Archive for mental chex mix

Monday Night Mental Chex Mix

Posted in Uncategorized with tags on October 6, 2010 by tom
  • Today has seen some remarkably odd mental activity, and I’d feel better if it stopped.
  • To amend that, I do NOT want all mental activity to cease–just the weird stuff.
  • First off, I had a really odd dream.  I was asked to put new, low-profile tires onto this kid’s VW Bug.  They were bicycle tires, and really rotten ones at that.  I told him I was unable to.  Turns out, he was the illegitimate son of an NBA player, so I decided to help him.  I went to Wal-Mart and bought two low-profile tires that would fit his Bug, then I took his car to my dad’s mechanic shop and changed them out.
  • Okay.  That’s weird, if only because my dad doesn’t service VW’s in his mechanic shop, mainly because my dad doesn’t HAVE a mechanic shop. 
  • Full disclosure: my first car was a 1965 VW Beetle, and my dad and I used to work on it together, however we didn’t have a hydraulic lift and impact wrench.
  • Also, I’m NOT an NBA player’s love child.  I might be six-four, but my legs would be longer, and I’d be waaaaaaay more coordinated.
  • So that was the normal part of the dream.
  • From there, I went on with my friend Nick, who’s wife has leukemia.  (sadly, the leukemia is real)
  • We had to walk somewhere to take care of a work problem, and we ended up doing crime scene investigation on a prostitute’s murder. 
  • You know, the prostitutes who work out of the public bath house at the forest campground.
  • We got that done, thank goodness, then it was time to ride through a beautiful Tampa night in the back of a company convertible, except that it was a radio station thing and not a function of where Nick and I currently work (or even the crimefighting organization for whom we apparently do CSI)
  • Then I had two different of my Twitter friends make some sort of comment about how much they loved Taylor Swift, only to have another Twitter person (a country duo) post a pic of themselves meeting T-Swift outside a Nashville Starbucks.
  • Okay, the Taylor Swift/Twitter coincidence was not part of the dream.  The dream ended riding through Tampa in the convertible.
  • (btw, I’ve met Taylor Swift.  She was fairly tall and very nice and also holding a hot beverage (although she was getting hot chocolate in the CBS Radio break-room, not purchasing a frappumochasomthing at a Starbucks))
  • And this was fine–all of it!
  • I mean, I can deal with murdered hooker crime scenes.  I can change tires on VW Beetles.  I can ride in convertibles, too, even though I think low-profile tires look dumb on a VW.  I accept that I’m bad at basketball, and that I can only name “Tim McGraw” among T-Swift’s song catalog.
  • But the earworm that got me today? On a song I haven’t heard in decades?? “Get Up and Boogie (That’s Right!),” by Silver effin’ CONVENTION??????
  • That just sucks.
  • Happy Monday.
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Goody Goody Gumdrops: Saturday Mental Chex Mix

Posted in Uncategorized with tags on September 25, 2010 by tom

 

  • After a week of coughing and horking, my brain pattern has been recorded as you see above.
  • And just like that, it’s Saturday again.  Another work week has blurred by, and I’m left to smite my way through tomFriday
  • Snotstock ’10 had a brilliant run.  My body is in the physiological equivalent of cleaning up after 600,000 hippies.
  • Meaning, I don’t think there’s any new snot production occurring, but the Yazgur’s Farm that is my sinus-lung system is getting rid of a week’s worth of inventory.
  • I just imagined a bunch of antibodies walking through my lungs and sinuses, poking those little sticks with nails on them, picking up dead cold stuff, and putting the germ carcasses in a shoulder bag before dumping them en masse into the cough tank.
  • One of the most enduring gross images I’ve encountered was from my friend Adam.  One day back in AP Biology class, apropos of nothing, Adam looked at me and said, “Did you ever notice that when you swish mucous through your teeth, it kinda tastes like drawn butter?”
  • It kinda does.
  • Staceypunkin is working OT today.  She’s contentedly cutting things up into little pieces, as is her wont.
  • There was a time, many moons ago, when I sat next to Staceypunkin at work.  I was working the ungodly early shift, 0630 till 1500.  In my prework stupor, I’d stumble in to the 7-Eleven, and purchase a large vessel of coffee.  For some reason, they had these rubber toy lizards for sale. 
  • Well, I bought one for Staceypunkin.  She loved it.  So the next day, she came in, and there was another lizard on her desk.  This repeated, until she had the complete set of four.
  • One of her filing cabinets became “the lizard garage,” where the four lizards would reside when not being played with. 
  • Finally, I was able to change my hours to 1500-0130. Hooray! More tom-friendly hours.
  • I came in one afternoon, and there was a pile of very tiny, very neat little pieces of rubber. 
  • There was also a lizard with no tail.
  • Gradually, the lizards would lose teeth, lips, tails, toes, and at least one was completely autopsied, and emptied of whatever lizard stuffing was inside it.
  • Staceypunkin really enjoys cutting things into pieces. 
  • But that’s okay.  It keeps her off the streets.
  • I wouldn’t want her to cut up my pizza though.
  • Pity she wasn’t around during the Manhattan Project.  She could’ve split the atom with her sharp little scissors.
  • Then again, I’d have a Punkin who was a hundred years old, instead of 19 or whatever she is. 😉
  • If you hate gumdrops, would you be offended when somebody says “Goody goody gumdrops?”
  • I like gumdrops, but I think that’s a dumb expression, although it’s far more melodic than “Goody goody Chik-o-Stix.”
  • Chik-o-Stix are yummy, perhaps even moreso than gumdrops. 
  • For most of my life, Chik-o-Stix were only known as “crap that ends up in your Halloween bag and is never available any other time,” along with MaryJanes and Bit-O-Honey’s.
  • Staceypunkin liked Almond Joys and Mounds.  Because, sometimes she feels like a nut, and…
  • I lament that there are no longer catchy jingles for products. 
  • Seriously, the first time I played Natasha Bedingfield on the radio, I thought, “OMG! Somebody made a song out of that stupid Zayles commercial!”
  • When I was a kid, back in the 20th Century, there were jingles.  “Burger King,” you say?
  • “Hold the pickles hold the lettuce, special orders don’t upset us, all we ask is that you let us serve it your way.”
  • I won a radio contest when I was ten, because I was able to sing the “Big Mac” jingle: “Two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions, on a sesame seed bun. Bah-doo-doo-doo, Big Mac Big Mac Big Mac Big Mac…”
  • Those of you who remember are cursing me right now. 😀
  • Know who wrote a lot of commercial jingles??
  • Barry Manilow.
  • Know who else wrote a lot of commercial jingles??
  • Satan.
  • It’s the Dark One’s fault I spent years of my life fruitlessly looking for the Honeycomb Hideout.
  • Percentage of Honeycomb Hideout denizens who went on to make Big Mac’s professionally? 100%.
  • Looking back, I find it hilarious that there was a shack in the woods, and assorted hippie-ish kids would go, hang out, and rebelliously eat Honeycombs cereal.
  • What they didn’t show was the joints they passed around, inspiring those munchies only through which Honeycombs cereal elicited foodgasm.
  • If Stacey had been there, she’d have chopped all the Honeycombs into tiny crumbs.
  • Of course, she was still a zygote when the Honeycomb Hideout gang pulled their last bonghit.
  • Zygote sounds like part of a German phrase.
  • “Es sieht als ob es regnet wird und unsere Zygote ist nicht frei.”
  • As they say at Burger Koenig, “Hast es eure Weg.”
  • The countdown is on till NyQuil time, and the start of tomweekend.  Happy Saturday.

Saturday Mental Chex Mix (Live from Snotstock ’10)

