Masturbation without representation

I went to Red Bull Flug Tag this past weekend.  Apparently “Flug Tag” is German for “Falling-straight-down Day”.

It was more like Batman than Superman.

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In other news, I live near a ballet studio with a large glass facade.  The other day when I was casually walking past it three times, I saw a hilarious dog sitting on the sidewalk.  He was facing the beautiful ballerinas in the windows.

And licking his balls.

After I got done laughing, I thought about this bullshit double standard.  I realized that, as a white middle-class American man in the prime of my life, I am promised a degree of freedom unparalleled in all of human history.  And yet, it is not Man, but Beast, who has the ultimate freedom on a public sidewalk.  Because despite the exact same electrical circuitry in both our brains and our genitals–the same mentality, the same intentions, and the same impulses–only the Beast could truly exercise that freedom.

So riddle me this, Batman: Why does “society” allow the dog to lick his balls in public, but not the freest man in history?

I want it all.  I want freedom.  I want life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.  Don’t you understand, America?

I WANT TO LICK THAT DOG’S BALLS.

Rhetorical questions – or are they?

What’s the deal with China?  Today my fortune cookie said “Take what you’re good at, and run with it.”  But what if I’m good with scissors?

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Also, in what religion or spiritual belief system are employees at cookie factories in China blessed with mystical powers?

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Did you ever notice that a “delay of game” penalty only delays the game even more?

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Today someone blew my mind with some fancy wordplay.  He said something like: “Why do we DRIVE onto our DRIVEWAYS, but we don’t GARAGE on our FREEWAYS?”  It doesn’t make as much sense now but I remember the answer was: “BUT WE DO GARAGE ON OUR FREEWAYS!!!”

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If your computer virus turns out to be cancer of the Excel, that sheet will spread.  In related news, the cure for cancer of consecutive integers is to ingest it, because before it benign it gotta be ate!

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I love theme parties.  How about an “Inception” party?  I can put girls into “dream states” with my “sedative” and will “kill them if they wake up too soon”, and finally I can “kick” them to wake them up when I’m done.

This is also the recipe for a “Conception” theme party.

The difference is the “Abortion” after-party.

Body and Soul

If we have souls, where do we keep them?  Is your soul somewhere deep inside your heart, acting as some essential part of your physical and spiritual being?  Or perhaps since all of your thoughts, feelings, behaviors, and experiences can likely be explained neurologically, you might think your soul is intimately connected with your brain and central nervous system.  Or, maybe your soul hovers in some less tangible metaphysical space, as part of your aura, your energy, or your chi.  But the other day I realized that I don’t give a shit about any of that.  I realized: my soul is in my penis!

I think we’d be better off if we stopped viewing people as the fundamental unit of analysis in evolution, spirituality, and society at large.  Instead, we should recognize that “people” are just the arbitrary, evolutionarily adaptive organs that grew onto our penises and vaginas — NOT the other way around.  Your “person” is just like your appendix: for millions of years it indirectly facilitated the union of penises and vaginas, but it isn’t really central to your existence.

Evolution is not the story of organisms passing along their genetic code to future generations.  Rather, it’s the story of penises and vaginas making more penises and vaginas.  The rest, is just details.

So if you do have a a true, core essence–if you do have a soul–it’s probably not anywhere in your “person” any more than it’s in your appendix.  Your soul is in your junk.

All “you” are is a penis.  Or a vagina.

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Sometimes you have to answer a question with another question.  This actually happened: recently I told a girl that I study psychology.

Girl: “You can’t really read minds, can you?”

Me: “You can’t really read at all, can you?”

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Despite the snark, she was still digging it and let’s just say our penises and vaginas ended up finding each other.  Everything was going really well until she yelled out the wrong name and ruined the moment.  I was able to ignore it and keep going, but I couldn’t help but wonder who she was pretending to be with.  What kind of name is “Stopgetoffme” anyways?

Sweeeeet emotion

The other day I texted Conman to congratulate him on his new job.

Here’s what I meant to type:

“Sweeeeet congrats dude!”

Here’s what Auto-Correct thought I meant:

“Sweetest congrats dude!”

When I realized that I sent “Sweetest congrats dude!”, I felt pretty gay.  But, then I realized, doesn’t Conman DESERVE our gay flattery?  So, without further ado, please join me in wishing Conman the SWEETEST of congratulations on his new job.

Can you please repeat the question?

In the spirit of Conman’s recent post, I have gone a few BEERS deep and would now like to talk about a few things that are on my drunk mind.

First, a business idea:  Canned water.  It will be like bottled water, but even stupider.  Because the WATER is in a CAN.  Because whoever first thought to sell bottled water to morons for literally INFINITY times more than the actual cost of the FREE SHIT THAT FALLS FROM THE SKY is so rich that he might take a reduced salary just to play basketball with Dwyane Wade.

It’s an $8BILLION industry. We could even call it RAIN, because, why not sell even FREER shit to even DUMBER people, so we can make even MORE money?

It’s a fool-proof business plan… and, it’s a fool-based business plan.  That is, the PLAN is based on an unlimited number of FOOLS… with money.  And I’m not even talking about the investors!

But still, we’ll need to be lucky, because even the most well-thought-out economic scams can fail.  RIGHT SOCIAL SECURITY SYSTEM?  So to get that extra edge, I googled “I’m feeling lucky” and then clicked “I’m feeling lucky”.  It was so meta that GOOGLE actually REACHED OUT from my computer screen and clicked ME.

This was all just proof that the Internet wasn’t designed by a woman, because it doesn’t mind being USED without asking you to tell it “what you’re feeling right now”.

If google were a woman, the #1 search result button would be “I’m GETTING lucky”.  Am I right fellas???  I’ll click THAT button!  Hey-O!!!!!!!!

The worst part would be the timer: “1,080,000 results in .24 seconds”.  Fuck you google!  If you want a longer “search” then why don’t you just Ask Jeeves, slut!

Ask.com isn’t the best search engine, but I still Ask Jeeves questions all the time.  For example, the other day I asked “Where’s Waldo?” and Jeeves returned 0 results.  That fucker really IS hard to find!

But it made me think: maybe I’m asking all the wrong questions, in search engines, and in life.  Instead of “Where’s Waldo” maybe I should be asking “WHO is Waldo?”  And, “Why is this homeless hitch-hiker leading innocent and naive little children all around the world to strange cities until they are ‘lost’ in the crowds?”

Or, “How can I do that?”

Maybe we’re also asking the wrong questions about our OTHER great American heroes.  Consider Helen Keller.  Sure, you could ask “How did a blind deaf-mute accomplish so much in her life?” or “Where did she gather the courage to endure so much after being given so little?” or “What would it be like to know someone who is so inspirational?”  But did you know that late in her life before she died, in addition to all of her other hardships, Helen Keller also suffered from a stroke?  So maybe the real question we should be asking is:

How the FUCK would you know???

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