Flipped Shit in Snippets
I love to record recently, randomly triggered wisps of recollection, both for the sake of posterity and the hazy circumstances in which these fleeting memories originated. The words I'm prepared to unleash are sacred like Steve Yzerman - but brilliant like a Bush. Every conversation chronicled hereafter comes from joint brainstorming sessions held in the grimy recesses of Davidson's pristine suburbia, a handful of native Davidson fuckheads at the helms of hysteria - perpetrators of perversion.
Today, let's talk politics (or, strain to make random conversations seem vaguely topical).
People always talk about pranks they've pulled like each one was so extreme, expertly concocted, and perfectly executed, tossing around self-congratulatory terms like 'ultimate,' 'super-bad,' and 'deliciously dankity,' but these people lack imagination. The ultimate prank, obviously, would be if every single comprehending creature in existence united to deceive one guy and pull a Truman Show on him - but with 24-hour total, uncensored access to his life. If there was an international Truman every nation could unite in laughter at the one asshole, probably named some language appropriate permutation of Humphrey, from the country nobody really liked. The moment broadcasting began would be an instant and permanent peace treaty - notion of warring would disintegrate into gleeful gabbing with former enemies about the dude everyone could shit on, hate as an entity discriminating against no one except the asshole sacrificed for universal entertainment.
A brief but related foray into fiction, placed in a mall's food court, that examines the social impact of the worldwide Truman prank:
Next, we address ethically dubious tactics the United States government has employed to combat the influx of illegal immigrants. Specifically, the recent policy decision to legalize (and advocate the health and taste benefits of) murdering, grinding, and sprinkling Mexican immigrants on top of guacamole for authenticity and a kick of flavorful zest, a motion Republican congressmen have playfully referred to as "a tasteful solution." As a more liberal minded individual, I'm speechless - because my mouth is full.
How about the personal politics of in-home safety? Do you own a dog - one you expect to function as a reliable defense against criminality? To really test your dog's protective worth and sleuthing skill, plant landmines under random floor tiles and carpeted areas throughout your house. If the pooch detects these hidden devices of instant death, and has the good sense not to try to eat or stand on them, then your dog deserves his post and your praise. If the pooch fails, you're going to need a new dog, but that's better than waking up with me in your house, isn't it?
Neither shall we neglect the politically incorrect. I wonder, if a sufficiently fatass individual jumped on the upper respiratory side of a pregnant lady's bulging belly, could the properly placed force, instead of squashing the fetus, eject it like a red-frosted Pop-Tart from a vaginal toaster? Funny, too, what would a fatass-flattened fetus look like?
1 Chortle-speak; n. - a specific mode of communication which combines the acts of speaking and chortling into a singularly uncool undertaking.
Today, let's talk politics (or, strain to make random conversations seem vaguely topical).
People always talk about pranks they've pulled like each one was so extreme, expertly concocted, and perfectly executed, tossing around self-congratulatory terms like 'ultimate,' 'super-bad,' and 'deliciously dankity,' but these people lack imagination. The ultimate prank, obviously, would be if every single comprehending creature in existence united to deceive one guy and pull a Truman Show on him - but with 24-hour total, uncensored access to his life. If there was an international Truman every nation could unite in laughter at the one asshole, probably named some language appropriate permutation of Humphrey, from the country nobody really liked. The moment broadcasting began would be an instant and permanent peace treaty - notion of warring would disintegrate into gleeful gabbing with former enemies about the dude everyone could shit on, hate as an entity discriminating against no one except the asshole sacrificed for universal entertainment.
A brief but related foray into fiction, placed in a mall's food court, that examines the social impact of the worldwide Truman prank:
He turned toward his companion, the black eye-shadowed and lipsticked, white face powdered - it was so thick, maybe painted - devotee gothica. "Hey, I saw that guy one time. Duuuuude had no idea he was being filmed. I was like, 'shit, that sucks' and laughed at him." The preteen paused. A snicker; then a snortish throat clearance rasped a rough and thinly amused "heh." "That Humphert dude totally sucks."But, yeah, world peace and stuff like that is political, right?
The eager to impress 14-year-old philosopher adjusted his newly bought black tshirt, pulling outward the material on either shoulder then petting his chest with admiration and a quiver of individual submission, making sure the band logo - something like a bloody, barb-wired banana split with a jaggedly severed arm thrusting outward and upward, the cartoon hand throwing ultra-rigidly-badass, ultra-exaggerated metal horns - was uncreased, the smoothed insignia of a lamely and entirely unconvincingly evil band the crest he wore with pride.
"Poser," he finally mustered in typically plump chortle-speak1, diverting his gaze while his piggly lips flapped in the breath of an almost inaudible laugh.
Next, we address ethically dubious tactics the United States government has employed to combat the influx of illegal immigrants. Specifically, the recent policy decision to legalize (and advocate the health and taste benefits of) murdering, grinding, and sprinkling Mexican immigrants on top of guacamole for authenticity and a kick of flavorful zest, a motion Republican congressmen have playfully referred to as "a tasteful solution." As a more liberal minded individual, I'm speechless - because my mouth is full.
How about the personal politics of in-home safety? Do you own a dog - one you expect to function as a reliable defense against criminality? To really test your dog's protective worth and sleuthing skill, plant landmines under random floor tiles and carpeted areas throughout your house. If the pooch detects these hidden devices of instant death, and has the good sense not to try to eat or stand on them, then your dog deserves his post and your praise. If the pooch fails, you're going to need a new dog, but that's better than waking up with me in your house, isn't it?
Neither shall we neglect the politically incorrect. I wonder, if a sufficiently fatass individual jumped on the upper respiratory side of a pregnant lady's bulging belly, could the properly placed force, instead of squashing the fetus, eject it like a red-frosted Pop-Tart from a vaginal toaster? Funny, too, what would a fatass-flattened fetus look like?
posted by Mr. Pibba at 5:00 PM
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