Senseful ramblings of an incoherent nature from a delusional schizophrenic (or my views on current events)

Thursday, April 28, 2005

Paved, yeah, that's the theme!?!

What happens when the windows close and the fresh air becomes exhausted? Do we cease breathing or do we allow the staleness of the room into our lungs? What are we then exhaling? Does grunting make the task of breathing easier? Perhaps we should grow gills and learn to live in the ocean, although I would much prefer a fresh water pond, or better yet, a large lake. Then at least my habitat would be limited as opposed to the expansive seas.

I used to enjoy swimming as a wee lad, and I probably still would, although I have a problem going into any body of water that doesnt have a paved bottom. I think it has something to do with the mushiness of the ground, especially in a lake. Muddy ground between my toes makes me nausious. The beach is a little bit better for swimming because the sand is nice, but the salty water is an issue, as is the endless supply of hospital needles that appear each and ever summer. But I hear that issue has been taken care of, not that I would know for certain since I actually dont go to the beach. I have always preferred to sit inside while everyone else enjoys the splendors of the sun and sand.

Nice has an enjoyable beach, if you can call it a beach. See, in place of sand they have rocks. It takes some getting used to, but it is an experience, especially since there are naked tits all over the place. At least there are if you are there on a sunny day. On a rainy day, not so much. You do have a good chance of running into a group of Asian tourists dressed in their finest business attire who are admiring, or perhaps laughing, at their boss who is hoping up and down in the ocean in nothing but his tightest of tighty-whities. Allow me to confirm the stereotype of Asian men: yes, it’s true.

I remember fearing jelly fish as a child, but I dont remember why. Maybe it was because they were these pink fleshy things that would just float in the water. I never did get stung, but that was because as soon as I would see one I would flee the salty water just like the lil pansy boy I was. I have been told that I was a whiny little kid, but that comes from the same man who called me Idiot Child, or IC for short, so I cant really tell if I was whiny or am just being made fun of. I do know that I used to bang my head on the walls and floor as a child; I have a dent to prove that story.

My sister was fearful of jelly fish as well, even more so than me. There was one summer in Brigantine, NJ where the jelly fish out numbered the people. The carcasses of the jelly fish littered the beach and my sister avoided them like they were land mines. Unfortunately for her, while dodging one entity she landed on another. She shrieked, jumped as high as a lil girl could and ran off the beach, hiding in the dunes. She didnt get stung, but she was certainly shocked, as was the rest of the beach. She was called Moodle as a kid. I still dont know what a "Moodle" is. She was also called M. Bunny whilst in high school. That was short for Big Dumb Bunny. How my dad got M from Big Dumb I will never know, but I suppose that says a lot about the man. My sister wasnt whiny, just over active. She still is. Instead of banging her head, she took a dive down the stairs. My parents are still trying to figure out how she managed to get over or around the child proof gate.

Not to be outdone, I once took a spill down the stairs in my child walker. They have since been ruled a hazard to children. I survived, but that might have to do with my thick skull more than anything else. However the thick skull proved to be more of a hindrance when I got my head stuck in between two bars at the mall as a child. After getting pulled out with the assistance of some muscle bound security guy my parents had the balls to take me back to the same mall the following weekend. I showed them by getting my head stuck again. This time a crow-bar was used to expedite my freedom. They stopped taking me to the mall for a little while and the mall itself has since replaced the bars with glass panes. I would like to think that I have something to do with that.

I havent seen that many jelly fish at the beach anymore, but my not going to the beach play a part as to why I dont see them. I would like to go back to Nice, but I hear that Australia has some nice nude beaches - that way I can see tits, ass, and bush, preferably paved.

I guess I wouldnt mind living in the ocean off the coast of Australia.

Wednesday, April 27, 2005

It's over Johnny

This past midnight began the last 24 hours of me being younger than I will be tomorrow. Now saying that I suppose that this comment is true for every day that I live on this earth, but there is only one midnight a year where 24 hours later I will have aged by a number, not just a day.


I suppose it could be worse, I could be 30, or 40, or 50. At least I have all those years ahead of me still. And 28 is one of my 3 lucky numbers. I'll give you a cookie if you can guess the other 2, and a second cookie if you can tell me their significance. I have an unlucky number as well, any guesses?

On the day of the eve of my birthday I have a few comments and questions for you to ponder:

* How great is it that Rosie O'Donnell is playing a gifted mongoloid in CBS's tv movie "Riding the Bus With My Sister?" Now I dont usually watch TV movies, in fact, I couldnt tell you a single one that I have ever watched, but I might have to make an effort to see what might turn out to be the gem of the TV season!

* If guys get along better with guys, and girls get along better with guys, how do lesbians find friends?

* How funny is it to see those pictures of Bush holding that Saudi Prince's hand while they are walking and talking? I truly hope that it is the right hand that the Arabs wipe their asses with (you do know that they dont use toilet paper, right?).

* Wouldnt it suck if you were a gold fish who had just finished taking one of those long string like poops only to find out that instead of falling to the bottom of the tank the shit is stuck to your gold fish ass? You'd have to deal with all the other gold fish laughing at your poop string ass as well as all those driveling humans looking at you and banging on the glass. Not having hands to wipe yourself stinks, literally.

* I believe that anyone with the license plate "See-Yah" should be driving a much faster car than a 1993 Chevy Cavalier.

* Imagine how much it would suck to be the "Can You Hear Me Now" guy from Verizon because every drunken idiot would come up to you all crocked and cock-eyed while slurring the words, "hey man, I can hear you now," before turning to his friends, laughing like a hyena and fishing for high fives. It is only a matter of time before the "Can You Hear Me Now" guy goes postal and shoots some people. "YES FUCKER, I CAN HEAR YOU NOW, BUT YOU CANT HEAR ME! Have another."

* I think that I do my best thinking in the shower. I suppose I feel the most vulnerable there. The problem is that I forget 50% of my thoughts while drying off. I hope this doesnt get worse with age.

So all you fuckers out there wish me a happy end to 27. Im sure I will send it off properly later tonight!

Monday, April 25, 2005

Im number 1

I leave the door open because it gets stuffy in here in the winter and chilly in here during the summer. For whatever reason the heater is malcontent and the AC is in equally disrepair.

I leave the door open in the hopes that someone will pass by and trip over the rug, or themselves, thus providing me with a nice belly laugh. Of course I would have to stymie that laugh until the fallee has passed earshot range, but boy-oh will I be laughing once they have passed that imaginary line.

I leave the door open to watch all the high school kids get real quiet when they realize that someone is in here as they walk by. Then, once they pass my open door they all let out some kind of girly laugh because I heard what they were talking about. Apparently they find it so funny that they forget I am in here quickly, hence the laugh and the continued conversation. I couldnt even tell you how many pregnancy worries I have heard about. Parents, lock up your kids;) Just kidding, let them fuck, lord knows we did (although I suppose some of us wish we did).

I leave my door open so I dont succumb to the ever unrelenting desire to whip it out and make a mess upon my desk. By it I mean my Lego collection and by mess I mean the pieces all over the desk. Or something like that.

I leave my door open in hopes that some people remember who I am even if my proverbial door is shut because distance is a bitch. I suppose an open door leads to promise, or so they say. I honestly dont know who they is and why they would say that though, but the door is still open.

I leave my door open because I have gas. Sometimes. I am not a fan of stewing in my own shit, or even the smell of my own shit.

I leave my door open because I like watching fat people walk to the vending machine. It's kind of a guilty pleasure.

I leave my door open because a closed door can only lead to a closed mind, but maybe not. It certainly makes the place lighter! My mind or my office? Im lost.

I leave my door open because I am excepting of all. Give me your weak, your poor, your mentally handicapped, your disabled, your elderly, and your crippled. But take a number first. The line starts outside my door and winds around the hallway.

Now serving number 1.

Thursday, April 21, 2005

Parenting and the Parenting Parents who parent their children

This is dedicated to my good friend who recently found out that his wife is pregnant with their first child. I wish you healthy children who are well adjusted and dont talk back.

What is wrong with parents? Moreover, what has happened to parenting? Really, I am in no position to judge since I do not have children and dont have plans to have any, but what has happened? Have parents stopped reading Dr. Spock? Have they lost their natural instincts to take care of their children? Are working mothers to blame? I am not laying judgment here, just pondering the issue and wondering what has happened.

