Of Tea and Tire Tracks

The other day, a particularly hot one I might add, I was driving up my street when I was forced to stop in the name of the greatest marketing scheme I’d ever laid eyes on. Two little girls had decided to suddenly dart out in the middle of the road holding pitchers. The brilliance is numbing really, I suspect all soliciting will soon be done in this manner.. But, back to the anecdote at hand, after slamming on the breaks, narrowly managing to avoid going over my weekly manslaughter quota, the girls walk over to my side window and inquired as to whether I’d be interested in a tasty beverage. Or ice tea as they put it.

Not being a man to pass up a good tea, and hoping to put them in good spirits so that when the next car coming by hit them, they would be able to die happy, I said yes. After having been promised that it was “really sweet,” and being told in a Mafioso manner that if I saw anything in it, it was most assuredly lemons, I was told that this tea would cost me a dollar. And though vending machines have trained me to pay a dollar for 12 oz of chilled beverage, I was expecting something of a mark down remembering the 25 cent lemonade I once peddled myself. Still, I figured, funerals are expensive, they probably need it. So I fork over four quarters and they fork over a rather generously sized plastic cup leading me to discover 1). That my Ice Tea has no ice and 2). The large cup contained approximately two shots of tea.

Around this time I grabbed my tea and drove away, strongly suspecting that this was somehow a perfect metaphor for the whole of existence, yet never quite able to pin down how.

Day 27

I’ve been on this island for over three weeks now, and I fear my sanity is beginning to leave me. The cartoon’s portraying the characters beginning to imagine each other as food as they slowly starve to death is truer than it really has any business being.

Yesterday I found myself staring at Frank, my de facto best friend and thinking how much he looked like a plump juicy red hot dog. I fear that if the hunger is not abated soon I will be unable to stop myself from feasting on my friend. A truly heinous turn of events to be sure, especially when I stop to consider that Frank is a depleted fire extinguisher that I named last week in order to satiate my burning desire for social contact.

I would continue but I must savor this writing experience as I have not been blessed with an inexhaustible supply of paper, I go now to throw sand against the waves for several hours

J. Wihi

Sorry, today's entry is a few minutes late, won't happen again.

I think I’ve finally got this blogging thing figured out. At first my plan was to be so incredibly insightful and witty that I’d attract a colony of my cleverites whose quips and quarrels sparked by my entries would provide filler content during the decades between main posts. But turns out it’s easier to speak your mind and talk about your own goings on than it is be the wittiest man on the planet.

So on that note, I’m finally done with school for the semester and start my full time summer job on Monday. That’s about it really… I should really get a more interesting life if I’m going to publish it before the vast internet. Lets see… I’m slowly working my way through A Game of Thrones by George R.R. Martin; it’s good, though I am now in the first stages of creating a vast conspiracy theory concerning epic fantasy novelists and dual “R” middle initials.

Well, other than that I’ve little to report other than the fact that World of Warcraft seems to once again be loosing it’s stranglehold on my mind, as evidenced by the fact that I’m actually updating this damn thing. Hopefully I’ll manage several months of freedom and do some decent writing before descending back into the abyss. Wish me luck, if I get enough I’ll use it to maybe draft a four or five word follow up to this article, or hit Vegas, maybe both.

Phallusophia: a clever portmanteau I thought up but doesn't really have to do with the following blog but I wanted to use anyway.

Well, now it’s time for me to be philosophical. I think I got a tad too serious last entry. Being serious is something I don’t like, mainly because it starts to make you wrong, and being wrong is for suckers. Let me use philosophy as an example to prove this point.

Anytime a philosopher starts to make a comprehensive philosophical system, at some point he runs into some little wrinkle that screws everything up. The brave ones handle this by coming up with some weird explanation that starts to make their philosophy seem silly. For example, Plato was of the opinion that unborn babies knew everything in the universe, and that throwing a sheet over constituted formal clothes. The cowardly just ignore it.

This is why it’s much better to constantly speak in satire. No one can ever know for sure what your opinion is, and therefore you can’t ever be wrong. There’s another group of philosophers who can’t be wrong, for the sake of convenience I’m going to refer to them as “Bitches.” These are the ones that talk about how everything is unknowable, or nothings real, or like everything is what we make it. These people are never wrong because they never really say anything. But eventually most of them get bored of this because all the other philosophers make fun of them and give them wedgies. So, at some point, philosophers move from being bitches to being wrong. Case in point: Descartes.

Descartes was of the opinion that the entire world, as he perceived it, might have been fabricated by an evil demon or something. Since his senses could be deceived, such as hallucinations or dreams, how could he know if any of it was real? How could he know if he was real? So after much misery and whining, instead of doing what most of us would do (jumping off a tall building) he came up with an axiom to try and prove his own existence. Cogito Ergo Sum, which roughly translates as: “Raisin Double Coupon Sale.” “I think, therefore I am” has also been submitted as a possible translation. And while this makes sense, as I’d tend to agree that existing is a prerequisite to thinking, how can we be sure? I mean I’d also tend to agree that 2+2=4. And I’d also agree that 248725 / 2324 + 98 * 3509 = 36803808.2831. But the fact of matter is, if I did that problem in my head instead of using my handy dandy computer calculator, I’d probably come up with the wrong answer. If you’ve ever done a math or logic problem and come up with a wrong answer, then you can’t trust your reason any more than you can trust your senses if you’ve ever seen something that wasn’t there.

So, that’s why Descartes should have tried suicide instead of rationally trying to establish the existence of the world. Well that’s it for today’s entry. Oh, and if you see anything above, and you think it’s wrong, it’s actually just my incredibly keen sense of satire.

