Life Is Terrifying

I was at a gas station the other day.

It was fucking ridiculous.

Here's why:



Do you hear the elevator music? Yes, that's right...

People met. They decided: for someone to fuel their car more comfortably,  a certain ambiance was needed.

What can this mean?

Who makes these decisions?

The apparent meaningless of the gesture masks a deep hostility. Anyone who puts blasts elevator music at a gas station has a hatred for life.

Or a sense of humor.

But I'm betting on malice.

There's nothing funny about gasoline and beef jerky. A visit to a convenience store is a solemn affair. It should stay that way.

Donate Your Billions...

I wish I had billions of dollars.

I would use it create and market the most offensive products I could think of.

Here is a sketch for a potential fast food restaurant:

Imagine: Giant, neon vulvae glowing against the night sky...all over the country...

This alone would be worth the money. But it wouldn't have to end there.

Our workers could have uniforms.

Here, for example, is what a drive-thru attendant might wear:

Instantly recognizable, the "Cunt Hat" would be our trademark.

Surreal as it may seem, the image is drawn to scale. The attendant would have to wear a back brace to support the weight (70+ lbs) of the plastic vagina on his head.

We'd have plenty of other ambiance that would distinguish us fro the competition. Like the "Cunt Table." Take a look:

The ovular shape allows a family of six to fit around the "Cunt Table" comfortably.

If you wanted a fork, you'd be out of luck. But, if you wanted something even better, we'd give you one of these:

Introducing the "Cunt Spoon." No explanation necessary.


Contact me if you want to be a shareholder. I think we could expect to make a lot from marketable idea like this one...

If you don't want to be a shareholder, please don't hate me or unsubscribe.

Me Vs Nature

We've built cities not just to conquer nature, but to avoid it.

Nature, I think, is pretty happy with this arrangement.

I was hiking with a friend the other day when I saw this:

Squint hard, folks; that's a California Mountain King Snake you're looking at.

You are not looking at me holding it.

I am the one standing too far away to take a good picture.

I also stood too far away to take a good video. Listen to what a pussy I sound like:





A few thousand years ago we had no cell phones for taking video. We only had sticks. And we used those sticks to beat the snake to death and eat it.

We had the same policy for whatever we wanted to have sex with.

I think.

Those were the good old days.

7 Things I'm Proud Of

So,

A fellow blogger asked me to make a video of the seven most interesting things about me. I could only find one-and-a-half interesting things, but found countless things I was proud of. Watch it:




You'd be proud, too.

Trapped

I went to a Chinese buffet today.

There was a tiled artificial pond in which several goldfish swam. They looked up at me, curious, as I approached. Here they are:

I've heard that goldfish have a memory of three seconds. I think that's just long enough to learn that you're trapped in a tile prison, in the middle of a restaurant in Southern California.

Here is a video. You can see the revelation, and their dawning horror, before both are promptly forgotten:

Two seconds of confusion followed by one second of terror, repeated for a lifetime.

Are You Hungry?

Here, have some ribs:

I hope you like them. I fixed them just for you.

The Unknown Poet

Here is our generation's most popular piece of folk poetry:

Its author goes entirely uncelebrated.

Most are too put off by the scatological content of the poem to note its theme. Environmental conscience drives its simple verse; it's really all about conserving water.

But I'd rather waste a little water than have my whole apartment smell like pee.

Don't Mess With It

This is what happened to the kid who played with power lines:

See that bike? It was the kid's.

He shouldn't have played with that power line.

Angel

Apparently this is an angel:

I am in no way intimidated.

I would not feel safe if this angel were guarding me.

It looks like it has brain damage. Note the eyes.

I wonder if it gets picked on. I got picked on.

Through the Eyes of a Fatty

This is what a fatty sees after he does his damage:

He feels a mixture of pride and regret. This is called indigestion.

He feels pride for having eaten so much.

He feels regret that there was nothing to put mayonnaise on.

After the sun went out

People wanted a replacement.

They soon found it.

A sunless tropical scene:

The amber glow gives it a very authentic look.

Mayonnaise

This is the most honest thing I have ever seen:

Just a bottle filled with mayonnaise. There is no need for a label; people know what they're signing on for.

It's even iced. If it only had a rubber nipple on the end.

Like a giant, iced teat for adults to suckle.

Children could suckle it, too. Fat children.

Popcorn

My ceiling is called a popcorn ceiling. This is what it looks like:

This is what actual popcorn looks like:

I do not think that my popcorn ceiling looks like actual popcorn. I doubt that I am alone here.

Corn undergoes extraordinary torture to become popcorn.

Peaceful kernels of corn are shot with blistering heat and radiation. Their guts explode in fluffy carnage.

Here's a before and after photo: