for fans of kittens, Topper, baby animals or shaky legs.
a random collection of whatever from beyond the cosmic horizon; the psychic adventures of a rambling, gambling, heavy metal beatnik.
Friday, December 9, 2011
grab some advil kids! we're getting a 6th dimension lesson today!
rob bryanton for king of the world!
Friday, November 18, 2011
"...our NOW is a moving point whithin a 5th dimensional probability space."
another outstanding piece of work from my favorite Canadian, Rob Bryanton:
Friday, October 7, 2011
How the Universe appeared from nothing
"...in the end, regardless of how the universe got to be so big, the laws of physics suggest that all of its energy, and hence all of its stuff, may add up to zero. so taken as a whole, the universe is just a strange form of nothing."
"something and nothing may well be the same thing."
"something and nothing may well be the same thing."
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Xenu my ass
just randomly found my way to this comment on some youtube video:
instagram pic of the day (from the other day):
tattoo sez: SEXY
- "Anyone who thinks that a DC8 flew aliens from dozens of planets 75 billion years ago to earth in volcanoes, is really fucked up. Get to OT3, Operating Theta 3 in Scientology, and you can hear LRH, doped up on heroin, saying in his insane voice, XENU, the galactic leader, blah, blah, bull shit. A DC8 can not fly in outer space you fucking retard! Tom Cruise is a retard for believing this bull shit. As is Katie Allen and John Travolta. Schizophrenic retards. Xenu my ass."
instagram pic of the day (from the other day):
tattoo sez: SEXY
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Harper Valley PTA
so there's this lady somewhere south of here (mrs johnson). she likes wearing her skirts up high and getting a little drunk with the boys (if you pick up what i'm puttin' down). she lost her husband. she's got a daughter in middle school.
anyway, this lady sees her daughter not even stopping to play after school. a conversation ensues. the daughter says, "i got a letter from some school board asshole types."
so mom opens the letter and basically the parent-teacher association decided that she (the mom) is kind of a slutty trollop. although it's sad the father died in that car crash (assuming), the entire whorish act to find a suitable replacement father figure for your kid is not appropriate for this stand-up Christian town.
well it just so happens (synchronicity?) that the parent-teacher association is having a meeting that afternoon. would have probably been pretty soon after school because the daughter came straight home with the letter and school ends (as far as i can remember) around 3pm or 3:15pm or something. mom decides to go to the meeting.
assuming she was already wearing her short skirt and all dolled up in the whore make-up (and probably a cut-off shirt) she heads over to the school to give them a piece of her mind. this would have been about 3:30pm or so, depending on how long her initial indignation was.
she gets to the meeting, letter in hand. the meeting itself was most likely already in-progress, since her arrival at the school wasn't until 3:45pmish.
everyone is surprised that she wore the skirt. this was an issue they really all had kind of agreed upon: slut mom should change her slut ways.
after mr schnieder was finished on the budget dissertation, mom walked from the back of the room to the blackboard and grabbed a brand new piece of chalk.
she slowly wrote out each of the names in capital letters as she threw her firebombs of hypocrisy.
"notwithstanding the foregoing, i have received your letter and would like to take this time to address a few of your members."
"BOBBY TAYLOR, how do you think everyone would take it if they knew you were always trying to get in my pants? would your wife like that? really? how many? one? more like seven, you dick."
"and your wife (DEBBIE TAYLOR) allegedly buying more ice than usual, according to LARRY KLEMCHER at the Stop N Go. CLARENCE from the tire shop swears she only gave him a massage. riiiiight. in his crotch."
"then we have MR PHIL BAKER. hey mr baker, why aren't we talking about your pregnant secretary (Patty) that you murdered and left under that freeway overpass? too soon?"
"has anyone NOT seen widow JONES' videos on youtube? makes my high skirts look like a halo."
"then of course there's MR HARPER, who didn't make this meeting since he's still sleeping off a wicked hangover after a long night of shots at Kelly's Bar."
"need i mention SHIRLEY' THOMPSON'S breath! smells like a bottle of gin took a shit and died in there!"