Just now, as I type this post, a little girl is wondering up and down the empty hallway outside of my windowless office. She is about 3 years old, I suppose, and alone. Oh, and she is repeatedly saying "hello" in her tiny little 3 year old voice. She hasnt begun to freak out, but I am sure that in a matter of minutes I will be dealing with yet another whining child and her shrilling screams: "WHERE'S MY MOMMY?" Exactly little girl, I wonder the same thing!

Yesterday I went to Target to kill some time during the middle of the day. As I walked through the doors, with my long hair blowing in my face from the wind outside, I remove my snazzy 'n hot (literally, but dont make me explain) sun glasses and hear the following: "shut up and walk where you are supposed to." I stop dead in my tracks, sun glasses still half on, turn 90 degrees to my right and see an utter mess of a mother with one decrepit child in a cart and the other being dragged along by her hand. This girl wasnt being loud, however she did look like an old teddy bear being pulled along by a 10 year old who shouldnt have a teddy bear anymore. Tell me this, how was this little girl supposed to know where to walk? She was 3, 4 at the most, and in a Target, she doesnt have the mental capacity to remember where she is and how she is supposed to walk.

A few days ago, whilst driving home from the super market, I saw three young children, perhaps 8, maybe 9, years of age walking through the streets alone. Truly, they were walking THROUGH the streets. To make matters worse, they were picking up rocks and throwing them at store signs, although their aim left much to be desired. Instead of actually hitting they were missing terribly and least I forget that there were other people walking along the sidewalk who had to dodge their horribly targeted projectiles. I suppose their moms were too busy making more worthless off-spring to help aid in the world wide effort to over-populate this planet in an alarming rate.

And finally, yesterday I was walking along a South Philly sidewalk, somewhere near my house, and a child, probably 10 years old, was riding his bike on the sidewalk from behind me and started to make annoying noises. For what reason, I have no clue. Perhaps he was trying to be a tough guy? Who knows? He was being taken care of by some useless pre-teen girl who was also riding a bike, but I can only imagine that she was too busy worried about getting laid later than to take care of this child. Needless to say, something had to be done, so after he passed I made some loud annoying noises of my own, to which he responded with some inaudible mumbo-jumbo, thus leading me to call him a naughty name. Yes folks, I cursed at a child.

These are just a few examples of the terrible messes that are waiting to grow up in American today. And from my view point, the problem lies solely with their parents who are doing anything but a bang up job in raising their kin. I really have no speculation as to why parents arent parenting anymore, but it sure would be interesting to find out. And if you yourself are planning on procreating anytime in the foreseeable future, take care of your kids by bring them up as you should. Care about them and their future. Give them a fighting chance by teaching them the difference between right and wrong. I warn you, if you dont they will eventually run into me in some street and I dont take well to provocation. If you dont teach them right chances are that I might;)

Tuesday, April 19, 2005

I learned something today!

This is a rare feet! With the new Pope being named my curiosity got the best of me and I did some research on where Pope John Paul II got his name from. To my amazement, he took it from Pope John Paul I, who he followed as Pope. But the interesting thing is that Pope John Paul I was only Pope for 33 days, which means that I am now on my forth Pope, not my third! How shocked was I? Extremely, to say the least.

Pope John Paul I took his name from his two predecessors, Pope Paul VI who followed Pope John XXIII. John Paul I was the first Pope to use two names.

However, the most interesting part of this tale is the circumstances surrounding Pope John Paul I's death. From all accounts he was in fairly decent shape for a man of his age back in 1978, yet he died, supposedly, of a common heart attack. To make matters worse he was immediately embalmed and no autopsy was preformed because the church said that they were against one, however, precedent was set nearly 150 years earlier when an autopsy was preformed on Pope Pius VIII when his death was suspected to be murder (evidence was found that he was poisoned). Naturally, this lead to suspicions that fowl play was involved. It was also reported that he was found by one of his secretaries rather than the nun who actually found him. Rumors were spread that smoking played a part in his death, but he was not a smoker! This sordid story gets deeper and deeper, but perhaps doing your own research on the subject will yield a greater understanding than what I am able to spout off at the moment.

Here is a page that might be a little long in the tooth, but provides lots of good info and even greater links: Pope John Paul I

While I despise organized religion I am also enthralled by its heritage. It amazes me that the Church most widely followed in today's world has such a blotchy past full of murder, sex, mystery and intrigue. And to think that god speaks to these people;)

Friday, April 15, 2005

People of this world

I usually only write in this blog, but for this post I need visual assistance from a couple of photos that I found while perusing the internet. Here is the first photo:

America's Next Starlet

As we can see, this lady is a complete and utter mess. It is quite apparent that she rarely leaves the house and that her best friend is the Barka lounger where she is currently planted and growing roots. At first glance you might think that she just took a shower and she is drying off, however, upon a second inspection you will actually notice that this blob of a human being is actually dying her hair blue, as if she didnt already draw enough attention to herself with her girth alone. I can only hope that she has a young child so she has an excuse for the prepubescent doodlings on her hand, but upon facial inspection it is clear to this opinionated asshole that this ogre is the only one responsible for said doodles. Have you noticed that she is wearing a rubber jacket? Is that a veiled attempt at losing weight? One could only imagine, however, the pie resting on her meaty chop seems to signify that she has never been, and will never be, on a diet. Here's to hoping that Fido in the lower right hand corner steals the pie so that this waste of existence will get off her duff and chase after Fido. At this point any exercise will help.


Chuck Norris called, he wants his stance back. Is that a look of fear on his face, or is this guy just really wrapped up in his music? Who really knows, and honestly, do any of us have the courage to approach this man and ask him what is really going on? Rumor has it that after this dance he quick turned and goose-stepped out of the dance hall looking for local branch of the KKK. Although this guy is clearly a maniac, it is pleasing to see that he is straight edge, because this guy on anything could spell the end of an entire community. Good looking out Deiter. Now, have you notice the girl in the background? No, not the one with the hot pick stockings, but the one all the way in the back with the camera, taking a picture of this psychopath. Obviously everyone in this building new that this was a once in a lifetime opportunity to see a dancer with this kind of, uh, composure? disposition? mental deficiency?

Truth be told, when I was in Prague I saw this man's Czech cousin doing a similar dance, however that Deiter had a full leather outfit and instead of pointing down towards the ground he kept shifting his head from one side to the other while extending his arm in the air and what looked like sniffing his arm pits. Ah how I miss Europe.

Tuesday, April 12, 2005

Those Silly Germans!

I was watching something yesterday, perhaps it was on the food network, or maybe it was the discovery channel - it really has no baring on the story - and I watched as all these German folks were enjoying Oktoberfest by dancing around a huge tent set up with hundreds of picnic tables whilst listening to a fella playing the accordion, all the while drinking from a beer mug which can nearly double for a distillery all by its lonesome and a thought dawned on me: Just how did the Germans manage to become so angry?

I understand the reasons behind the German's desire for a better life during the time after World War I, their country was thrust into a bitter depression leaving the people with nothing to look forward to, however, these people traded in Lederhosen for German uniforms, and gave up the Schuplattler Laendlar for the Goose Step!

But beyond economic woes, what would cause one person, let alone an entire population, to completely wig out and "heil" someone, especially someone as maniacal as Hitler? Again, I understand some of the reasoning behind falling for Hitler, besides being crude, diluted, crazed and murderous; he was fascinating, if you like delving into the mind of a sociopath.

It takes a whole lot for a society to completely change their ideals in such a drastic way, hell, they went from yodeling to yelling, but then again, their voices are just so harsh naturally that perhaps the slip from nice to naughty was genetically pre-dispositioned. For humanities sake, let’s hope that this is the case, and that since then this genetic abnormality has been taken care of with the decimation of their army back in the 1940s. Although, it would be an interesting experiment to isolate some Germans in a room and starve them while taking away everything that is meaningful and see if they get really really angry, and then compare that to the control group of isolated non-Germans.

Ah, I see my mad mind is at work again, perhaps it is time to go outside and get some sun light, or perhaps I should pick up some paint and a few canvases and try my hand at painting. Good idea?

Monday, April 11, 2005

The Mythical Cum Tree

While walking around the City of Brotherly Love this weekend I came across a smell t'which my nose had very rarely been privy, and at first I couldnt place it. I was walking around 12th and Pine (sometimes known as the Gayborhood, but who am I to judge?) when I first noticed the offensive odor. Pungent it was! It wasnt until a few whiffs later that I was finally able to place the odious scent - man juice!

My first reaction was that there must have been a huge orgy the night before and all the used condoms must have been left outside in the heat. Not hot enough to sweat, but hot enough to foul some liquid love!

But as I continued to walk throughout the city the smell would not dissipate. So naturally I came to the realization that the semen aqueduct built in the early 1900s by the Greek immigrants had finally broken down.

It wasnt until I ended up on South Street that my nose finally led me to look skyward that I found the source of the stench: The mythical, and often overlooked, Cum Tree.

I have never seen or smelled this Cum Tree before in my life, but as I live and breathe (softly) I have now. I can only hypothesis that the tree has lain dormant for the past few years due to the fact that spring has gone missing in Philadelphia recently. However, this year the weather has been moderate and the rain plentiful, allowing the Cum Tree to bloom, sharing its beautifully delicate white flowers and its awfully pungent odor. I can only imagine what kind of honey bees are attracted to this tree, but I would venture to guess that while they might show up fashionably late, they are fabulously dressed. Bzzz dahling, Bzzz.

Friday, April 08, 2005

April 6th, 2005

April 6th, 2005, was the most perfect day in Philadelphia over the past decade. Perhaps not in any way other than weather-wise, but that alone was enough for me. Truth be told, I was pulled over by the police and given a ticket for $360 for not having my insurance on me, but even that couldnt ruin the niceness of that day. I have since gotten that ticket taken care of, so I at least get to keep my tax return ($390).

The weather was so nice that day that it was almost as if weather didnt even exist! It wasnt cold, and it certainly wasnt hot. It didnt rain and there was nary a breeze. And to think I have an office with no windows - for shame. For all I knew it was raining all day long, until I left work and a sense of bliss came over me from the sun shinning on my face and the air streaming in and out of my lungs as smoothly as spring water goes down your throat.

At night it was so pleasant that there wasnt any noise outside, none at all! The trees werent restless and my cow neighbors were apparently out to pasture as the usual banging and thumping - a nightly occurrence which is a result of the cows turning around to graze another part of their apartment - didnt happen. The only noises I did here were the revving of the engines from the crotch rockets traveling on the highway, six and a half blocks away.

It is amazing how a beautiful day and a more than pleasant night can leave ones head completely clear. I pondered the wonders of the universe and existence as I slowly faded to black.

Apparently this kind of day is what used to be called spring, however my memory of spring is minute as there hasnt been a spring in Philadelphia in over 10 years. I think I remember enjoying spring. I hope it isnt over, but I fear that it is. It is only a matter of time before I have to start throwing away more gas money so I can afford to turn the AC on in my car.

But alas, summer is sure to start in a day or two, or perhaps it already has, as I am left clueless because of my present location. At least I have my memory of April 6th, 2005 to get me through my days, allowing me to day dream about open fields, green, flowing grass, and how beautiful life can be on a pretty day.

Tuesday, April 05, 2005


Everyone knows that a radio works by tuning into different frequencies to pick up each individual radio station. That means that each frequency is able to carry different noise. This technology was originated with the telephone line and has also been applied to TV, satellite and just about any and every technology that can, and will, exist. But what about life itself? Is it possible that we live on one frequency and there is a completely different "life" on a separate frequency? Maybe instead of exploring space for life we should be exploring out own back yard instead! I'd volunteer myself to go to a different frequency, but then again I wouldnt want to turn out like John Lithgow's character from The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai.

Imagine a light spectrum and its different colors (remember ROY G BIV from middle school? or at least my middle school, perhaps it was high school or college for you dolts;)). Each color represents a different frequency. Now imagine that spectrum on a larger scale with each color representing a different frequency of life! Naturally, this spectrum wouldnt be limited to the visible colors, there would also be life emitting from the ultra-violet frequencies, the x-ray frequencies, and on and on and on.

Is it possible, or is it purely a hypothetical dream that I have had (and I am sure I am not the first to have it, I am truly not that gifted)? One hundred and fifty years ago who would have thought that dialog and images and date could be transmitted through different notes, yet today it is a part of everyday life. Who knows what possibilities exist today that we havent even begun to fathom!