Reflective, which is good, cause reflective things are shiny, and people like shiny things.

Alright, since I’m sticking to my arbitrarily defined schedule with an kung fu grip, today I’m going to be reflective. I tried turning myself into a mirror, but when that didn’t work I decided I’d reflect on why I haven’t blogged in so long. But turns out the answer is laziness. This of course isn’t an explanation that can be blogged about for any reasonable length of time. So to hell with that idea. I mean even if you could write about being lazy for that long people would know you’re lying.

“Yah… I had to take a break from blogging, acute on set of laziness you know.”

“Really? Then why did you just write a 500,000 word essay on being lazy?”

“Shut the hell up is why.”

So, here goes nothing. Have you ever wondered why people wonder why we’re here? I’ve always wondered why as a species we’re so driven to find the meaning of life. I’m firmly of the opinion that we’ve found it, it’s just pretty mundane and we try to ignore it cause we’re not ready to settle yet. I suppose I can understand why people would like to be a part of something grander, but if we found out for sure that we were special in some way, I’m not so sure we’d be satisfied. Take for example the possibility that we’re the children of some supreme being responsible for the creation of all existence. A lot of people hold that view, and it seems a pretty special thing to be if you ask me. But a lot of people don’t find satisfaction in that. They want a goal, something they can strive for. I don’t know about you (cause people that’d read this blog obviously aren’t right in the head) but I think what most people what want from their children is for them to succeed where we failed, and gloriously triumph where we merely succeeded. We want out children to out do us.

But all vaguely deistic thoughts aside, I think that’s not a bad comeback blog. Next time I’ll offer my own thoughts on the subject, cause philosophical is up next which means I stop asking questions, and start giving wrong answers.

Previously on Blogst

Alright, so next up on the lesson plan is me getting all cranky and shouting about how stupid people are. I’ve spent the last five hours locked in my pantry (where else can you be locked up and snack?) listening to Lewis Black tapes and reading Maddox rants, just to get me in the mood. So without further ado, here’s why everyone is stupid.

…

Honestly? I’ve no idea. It might have something to do with the fact that only about a third of the population is capable of formal operational thought, and that third only thinks that way a fraction of the time. Might have something to do with the fact that as our standard of intelligence in society goes up, so does our standard of stupidity and thereby we’ll always perceive such a level of stupidity. But those answers are dumb and stupid, and stupidly dumb. The reason we’re retarded as a species is because of all the time we’ve spent with our heads pressed up against the microwave watching our Spaghetti-Os cook. And not just watching, we leer, like some sort of pervert; cursed with both a voyeurism and pasta fetish as the microwave either slowly fries our brain or gives us superpowers.

If you’re looking for a specific example of human stupidity, I’ll give you one, but first you gotta send me ten bucks. I don’t mean dollars either; I mean bucks, as in grown male deer. Anyway, I don’t much like talking about how stupid the world is as it forces me to ask myself “Why, if the world’s, so stupid, am I am I still struggling along and not rich yet?”

The Decision

Alright I figured it out. By tapping into my indecisive nature, I’ve managed to decide precisely what kind of a blogger I want to be. Answer (D) All of the above. Not all at once mind you. I’m going to adopt a rolling schedule probably in the order I’ve already listed as that will mean I’ve got less to think about. So that means today is Wacky Saturday. See? I totally shrugged off the whole alliteration thing I could have done by waiting till Wednesday. And if that’s not wacky I don’t know what is. So give me a moment to get into gear; it’s been a little bit since I’ve attempted surreal humor.

So… there was once a penguin on a fire hydrant… it was totally odd and out of place. People walking by were all like “Whoa… penguin on a fire hydrant… that’s weird.” Some of them suffered instant cardiac arrest from the shock and died screaming in agony. The survivors formed a lobbying group and petitioned congress for anti-penguin-on-fire-hydrant legislation. It was passed in both the house and senate by narrow margins, but not before three billion dollars in grants for Tabasco companies were attached. The aforementioned was done as a practical joke on a dyslexic tobacco lobbyist with poor hearing. Upon learning the good news the lobbyist liquidated all his assets and spent the money on a program to have “I’m the greatest lobbyist of all time” carved into the earth with giant space born lasers. He had only been able to pay .01% of the necessary cost before learning of his error. At which time he committed suicide by jumping into a pit of rabid wolverines.

Opening Remarks

I’ll start off my entrance into the blog world with the utterly unoriginal move of discussing what my blog is going to be about and why I felt the need to make it (answers: I don’t know and boredom). Seeing as I just wasted five minutes of my life trying to select a tolerable title and pseudonym, instead of thinking of a good subject for my first post, I might as well explain the damn things and make an entry out of ‘em. My pseudonym is the synonym of the homonym of the first syllable of my first name combined with the synonym of the homonym of the first syllable of my surname.

After going through that unnecessarily complicated procedure, all I had to do was name the blog. After wasting more time trying to come up with a witty title, the classic “Insert Witty Whatever Here,” line meandered into my mind and after thinking about it for a second I realized how much I hated the damn thing. It’s kind of an anti-witticism that mocks the witty only to highlight its own lack of wittiness creating some sort of Zen paradox that puts me in a trance for hours every time I see it.

So, that’s about all I have at the moment. For my next post, I’m going to try and decide what kind of blogger I want to be. Wacky, cranky-cynical-guy-that-talks-about-how-dumb-the-world-is-and-how-smart-I-am-to-know-this, reflective, philosophical, political, discussion of my hobbies, or merely in the style of a diary and assume my life is interesting enough for other people to read about.