- I’d live forever.
- If I closed my right eye, my left eye would look back in time, and if I closed my left eye, my right eye would see into the future.
- I’d only have to shave one leg a day.
- Half my brain could sleep at a time, and the other half remain active.
- My vagina would be a black hole.
- The exact point of conversion of my eye sight would make the “God particle” visible.
- If I clapped my hands, the resultant meeting of matter and anti-matter would collapse the universe.
- I literally wouldn’t know which way to turn.
- I’d replace the Dos Equis man as the most admired person in the world.
- I’d be married to Johnny Depp (that occurs in any fantasy of mine, case you didn’t realize.)
“California had its first medical marijuana job fair. Over 2 million people meant to show up.” – Conan O’Brien (via Political Irony)
The Contrarian was on a rant this morning. I walked into the bedroom to find him furiously throwing socks hither and yon from his “sock drawer” which is a wicker basket containing about 75 assorted socks.
A bit of history is in order.
You see the Contrarian, being a recipient of the OCD gene, doesn’t handle socks like the rest of us. There are rules of join-ment. Namely there are such things as “thicks” and “thins” and “girls” and “boys”.
After repeated “lessons” in how to join two damn socks together as a “pair”, I gave up and gave him a drawer of socks he can sort through for himself.
Now, it seems that in all of the 75 or so (there is always one missing), he can’t find an acceptable pair.
“If I find a thick, then when I find another thick, it’s a girl sock and not a boy,” he pouts. “Why would any wife buy girl socks and boy socks that look exactly alike?”
“For someone who is gonna sit on his ass most of the day, I really don’t see why this matters,” I pitched, while making up the bed.
“Ouch, that was a low blow,” he whined.
“I know, we’ll throw out the entire stock of socks and buy you one pair, you can wash them out every night,” I advised.
“Finally, Finally,” he shouted. “I found a match!”
Off he went in true over-the-top happiness, tossing over his shoulder: “Big game tomorrow, babe, big game.”
I always thought George (THE ELDER) was kind of a douche, kind of a grumpy old geezer type, who complained a lot. (I don’t like broccoli!). And choosing Dan Quayle was a real duh moment, for sure.
Well, it turns out the Bush duh gene was really in the forefront way too much of the time. Seems Bush-Daddy was seriously thinking of dropping the dumb Quayle for a better VP in his run against Clinton.
We really need a better system for choosing our leaders doncha think? I mean why not Andy Taylor? He was such a good sheriff in Mayberry.
I think that people who draw for fun, or for profit for that matter, live lighter than the rest of us. That may be true for artists in general. I’m not sure.
More carefree. More open. With more fun. More childish, in the good way. More in the moment. More, let tomorrow take care of tomorrow, don’t miss today.
Case in point.
See Hansi’s Hallucinations today or any day.
Did you know that statistically speaking, 95% of all blogs are abandoned within 120 days?
I’m still trying to figure out what that means that this blog is 3 1/2 years old, and I’ve been blogging in total nearly 5 years.
Either I’m a masochist who enjoys banging my head against a wall, or I have the biggest ego this side of Sarah Palin. Eww, that analogy gave me dyspepsia.
Okay. Sit still. Don’t screw up your face like that.
It’s just your weekly dose of Cul-cher.
Meet Jonathon Keats: thinker, artist, poet, scientist, or something all-together different. Decide for yourself. Brought to you by BigThink, ideas that push the envelope. Want more? Go to the next page.
Okay, so you think he’s a charlatan? Maybe.
Try this then:
- Bush 41 Considered Putting Clint Eastwood On Ticket In 1988 (outsidethebeltway.com)