Rethinking the Mouse Trap

We bought a mouse trap. You’re supposed to put cheese in those things, but people don’t know that cheese is actually really bad for mice. Kind of in the same way you’re not supposed to feed bread to ducks, because the yeast consumes sugars in their stomachs, releasing an alcohol cloud that expands and causes an explosion. Just imagine walking up to a duck that had eaten bread earlier that day. Let’s just say your new nickname would be ‘Nubby’ or ‘Guy whose balls got blown off by an exploding duck.’

Anyhoo, cheese doesn’t have as dramatic an effect on mice as that, but it is very high in fat and can cause cardiovascular issues down the road. That’s why I prepared the below spice blend:

 We’ve got a little SPG mix, onion powder, oregano, parsley, and crushed red pepper for a bit of heat. Not only does this pop way more on the tastebuds, it comes without the bloated waistline and crap backup that are major hallmarks of cheese.

This is also easier on the mousetrap, because the metal bar doesn’t have to fight through a thick layer of cheese fat to crush the rodent’s brain, and there won’t be any exploding residuals from the constipation when the deceased mouse……..voids, if you catch my drift.

As A Novelist, I See Art Everywhere

As a novelist, it is my job to take a variety of drugs—smack, clappy, scrim-sham, bluppies, etc.—get really, really up there, then ride out the comedown with dark liquor and a tube of glue. Then, and only then, do I even think about writing a novel. You see, reaching these extreme highs and lows allows me to achieve the realization that there is art in everything.

‘Hey look, a tree!’ You, as a normal, drooling dullard may exclaim at the sight of a tree. But you’d be wrong. That tree is actually art. And I know that.

‘Wow, that cloud looks like a hamster!’ Your underdeveloped sense of vision may tell you. I’m sorry, but that cloud actually looks like Hobby Lobby, because that is the true birthplace of art. And also because the universe wouldn’t waste time sending you, a person who hasn’t even written a novel, a giant rain-filled rodent. Give the earth art, and she’ll give it right on back.

‘It transcends space, expresses the notion that there are no limits, no control; yes, chaos rules here—and it is beautiful,’ you cluck as you observe Autumn Rhythm. But as the novelist, I see…..a close up of ass hair? Maybe there’s some genitalia hidden in there somewhere. No, no. Just a bunch of ass hair clogging up a drain.

Autumn Rhythm by Jackson Pollock

358th Post Blowout!!!!

This is the 358th post of this blog. A great deal of labour, devotion, and inspiration has gone into all that writing. Let’s celebrate with a quote from a British chap:

“All the labour of the ages, all the devotion, all the inspiration, all the noonday brightness of human genius, are destined to extinction in the vast death of the solar system, and the whole temple of man’s achievement must inevitably be buried beneath the debris of a universe in ruins.” —Bertrand Russell

Dammit.

2014 Resolution: Be a Jerk

I’m too nice.

That’s why I’m going to become a jerk.

The first step:

Today I helped an old woman at the grocery store reach some items in the freezer. Pretty nice, si?

But wait. I only did it because I thought she was going to give me a little bit of money.

You see, old ladies always have nickels and trinkets burning holes in their musty pockets, eager to rid themselves of the excess weight and shove the coveted objects into the hand of a strapping lad who is towering over them, rubbing his index finger and thumb together, in the international ‘where’s my tip’ signal.

A ‘seasoned jerk’ would have refused altogether, and informed the ancient beast that the frozen chicken dinners would just pump her full of preservatives, and we don’t need old people who can’t grocery shop being preserved any longer than necessary. But I’m still new at this.

So I handed her the dinners, then went into newfound Jerk Mode, and told her next time I wouldn’t be so helpful. Except that I forgot to say that out loud, instead telling her that it was quote, “No problem.”

She had to have gotten my vibe though. Body language is 90% of communication, and 90% of body language is conveyed through the face part of the body, and 90% of that part of body language is expressed in and around the eyes and mouth. And if that old bag’s macular degenerated eyes could have seen my face, she would have seen a friendly smile. But it was a smile that only looked friendly. The 10% of the rest of my body language, i.e. my actual body, was giving off a kind of motion that said, ‘Hey, I don’t really have anywhere to be right now, or even tomorrow, but let’s hurry this up.’

I can just picture her nearly blind eyes conveying the message to her rapidly deteriorating brain: ‘Wow, I asked this dark blob for help, and it turned out to actually be a person. I think it put something in my cart, and I have no clue if it was the item I really wanted, but somebody acknowledged my existence.”

So all in all, I really blew it with that lady.  But there’s a lot of 2014 left to go.