"and I'M not a good mother?"
"y'all can go fuck y'all selves"
[end scene]
anyway, this lady sees her daughter not even stopping to play after school. a conversation ensues. the daughter says, "i got a letter from some school board asshole types."
so mom opens the letter and basically the parent-teacher association decided that she (the mom) is kind of a slutty trollop. although it's sad the father died in that car crash (assuming), the entire whorish act to find a suitable replacement father figure for your kid is not appropriate for this stand-up Christian town.
well it just so happens (synchronicity?) that the parent-teacher association is having a meeting that afternoon. would have probably been pretty soon after school because the daughter came straight home with the letter and school ends (as far as i can remember) around 3pm or 3:15pm or something. mom decides to go to the meeting.
assuming she was already wearing her short skirt and all dolled up in the whore make-up (and probably a cut-off shirt) she heads over to the school to give them a piece of her mind. this would have been about 3:30pm or so, depending on how long her initial indignation was.
she gets to the meeting, letter in hand. the meeting itself was most likely already in-progress, since her arrival at the school wasn't until 3:45pmish.
everyone is surprised that she wore the skirt. this was an issue they really all had kind of agreed upon: slut mom should change her slut ways.
after mr schnieder was finished on the budget dissertation, mom walked from the back of the room to the blackboard and grabbed a brand new piece of chalk.
she slowly wrote out each of the names in capital letters as she threw her firebombs of hypocrisy.
"notwithstanding the foregoing, i have received your letter and would like to take this time to address a few of your members."
"BOBBY TAYLOR, how do you think everyone would take it if they knew you were always trying to get in my pants? would your wife like that? really? how many? one? more like seven, you dick."
"and your wife (DEBBIE TAYLOR) allegedly buying more ice than usual, according to LARRY KLEMCHER at the Stop N Go. CLARENCE from the tire shop swears she only gave him a massage. riiiiight. in his crotch."
"then we have MR PHIL BAKER. hey mr baker, why aren't we talking about your pregnant secretary (Patty) that you murdered and left under that freeway overpass? too soon?"
"has anyone NOT seen widow JONES' videos on youtube? makes my high skirts look like a halo."
"then of course there's MR HARPER, who didn't make this meeting since he's still sleeping off a wicked hangover after a long night of shots at Kelly's Bar."
"need i mention SHIRLEY' THOMPSON'S breath! smells like a bottle of gin took a shit and died in there!"
"and I'M not a good mother?"
"y'all can go fuck y'all selves"
[end scene]
Thursday, March 17, 2011
i think i got it
sit down. take a few slow, deep breaths while clearing your mind.
then watch Imagining the Tenth Dimension part 1 of 2 (7ish min):
watch it a couple times if necessary.
when you think you have it figured out (a bit), watch Imagining the Tenth Dimension part 2 of 2 (5 min):
after sorting it out in your head, write it down / type it out and give me a more layman's layman's kiddie version (in language a dog could understand).
until then i will work on my version. (because i think i got it, but i don't know what to do with it)
then watch Imagining the Tenth Dimension part 1 of 2 (7ish min):
watch it a couple times if necessary.
when you think you have it figured out (a bit), watch Imagining the Tenth Dimension part 2 of 2 (5 min):
after sorting it out in your head, write it down / type it out and give me a more layman's layman's kiddie version (in language a dog could understand).
until then i will work on my version. (because i think i got it, but i don't know what to do with it)
Thursday, March 3, 2011
"little redneck bars" (old myspace blogs pt 4)
this is the long winded version of the first time barb and i went 'on a date'
Mar 23, 2005
little redneck bars
So Barb and I went to this little redneck bar a couple weeks ago. I've always wanted to visit every tiny neighborhood bar in and around the city, and while it's still a goal of sorts, I think that this one gave me a good taste of about 75 percent of what's out there.
