I is for - I love independence. Don’t you?
N is for - Nobody can take away my independence
D is for - Damn, I love America.
E is for - Eagles. (bald ones. not those gay golden eagles.)
P is for - Pardon me Cubans. Betcha wished you were here.
E is for - Easter; A reminder that I can worship how I please.
N is for - Nigeria. Nope, not independent. (sorry Nigerians)
D is for - Donuts. Because I eat what I want.
E is for – Eggs Benedict. (named after an independence hater)
N is for - Nice to meet you foreigner. Now get out!
C is for – Cancer which is scary but not as scary as Navy Seals.
E is for – Everybody please tell me what Independence means to you. I’m looking for inspiration because I need to write an essay for a contest and I am experiencing some serious writers block. I just don’t think the acronym is going to cut it. If I use your idea and win, you will get $100. And that is no lie. I’ll post the results in 1 month.
Showing posts with label Tid-Bits. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tid-Bits. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
My Idea For A Children’s Book
So, the other night I was sitting down with my daughter reading, “The Lorax” by Dr. Seuss, and I started thinking, I could write this. In fact, my daughter could write this. It’s totally amateur. Half these words aren’t even real words. I looked them up. I’ll bet Dr. Seuss doesn’t even have a real doctorate. Eventually I concluded that if “Dr.” Seuss could write a book and be successful, I could write a children’s book and be wildly successful. So I got to brainstorming and came up with, what I think are, some solid ideas for my book.
My protagonist is a wizard. A boy wizard named Gary. Kids love magic, and Gary seems like the name of an approachable person. Gary is on a quest to find his family, which he was torn from at an early age. They’re polygamists and were part of a fundamentalist congregation that co-existed inside a very small compound outside of Waco: Waco, England. Gary will go everywhere on the back of his luck-dragon named Holyfield. We’ll have to give a little back-story and show that Holyfield is fiercely loyal to Gary because Gary saved him from angry mountain lions when he was still an egg and then Gary forced himself to lactate out of sheer willpower so he could nurse Holyfield as a baby. Every time they get in a fix and Holyfield has to fly really fast or kill someone with fire he’ll shake his head and say, “I’m gettin’ too old for this crap,” and then they’ll both laugh. The story will probably take place in two realms, which wizards like Gary have the power to go between; the Magical realm and the Gay realm. But he only goes to the Gay realm when he needs to procure new potions and spells from his magic mentor/supplier, a black guy named Anton. Anton will be the comic relief. He’ll have all kinds of crazy new tricks and potions that he’ll show off every time Gary shows up. And his catchphrase will be, “Abra-ka-Fabra”, which he’ll deliver regularly whilst resting one hand on his hip, snapping his fingers with the other, and furiously rubbernecking his head around. There may also be room here for a love interest. I’m thinking an Indian girl named Squaw. This would be good because kids love Indians with all their broken English and backwards ways. To broaden the book’s appeal, I think it should be educational. So it might be good to introduce words and scenarios kids should be familiar with. Maybe Gary could use his magic to help bust a meth lab or a crack house and then smack around and shake down the addicts for information on his family. Then they’ll have a heart to heart about the downfalls of drug abuse and the addicts will give scouts honor to never do it again. There should also be a chapter dedicated to sex education and how intercourse always leads to pregnancy and VD. (I’ll have to workshop some of those ideas, but I think this will make it marketable to the home school demographic.) Eventually Gary will have to confront and defeat the antagonist, the same man who took him from his multiple mothers as a kid and put him into foster care. I think the bad guy will be a mean cowboy wizard, named Sheriff Hitler, who rides a black Pegasus named Tupac who only talks it rhymes and drops, what he calls, “truth bombs.” And instead of six-shooters, Sheriff Hitler will carry two magic wands, which shoot lightning. And every time he blasts one of his enemies with his lightning wands he’ll do a victory dance, which is just of lot of pelvic thrusting while screaming “Cuminayeahaaa!” like Neil Diamond. Since kids like a happy ending I don’t think Gary will kill the Sheriff. Instead he’ll teach him the true meaning of Christmas when he spares the Sheriff from death in the final battle. That’s also a good idea because it leaves it open for a sequel where we find out that Sheriff Hitler is really Gary’s father.
That’s all I have so far, but what to you think? Too cliché?
My protagonist is a wizard. A boy wizard named Gary. Kids love magic, and Gary seems like the name of an approachable person. Gary is on a quest to find his family, which he was torn from at an early age. They’re polygamists and were part of a fundamentalist congregation that co-existed inside a very small compound outside of Waco: Waco, England. Gary will go everywhere on the back of his luck-dragon named Holyfield. We’ll have to give a little back-story and show that Holyfield is fiercely loyal to Gary because Gary saved him from angry mountain lions when he was still an egg and then Gary forced himself to lactate out of sheer willpower so he could nurse Holyfield as a baby. Every time they get in a fix and Holyfield has to fly really fast or kill someone with fire he’ll shake his head and say, “I’m gettin’ too old for this crap,” and then they’ll both laugh. The story will probably take place in two realms, which wizards like Gary have the power to go between; the Magical realm and the Gay realm. But he only goes to the Gay realm when he needs to procure new potions and spells from his magic mentor/supplier, a black guy named Anton. Anton will be the comic relief. He’ll have all kinds of crazy new tricks and potions that he’ll show off every time Gary shows up. And his catchphrase will be, “Abra-ka-Fabra”, which he’ll deliver regularly whilst resting one hand on his hip, snapping his fingers with the other, and furiously rubbernecking his head around. There may also be room here for a love interest. I’m thinking an Indian girl named Squaw. This would be good because kids love Indians with all their broken English and backwards ways. To broaden the book’s appeal, I think it should be educational. So it might be good to introduce words and scenarios kids should be familiar with. Maybe Gary could use his magic to help bust a meth lab or a crack house and then smack around and shake down the addicts for information on his family. Then they’ll have a heart to heart about the downfalls of drug abuse and the addicts will give scouts honor to never do it again. There should also be a chapter dedicated to sex education and how intercourse always leads to pregnancy and VD. (I’ll have to workshop some of those ideas, but I think this will make it marketable to the home school demographic.) Eventually Gary will have to confront and defeat the antagonist, the same man who took him from his multiple mothers as a kid and put him into foster care. I think the bad guy will be a mean cowboy wizard, named Sheriff Hitler, who rides a black Pegasus named Tupac who only talks it rhymes and drops, what he calls, “truth bombs.” And instead of six-shooters, Sheriff Hitler will carry two magic wands, which shoot lightning. And every time he blasts one of his enemies with his lightning wands he’ll do a victory dance, which is just of lot of pelvic thrusting while screaming “Cuminayeahaaa!” like Neil Diamond. Since kids like a happy ending I don’t think Gary will kill the Sheriff. Instead he’ll teach him the true meaning of Christmas when he spares the Sheriff from death in the final battle. That’s also a good idea because it leaves it open for a sequel where we find out that Sheriff Hitler is really Gary’s father.
That’s all I have so far, but what to you think? Too cliché?
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Death Of A Friend
I never was one of those guys who enjoyed attaching an undue amount of personification to his car. It never got a nickname like Gertrude, or The Beast, and I never referred to it like someone I was intimately or physically involved with. Nevertheless, I did have a certain fondness for my ’95 Geo Prizm. Partly because it was a gift from my father and partly because it was the means by which I saw so much of this beautiful world. So allow me, for a moment, to suspend my unwillingness to see machines as our equals, because, to be perfectly honest, my car was a truer friend than… well… all my other friends. Shame on them for being outdone by a car.
Gertrude the Beast was born June 27th 1995. I was not her original companion but became so in September 1998 after her original companion ran out on her like a coward. She was maroon, had four wheels, four doors, a great rack, which I liked to attach stuff too, and a trunk big enough for one medium sized body or two small bodies. We seemed to hit it off immediately and were surprised at how closely our interests aligned. We both liked music, air-conditioning, and driving places. We were like peas and carrots.
Within her lifetime she drove exactly 1,605, 250 miles, which is equivalent to driving to the sun and back. She visited every state in the nation, every country in North and South America, drove to Europe twice, Asia once, and is the only four wheeled vehicle to drive on the Great Wall of China.
She was also born with a surprisingly competitive spirit. Before she passed, Gertrude the Beast won three Formula One titles, two NASCAR titles, a motor-cross championship, and an aerial freestyle competition. Other notable accomplishments include the trafficking of displaced African refugees, assisting in the initial invasion of Iraq, personally capturing Sadam Hussein, and hosting Saturday Night Live. Sadly, her competing came to an abrupt end when she was convicted of vehicular dogslaughter in 2002. She pled guilty, paid a heavy fine, but was relieved the court never learned of the vehicular catslaughter, deerslaughter, and minorityslaughter she had also participated in.
