I now know why I can't find a date. And it's always been this way. There's something wrong with me... I have labored under a crippling disability all my life, and it is this: ...I'm too good looking.
Don't laugh _or_ cluck: It's not that I ever really noticed or cared about my looks. But apparently other people did; they saw me as unapproachable.
I'm not unapproachable. It's just that I wouldn't know what to say when approached. So I don't say anything. And then after a while you give up and leave me alone.
And then I stop hyperventilating. And go back to bitching about being single.
I'm in my own weird, mind paradox that I can't escape.
Friday, June 23, 2006
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Yahoo! Music: Trip Like I Do by The Crystal Method
Chris King Pop Icon (nowhere@ckpi.com) has sent you a page from the Yahoo! Music Engine. Trip Like I Do by The Crystal Method
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Yahoo! Music: The Boys Are Back In Town by Thin Lizzy
Chris King Pop Icon (nowhere@ckpi.com) has sent you a page from the Yahoo! Music Engine. The Boys Are Back In Town by Thin Lizzy
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THE NEWTONIAN PHYSICS WEIRDO BRIGADE
It has taken me thirty months to reach the apex of my powers of ridicule. I thus unveil my latest creation, a club. I call it:
THE NEWTONIAN PHYSICS WEIRDO BRIGADE
Our slogan: "We ridicule the asinine."
Its founding principles are these:
"Whereas that Newton guy was the biggest weirdo of them all and completely did not get how large bodies move and he probably never even saw that show on VH-1 where you get to date each other's mother, we hereby elevate Isaac Newton as our guidon in our effortless campaign to ridicule 9-11 and how those buildings blowed up and fell right down, as well as the evil machinations of its elusive spawn, The Flying Car People and The AstroGenital Brigade. Let it be known."
"Armed with three-dollar calculators, we pledge to ruin everything by popping up uninvited at cocktail parties whenever some genius television watcher weighs in on 9-11. We will wet our finger and give him a wet willy right in his ear and laugh uproariously and run away, leaving everyone to wonder whatever is so funny."
"Being unabashed weirdos, we shall dance and allow everyone to laugh at us as we impregnate their souls with our truthful essence, whether they like it or not. Then we'll make fart noises and get everyone to laugh at us some more."
"Then everyone will wake up one day and realize that it is a respectable topic of conversation, and they will discuss the 9-11 inside job as if they discovered the whole thing. And that will be OK with us, as we will have moved on to other matters, in the recognition that our job here is done. We'll return to our bread and butter, dating jokes."
"I will periodically make videos of my ex cathedra pronouncements, delivered in a grandiloquent style as befits my office of Supreme Ruler of 3-Space."
"We shall devise a two-color representation of the following thermite-cut beam and make patches to wear on our official ball caps and tote bags:"
Photo
Story
Good thing they shipped off all that steel to China so quick. You can't have all that bothersome evidence lying around.
It's the slam dunk scoop of the century. Hey, "news"papers, watch your betters work. Oh, wait, sorry; you've got church bazaar announcements and stuff to print. You have business considerations that I just don't understand from my layman's viewpoint. Never mind. So don't waste your time googling who was on the board of directors of the security firm for the World Trade Center. It's probably just weirdo stuff.
THE NEWTONIAN PHYSICS WEIRDO BRIGADE
Our slogan: "We ridicule the asinine."
Its founding principles are these:
"Whereas that Newton guy was the biggest weirdo of them all and completely did not get how large bodies move and he probably never even saw that show on VH-1 where you get to date each other's mother, we hereby elevate Isaac Newton as our guidon in our effortless campaign to ridicule 9-11 and how those buildings blowed up and fell right down, as well as the evil machinations of its elusive spawn, The Flying Car People and The AstroGenital Brigade. Let it be known."
"Armed with three-dollar calculators, we pledge to ruin everything by popping up uninvited at cocktail parties whenever some genius television watcher weighs in on 9-11. We will wet our finger and give him a wet willy right in his ear and laugh uproariously and run away, leaving everyone to wonder whatever is so funny."
"Being unabashed weirdos, we shall dance and allow everyone to laugh at us as we impregnate their souls with our truthful essence, whether they like it or not. Then we'll make fart noises and get everyone to laugh at us some more."
"Then everyone will wake up one day and realize that it is a respectable topic of conversation, and they will discuss the 9-11 inside job as if they discovered the whole thing. And that will be OK with us, as we will have moved on to other matters, in the recognition that our job here is done. We'll return to our bread and butter, dating jokes."
"I will periodically make videos of my ex cathedra pronouncements, delivered in a grandiloquent style as befits my office of Supreme Ruler of 3-Space."
"We shall devise a two-color representation of the following thermite-cut beam and make patches to wear on our official ball caps and tote bags:"
Photo
Story
Good thing they shipped off all that steel to China so quick. You can't have all that bothersome evidence lying around.
It's the slam dunk scoop of the century. Hey, "news"papers, watch your betters work. Oh, wait, sorry; you've got church bazaar announcements and stuff to print. You have business considerations that I just don't understand from my layman's viewpoint. Never mind. So don't waste your time googling who was on the board of directors of the security firm for the World Trade Center. It's probably just weirdo stuff.
Some things you may need to know:
I had the chance to do some reflecting last night. Here is what I learned:
I want to date that Stavros Niarchos, the young Greek shipping magnate. He's not dating Paris Hilton anymore, so he's available. He does not appear to be gay, but he'll learn to love me. I saw a photo of him in the latest issue of In Touch Weekly. Though I'm no gold digger, I would ask that he pay to have my cell phone turned back on so that we can text each other about how much we're in love and how he's sorry he ever allowed that bitch to come between us.
-------
I found a mounted eight-point buck head at this local thrift store. Seventy-five dollars. (That's an excellent deal.) I have it hanging above the fireplace. I have repainted the interior of the house lots of deep, modern colors from an earth tones palette. I now understand that I'm going for a "21st Century Space-Bound Hunting Lodge" look.
---------
Some people think that I have done lots of acid. I knew better. Imagine me on acid.
---------
For some reason, I scrawled this on my scrap of paper last night: "You should hitchhike more. The system doesn't want you to do that." Yeah, I'm just not sure what hitchhiking has to do with anything, but I wrote it down, so I must have thought it important. I must have been peering into the inner heart of the system last night to discern its nefarious plans.
---------
People with a sense of humor speak to each other in a subtle language that others don't even notice. We're planning our enemies' destruction and our own elevation as your benevolent but strict rulers.
----------
The trinity is weed, beer, and cigarettes.
You have to consume all these in enormous quantities in one sitting or you will not achieve enlightenment.
-------
That's all I have on my note paper. And none of them appear suitable for making into a proper joke. But you can see the messy birthing process of a joke.
As you were.
I want to date that Stavros Niarchos, the young Greek shipping magnate. He's not dating Paris Hilton anymore, so he's available. He does not appear to be gay, but he'll learn to love me. I saw a photo of him in the latest issue of In Touch Weekly. Though I'm no gold digger, I would ask that he pay to have my cell phone turned back on so that we can text each other about how much we're in love and how he's sorry he ever allowed that bitch to come between us.
-------
I found a mounted eight-point buck head at this local thrift store. Seventy-five dollars. (That's an excellent deal.) I have it hanging above the fireplace. I have repainted the interior of the house lots of deep, modern colors from an earth tones palette. I now understand that I'm going for a "21st Century Space-Bound Hunting Lodge" look.
---------
Some people think that I have done lots of acid. I knew better. Imagine me on acid.
---------
For some reason, I scrawled this on my scrap of paper last night: "You should hitchhike more. The system doesn't want you to do that." Yeah, I'm just not sure what hitchhiking has to do with anything, but I wrote it down, so I must have thought it important. I must have been peering into the inner heart of the system last night to discern its nefarious plans.
---------
People with a sense of humor speak to each other in a subtle language that others don't even notice. We're planning our enemies' destruction and our own elevation as your benevolent but strict rulers.
----------
The trinity is weed, beer, and cigarettes.
You have to consume all these in enormous quantities in one sitting or you will not achieve enlightenment.
-------
That's all I have on my note paper. And none of them appear suitable for making into a proper joke. But you can see the messy birthing process of a joke.
As you were.
Monday, June 19, 2006
My Erudite Friend
At the gas station today, I did hear someone utter perhaps the most asinine thing I have ever catalogued in 3-space: "The terrorists hate us because we're number one." This came from the same woman who earlier seemed relieved that 'Al Zachary' finally got killed.
This statement was occasioned by the TV blaring something about foiled cyanide attacks in the New York subway system. Our nemeses were to carry this out using aluminum soda and beer cans, don't you know.
"See?" She jerked another thumb at the TV. "Do you believe me now?" In an earlier conversation, she took offense when I said that the news was not real.
"You know...," I began as I bagged a customer's Miller Lite single, "from an epistemological standpoint, you can't conclude anything from this, because, as I have proven to you before, the government is a bunch of lying cocksuckers." She was a coarse type anyhow, so she never minded my gutter talk. "That they have now told you yet something else does not necessarily add to your understanding of reality. How you doin today, sir?" I got a nod from some out-of-towner who walked in with his fancy rope sandals and linen pants. Prices just went up.
I pointed at the TV. "If we make the not-at-all outlandish assumption that your society is an instrument in an enormous wealth transfer operation, then we might conclude that the lower the purchase price of information, the less likely it is to be true." I would need to explain this.
"See those papers over there? Or this one?" I picked up a paper from the desk. "The advertisers in this paper frankly don't care if what you read in it is true. And therefore, from an economic standpoint, neither does the publisher. They all just want you to look at the ads on your way to the picture games. As a matter of fact, the more the truth conflicts with their economic interests, the less likely you are to find the truth printed in this paper. Or see it on that TV, for that matter. Where the value of the prize is so high, you are unlikely to be able to purchase the truth for fifty cents. Or to get it for free from that television. Simply put, you will have to pay more --in money and effort-- to buy the truth."
"War is always about the taking of property. Don't you ever forget it. That you think it's about something else demonstrates only the effectiveness of the warmakers' marketing. It really has nothing to do with you being number one. And don't ever think that you will share in the spoils of that war. You're just the labor."
She was plainly put out by my continued questioning of her reality. By the psychological phenomenon of cognitive dissonance, she truly was becoming emotionally distressed. "What planet are you from?!"
Indeed...
It's not really a planet. It's more of a star system. And it's Zargon Nine. So get it right.
I have the ability to see the future. In it, the television watchers will be instructed to deliver me to the authorities so that I might be killed. And they will do it, because the alternative is that I will cause the collapse of their reality.
And that's fine. I wouldn't have it any other way; if I can save them then maybe someday I will find one of them to love. And if I can't save them, then I get to go home.
It's a win-win. Don't you know.
This statement was occasioned by the TV blaring something about foiled cyanide attacks in the New York subway system. Our nemeses were to carry this out using aluminum soda and beer cans, don't you know.
"See?" She jerked another thumb at the TV. "Do you believe me now?" In an earlier conversation, she took offense when I said that the news was not real.
"You know...," I began as I bagged a customer's Miller Lite single, "from an epistemological standpoint, you can't conclude anything from this, because, as I have proven to you before, the government is a bunch of lying cocksuckers." She was a coarse type anyhow, so she never minded my gutter talk. "That they have now told you yet something else does not necessarily add to your understanding of reality. How you doin today, sir?" I got a nod from some out-of-towner who walked in with his fancy rope sandals and linen pants. Prices just went up.
I pointed at the TV. "If we make the not-at-all outlandish assumption that your society is an instrument in an enormous wealth transfer operation, then we might conclude that the lower the purchase price of information, the less likely it is to be true." I would need to explain this.
"See those papers over there? Or this one?" I picked up a paper from the desk. "The advertisers in this paper frankly don't care if what you read in it is true. And therefore, from an economic standpoint, neither does the publisher. They all just want you to look at the ads on your way to the picture games. As a matter of fact, the more the truth conflicts with their economic interests, the less likely you are to find the truth printed in this paper. Or see it on that TV, for that matter. Where the value of the prize is so high, you are unlikely to be able to purchase the truth for fifty cents. Or to get it for free from that television. Simply put, you will have to pay more --in money and effort-- to buy the truth."
"War is always about the taking of property. Don't you ever forget it. That you think it's about something else demonstrates only the effectiveness of the warmakers' marketing. It really has nothing to do with you being number one. And don't ever think that you will share in the spoils of that war. You're just the labor."
She was plainly put out by my continued questioning of her reality. By the psychological phenomenon of cognitive dissonance, she truly was becoming emotionally distressed. "What planet are you from?!"
Indeed...
It's not really a planet. It's more of a star system. And it's Zargon Nine. So get it right.
I have the ability to see the future. In it, the television watchers will be instructed to deliver me to the authorities so that I might be killed. And they will do it, because the alternative is that I will cause the collapse of their reality.
And that's fine. I wouldn't have it any other way; if I can save them then maybe someday I will find one of them to love. And if I can't save them, then I get to go home.
It's a win-win. Don't you know.
Yahoo! Music: The Way It Is by Donavon Frankenreiter
Chris King Pop Icon (nowhere@ckpi.com) has sent you a page from the Yahoo! Music Engine. The Way It Is by Donavon Frankenreiter
http://yme.music.yahoo.com/ymeNav/ymu/song/32777853
Personal message:
Use the Yahoo! Music Engine to discover and buy new music, listen to radio and more. Don't have the Yahoo! Music Engine? Get it Now. It's free. http://music.yahoo.com/musicengine
Sunday, June 18, 2006
Take that, you...ass...face!
"Chris, why are you so mean all the time?"
I'm busy giving it to everyone who has ever deserved it. The world's ending, right? One unadorned punch in the face for you...and you, and you and you and you. No time for dancing around...
Jokes are forever... I'd better get my licks in while the getting is good.
I'm busy giving it to everyone who has ever deserved it. The world's ending, right? One unadorned punch in the face for you...and you, and you and you and you. No time for dancing around...
Jokes are forever... I'd better get my licks in while the getting is good.
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