I love songs in Japanese, Latin and all the other various and assorted languages which I don’t speak, because that way even if they’re about Greenhouse or the Hitler Effect, it doesn’t have to get in the way of my musical buzz (though Greenhouse and the Hitler Effect would be an awesome name for a band in any language, especially German, because they have like, fifteen different words for Hitler, kind of like Eskimos do for snow). Anyway, the problem is that my brain is always defying my attempts to bask in my own linguistical ignorance, and keeps trying to make the lyrics into English. Seriously, Brain, you need a better hobby than that. What did you end up doing with that Sudoku book I got you last Christmas anyway? Pawned it for wine, women and song, no doubt.
I want to get one of those “Republicans for Voldemort” bumper stickers, and then also get one of those “Dick Cheney 4 Evah” ones too. Then everyone on the road will know of my boundless evil and hatred for all things living. Mwahahahaha.
Flies have to be the most uncreatively named insect ever. Maybe we should make the most of that though, and do with them the same thing they always do with boringly named dorms at colleges – grant naming rights to the richest person who can both write them a large check and who happens to have such a tragically unfortunate name that nothing ought ever be named after them. That way, instead of ever needing a fly swatter again, you can just reach for the Eugene P. Snothammer Memorial Filth Carrying Insect and Reading Room swatter, which would at least be interesting, if lame.
I saw an ad in the hardware store the other day for, and thus I quote, “Toilets to Go”. I’m a little confused here; I thought all toilets were for going. If you don’t have to go, you don’t need to buy a toilet in the first place; they’re not so architecturally interesting that even if you’re a robot or photosynthetic or something that you want one in your vestibule just as a conversation piece.
Pity Goofy. Every other Disney character has a girlfriend, Donald has Daisy, Mickey has Minnie, even Uncle Scrooge can probably afford hookers on a regular basis. But not Goofy, he’s forever the smelly kid with bad acne wearing a pirate shirt tux and holding up the wall at senior prom. Going by naming conventions though, if he did have a woman, her name would probably have to be something like Geefy. But nooooo, Walt Disney decided that Goofy must never breed. I’m thinking he might want to take a crack at computer dating, I’ve heard that works for some people.
Why do people even bother buying “No Dumping” signs? Aren’t most places in
My parents bought themselves some new water bottles in the recent past, and according to the lids, they were manufactured by a company calling itself “Mi-go” Unfortunately, this already happens to be the name of a race of half-funguous crustacean aliens that dwell in the frozen darkness of the distant planet Yuggoth. So either those water bottles came with a hefty import fee, or some guy making water bottles in Iowa is about to get a call from an extraterrestrial lawyer (which is not, by any means, to imply that most lawyers are terrestrial in origin either).
Yesterday, I saw a guy whose license plate said BIG FRO, so I got al excited and sped up that I might witness his fro of unusual size. Alas, his cranium turned out to be adorned with a fro of merely modest gigantitude. Now, I know that “Fro of Moderate Size” wouldn’t exactly fit on a license plate, but limited space is no excuse for lying, otherwise I never would have given up my “HAM LORD” plate, since in truth, I am merely a baronet of ham (also, the Baronets of Ham would be a most excellently non-kosher name for a band).
