I received a birthday Chia Pet the other day from homie and occasional co-conspirator Matt (actually it was more of a Chia Shaggy, about which I shall be writing an extensive report later on).  Anyway, there’s all sorts of Chia things and people available these days, including such pop culture icons as Mr. T to Bob Dole.  But what about all the opportunities for historical edification here?  Like, everyone I know could probably do with a Chia Ludwig von Beethoven, or a Chia Che Guevara.  Or how about a Chia William Shakespeare?  That would rule.  The only thing is, before you plant the stuff on them, they’re just a big terra cotta head; and to make the stuff stick to them better, they’re kind of corrugated.  Which isn’t a big deal really, except that before you plant them, it just looks like your Chia celebrity of choice has cornrows or something.  And trust me, Bob Dole with cornrows is not a thing you want to see.

            You know Data from Star Trek?  I mean, not personally or anything, (though that would be cool) but you know of him?  Did you ever wonder why Dr. Soong made him that funny uber-honky shade of pale?  I mean, he’s the most advanced android ever, capable of all sorts of impressive mathematical feats and ridiculously high Tetris scores, he has a cat, and his best friend runs Reading Rainbow, so he must be pretty sharp.  And yet, somehow, despite the fact that this is four hundred years in the future, the best the guy who built him could do in terms of a tan was to make him look like his parents were the Cheshire Cat and Michael Jackson.  Maybe it has something to do with the fact that he was built in a cave, I dunno.

            I hate those debit card gas pumps they have everywhere now because they’re so hypocritical.  Like, I go to buy a tank of gas, and the machine tells me to remove my card quickly, so I always really pull it out as fast as I can.  And then the machine takes like, five minutes to process it all and finally let me buy some gas.  C’mon Computerized Wawa Gas Pump, if you’re gonna expect me to go and hurry on your account, then the least you can do is reply in kind.  Besides, you’re already a gas pump, it’s not like you have anything better to do than approve my debit card.  Are you composing a symphony in there?  Or possibly an epic Homeric Haiku?

            You know how in MarkTrail, at least one panel of every day’s strip has some ginormous animal or another in it?  I used to think that this was just the guy who draws it showing off his awesome mastery of panda rendering, just in case the Pixar headhunters were out looking for someone to help with Finding Nemo 2: Crap, He Got Lost Again.  But after seeing MarkTrail turn two consecutive villains into giant animals, I think its clear that none of the animals in MarkTrail are really animals; they’re all evil people who’ve been transmogrified.  Which means that far from being a wondrous realm of nature conservation, the Hundred Acre Woods, or wherever Mark Trail lives, is actually like some kind of demented hell for diamond thieves, Lex Luthor wannabes, and Crazy Murdering Psycho Women who’ve all been transformed into hideous mutant cute woodland creatures.  Which in turn makes MarkTrail into the very Hades of the forest, a dark lord of the underworld, sitting high upon a log cabin made from the skulls of the wicked with Cherry, his grim queen Persephone by his side, and his almost-but-not-really-at-all three-headed dog Andy keeping the souls of the damned forever in his icy thrall.

            I was at the hardware store the other day, and I saw this big crate sitting on the floor, and on it, there was a big picture of a lion, and the words “Big Cat Mixer.”  So I was all excited, because I thought that someone had finally developed a kitchen appliance that would allow me to better mix my big cats, creating wacky and stylish new hybrids and mutants.  Especially because all the ones I’ve tried to make myself haven’t turned out so well.  Like, once I tried making a liger with an old egg beater and a steak knife and it didn’t end up well at all.  So anyway, I was thoroughly enthused about this, until I realized that is was really just a cement mixer with a horribly misleading brand name.  Just to be sure though, I threw a puma in there, but nothing happened.

            Isn’t it lucky that Adolf Hitler had an uncommon name?  Because you know that after that whole Holocaust thing, no one was ever going to want to be named Hitler again.  Like, what if his name had been Betty Johnson?  Everyone who was already named that would have had to either change their name or live in infamy, which would suck, even though you don’t have to get a new driver’s license.  And it always works out that way.  Like after September 11^th, did anyone wake up and go, “Aw man, now I have to change my name from Osama to something not evil.”  Ditto for Chairman Mao, Godzilla, and/or Brittany Spears.  But you know there’s just got to be this one poor old guy out in Utah somewhere whose parents named him Chairman Mao Osama Hitler and he’s just had to go through life changing names all the way.