible, harmless creatures. They are about the size of a compact car and have stubby arms and legs. They are slow moving and often meet an untimely demise at the hands of a speeding motor vehicle. Ghosts cause no physical damage to the outside of your car, but if you ever had your transmission fail on the highway, that’s because you hit a ghost. As a result ghosts are all but extinct save for a few in the mountainous regions of the country, so another useless power.

“I just want my wallet back. No more tricks!” I demanded.

“All right! All right… wait what about the laser fists?”

“Oh those work just fine.” I smiled maliciously.

Let’s just say there hasn’t been a gypsy in the mall since then.

The Monotone: Evil League of Evil Application

Here's an evil guy trying to get into an evil league:

Thank You Cards

Nelson never knew when to send a "Thank You" card. Whenever Christmas came around Nelson's mother urged him to send "Thank You" cards to all his relatives that got him a gift. This confused Nelson because he figured that he already said "Thank You" in person so a card was redundant and a waste of resources. He argued this point to his mother, but her response was, "Just do it." So Nelson thought of everyone who got him a gift, his Aunt, Uncle, Grandmother, and Santa, he addressed the envelopes, and sent them off. Nelson figured that "Thank You" cards were receipts for the transaction of receiving a gift. If people did not receive them, then perhaps they would have forgotten they ever sent a gift in the first place. This explanation made more sense, since many of Nelson's relatives were old. Much to his surprise many of his relatives were pleased and next time they saw Nelson told him how much they enjoyed his "Thank You" card. They even seemed as pleased as Nelson was with his present. This confused Nelson more because they were only store bought cards and he it didn't take that much effort to make them.

Then his birthday came along, and again his mother urged him to send out "Thank You" cards. Nelson was annoyed by the activity, but decided to do so anyways. Again his relatives told Nelson how thoughtful and sweet he was. Nelson did not think he was thoughtful or sweet, but he took the compliments anyways. His grandfather went so far as to send a "Thank You" card for Nelson's "Thank You" card. Nelson didn't know what to do with it, so he just threw it away.

After that birthday, whenever Nelson received anything that resembled a gift, he sent out a "Thank You" card. The teacher gave everyone in his class candy during Valentine's day, so Nelson wrote a "Thank You" card for the teacher. When he went to eat at McDonald's, the cashier accidentally gave him an extra toy in his Happy Meal so he wrote the staff a "Than You" card which they promptly hung up. His older brother gave him one of his old jackets and two days later he found a "Thank You" card from Nelson on his pillow. Nelson started carrying stacks of the cards with him wherever he went.

Soon everyone Nelson was even remotely associated with had received a card from him. He gave one to the mailman for delivering the mail. He gave a "Thank You" card to a crossing guard lady who helped him across the street. He even wrote one to the neighbor's dog for scaring off a raccoon from his front yard. Everyone thought he was the most grateful person in the world.

Nelson continued to reward "Thank You" cards to people for the rest of his life, and the practice did not go unrewarded. He got into his top choice for college by sending a card for being considered. Nelson landed his dream job by promptly sending a "Thank You" after his interview. And he met his wife by giving a "Thank You" card to a waitress who served him at a diner. She sent her number right back. To say the least she received about eighty percent of his cards. When Nelson passed away, his grave was not decorated with wreaths or flowers, but hundreds and hundreds of "Thank You" cards written by all who had been touched by his actions. During his life, Nelson was often asked why he wrote so many "Thank You" cards. His response was simple: he would shrug his shoulders and say, "Because my mother told me to."

A Measure of Clean

This morning I stumbled into the shower as per my usual morning routines, which usually includes packing lunch, dressing myself, coming to terms with going to work, and of course hygiene. As I reached out to my body wash I noticed something rather curious written on the label. Written on the label of the Old Spice Endurance Body Wash was the following:

"3X CLEAN GUARANTEED"

Holy cow, THREE TIMES CLEAN?! GUARANTEED?! In my mind, there are only two states: clean and unclean (which usually occurs immediately after one gets clean). Clean is an ideal goal for our bodies, almost like perfection. It is almost impossible to actually be completely clean just as it is impossible to be perfect. Three times clean is pretty much saying three times perfect, which makes me think, "How can this be guaranteed?" Now maybe they meant, "three times cleaner." This makes much more sense, as the dishes in the cupboard are closer to the state of clean than the dishes in the sink, hence they are "cleaner." I would not say, "Man, those dishes in the cupboard are three times clean!"

If Old Spice Body Wash was guaranteeing you to be three times cleaner than any other body wash it would make more sense, although how one would measure this is anyone's guess. Bottom line is: Screw you Old Spice for making me think about stupid stuff for half a day! Wait... maybe that's what they wanted...

Roy G. Bv

Hey Indigo!

Pick a side! You are either blue or violet. None of this wishy-washy in between stuff.

Indigo, you are not a real color.