Gertrude the Beast was there to see me through college, marriage, the election, the surgery, and the birth of my first two children. I had hoped she would be there for many more years but on the morning of April 14th, 2008, while driving to work she suffered major internal damage due to old age. After I cursed her and kicked her in the side I was immediately filled with regret because a man could not have asked for a better companion or truer friend. She was loved in life and will be missed in death.
Tomorrow she will be taken to the scrap yard, sold for the handsome sum of $100, and crushed. Goodbye old girl.
Gertrude the Beast was born June 27th 1995. I was not her original companion but became so in September 1998 after her original companion ran out on her like a coward. She was maroon, had four wheels, four doors, a great rack, which I liked to attach stuff too, and a trunk big enough for one medium sized body or two small bodies. We seemed to hit it off immediately and were surprised at how closely our interests aligned. We both liked music, air-conditioning, and driving places. We were like peas and carrots.
Within her lifetime she drove exactly 1,605, 250 miles, which is equivalent to driving to the sun and back. She visited every state in the nation, every country in North and South America, drove to Europe twice, Asia once, and is the only four wheeled vehicle to drive on the Great Wall of China.
She was also born with a surprisingly competitive spirit. Before she passed, Gertrude the Beast won three Formula One titles, two NASCAR titles, a motor-cross championship, and an aerial freestyle competition. Other notable accomplishments include the trafficking of displaced African refugees, assisting in the initial invasion of Iraq, personally capturing Sadam Hussein, and hosting Saturday Night Live. Sadly, her competing came to an abrupt end when she was convicted of vehicular dogslaughter in 2002. She pled guilty, paid a heavy fine, but was relieved the court never learned of the vehicular catslaughter, deerslaughter, and minorityslaughter she had also participated in.
Gertrude the Beast was there to see me through college, marriage, the election, the surgery, and the birth of my first two children. I had hoped she would be there for many more years but on the morning of April 14th, 2008, while driving to work she suffered major internal damage due to old age. After I cursed her and kicked her in the side I was immediately filled with regret because a man could not have asked for a better companion or truer friend. She was loved in life and will be missed in death.
Tomorrow she will be taken to the scrap yard, sold for the handsome sum of $100, and crushed. Goodbye old girl.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Leap Yeah!
Where I come from we have this tradition and deep seeded religious belief that February 29th, the extra day of every leap year, is very special. Like Christmas, Thanksgiving, and Arbor Day, February 29th is accompanied by it’s own set of mystical beliefs, and outré traditions. The belief is that on the 29th the eyes of heaven are closed and the people of the world are unattended and basically unaccountable for anything they do that day. Needless to say the 29th soon became a day of revelry, lasciviousness, gluttony, horseplay, tomfoolery, bally-hoo, hijinks, buffoonery, capers, shenanigans, and overall unwonted behavior.
Now, some people would argue that bad, or immoral behavior deterred only by fear of the stick, is callow, and is at the lowest level of self-governance. While some would say, that righteousness due to external incentives is not righteousness, Others would say, “No ones watching?! YAHOO!!”
If you were previously unaware of this unique holiday allow me to illustrate just what you’ve been missing out on.
In 1980, when I was two, and still a bit of a novice, I pulled off my diaper, unbeknownst to my parents, and crapped myself silly. Looking back, it seems more like a vicious prank on myself as much as anyone else.
1984; Some other first graders and I took a carton of eggs and a balloon launcher and shot eggs at cars on the freeway. Unfortunately four people lost their lives that day. Fortunately, they were all pretty old and on their way out anyway.
1988; I joined a PETA youth group and helped them burn down a facility that was doing medical tests on animals. The screams that came from the animals that we forgot to un-cage still haunt my dreams.
1992; I leaked a story to the LA Times that the 29th of February had been moved to the 29th of April. Some uninformed Americans still believe that the LA riots were a result of the acquittal of the white police officers that beat Rodney King like a piñata, instead of the truth, which is, they were just enjoying the regular celebratory rights of the 29th.
1996; I verbally supported Bill Clinton all day.