As soon as we enter the room, time stops for a second and the entire bar has to give us that who-the-fuck look. Apparently, Saturday nights are Karaoke night, brought to you by your host, the squat and corpulent Betty. She probably has some kids around my age, who were most likely off drinking heavily somewhere else. Betty likes her karaoke mic with a shit-ton of reverb too, so her slight southern drawl echoes like she's broadcasting from deep space.
I scanned the room as we sat down. There's a bar in the middle, a pool table on one side, and booths on the opposite side. The karaoke machine sat on a card table which Betty orbited like a satellite. We ordered our drinks as I noticed the gray haired guys to chubby ladies ratio was pretty even. One very denim clad patron kept giving Barb the eye. Well, some guys cant help it, but he was sitting straight to our left. Every time we looked over, he was staring right at her, like how a grizzly might focus into the river before he smacks a salmon into the air. He must have noticed us noticing him, because he finally moved to the other side of the bar, where he could face forward and glare, the way a hungry man might salivate over burgers on his grill. Betty took the mic back from some drunk guy and was slightly winded from dancing. "Even big girls deserve a dippin' now and then!" she squealed.
Pretty soon, a lady came up and asked us
Mar 23, 2005
little redneck bars
So Barb and I went to this little redneck bar a couple weeks ago. I've always wanted to visit every tiny neighborhood bar in and around the city, and while it's still a goal of sorts, I think that this one gave me a good taste of about 75 percent of what's out there.
As soon as we enter the room, time stops for a second and the entire bar has to give us that who-the-fuck look. Apparently, Saturday nights are Karaoke night, brought to you by your host, the squat and corpulent Betty. She probably has some kids around my age, who were most likely off drinking heavily somewhere else. Betty likes her karaoke mic with a shit-ton of reverb too, so her slight southern drawl echoes like she's broadcasting from deep space.
I scanned the room as we sat down. There's a bar in the middle, a pool table on one side, and booths on the opposite side. The karaoke machine sat on a card table which Betty orbited like a satellite. We ordered our drinks as I noticed the gray haired guys to chubby ladies ratio was pretty even. One very denim clad patron kept giving Barb the eye. Well, some guys cant help it, but he was sitting straight to our left. Every time we looked over, he was staring right at her, like how a grizzly might focus into the river before he smacks a salmon into the air. He must have noticed us noticing him, because he finally moved to the other side of the bar, where he could face forward and glare, the way a hungry man might salivate over burgers on his grill. Betty took the mic back from some drunk guy and was slightly winded from dancing. "Even big girls deserve a dippin' now and then!" she squealed.
Pretty soon, a lady came up and asked us
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
bunny timelapse
a classic video from my personal youtube vault. yes, the white bunny is a girl.
an excerpt from "what do bunnies do?" a documentary featuring 4 hours of 'hidden camera' bunny footage, time-lapsed down to 39 minutes.
an excerpt from "what do bunnies do?" a documentary featuring 4 hours of 'hidden camera' bunny footage, time-lapsed down to 39 minutes.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
"the Magic of White Castle" (old myspace blogs pt 3)
at one point, this was the highlight of my writing 'career'... a true story about a late night white castle visit.
enjoy!
Feb 23, 2006
the magic of white castle
Current mood:accomplished
it was late on a sunday night. the frat boys were out, drunk and in a tizzy. there was a bum asking for cigarettes. three little munchkin ladies flipped grease soaked onions on a burner with a spatula, waddling around yelling into microphones about orders.
my friend used the ladies restroom. i scanned the room for the cop parked outside. must be undercover. the entire restaraunt was trashed; little boxes, half finished soft drinks, ketchup stained napkins, and cold french fries all belied a huge battle.
finally one of the munchkin ladies yelled out a number "104!" and the frat boy chorus all responded in unison. "104! BINGO!"
some guy woke up in a booth and stumbled up to grab a sack full of future diarrhea and stomach cramps.
i looked down at my ticket. it was number 117.
we finally realized that leaning on the counter wasn't going to impress or speed up the munchkins. so we sat down and
enjoy!