My Real Life (except with dragons!)

After a wonderful vacation in Texas, I'm back and blogging. I hope Mr. Taffy treated you well while I was gone.

Something about myself: I do not enjoy flying in an airplane. The actual flying itself is fine, I'm talking about the segment of the flight when the captain turns off the seat belt sign and the plane is just coasting along. That part I can handle. However, the taking off and landing part are quite possibly the worst things a human being can experience. I usually just try to read and block out the terrifying sounds of thumping and catastrophe that the plane makes when it struggles and creaks its way from the grip of the earth's gravitational pull. I would prefer to wear headphones during this period of time, however the kind airline folks suggests that turning on a Zune during takeoff could possibly set off a chain reaction causing the plane explode. I do not question whether or not this is true, so my Ipod is not an option. I have to repeat this process for when the plane reluctantly relinquishes its body to the will of gravity. The wheels stumble on the ground and bump me out of the fanciful playground I have made for myself. I often imagine that someone accidental built a brick wall in the middle of the runway which my plane proceeds to careens into, but luckily the plane usually just slows down and parks at a gate.

The space in between the take-off and landing is often called "cruising" but I call it "DON'T FUCKING TALK TO ME, ASSHOLE NEXT TO ME, BECAUSE YOU'LL MAKE MY PLANE RIDE WORSE." During this time I pray and hope no one talks to me, because I'll hate them irrationally forever. I don't know why I feel this way, but I rarely question it. The ideal situation is that I am sitting next to an empty seat, or I am usually fine with quiet and shy people. When boarding a plane I always scope out my potential seat-mate, I always request the window seat just in case I need to smash it and squeeze out.

That brings me to my most recent plane ride home. Like usual I was boarding the plane, awkwardly bouncing down the inclined hallway that leads to it, hoping and praying the person sitting next to me was as close to a corpse as possible. I entered through the portal that leads to the belly of the airplane and hang a right, scanning the sea of heads for my fated sky-partner. Was it going to be the snoring obese man who immediately fell asleep? Perhaps it will be the bloke with the gauged earrings and Buddha tattoo on his arm? I spied a mother with a flailing, upset baby and I cringed, but after glancing at my ticket I sighed some relief. As I approached the rear of the plane I could feel I was being watched. I slowly approached my assigned seat "20A" I saw exactly what had been staring at me, perched upon the aisle seat of row 20 was a dragon, eyes burning into my body. As I moved, his serpentine head followed slowly; it knew I was destined to be next to it. I stopped in front of row 20, his scaly face still glowering at me. I made a motion that I was going to try to squeeze in, but the dragon showed no sign of moving to expedite this.

"Please take your seat." The flight attendant said while making a motion like she was shooing me like I was a fly on her pastry. I mustered up all the courage I could, closed my eyes and shimmied passed the creature. Its leathery wings brushed the pack of my neck providing me with a serious case of the goosebumps. I sunk into my seat staring out the window. I could feel his yellow eyes on me. Take-off time a.k.a. read a book, but now I have to ignore a dragon sitting next to me. The plane whimpers as it left the ground and I sink myself into another reality inside the piece of literature I brought with me. We soared higher and higher into the air, and I was approaching a huge plot twist that was quickly burnt away by a curiously well-timed cough from the dragon. I flashed my glanced up for a second to see that he was still dubiously gazing at me, and I could have sworn he was smiling (although lizards always seem like they are smiling so it could be just that). I immediately shot my eyes back at my charred book on my lap. Every now and then I peeked up at the dragon, who was still unblinkingly staring at me. I wondered if he would ever blink, or if dragons even could blink.

During the cruising time, my winged neighbor starting breathing his hot breathe on my neck, which I don't have to tell you is extremely creepy. The moisture from my body was quickly leaving me under his blistering exhaling. "Excuse me, Miss? Could I have some water please?" I said, hailing a flight attendant.

"Of course, that will be two dollars." she said enthusiastically.

"Fuck you!" I said, appalled they started charging for drinks. The flight attendant paused, looked down at her cart, and quickly moved on. I wish I handled that situation better but the dragon was making me nervous and ruining the most tolerable part of the plane ride. Ashamed, sweaty, and quite thirsty, I again lowered my head to my book, dripping onto its pages. For the rest of the trip I was slipping in and out of hallucinations, most of them involving dragons cooking me alive and dancing around me while I revolved on a spit over open flames. I did not come to until the plane came to a complete stop and everyone had vacated the plane. Everyone except the dragon, still staring, still breathing heavily on me. I just raised my head, and made direct eye contact with the beast, looking into his golden, slitted eyes. The dragon blinked once, snorted a cloud of smoke into my face, and like a flash turned and soared down the aisle. Before I knew it he was out of the plane, out of sight, and out of my life forever.

As you can see who you sit next to really makes or breaks a plane ride for me. Also, can you believe those guys for charging for water? Assholes.