Posted in Uncategorized with tags on September 18, 2010 by tom
  • I have a cold. 
  • It’s the middle of our Florida summer, 91 degrees outside, and invariably someone will tell me, “Summer colds are the worst!”
  • Do they say that about other diseases?
  • “Oh, poor thing! Summer sarcoidosis is the worst!” “Summer endometriosis is the WORST!”
  • Is there really a designated good season to be sick? I can’t recall ever saying, “What a lovely winter day! Know what I need? Fournier’s gangrene!”
  • One of the coolest bits of dialog in any movie is this: in Italy for 30 years under the Borgias they had warfare, terror, murder, and bloodshed, but they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, and the Renaissance. In Switzerland they had brotherly love – they had 500 years of democracy and peace, and what did that produce? The cuckoo clock.  (Orson Welles in “The Third Man”)
  • Graham Greene wrote the screenplay, but Orson Wells came up with that memorable little nugget. 
  • “The Third Man” is an awesome film, one of my favorites, but to me, Orson Welles steals it when he’s on the screen.
  • Other otherwise-good films that are stolen by one actor? Alec Baldwin in “Glengarry Glen Ross.” Dennis Hopper in “Blue Velvet.” Ben Kingsley in “Sexy Beast.”
  • I’d also put Val Kilmer in “Tombstone” on there, but he was in a huge number of scenes.  I liked the film fine, but good Lord, was Kilmer a great Doc Holliday.
  • I’m not an actor, much less a good one, but I can see myself getting a copy of the “Tombstone” screenplay, and thinking, “Wha?? How the hell am I supposed to say `I’m your huckleberry,’ and `You’re a daisy if you do,’ and not sound like a complete goofball?”
  • Instead, it became celluloid awesomeness.
  • I recently acquired “Dead Like Me” on DVD. 
  • The series, if you’ve never seen it, is centered around an 18 year-old girl who is killed in a freak accident.  Instead of “moving on,” she’s assigned to a small squad of Grim Reapers, who are assigned “reaps,” and remove a body’s soul before their painful death.
  • Dead Like Me only lasted two seasons on Showtime, but the last episode was beautiful in its resolution.
  • When I got through the final episode, I went back and watched the Pilot again, while listening to the commentary track. 
  • Yes, I’m that nerd that listens to the director commentary, if it’s a film I truly like. 
  • For example: “Love, Actually”? Yes.  The commentary track, with the director, plus Hugh Grant, Bill Nighy, and the kid is spectacular and often very funny (eg, Hugh Grant keeps mocking Colin Firth’s acting ability)
  • “Talladega Nights”? Nope.  Couldn’t care less how or why things were done.  Amusing film, but I have no curiosity (except maybe how John C Reilly ended up in it)
  • In the commentary for “Hamlet 2,” the director paid a lovely compliment for Phoebe Strole, the megatalented Broadway musical actress who played a dorky high school girl: “And she can hit that note eleven ways to Sunday.  With a knife in her throat.”
  • It was a helluva note.
  • Due to the cold, I feel like I have an atmosphere, as if there is about a two inch thick layer of virus-laden sick-sweat vapor hovering above my skin.
  • After the chili cook-off the other night, my atmosphere would probably look like Neptune’s, which appears blue due to the methane content.
  • But it brings out the blue in my eyes. 😀
  • Sorry.
  • My favorite person today is Jenn the Dame, who brought me the “Zack & Miri Make a Porno” dvd earlier, then a large McDonald’s iced coffee a few minutes ago.
  • I hadn’t requested the beverage, so I asked her why she got it for me.  “I just love watching their heads explode when I order it.  They can’t fathom that you just want a cup with ice and coffee.  The girl fought to put cream, sugar, and some sort of flavor in it.  It was entertaining.”
  • God bless Jenn the Dame.
  • The picture at the top of this writhing ball of tormented electrons is my belly button, photographed with my new atmosphere. 🙂
  • One of the coolest things about being owned by a cat is that they can tell when I’m sick. 
  • Beyond that, they seem to be able to sense the severity of the malady. 
  • I reiterate: I have a cold.  Ana-Sofia Vargas lounged beside me while I slept, as opposed to lording it over all creation from her perch.
  • note: not “her perch” meaning a beloved fish woobie, but “her perch” meaning a carpet covered throne-type platform thing.
  • When I had the Fournier’s a few years ago, she wouldn’t leave my side.  She seemed to know I was very, very ill.
  • Noted cat detractor Craig Ferguson would say, “She was waiting for you to kick, so that she could eat you.”
  • Ana-Sofia Vargas would never eat me, for I’m not made out of Meow Mix.
  • Wind wouldn’t hesitate.
  • And he farts so much, my already methane-rich atmosphere would be even bluer.
  • Fine with me.  After all, we’re supposed to recycle, right?  
  • Have a great Saturday. (and somebody bring me some NyQuil!) 🙂