Feb 23, 2006
the magic of white castle
Current mood:accomplished
it was late on a sunday night. the frat boys were out, drunk and in a tizzy. there was a bum asking for cigarettes. three little munchkin ladies flipped grease soaked onions on a burner with a spatula, waddling around yelling into microphones about orders.
my friend used the ladies restroom. i scanned the room for the cop parked outside. must be undercover. the entire restaraunt was trashed; little boxes, half finished soft drinks, ketchup stained napkins, and cold french fries all belied a huge battle.
finally one of the munchkin ladies yelled out a number "104!" and the frat boy chorus all responded in unison. "104! BINGO!"
some guy woke up in a booth and stumbled up to grab a sack full of future diarrhea and stomach cramps.
i looked down at my ticket. it was number 117.
we finally realized that leaning on the counter wasn't going to impress or speed up the munchkins. so we sat down and
old blog myspace blogs pt 2
this one is actually halfway interesting.
Jan 18, 2005
Stolen Car blog (or the mighty INTUITION Pwns All)
My friend Erin came over last night and fell asleep watching a movie. I sat up on the puter all night and at about 8am I woke her up and asked if she'd run me by my bank deposit box downtown on the circle. She asked me to warm up her car, and I went out and pulled it directly in front of the house, turned the heat all the way up, and left the door unlocked. Keep in mind, where I live is like a sweet smelling flower growing out of a pile of rancid manure, a great neighborhood poking out of a ghetto parka. Except that Chris had his window busted out (for the stereo) just months ago on the street out front... as well as another car being broken into (for some cds) that belonged to a friend of Andrew around the same time. Besides that, it was 10 fucking degrees outside.
I came inside and we chatted for about 5 minutes, I looked outside to check on the car no less than 3 times. Then we went downstairs and she ran to the bathroom. Everyone was up, as some guys had shown up early to pour concrete in the basement. When we walked outside, the car was gone. All in the span of about 8 or 9 minutes. She called the cops,
Jan 18, 2005
Stolen Car blog (or the mighty INTUITION Pwns All)
My friend Erin came over last night and fell asleep watching a movie. I sat up on the puter all night and at about 8am I woke her up and asked if she'd run me by my bank deposit box downtown on the circle. She asked me to warm up her car, and I went out and pulled it directly in front of the house, turned the heat all the way up, and left the door unlocked. Keep in mind, where I live is like a sweet smelling flower growing out of a pile of rancid manure, a great neighborhood poking out of a ghetto parka. Except that Chris had his window busted out (for the stereo) just months ago on the street out front... as well as another car being broken into (for some cds) that belonged to a friend of Andrew around the same time. Besides that, it was 10 fucking degrees outside.
I came inside and we chatted for about 5 minutes, I looked outside to check on the car no less than 3 times. Then we went downstairs and she ran to the bathroom. Everyone was up, as some guys had shown up early to pour concrete in the basement. When we walked outside, the car was gone. All in the span of about 8 or 9 minutes. She called the cops,
some old myspace blogs pt 1
i guess i don't have time to get all creative as of yet with this new blog. but here are some boring old blogs i wrote way back in 2005:
Jan 4, 2005
remaking vince neil
lol. i can't believe he could agree to doing this 'reality' show. someone told me it was on and i flipped the channel. there it was, in all it's radiant glory.
i missed whatever part there was about sucking the fat out of his face and lifting his eyes through surgery. but he almost looked the same. everyone on the television was talking about how great he looked, over and over. he even had his own "queer eye" type of team to help him pick some sexy stage clothes.
apparently he quit drinking and lost weight too. good for him. then they take him to the best hair stylist and hair color master in Hollywood, where they cut his hair shorter and dye it brown. again, he doesn't look any better to me, but they're all raving about it. "VINCE LOOKS SO GOOD, I'M SO IMPRESSED!" bellowed his fiance with her ever present fake tittery, caked on makeup, and redrawn eyebrows.