2000; I went to Vegas, got a job, and danced with the Chippendales for the whole night. Financially it was time well spent because, aside from my wages, I made $68.94 in tips. (Admittedly, it’s a little awkward dancing with 94 cents clinking around in the sling area of one’s Speedo.)
2004; I had a hard time enjoying the 29th that year because, unlike previous years, I was married to someone who cracks an even bigger whip than the Man upstairs. So, it was pretty much a let down.
This year I reclaimed my independence. I got up, took off my son’s diaper, and then left for work. I later found out from my wife that he’s doing his part to carry on my legacy.
I hope you all had an eventful 29th. Only four more years ‘till we get to do it again.
Now, some people would argue that bad, or immoral behavior deterred only by fear of the stick, is callow, and is at the lowest level of self-governance. While some would say, that righteousness due to external incentives is not righteousness, Others would say, “No ones watching?! YAHOO!!”
If you were previously unaware of this unique holiday allow me to illustrate just what you’ve been missing out on.
In 1980, when I was two, and still a bit of a novice, I pulled off my diaper, unbeknownst to my parents, and crapped myself silly. Looking back, it seems more like a vicious prank on myself as much as anyone else.
1984; Some other first graders and I took a carton of eggs and a balloon launcher and shot eggs at cars on the freeway. Unfortunately four people lost their lives that day. Fortunately, they were all pretty old and on their way out anyway.
1988; I joined a PETA youth group and helped them burn down a facility that was doing medical tests on animals. The screams that came from the animals that we forgot to un-cage still haunt my dreams.
1992; I leaked a story to the LA Times that the 29th of February had been moved to the 29th of April. Some uninformed Americans still believe that the LA riots were a result of the acquittal of the white police officers that beat Rodney King like a piñata, instead of the truth, which is, they were just enjoying the regular celebratory rights of the 29th.
1996; I verbally supported Bill Clinton all day.
2000; I went to Vegas, got a job, and danced with the Chippendales for the whole night. Financially it was time well spent because, aside from my wages, I made $68.94 in tips. (Admittedly, it’s a little awkward dancing with 94 cents clinking around in the sling area of one’s Speedo.)
2004; I had a hard time enjoying the 29th that year because, unlike previous years, I was married to someone who cracks an even bigger whip than the Man upstairs. So, it was pretty much a let down.
This year I reclaimed my independence. I got up, took off my son’s diaper, and then left for work. I later found out from my wife that he’s doing his part to carry on my legacy.
I hope you all had an eventful 29th. Only four more years ‘till we get to do it again.
Monday, January 14, 2008
The STINKEYE!
Yes, those are my eyes. No, I did not use Photoshop to color the left one.
I have…
con•junc•ti•vi•tis (kən-jŭngk'tə-vī'tĭs) n. inflammation or infection of the mucosal membrane that covers the eyeball and lines the eyelid. Conjunctivitis usually causes redness, discharge, and itching of the membrane. It may also cause fatigue, loss of libido, shrieking flatulence when surrounded by people, hair loss, deafness in the left ear and extreme sensitivity to sound in the right, twisted testicle, turrets, paralysis of the brain, shrinkage of the urethra to the point of complete urine blockage, expansion of the urethra to the point of incontinence, an emotional sensitivity to puns, road rage, athletes foot, explosive porcelain shattering diarrhea, spontaneous usage of Ebonics, tooth loss, cow-licks, edible toe-jam, spastic colon, whiplash, overbite, PMS in males, ear hair, arthritis in the middle finger making it unable to bend, southern drawl, facial hair and a propensity for "locker-room talk" in females, elephantitis, sympathy for Yoko Ono, cleft pallet, table-tennis elbow (not as severe as tennis elbow), club foot, pirate talk, and ghetto booty.
Commonly called pinkeye, conjunctivitis is also know as Blood-Clops, The Baboon’s Sphincter, and El ojo del Diablo.
If contracted one should regularly rinse eye with hot water, wash hands, avoid staring at the sun, avoid staring at women’s breasts (especially if they’re talking to you), not operate medium-light to medium heavy-ish machinery, avoid attempting to scrape the red off the eyeball, avoid legal gambling, avoid consorting with the mafia, avoid raiding meth labs without backup, avoid starting a meth lab without proper support, avoid alligator wrestling, bull fighting, dog fighting, bull dogging, cock fighting, cock dogging, dog cocking, and knitting. Also, refrain from greeting friends and loved-ones with butterfly kisses.
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