BIG WORDS.

I was reading a magazine the other day when I came across a word that I found amusing. Well, it wasn't so much the word, but rather the somewhat interesting use of the word put together with my understanding of the author's intentions through the cynical prism that I sometimes call a brain.

The word was 'detritus' or in other words: debris, odds and ends, decaying or disintegrating stuff, AKA: trash.

The reason I was amused was because here was a writer describing something seemingly valueless in order to ascribe some sort of literary value to himself. It's like when anyone uses the word 'esoteric'; the word is self-fulfilling. Esoteric is esoteric. It means: requiring or exhibiting knowledge that is restricted to a small group. The people who understand and use the word esoteric would most likely qualify as a somewhat small group. And, in a similarly laughable (but inaudibly laughable) way, using the word detritus to say trash to look good is amusing to say the least.

Of course I may be reading into this too much. Maybe the author uses the word detritus in his everyday speech. In fact, maybe everyone does. Maybe I'm the dumb one...or just jaded. Cue that mediocre Aerosmith song.

This was apparently on the same sidewalk as the previous picture:I almost got mad at whoever wrote it. Don't tell everyone where the factory is!

Hello Person

Hello person who is reading this. I bet you don't get a personal "hello" every time you read a blog. But that's because this is a different kind of blog, and you're a different kind of person. Most likely the kind that I do not know. Or maybe I know you, but only vaguely. Or maybe I know someone who looks like you, but we'll probably never know that because you're reading this and I'm not actually talking to you in person. And don't think it's going to happen on skype either.

So back to you.

What do you think of this?:You're welcome. And it's not even Christmas.

Oh CUTE!

English is an interesting language.

Well, some people seem to think so anyway. And, I guess I fall into the category of "some people". But something that makes English so interesting is that it is a living language. It lives in the same way Frankenstein's monster does/did/I don't know if he's still alive. I say that because of how much it is driven by popular culture, vernacular, and is in essence a flowing amalgam of bits and pieces from many other languages and cultures beyond merely those of the British isles and places that were at once part of the British Empire. Ok, let's get to the point.

The word CUTE has become in a way, it's own sub-language. It's versatility is frighteningly unoriginal:

Here is the way in which it was at one point, and may sometimes still be used:

- That baby/puppy/halloween outfit* is CUTE.

*all terms can also be exchanged for butterfly wallpaper, floral arrangements, kittens, etc.


However, here is the way in which it is now used:

- He's CUTE. - (in reference to a boy/man - who should in fact never be considered cute, unless he looks like a puppy holding a floral arrangement while wearing a children's halloween costume - and in that case I believe the correct terminology would be FREAK. A man/boy used to be called attractive, handsome, good-looking, etc., but now, he has unfortunately been relegated to puppy status. If that were all, then no worries, but cute is a universal coverall as we shall see)

- That's so CUTE! - (when referring to any object that has a favorable color scheme or design, when one could just say, "I love those colors, such and such compliments the other, and/or that is a clever or creative way to use yellow and blue/pink and mint green/etc. and etc.)

- Oh what a CUTE sign! - (When the sign is actually not cute at all, bearing no resemblance to a newborn baby, puppy, and containing nothing resembling a kitten with a bib and pacifier. Most often the sign contains a clever turn of phrase, is witty, or is just cleverly being offensive while also subtly attempting to be innocuous)

- Oh CUTE! - (When referring to anything, ever, for any reason at all)

So there you have it. Is there a remedy for this generic way of describing things. Yes. Will anyone really make any concerted effort to come up with a more in depth way of evaluating their sentiments about people, places, and things that will avoid the temptation of cute's simplicity? Probably not dude. I mean dude. Really dude? Dude.

Sleeping Foot Dreams!

Everyone has at one time or another had it happen. Maybe you're sitting at a movie theater. Perhaps at a nice restaurant. Maybe you're in a pew at church. Then, there's that all too familiar pins and needles feeling in your foot, then it creeps up your leg. You try to shake it so that it wakes up. People start to give you weird looks. Some people smirk, others wink. You're unwittingly sending mixed messages. Your foot is asleep.

Well finally, after years of painstaking research, Dr. Ivan Malcomb claims that sleeping feet actually dream. His project began as a simple question from a neighbor while they were playing scrabble and drinking a supposedly non-alcoholic beverage.

"Linda said to me, 'Ivan, my foot's asleep. I hate when this happens. It's probably dreaming of comfortable but stylish shoes, or a stroll on a tropical beach somewhere no doubt. I mean right?' Of course, she was probably just being silly, but a lightning bolt struck my brain at that moment. I had an apostrophe...er...epiphany."

For the next 5 years Dr. Malcomb invited people over to his house to play scrabble, trying myriad techniques to lull their feet into a deep sleep; a sleep he calls RTM. Rapid Toe Movement, similar to its cousin REM - Rapid Eye Movement - occurs when the foot has reached its dream state.

"I tried to be really sedate and boring for 5 years. My wife told me I didn't have to try, but I did anyway. We sat around watching reruns of Mr. Rogers and Baywatch, and playing scrabble, hangman, and team solitaire. Yes, team solitaire," said Dr. Malcomb.