Wednesday Night Mental Chex Mix

Posted in Uncategorized with tags on September 9, 2010 by tom
  • Woo-hoo! The first Mental Chex Mix under the WP banner!
  • I just hope my non sequiturs don’t break the new site.
  • I heard “Slow Dancin’ (Swayin’ to the Music)” by Johnny Rivers on the radio.  I was maybe 10 when that song came out, but I’ve always liked it.
  • I think the reason I liked it back then was because it has cricket noises in it.
  • I was a weird kid.
  • There were certain songs I first heard when I was a kid, but I didn’t really “get them” until I was older.
  • “Night Moves,” by Bob Seger, is one of them. 
  • And I knew the words! I sang along back then, even though I didn’t know what “I used her, she used me, but neither one cared.  We were gettin’ our share” meant.
  • Oh, and how heartbreaking when I looked at L___ many moons ago, and the Rod Stewart line, “The morning sun when it’s in your face really shows your age.”
  • Ouch.
  • I watched “Kick Ass” last night.  What a fun movie. 
  • Roger Ebert gave it one star out of four, saying “In one scene, she faces a hallway jammed with heavily armed gangsters and shoots, stabs and kicks them all to death, while flying through the air with such power, it’s enough to make Jackie Chan take out an AARP membership.”
  • Roger Ebert is a great film critic, and I respect him.  I thought “Kick-Ass” was a hoot, especially because of Hit Girl and the way she dismantled bad guys.
  • It would make me sad if this movie weren’t so obviously a satire.  If it were a documentary, I’d be mortified.  After watching Nicolas Cage shoot her in the chest (to show her what it would feel like with her body armor), then promise to take her for ice cream if she didn’t flinch when he shot her twice more?
  • Hysterical.  Especially when Kick-Ass shoots out the windows from his jet back, as Elvis’ “American Trilogy” soars. 
  • Like MSG, Elvis enhances movies.
  • In the bathroom here, there’s this automatic air-freshener thing, which periodically sprays pina colada scent into the air.
  • Dear air-freshener installer people:  please put these things in the stalls, so they can eradicate or mask actual poo-stank, instead of spraying me in the face when I’m trying to wash my hands.
  • And please, if I ever leave home without my glasses again, somebody smack me upside the head. 
  • Without my glasses, I feel like I’m 4 feet tall and driving a Corvette, instead of being Hagridian and driving the USS Nimitz.  Plus, staring at a computer screen for 10.5 hours has been a real hoot. 
  • I’m going to have Marty Feldman eyes when I finally leave here.
  • Anyway, I hope you’re finding a new home for your blog.  I’m happy enough with Word Press, especially with the Android app. 
  • Here’s to a happy Thursday.
  • Ob’yatiya

Thursday Night Mental Chex Mix

Posted in Uncategorized with tags on August 19, 2010 by tom
  • Little brother, I'm happy to report, has survived his grueling back surgery.
  • My parents, I'm happy to report, have survived their grueling three week stay with little brother.
  • If I were to set the rules for time travel, I would not allow a specific date or event to be set.  I'd tie it to the radio.
  • And I'd make it arbitrary, so you never knew when it was going to happen. 
  • Example, I'd be driving home from work.  My back is sore, and my brain hurts after a long day.  My fuel light comes on, and I dread having to fill up the USS Nimitz.  I'm worried about my brother's back, the sparseness of my vault at Gringott's, and I wish I had enough extra money to replace my back-right tire.  Suddenly, Rush's "Spirit of the Radio" plays. 
  • Yay! I've always liked that song.
  • So I'm driving, then POUF! The fabric of Time rips a little, and I'm suddenly 18, driving my Datsun B-210 on a windy South Carolina road. 
  • Sounds great, right? Holy crap, I'm 18! Gas is 98 cents a gallon! I have a metabolism! A panacea!
  • But I'm thrust into the worries of my 18 year-old mind.  I just got a 39 on a Calculus test.  Beth the Swedish Girl won't talk to me. I have to write a paper for my Freshman Comp class, and I don't have a topic.  (My highly developed powers of bullshit are in their nascent stages).  I also have to write a paper for my friend Ben's friend's English class, in exchange for a small bag of certain herbal substances.  I'm homesick–I miss my friends, my old school, the absolute Manifest Destiny I felt six months ago in high school–and SHIT, it's cold, and I'll probably die a virgin.
  • There are no panaceas in our timelines.  At every point in life, we have our burdens and pains in the ass. 
  • We also have our wonderful times–those precious memories that comfort us and bring smiles to our faces. 
  • At this point, I'd love to go back and have my 18 year-old troubles.  Lord knows I could bang out my Freshman Comp paper in a painless hour, and I'd charge cash to write my friend's friend's paper (or I'd use the bag of herbal substances on Beth in an attempt to lose the aforelamented virginity (it was a couple weeks later, alcohol, with Jennifer, in a Jeep, as it happened 😉 )) 
  • When I was 18, if you'd transported me to this moment, I'd be amazed at the computer I'm using.  My DorkFone 9500 Turbo XLT would totally freak me out, and I'd think the USS Nimitz was unbelievably cool. 
  • I guess the key is perspective, trying to acknowledge the gorgeous moments of WIN that counterbalance the drudgery and abrasive beatings.
  • Happy Thursday (from 2010)

