And safety comes first.

Friday, December 29

Concept Car as Pictured on Some Other Planet

My buddies and I test drove the Mazda concept car, the Nagare, which in Japanese means "flow". It looked like a shoe horn, but hell it moved fast--like a shoe. As you can see, we took it for a spin on the planet Venus, where it's hot like a sauna. I thought my buddy was going to boil out there, but we turned on the a/c, which mercifully responded right away. The heated seats were not used at all that day. I think this car is pretty dope. I would definitely recommend it to anyone, but epecially people in L.A. because they're so image-oriented and think they should be on an elitist planet.

Upside Down and Hungry

I am clinging to the underside of a gigantic autumnal leaf, and insects don't exist, so I don't have to worry about being eaten by one or--worse yet--having to eat one myself. I stay out of palm trees--the wild parrot community still hasn't decided whether the trees should serve as playgrounds or toilets. The parrots send me a lot of e-vites for their arbitrary parties: "Gathering at 2:48pm at the palm overlooking Ocean Breeze Apartments. See you there!" I'd rather crap on my own monkey bars, if you catch my drift. Those punks don't know what it's like to be caged and told when to sing. And I'm not making a work-in-a-cubicle analogy. I'm a human clinging to an enormous leaf, thinking about insects, but not about what they'd taste like. I often crave honey barbeque wings though. C'mon! Not the parrots--I don't eat that un-FDA-Certified stuff. I do things right: I call my mom up on my cell, and she brings over some KFC.

Thursday, December 28

Two Words: Carpal Tunnel

Next to my desk are windows I never open. Fresh's not like oxygen is going to make my job any better.

Wednesday, December 20

Coming Soon: Essay on a classic Boston tune

More than a Feeling

I looked out this morning and the sun was gone
Turned on some music to start my day
I lost myself in a familiar song
I closed my eyes and I slipped away

It's more than a feeling (more than a feeling)
When I hear that old song they used to play (more than a feeling)
I begin dreaming (more than a feeling)
'till I see Marianne walk away
I see my Marianne walkin' away

So many people have come and gone
Their faces fade as the years go by
Yet I still recall as I wander on
as clear as the sun in the summer sky

It's more than a feeling (more than a feeling)
When I hear that old song they used to play (more than a feeling)
I begin dreaming (more than a feeling)
'till I see Marianne walk away
I see my Marianne walkin' away

When I'm tired and thinking cold
I hide in my music, forget the day
and dream of a girl I used to know
I closed my eyes and she slipped away
She slipped away

It's more than a feeling (more than a feeling)
When I hear that old song they used to play (more than a feeling)
I begin dreaming (more than a feeling)
'till I see Marianne walk away

Jesus is the new pink.

I've already blasphemed with that title. God help me. Damn it, my fuckin' uncontrollable mouth. Don't be sending me bars of soap for Christmas. Funny joke. I won't laugh, and neither will you when I whack you across the head with it, provided it's the kind with the rope attached. Speaking of attachments, please quit forwarding shit to my email box. I don't really want to look at pictures of creepy babies (or was it creepy pictures of babies?) with antlers growing out of their skulls. There's no point to this post either.

Friday, December 15

You Judge Sylvia's Past: Literal or Not?

I told him I used to stare down bottles of ketchup in trailers with Axl Rose sitting across from my hashbrowns and eggs.

Monday, December 11

You and I talk about Christmas songs.

Hey readers, what are your favorite Christmas songs? Although I am fond of the Bing Crosby-delivered classics, I must say I am particularly fond of the more contemporary holiday tunes, especially the ones where Christina Aguilera oversings songs like Silent Night and God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen. She is my favorite Christmastime oversinger.

I dressed up like a skank for this?

When I think back on our recent office Christmas party, I am reminded of the time I received a hole in the head and oh the joy it brought me! The vision of my usually unsociable co-workers chatting beside the Panasonic copier reminds me that it takes nothing more than a good attitude to achieve this mindblowing level of jubilation. Party on, my comrades whose job categories are separate from mine! Enjoy one another! Smiles are as plentiful as the cheese and cracker platters which I gleefully waited for in line at Costco behind a family-owned convenience store owner! This party is for you, though not for me, but I get lots of different kinds of "joy" out of it as when I make napkin pinwheels only to be snapped at by a receptionist (or shall we say, a perfectionist) whose duty is to measure by god-given precision of vision my layout of these pretty paper stars in relation to each other on the buffet. There is no other time than the holidays when I truly believe that giving is much more satisfying than receiving, and so logically I did not feel unsatisfied when I did not receive any door prizes. I thought about giving more this year, like giving everyone the finger before I walked out of the room, but I thought I'd keep that bit of joy to myself.

I Rock! (around the Christmas tree)

The year was 1987, and I was rockin' around the Christmas tree when I tripped on the extension cord and fell on my hip, flattening some very nicely-wrapped gifts. I blamed it on the cat, though—poor Herbert can be so clumsy. My brothers were so upset to unwrap their brand new dismembered action figures that they cast the useless toys into the fireplace, screaming Herbert's name with tears in their eyes. I, however, was too enamored with my Jordache jeans to feel bad about what I'd done to Herbert—and my brothers too, I guess. I rushed into my bedroom to model my new jeans in front of the mirror. I was so pleased that I decided to write a thank-you letter to Santa. Months passed, my jeans were still great, and Herbert died, so there was no real point in feeling sorry for him anyway. In June, when my mind was furthest from Christmas, Santa wrote back. He informed me that I'd been named the 1987 Sellout of the Year. I knew exactly the outfit I'd wear to the ceremonies...