A Little Meme Time

So King Dick Mitten (as he has requested I refer to him. Heh) has decreed that I must partake in the ubiquitous Meme. And as I'm being a lazy blogger today, I'll do as he commands. Besides, normal kings rectify their displeasure by beheading those who offend them, however as my research revealed, the Clitorian kings pleasure themselves by burying their "head" in the rectum of those who offend. And as that's just not a tradition I'd care to experience, the Meme seems like the path of least resistance.

Now. The Rules. I capitalize them because rules is rules and them's the rules. "Hey, these aren't my rules. Come to think of it, I don't have any rules."*

Anyway,

• Rule #1: Post a link to the person who tagged you. Check.
• Rule #2: Post the rules. Check.
• Rule #3: Share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself. Shouldn't this rule go last? I mean really, I'm still posting the Rules for crying out loud. Geez, gimme a minute here.
• Rule #4: Tag at least three people. Ok... you... you.... and you! Oh, what the hell; you, too.
• Rule #5: Make sure the people who tagged you KNOW you tagged them by commenting what you did. Huh? I'm not going to tell you everything I did. I mean, people already think I'm weird enough. If they also knew I sneak into their bathrooms at night to use their toothbrushes, I'd never get anyone to visit EA.

So here we go. Seven non-important things/habits/quirks about EA. Or was that six? Five? Dammit, now you're making me scroll up to re-read. See what happens when you list the rules all out of order?

...

Ok, six. Six things non-important. [insert looooooonnnng pause]. I'm hesitating not because I can't find six non-important things about me, but because I can't narrow it down to only six non-important things about me. Hmmm..... Ok, here's one

1. I'm a talker. Those of you who know me will be all like "NO, I never knew!" and I'll respond "Yes, I am." And if I'm confused or severely upset, I'll even talk to myself. Talking is how I work shit out in my own head. I don't know why, but I've done it since I was a very small child, which is probably why my parents thought I was possessed.

2. When I'm in the mood to talk to myself, but can't be entirely alone (like when I'm driving somewhere), I'll sometimes put my hand-free mic in my ear so it'll appear that I'm on the phone instead.

3. I gag at the smell of Gardenias. To me they smell like dog shit. Yes, I do mean dog shit. Not "they smell as bad as dog shit" but they literally smell like the piles of excremental bombs I had to remove from the yard as a kid so my dad could mow the grass. I've tried to use the Oracle to find info on why this might be the case, but all I could find was a reference in a blog about designing perfume, in which the author states:

"...An orange note could also work here, but be careful with the orange if you are adding Indole to the floral base, It can get a wee bit poopish. Because with Gardenia you want more of a rotting smell than poop. If (that is) you want to capture the essence of a full tilt Gardenia."

4. I drop my car into neutral whenever I'm at a traffic stop. I drive an automatic in which the gear shift is on the console between the front seats. From my position in the pilot's chair I rest my arm on the console and my hand on the shift lever and whenever I come to a stop I drop the car into neutral. I don't know why, but don't tell my insurance company that I do it, m-kay?

5. I speed read. Sort of. When I read a novel by an author who crams a 300 page story into 650 pages, I'll very often -at mundane parts- skip various sections of sentences or paragraphs so that I may still get the feel for what the author is saying, but not have to read every single word.

6. I can write alphabetic shorthand. It's a skill I learned in high school to prepare for note-taking in college, at which point, my high school teacher told me, the instructor will speak at a normal pace and you're expected to keep pace because (s)he will not pause to let you catch up. Alphabetic shorthand uses letters or groups of consonants to represent words, much like the version that used to be taught to the secretarial pool, but using the alphabet instead of symbols. In alphabetic shorthand, the sentence "Jerry likes his red mustache, but they do not like the foo Manchu look" would be written "Jry ks z rd mstch, b y d n k e fu Mchu lok."

So that's six. Six weird, wonderful things about this average schmo called EA.** Feel free to laugh out loud at me; I know you already do.

* I'll hump the leg of anyone who catches the obscure movie reference.
**Oh, and don't be surprised if these six end up on the next installment of the ubiquitous 100 things post.

Stonehenge Explained!

So, I'm somewhat of a history buff. The older I get the more interested I become in the world's history, including her people. Aside from the obvious sexy light that portrays me, it nevertheless affords me the opportunity to learn many fascinating things. I'm proud to say that after many years of research I've finally discovered what Stonehenge was all about.

For most of recorded history -certainly since I've been alive, which is about 75% of recorded history- Stonehenge has been suspected of being everything from a place for religious ceremonies to the site of alien interactions, which frankly I find stupid since I don't think there are many people from Mexico in England. However the light of discovery has revealed the true meaning behind Stonehenge's original design:

Female genitalia.

Shocking, no? Wonderful amounts of research went into this discovery and I'm now convinced that Stonehenge resembles the female anatomy. Finally on the right path I dug further and the truth revealed itself to me as if a rose, blooming before my very eyes. Here is what I've discovered.

Stonehenge is a massive fertility symbol whose stones represent the various parts of the female genitalia. For centuries it's been thought that the Druids built Stonehenge. However it is now known to have been built by an ancient race of people called the Clitorians.