Once a subject's foot entered RTM, he strapped electrodes along its "Neo-Pedal Cortex" on the arch of the foot, and measured the dream activity. After two years of mapping dream activity, Ivan found that he could accurately map the energy, and even what each foot was dreaming.

Dr. Malcomb elaborated, "If the energy is concentrated in the ball of the foot with slow radiating impulses to the toes, the most likely dreams are of little piggies, pedicures, and weird foot-related toe-sucking nightmares. If the energy is along the main corridor of the Neo-Pedal Cortex, then the dreams are more intricate and tend to be about trendy shoe styles, glamor, or massages."

While his research maybe controversial, and his methods unorthodox, Dr. Ivan Malcomb remains adamant that his conclusions are correct.

"I stand by work one hundred percent. I think it will change the world and the way we think about feet, and sleep. My next study will be assessing dreams in other appendages like the arm, the leg, or the...I guess that's it."

So even if you are bothered by your foot's narcolepsy, consider your foot. It might actually enjoy sleeping. Instead of hitting your sleeping foot against a table leg on nervously stamping the floor, perhaps next time you should just rock back and forth gently, sing a sweet lullaby and give your foot a break.

I'm the fastest man in the world.

So a lot of people ask me: "How did you become the fastest man in the world?"

My response is simple. Practice.

But when I say "practice", I don't mean "practice running", or "practice running fast". No. I mean "practice being the fastest man in the world". Start from there. You have to be it before you're it. Got me?
Here are some other pointers if you hope to one day become a thousandth as fast as me:

1. Outrun and then chase down an antelope, and devour it.
2. Outrun and then chase down an antelope that a cheetah is already chasing, then devour the antelope in front of the cheetah and then devour him if he doesn't like it.
3. Get some colored rocks and a slingshot.
4. Start running as you hear the snap of the slingshot and beat the rocks to whatever target you've shot them at. Colored rocks make it more fun.
5. Get to know some people at NASA, and then race the space shuttle (Bring a cape so you can keep chasing it while you are flying in the upper stratosphere...if you haven't caught it by the time it escapes earth's orbit, you've lost, and you'll never be as fast as me).

This is the last guy I beat. Look, he can't even chase down a ring. And he needs to hold the word 'flash' in his hand to remind himself of the shell of a superhero that he now is thanks to me.

That is all.

PS - Usain Bolt only competes against humans. Weak sauce.

Repackaged, Repurposed and....Still Funny

Here are some of the more enjoyable recent funnies from Failblog, Very Demotivational, Pictureisunrelated, oddlyspecific and engrish:

Deep inside he knew that this was the best part of his day.

Oooooo.

Actually, in Ireland you would not get arrested. Common practice.

Is it just me or do his undies look like a hamper?

It can be done.

You've been in this situation before.

Greatest day of your life.

Llamas. Of course!

That's a bad law. Only in Gaithersburg.

Just your average, everyday house....for psychos.

That's what you think. The aliens took this picture.

The part you can't see is the other golf cart on top of the second ladder.

This is not a fail. Pizza is the real hero.

Pretty accurate actually.

I always do.

Bill's Story: Chapter 3

When I went to get the paper this morning I saw my neighbor Ted. Typical right? Except he was squatting and hunched over something by my garbage cans. When I yelled "Hello Ted", as is my custom, he glared at me and made a hissing noise. I think he's probably a zombie. He was either eating a rotten bag of potatoes or a small child. I don't know how any of that got in my garbage. I take solace in the fact that at least he's not a raccoon. My dog Trevor got bitten by a couple raccoons last week. Doctors told me he has rabies. I know better. Trevor is now a raccoon zombie. I'm pretty sure both he and my neighbor are plotting to eat me. And then steal my flat screen TV.

Bill's Story: Chapter 2

So Trevor (my dog) kept me up last night. He kept barking at the corner of the room. My guess is he saw the invisible psycho clown that has been trying to get me for years. Dogs for some reason can always see invisible things. It's like a sixth sense. Except, I don't know if they only have five to begin with. I pretty sure Trevor has 15. One of them I now know is sensing invisible psycho clowns. Others are more obvious. Like knowing whether or not an animal or object is worth a hump. I bet you wish you had a dog named Trevor.

Bill's Story: Chapter 1

Hi. My name is Bill. I live at 123 Fake Street. I have a dog named Trevor. I own a farm and sell oats to the Chinese. They love whole grains. Just like my mother in law. Tough luck for her though; she was told by her doctor last week that she can't have gluten, whole grains, or anything that resembles Keanu Reeves. Her doctor is a former hippy who still lives in a commune and runs a meth lab with her "mermaid" friends. Makes me glad mermaids still have friends. My sister and one of her good friends wish they were mermaids. I guess that's all well and good, until you realize you're in essence a paraplegic. But it's a romantic notion, if you don't mind being hit on by the occasional walrus, manatee, or on an off day, a narwhal.

5 Reasons why "Juicing" is like peeing your pants

5) You can do it yourself

4) Everybody's doing it

3) It's easier than the alternative

2) It seemed like a good idea at the time

1) It's cool. Miles Davis.