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Saturday Mental Chex Mix: Inanity Taste Test

Posted in Uncategorized with tags on June 27, 2010 by tom
  • As I noted in my brief, horribly punctuated previous post, I now have a Twitter account.  If you're connected to Twitter, it's @tomzonets .  The question is…why would I do such a thing?
  • Seriously, for years, I've gleefully written thousands of words about the most inconsequential things, sometimes even bundling my overblown non sequitars into these continuity challenged (but healthily low sodium) Mental Chex Mix posts.  So why enter into a forum with a 140 character maximum length?
  • Simple.  I don't always have long thoughts.  Sometimes, apropos of nothing, a one sentence thought will pop into my head.  The DorkFone 9500 Turbo XLT, while horrible for writing Vox posts, lends itself perfectly to these little brain poots. 
  • Here's an idea.  I shall take an actual brain poot that I Twittered or tweeted or twat or whatever, and I'll include it verbatim, followed by how the idea would develop in a typical Vox post. 
  • @tomzonets
     

    Just wondering which act of God resulted in Miracle Whip. Perhaps fried bologna sandwiches at The Last Supper?  

  • That was about 5 o'clock this morning, as back pills floated through my bloodstream in little floaty pool chairs.
  • See? I just spent about a hundred characters simply describing the time when I wrote the thing.  Yikes.
  • So how would that same thought develop on Vox? Let's see.
  • What, exactly, was the situation in which God created Miracle Whip? I mean, it has to have been some sort of dusty Biblical picnic.  I imagine Jesus and His peeps were having a picnic somewhere, and word got out.  Suddenly, there was with them a multitude of moochers, and yet only enough Ahi tuna for His pals.  Mary probably scolded Jesus to stop turning the Evian into chianti and come help with the sandwiches.  He'd do the whole fish multiplication thing, but alas! Only one little half-empty jar of Hellman's.  So when He went to multiply the mayonnaise, Mary said, "Hey, we're out of pickles, so when You whip up that Hellman's to make enough tuna salad to feed the masses, try and put a little tangy zip into it." And thus, from an improvised picnic solution comes the white sandwich goo we use today.
  • Mayo and Miracle Whip are now available in squeeze bottles, which makes a lot of sense.  My only question is, what the hell took so long?
  • Seriously, we put a man on the moon 41 years ago, but we still had mayonaise and ketchup in glass vessels. Why did it take so long?
  • When I worked at the mob owned sub shop, I could make an awesome sub in about 60 seconds–just the way you liked it.  "What would you like on that?"  "Mayo, (grab, squeeeeeeeeeze splutter spurt), lettuce (spread, spread), tomatoes (place place place)," etc.  If I were to try and make that same sandwich at home, I'd spend at least a minute trying to scrape enough mayo off the sides of the jar.  That's one sound I always associate with childhood: the clinkclinkclinkclinkclink of making sandwiches.
  • Jenn says her brain feels like Miracle Whip.  (She's tired, and she was out in the sun at the Pride parade today (my brain feels like Miracle Whip, and I slept 8 hours in my air-conditioned cave (I'm not gay, but I have a lot of gay friends, and I support gay rights, but I don't do parades (especially when it's 549 degrees outside, like it is now))))
  • Straight-up (npi), it's 549 degrees here in Gomorrah.
  • 549 degrees Rankine
  • Yes, that's a real temperature scale.  I think Rankine:Fahrenheit :: Kelvin:Celsius
  • It just sounds more dramatic to say, "HOLY CRAP!!!! IT'S FREAKIN' 549 DEGREES! But the HEAT INDEX makes it feel like 559!"
  • Being an American, I'm not really conversant with the metric system (I mean, when has America ever been about logic? ;-) ), but I concede that driving 112 km/hr sounds a whole lot more invigorating than plodding along at 70 mph.
  • There's a wonderful free app in the Android market called Unit Converter.  You can select the unit in question (temperature), enter a value (99 Fahrenheit), and it will list conversions (558.67 Rankine, 37.2 Celsius, 310.37 Kelvin, 29.77 Reaumur).  I love having data I don't understand.
  • Cafe World is a bad game for people with food issues.  Seriously, I'd just about kill for some smoked salmon latkes and quiche right now, and I haven't had either in years.  This despite the fact that I prepared 18,000 servings of quiche last night, and enough latkes to feed 2000.
  • Makes me wonder what Jesus could have done if the kid with the fishes and loaves had brought quiche instead.