he goes to the studio to work with desmond child, hitmaker to the stars. where, much to nobody's surprise, he can't sing. he can't hit the notes, he's getting frustrated, and there is a camera in his face. beautiful. desmond child says "i don't feel sorry for superstars." well no shit, mang. and to top it all off,
Jan 4, 2005
remaking vince neil
lol. i can't believe he could agree to doing this 'reality' show. someone told me it was on and i flipped the channel. there it was, in all it's radiant glory.
i missed whatever part there was about sucking the fat out of his face and lifting his eyes through surgery. but he almost looked the same. everyone on the television was talking about how great he looked, over and over. he even had his own "queer eye" type of team to help him pick some sexy stage clothes.
apparently he quit drinking and lost weight too. good for him. then they take him to the best hair stylist and hair color master in Hollywood, where they cut his hair shorter and dye it brown. again, he doesn't look any better to me, but they're all raving about it. "VINCE LOOKS SO GOOD, I'M SO IMPRESSED!" bellowed his fiance with her ever present fake tittery, caked on makeup, and redrawn eyebrows.
he goes to the studio to work with desmond child, hitmaker to the stars. where, much to nobody's surprise, he can't sing. he can't hit the notes, he's getting frustrated, and there is a camera in his face. beautiful. desmond child says "i don't feel sorry for superstars." well no shit, mang. and to top it all off,
Saturday, February 26, 2011
new blog
a new blog. could be good, could be total crap. at the very least it's some sort of motivation to finally finish something i started. what would be cool would be to write without going back and making changes. or just line out the stuff that doesn't stick. or not. because it's good to ramble. or is it?
dream from this morning:
we were going somewhere, i had to get one of our parakeets, lemondrop (aka buttercorn). she was in a small cage on the bed. i reached in for her to step up.
instead of stepping up, she said "baby."
"woah. you spoke. hey this bird just started talking. come on, we need to go now."
in a cartoony, high pitched voice: "waaaait a minute. waaaaait a minute. your dad could be just around the corner."
"what? so what if he is?"
[end scene]
i think she thought dad might jump out and scare her. but a decent dream nonetheless. weird and memorable.
why the name? this blog is named after some dumb comment i made during an interview in NUVO. i was joking about the Midwest Music Summit and how i already had the same idea for my own fest from a long time ago. total flop. much like my sarcasm in print.
anyway, i'm talking to you (me) now so that you hear me in the 'future' while i comment in the 'past', both of which will be happening in the 'now' of you reading this.
hoping to edit some of this freaking mass of video i have of live bands and put it all online before the NWO or the global mayan apocalypse or the supermassive earthquake that's due any minute under old faithful. whatever.
in the mean time i could post ramblings (much like this golden nugget of snooze) or stories, or reviews or news or predictions or philosophy or pictures or video of birds. or sweepstakes. or me just brainstorming random words together to get more google 'sniffs'. or whatever they call it.
either way, predict nothing = always be right.
dream from this morning:
we were going somewhere, i had to get one of our parakeets, lemondrop (aka buttercorn). she was in a small cage on the bed. i reached in for her to step up.
instead of stepping up, she said "baby."
"woah. you spoke. hey this bird just started talking. come on, we need to go now."
in a cartoony, high pitched voice: "waaaait a minute. waaaaait a minute. your dad could be just around the corner."
"what? so what if he is?"
[end scene]
i think she thought dad might jump out and scare her. but a decent dream nonetheless. weird and memorable.
why the name? this blog is named after some dumb comment i made during an interview in NUVO. i was joking about the Midwest Music Summit and how i already had the same idea for my own fest from a long time ago. total flop. much like my sarcasm in print.
anyway, i'm talking to you (me) now so that you hear me in the 'future' while i comment in the 'past', both of which will be happening in the 'now' of you reading this.
hoping to edit some of this freaking mass of video i have of live bands and put it all online before the NWO or the global mayan apocalypse or the supermassive earthquake that's due any minute under old faithful. whatever.
in the mean time i could post ramblings (much like this golden nugget of snooze) or stories, or reviews or news or predictions or philosophy or pictures or video of birds. or sweepstakes. or me just brainstorming random words together to get more google 'sniffs'. or whatever they call it.
either way, predict nothing = always be right.
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