The Clitorians were an extremely fertile people who came to southern England from a place high in the Swiss Alps called Mount Beaver. Ever since the Clitorians came from Mt. Beaver they had wanted to build a monument to the female anatomy. However the Clitorians did not have enough money to build such a monument so they had to borrow several thousand clam smackers from the Pussyphites. As you might know, Clam Smackers were their currency and the Pussyphites were a neighboring race of people who were extremely wealthy. In fact, it was the Pussyphites who had graciously given the Vulvarians the money to build the Great Wall of Vagina.

Anyway, one day Dick Mitten, the king of the Clitorians, announced the building of Stonehenge at a lavish banquet at which his loyal subjects dined on vertical tacos, fuzzy doughnuts, and whisker biscuits. Parting the meat curtains that led to the stage, King Mitten appeared before everyone who'd come from Mt. Beaver that morning.

Whipping out his sausage wallet, the Clitorian king pronounced a jubilant "hay hay!" and offered 200 clam smackers to the person with the best design. After several weeks, Darryl of Furburger was announced the winner and building commenced immediately on a piece of land known as Pastrami Flats (which is, of course, just east of Coochy Cove) with stones acquired from all parts of what is now Europe, including Pootania, East Tunaville, and Kooterburg. Yes Stonehenge would have an international, if not fishy, flavor.

Even the name Stonehenge has special meaning. "Stone" being the Clitorian word for "Nappy" and "henge" being Clitorian for "dugout."

Within a few months, Stonehenge was completed and the Clitorians held a huge gala to celebrate its massive opening.

And that, my friends, is the TRUE story of Stonehenge and what it really is supposed to be.

I'm now starting deep research into Big Ben and I'll be sure to keep you informed. I'm sure wonderful discoveries will be made.

Short and... Who Cares, Just Read it Anyway

So no, I'm not dead. Nor in any kind of funk that's got me not posting. No, not jail either. I'd love to say I've run off with a carload of Hooter's girls and a box of Trojans, but alas, I'm in California, negotiating for a new job that could give me a six figure salary again.

But I also kinda like all you beotches, so I wanted to drop in to post something. I kept my eyes open for an opportunity and when it presented itself, I boosted this computer from a 16 year old at Starbucks who left it unattended while he evacuated his venti soy latte. Imagine how surprised he will be when he returns to realize that he's sent hate mail to "President" Bush, downloaded 14 copies of the same song from a Chinese piracy site, and had his home page changed to midgettripods.com.

I will of course fill each and every one of you in personally when I return to H-town (aka "the center of the universe" to those who live there). In the meantime I offer you this question:

Do you think it was wrong of me to phone pizza and doughnut deliveries to the weight loss surgery seminar that was being held at my hotel? Just wondering.

Oh, and I know you went out to see if there really is a site about midgets with huge schlongs. You pervs.

I'm out!
K.

It's not his concern that you chose to be poor

So, here in the EA household, we have rules:

- No castrating animals without proper supervision
- No pot
- No illegal girl operations on weeknights
- No playing with weapons without full safety's activated
- No bitches after 11pm

Oh, and no rated M games.

The problem with enforcement of this last particular rule is that FlyBoy is now approaching 13. Those of you with offspring orbitting this particular age may know that aside from the near constant, frantic insistence that a cell phone is an imperative for survival, there is also no such thing as a "good" game that is not rated M (or, if said offspring is under 10 years of age, no "good" game that's not rated T).

Still, I resist giving into allowing FlyBoy unfettered access to rated M games because one, he's not 17 and I insist that he not push the adult envelope too soon and two, I'm just a jerk. That's just the kind of parent I am. I mean c'mon, if I couldn't live my dream of being a child actor vicariously through him, then he's not capping cops and running hookers in South Central L.A. until he's at least 16.

However, I also recognize that video game ratings were designed by people so uptight that you'd need a tractor to pull a needle from their butt. So when a rated M game comes along that FlyBoy insists he will die without, there is a chance he'll get to at least play it IF we rent it first and check it out. Language and casual references to sex are not so bad; gore, mindless violence, and drug use are out of bounds.

This weekend FlyBoy whined negotiated until I agreed to let him rent Assassins Creed, including a call to his mother for clearance. We rented it and he holed up in his room for the next 265 hours to master the "art" of stealth, hiding in plain sight, and killing guards who reeeeaaaaly like fine furniture.

Some time later, as is normal when he does something excitable, FlyBoy bursts into my room.

"Dad! Dad! You should have seen this!"

Seen what?

"This old woman, she was following me around everywhere and I couldn't get her to stop..."

[picture me nodding, waiting for the exciting part]

"...and she kept saying to me 'please sir, I need money. I'm sick. I'm hungry. I'm homeless.'"

Yeah...

"And I couldn't get rid of her. So the next time she came beggin' up to me, saying 'please sir, I need money. I'm sick. I'm hungry. I'm homless.' I killed her and said to myself: 'and now you're dead.'"

[now picture me staring at him like he just shot a booger out his nose and it landed on my cheek]

You did what?! I thought the Assassins Creed was that no innocents were to be harmed, ever. I don't want you playing a game that teaches you to harm someone just because they annoy you.

"Yeah, but I couldn't get rid of her."

So you killed her because she was annoying for being poor, hungry and homeless?

"Um, I guess so, yeah."

You know what that makes you, don't you?

"What?"

Republican.

The Dark Lord should be coming to collect your soul soon.