 

  • So the answer is that I used 3146 characters and 566 words to riff on Miracle Whip in Vox format.
  • I guess the Twitter is a portable, do it yourself version, where I can transmit odd thoughts, leaving the Tweet-reader to bounce around with the idea on his or her own.  I'm sure it can be done more efficiently, but where's the fun in that?
  • Finally, for Drude and any other northern lattitude residents who have 20 hour midsummer days, I offer you a picture of what night-time should look like (just in case you forgot):

 

Have a great weekend!

 

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Saturday Mental Chex Mix

Posted in Uncategorized with tags on April 10, 2010 by tom
  • Some,  unusual things happen.  Today just seems to be one of those days where my brain is operating in a different format than the world.
  • It’s sorta like seeing “Pushing Daisies” after watching 24: the over-saturated colors made everything dreamy.
  • No, I didn’t drop acid before work.  I’m just high on life (and Diet Dr Pepper)
  • And what was Dr. Pepper’s background? I can’t imagine he was an Endocrinologist, Psychiatrist, or especially a Dentist (sugar and caramel coloring are typically not prescribed in the Dentist’s formulary).  In the list of common medical specialties, you don’t see “Pepper” between “family practice” and “Internal Medicine.”
  • When I worked at the TPC Prestancia, we had a member who was named Ronald Doctor.  He was an Optometrist. 
  • He was Dr. Doctor.  No lie.
  • When I was in high school, I underwent a two-day testravaganza at Eckerd College’s Career and Personal Counseling Center.  Their results strongly recommended that I become an Optometrist.
  • This would be brilliant! I’m intelligent! Personable! Kind!
  • …and I have this thing about eyes. 
  • Seriously, eyes freak me out.  When a Visine commercial comes on TV, I either look away or change channels.  When my own Optometrist (Dr. Shettle) told me I needed glasses, he offered to fit me for contacts.
  • I laughed my ass-tigmatism off. 
  • Strangely, I’m not squeamish.  Blood and guts don’t bother me.  I cut a wart off of my own ankle once.  Dear Lord, after the Fournier’s Gangrene adventure, nothing freaks me out. 
  • Except eyeballs.  I don’t get it.
  • So I was thinking…this huge battery of tests and interviews decided I’d be perfect for the job that I’m organically incapable of doing.  What does that say?
  • Sometimes, I feel like I’m a giant collection of data.  If you ask me a question, I’ll answer it.  There are billions of infobits in my noggin, swirling around. If you could go into my mind with a broom, and organize things, you could probably make a case for any number of ideal career choices.
  • The thing is, having the data doesn’t mean the conclusion is valid.
  • It’s the same way that I like peanut butter, shrimp, and jalapeno cheese dip, but I wouldn’t want them combined in a bowl.
  • I’m a walking non sequitur.
  • Were I to ponder what makes humans human, I’d describe us as a "mind" (giant swirls of individual data nuggets (thoughts, memories, factoids)) controlled by a powerful, intangible force or "soul."
  •  The new Dorkphone Ultra-Turbo 9500 XL has taken a picture of the mind and soul:

  • Basically, the “soul” is what makes us use the data nuggets the way we do.

  • For example, a vector-borne biomedicist’s soul might use mosquito data nuggets  to control malaria or dengue fever in poor countries.  My tom soul just thinks bugs are cool.
  • Oddly, bug eyes never annoyed me.
  • Holy shit, maybe I’m really an insect!
  • If I were, I’d want to be in family Reduviidae.  They look like bugs from a Transformers movie.

     

    • And they’re what entomologists call “true bugs.”

  • Proper.  Don’t mess with us, else we’ll pop a proboscis in yo’ ass, ‘cause we’re the True Bugs.
  • I apologize for the previous sentence. 
  • So today is one of those days where things look odd.  A large fuzzy cat ran out from under my truck.  I’ve seen her before—my neighbors and I feed her and give her water—so I wasn’t freaked out or anything.  But it was a little odd.
  • Then I saw the real-life wheelbug.
  • In actuality, it was a guy on a ninja motorcycle, speeding up MLK.  He (the biker, not Dr Martin Luther King) was wearing a backpack, out of which extruded the handles of two softball bats.  These handles extended above his shiny black helmet, thus resembling two antennae.
  • A day that starts with a Speedy Ninja Bug blasting north at 80 mph just has to be interesting.
    • I just hope said bug’s guts wash off of my windshield.
  • ‘Cause the True Bugs don’t play nice with Speedy Ninja Bugs, savvy?
  • Once again
  • …sorry.
  • Have a great weekend!
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