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My War On Christmas

Next year, instead of dealing with the whole Christmas gift racket, I’m doing this:

<Tell anyone that might be considering me as a gift recipient to instead write down what they would have bought for me

<I’ll do the same for them

<After sifting through the lists, both sides can decide if they would like any of the potential gifts, and go buy them if they want

<I don’t want stuff and I don’t like to shop, so I will end up buying nothing

<I will save a lot of time and money

<Others will save time and money too, unless they want to buy themselves a bunch of stuff that I wrote down

 

 

Happy December

December 21, 2015 5 comments
touched_by_his_noodly_appendage

Touched by His Noodly Appendage, by Arne Niklas Jansson

 

There are holidays going on this month. Kwanzaa, Hanukah, New Year’s Eve, Festivus, the winter solstice, Bodhi Day, and probably the biggest one, the birth of Philip K. Dick. Not much else. Unless you want to count the birth of Philip K. Dick’s twin sister, whose tragic passing at the age of six weeks provided a tremendous influence on the writing of her surviving brother.

As you make your way through this celebration-stuffed month, you may come across certain folks that get angry if you don’t wish them a ‘happy’ whatever holiday they celebrate, whether it’s Boxing Day or the anniversary of Pearl Harbor. And this is your fault, because it is December, after all, and if you are unable to take one look at a person and not know what holiday greeting they wish to receive, then, well, why are we even here.

So why not do this: wish people a ‘happy’ whatever is you enjoy, and don’t be mad if they wish you a ‘happy’ something else in return. After all, you will both be wishing each other happiness. Be happy about that. However, if someone becomes hostile and says ‘death to Iowa for growing corn instead of mangos, because we need mangos for National Fruitcake Day on December 27th’ just play it cool, and politely inform them that Iowa doesn’t have the proper terroir to support a bountiful mango harvest. Then maybe share a mango and read about corn together on the internet. You are now friends with someone who wanted to kill you five minutes ago.

I have somehow avoided all of this, even though I have been wishing people my religion’s greeting for some time now (it should be noted that I have recently converted from Discordianism to Pastafarianism). In my new belief system, every Friday is considered a holiday. I’ve been wishing people of all religions a ‘Happy Friday’ for months now, and no one has been offended. It seems that the loving, noodly appendage of our Flying Spaghetti Monster has reached down and wiped away the hate among people who believe some days are better than others, for not one person has corrected me with something to the effect of “Not everyone celebrates Fridays. You should really just wish people happy days.” So maybe people are just more accepting of Pastafarianism, or the key is to dwell in particulars when wishing someone ‘happy something,’ instead of cramming all holidays together into one giant fruitcake of a greeting. I don’t know.

The lesson of this whole thing is to just be happy, dammit. And also, instantly know the beliefs of everyone you come into contact with and accommodate them accordingly.

 

Another Successful Earth Day

I didn’t use a bathroom today. Just held it all in. That’s a lot of unflushed water and unused toilet paper. At midnight, I will rush down to the creek behind my apartment and blast the built-up toxins from my body into the water. The fish will filter my waste through their gills, converting it into drinkable water, and I will clean my buttocks with a local rabbit. That rabbit will hop through the forest, pollinating flowers and trees as he or she goes along.

Soon, a small child will smell a flower that bloomed because of me, and deer miles downstream will drink from the creek and be refreshed by my body’s recycled garbage.

That’s how I contributed to The Solution.

What did you do for Mother Earth today?

Mother’s Day

Thank you Mother for allowing me to live in your womb for nine months. And then taking the time to give birth to me. I appreciate it.

What Halloween Means To Me

October 22, 2013 1 comment

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!! Halloween is like, totally my favorite holiday. Pumpkin-infused booze. Tons of candy. And, you can dress like a total slut and it’s acceptable because it’s like, Halloween.

I didn’t always slut it up on Halloween. Throughout my teenage years, I dressed like a slut every day but Halloween. Thanksgiving, Fourth of July, birthday parties—so much sluttiness! Halloween was my time to get away from that.

I eventually learned that you gain a certain power by withholding something great, in this case my slutty wardrobe. People began to realize how much they missed the slutty me.

Throughout my twenties I really let it rip every October 31. A partial list of my costumes from that decade—slutty pumpkin, slutty Santa, slutty teacher, slutty doctor, slutty angel, slutty devil, slutty Philip K. Dick, slutty male nurse, slutty ghost, slutty maid, slutty Jason. I was so slutty, I made myself sick!

It was very fun, but now that I’m officially a ‘thirty-something,’ the evolution must continue.

A certain maturity is expected of me now. A slutty, grown-up maturity.

Q: So, what is the sluttiest costume possible?

A: A slut, you’re probably thinking.

You’re wrong, though. A slutty slut is the correct answer.

I will be so slutty, right down to the slutty mannerisms, slutty dress, and slutty psyche of an actual slut, that I will believe I am no longer myself, but a slut with such low self esteem that slutting myself out is the only escape from my slutty life. I will even cry in the shower as I prepare to go out for the night, and wonder why people only call me when they’ve been drinking.

Ah! I can’t wait!

WOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

Columbus Day

In honor of Christopher Columbus, I went exploring the other day. I drove south and discovered Minneapolis. Though I did forget to demand gold from the natives and cut off their hands when they didn’t bring me enough. Next time.

 

October Is Man Nipple Health Awareness Month

My nipples are my livelihood. Did you know that, in lieu of a lactating woman, a man’s nipple has a placebocratic effect on a hungry infant? Or, when slathered in peanut butter, the masculine teat can provide fun and sustenance for canines? These are just two uses for what many believe to be a vestigial adornment on the male body.

So why Man Nipple Health Awareness Month? Just the other day, Lefty was nearly mangled by the business end of a pitchfork. I escaped with minor abrasions. After many, many erotic soapings followed by even steamier Neosporin applications to the affected area, it got me thinking that I’ve always taken all of the nipples on my body for granted. You never know when circumstances will arise that can tragically rip, scrape, suck, or slice one off. This October, be aware of your nipples, and the rippling influence they have had on your life. Treasure them, dammit. Treasure them.

Artistic rendering of one of my nipples

How Are Everyone’s New Year’s Resolutions Coming Along?

It’s August 8. Have you been keeping up with your New Year’s resolution(s)? Did you lose weight, get a new job, read a book, join a gym, mentor someone, find a mentor, spend more time with your family, quit smoking, get out of debt, give to charity, tickle a midget, eat more vegetables, plan a dream vacation, control your anger problems, ride a bike, see what gerbil tastes like, watch less TV, knife-fight a hobo, become more involved in your community, walk more, run more, let a friendly puppy lick peanut butter off your nipples, use the stairs instead of the elevator, eat more whole grains, talk to a long-lost friend, eat less fast food, compliment a stranger, ride around in the back of a pickup truck picking off stray dogs with a shotgun, or make any discernible effort to improve yourself at all?

A Dissertation on the Ramifications of Purchasing a Poorly Crafted Fake Moustache

When making a major purchase (house, car, electronics, etc.) the old cliché “you get what you pay for” rings true. But this past weekend, my fellow consumers, I found that in the sick and depraved universe of fake moustaches it rings even more truer than a big ol’ samurai looking guy pounding on a gong.

It started well – the man on the package was the very poster child of upper lip fertility. A crop of hair that was dark, thick, commanding. Everything that I wanted for my own face. A look that says “this man knows exactly who he is and what he wants out of life.” You can’t not buy something like that.

I’m not sure as to the exact price of the ‘stache – it was packaged with a wig – but if I had to guess using the ratio of the size of the wig to the size of the moustache, it would have been about forty, fifty cents. And a fifty-cent crumb-catcher it proved itself to be. Upon taking it out of the plastic bag, I could immediately tell something wasn’t right. The synthetic hair looked real enough, but instead of a steady downward flow, the strands stuck straight out, and in some places up, making the ‘stache appear as if it had an erection. Even worse was the performance of the application pad. The thin strip of paper covering the adhesive was nearly impossible to peel off, and a portion of the hair was half ripped off in the blind rage caused by the frustration.

You can imagine my vexation as I was now walking around with an upper lip that appeared to have erect hair hovering in front of it. The meat of the moustache eventually fell all the way off, leaving me with the sticky pad and a fraction of the bristle that I had started with. At this point it looked like someone had glued pubic hair to my face.

Wisdom to take away from this situation: if you are planning on buying a fake moustache, don’t skimp. Find a local artisan, and pay his/her price, no matter how ridiculous it may seem.

Here’s the Blong (Blog Song). Clubroot – Comedown. Kind of Halloween-y.

Summer

Here are my ideas so far:

-Walk naked through the outfield during a Twins game. You see, generations of streakers have the formula wrong. When you’re running, you give off the impression that you are doing something illegal. But if I hop out of the bleachers out there in left field, naked as a newborn, and confidently strut through the assembly of players all the way over to the stands behind the first-base line, people will just assume that I’m supposed to be there. I might use a flesh-colored body suit à la George Costanza. That is still up for debate.

-Walk naked through a Fourth of July Parade. Again with the nudity, right? Well, as I saunter along with the floats and bands and what-not, eventually the shocked crowd will come to realize that my nakedness is a metaphor for the birth of America. You see, back in ’76, 1776 that is, what was this great nation other than a naked baby? It came shooting out of The Mother of Modern Society, out into the world, covered in the disgusting viscera of afterbirth, ready to take on whatever Earth decided to throw at it. To arrest me for paying tribute to that would be nothing less than treason.

-Tube down the Root River in Lanesboro without clothing. The last two years I’ve done it, I have slathered myself in ridiculous amounts of sunscreen, only to emerge from the water looking like a freaking apple. Might as well try to achieve a uniform burn all over instead of having unsightly tan lines.

-Compose an entire Blog post in the nude. Check that off the list right now. This summer is already looking up.

-Maybe try to get a higher paying job so I can buy more clothes.

Well, it looks like I’ve got my work cut out for me. Here’s the Blong. Some of that laid-back killer Cali hip-hop. Ugly Duckling – Left Behind.

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